#the way the fight with billy in particular is turned into a joke is just... really upsetting to me

[scentedpepper]

Attempted Vehicular Manslaughter

BILLY HARGROVE X MALE READER

Summary: Max Mayfield hosts a pool party.

Content Warnings: Use of the F-slur, Use of Queer in a derogatory manner, Injuries, Verbal Abuse, Abusive Household Dynamics, Reader makes a 'if I wanna kms' joke

Other Pairings: Nancy Wheeler x Male Reader, Jonathan Byers x Male Reader, Max Mayfeild x Male Reader, Mike Wheeler x Male Reader

AUTHOR NOTE(S):

Oh brother we got a chatterbox

Had a dream about this ya'll

Readers a little sassy

Reader has a little brother

Reader has a bit of savior complex

Readers also kinda impulsive?

It's 3 am

_________________________________________

The grass was rough and patchy in the backyard, filled to the brim with wilted daisies and weeds crawling through the sprinklers. It was hardly worth a note of much consideration, as there had been nothing of great importance to discuss. There were many trees boarding the house. Pine or oak, maybe. And one dying cherry tree that was a stand alone in the yard. That was about the extent of anything substantial past the old silver fence that matched your shoes.

Nearest the house, under the shade, were several lawn chairs designated for the so-called "chaperones". The older brothers and sisters of the tweens. But really, it was nothing more than a cover-up.

Something to appease the parents' of the Hargrove house because Max knew it was odd to be friends with a group of kids the same age as her brother. Even her mother, who'd tried to remain impartial to any situation, narrowed her eyes and shifted her purse tighter when the suggestion of more than a couple 17 year old's parading around her house came.

Your mom was just happy you got along, let alone made some real friends outside the books, and encouraged the notion. More parental control, she reasoned. Less chances you were off with someone who intended on trouble.

Of course, all the shit about fighting monsters and being on the brink of death with these same friends wasn't factored in.

But no one besides them and the sheriff's deputy needed to know that.

The first time you had met the kids was, admittedly, what one would refer to as a kerfuffle. Riled up and trying to be dominant. Of course, because Billy was there, it spiraled even farther, and someone's head nearly got bashed into a rock.

That someone being you of obviously, after you'd been goaded into the fight and decided to step up. And boy, did Billy hate to lose. Hated being talked down to by a smaller kid who barely had pimples left on his face, let alone bulk.

You put up a good fight. You had a mean hit, especially the lick you gifted to Billy's chest, knocking the wind out of him when it connected. There was a bruise on his ribcage for days after and all the satisfaction he could possibly imagine at knowing it was from you.

But then he nearly killed you so, things turned sour rather quickly.

Which led to a rather impromptu welcome into the group of misfits, the lot of them. Unannounced and unexpected, you marched into the party after your small break down. Ready to be let in and accepted.

Finding out about the Upside Down was a mere accident.

You hadn't gone out of your way to befriend a group of children. Hadn't expected much in regards to friendship period even after getting your ass kicked by Billy Hargrove. Let alone a lifetime, one built from the shared experience of the horrors that lurk just underneath town, attached to one particular boy of the group.

But here you were. Standing in the backyard of Max's home like an idiot with the sun bearing down at your back. The late summer day nearly reached over 100 degrees as the clock neared the noon hour. Something you might have missed otherwise if it wasn't for the black analog watching you closely every time you renetered the house for a drink.

The main gaggle of kids swam and screamed every few seconds, trying to drag you into a half-baked game of Marco Polo that had the older Hawkins teens eyeing each other with concern.

You tapped the top of your can to ease the anxiety, looking around the edge of the yard again, past Max's mother, who waved awkwardly and would come around every so often, offering drinks or food to you, Nancy, and Jonathan.

"Nervous?" Jonathan prodded in his way, looking up from the half eaten sandwhich Will had taken two large bites from, making sure he had gotten his fill and packing it away when he received two big thumbs up from his little brother before he rentered the pool.

"Ah. " You leaned against the lawn chair, rolling your neck before looking over. "Expecting Billy to jump out from one of these corners, " you gesture towards the many hiding places you have spotted in the yard. "cause a scene. "

Nancy shifted uncomfortably, twisting her skirt slightly. "Not yet, at least. " She added while fidgeting with the button over the waist. "I thought he'd show up at least half-way through this thing. "

"Yeah, " you agreed, "thats why I'm–"

"On edge?" Jonathan filled in for you, a soft smile gracing his lips as Will looked over.

"Ready, he means. " Mike piped up, his hand was fully plunged into the cooler chest, blindly shifting around the ice as he looked over at the three.

Something in the tension held firm in the pit of your stomach, because the only times that this happened was whenever a confrontation was supposed to take place.

And judging from all the past events that had occurred, however mundane or fantastical they may be, this was probably going to end badly in more than just a couple of ways.

You'd managed to keep pretty calm in the past concerning Billy. Kept a level head about whatever shit he'd decided to cause that week. But something felt wrong today. That air in your gut had been hard to shake.

And the fact he had yet to make an appearance so far, did very little in easing you. And apparently everyone else involved.

"Don't know what his fucking problem is. " You curse, sitting up in the chair, "Never waits long to start shit."

In fact, you can almost pinpoint the time he entered the premises, an excuse to blame him for the sudden tightening in your gut and the goosebumps on your skin. Yet, he hadn't entered the backyard once since he got home. He stayed holed up in his room the entire day and that much was evident every time you, or Nancy, or Jonathan or one of the kids entered the house and heard the rock music blasting from his bedroom.

He hadn't even made a shadow to have showed his face.

For hours you waited.

Hours of worry and unease ate away at your gut while the rest of the party commenced unhindered.

And yet, it seemed all but for nothing in the grand scheme of things. Because as the sun started to lower from its zenith, you and the rest grew more tired and eventually, the temperature started to cool to a point where splashing around in the pool was no longer appropriate.

The kids came clamoring out, dripping in more chemicals than water, screaming and laughing in the process. It was getting near the five hour mark by then.

Your mind was heavy when you stood up to go inside, nearly tripping when your eyes clashed with the eldest person in the home, the both of you freezing awkwardly in the middle of the walk.

Both you and Max's mother were silent in each others presence. Stoic if there was ever a word for it.

Neil always seemed to be staring off into nothing, zoned out to some far away place only those who drowned themselves in alcohol and other momentary pleasures existed. They didn't interact, besides maybe the occasional conversation starter, or nod in passing whenever a person came too close for an inch of comfort. Not unusual in your opinion of strained marriages.

You began to speak, went to get yourself out of this weird positioning you've seemed to found yourself in. But Susan beat you to it.

"Can you do me a favor?" She beckoned before turning around and trotting off into the kitchen. Already assuming you would listen. You usually did. There weren't any hidden agendas for her actions and nothing against you personally.

She held some power that you wished wasn't. You would take just about any job that required you to be away from the current obstacles of your personal life. But as she turned back to look at you with that indescribable air and knowing nod, she had beaten you.

"Whats up?" You replied, voice more gravely then you meant it to be as you walked up behind her. She was sticking something into the microwave.

"Bye, Y/N/N. " Nancy had emerged from the Hargrove bathroom when she stood on her toes to place a friendly kiss on your cheek before joining Jonathan.

"See ya, Nance. " You say as the dark haired girl glided away, passing a wave to Jonathan and then they were out the front door.

The house was mostly empty now with nearly all the kids back home, and Dustin and Max tucked away in her room, waiting for Dustin's mother. There was enough silence now that you were itching to leave. The house had settled quiet, but you couldn't describe it as comfortable. There was a ribbed blanket across the couch that had obviously been sat on by its dishelved look.

The TV was on but the volume had been lowered so much that you were better off listening to Billy's faint music from down the hall for entertainment.

Water rushed from somewhere on the other side of the house and the distinct slam of a door being pulled shut gave you the visual to what you were hearing. Your little brother, most likely. You'd seen him dip down the hallway like he was about to shit himself the moment Nancy exited the bathroom.

You shifted around, placing your backside agaisnt the counter as you found new things to look at. Languidly, you watched, senses picking out different things around the house to latch on to. The light green walls, the ugly brown patterns on the carpet, the hum of the refrigerator that, strangely enough, harbored no family photos, just magnets with various corny sayings.

Your eyes lingered on the fridge.

Everything here was simple. Blank like a fresh canvas of dry paint. Apart from the dishes left in the sink and the few items of clothing to be picked up off the ground, it felt oddly wrong for an occupied residence.

"Y/N?"

A shift in the environment rippled over your skin and something felt charged but not in a fearful sort of way. You're pulled from your small internal worry by the same woman from before.

"Billy hasn't come from his room all day, mind taking this to him?"

Susan's got a glass plate in her hand, slightly extended our towards you. It's filled at every turn with food she'd transfered from the tupperware after the ding of the microwave you hadn't quite heard.

That same gut feeling crawled up your insides again, but you blamed the way your throat tightened on the anxiety. Why it was something now and not earlier, you can't be sure.

But, if there's one thing you learned from movies and popular tv shows, it's never to interrupt the motherfucker when he's listening to rock. But, here's your excuse. So, with a small nod and the plate in your hand, you try to shake it all away.

Because the worst that could happen is you get your ass beat again.

Stepping up to the wood slated door gave your lungs a run for their money. It was as if all the air had been sucked from the atmosphere and the pressure collapsed the walls around you. Only breathing through your nose you shook the fear away with a raised fist to the door, clenched the plate in your opposite hand.

Bass rattled through the floor and past the wooden door, you're graced with the faint sounds of the guitar on the stereo. There were bits of vocals in the background, a baritone voice that spoke. And perhaps that was part of the appeal. Your fingers danced on the metal that resided at the entrance. It felt cool on your skin.

You knocked again after a few seconds. Nothing sounded on the other side of the door but you were still unsure if Billy could hear you above the music. Maybe he'd turn it down once his father returned from whatever place he'd ventured off to in the night. But you didn't exactly have that time to be waiting around, despite your own fathers late tendencies.

You took a moment to think if you should just leave the plate on the floor, let him pick it up, and try to call a ride. You exhaled quickly, shifting your balance onto your other hip.

Before you even touched the doorknob with a single digit, the music turned down significantly and suddenly the atmosphere was more intense than you'd anticipated.

Which, was the new normal.

But, still.

Things felt off. The pressure in your bones caused your limbs to rise upward, to defend yourself, to at least put yourself in some position that wouldn't leave you open to attack.

For what?

You didn't know.

Because all Billy did was peer up at you from the crack in his door. Nothing significant yet his stare was nothing less than striking. Those blue things could put the oceans to shame, rivaling even the sky in its vivid colors. They were a mirror.

They shifted to the food, briefly. Then immediately returned back to you as the speaker could barely emit its sound.

You watched as the boy straightened, sighed and then opened the door wider, leaving the frame unguarded as he trailed off into his room.

The door held open but his gaze disappeared into the space on his mattress, and the music lowered a touch, no longer loud enough to break the door from its hinges but loud enough that Billy had to raise his voice over it to be properly heard.

You took a cautious step forward after staring at the boys backside, his attire didn't leave much to imagination but his half nude state was the least of your discernment seeing as one, you were fashioned the same way and two, Billy Hargrove was wordlessly inviting you into his room.

You thought maybe this was some kind of trick, a ploy to get you cornered, so your eyes danced over him in brief, consistent glances as you proceeded forward.

He was sitting by his window, a cigarette stuck between his two fingers as he silently stared off into the the darkness the world outside offered.

It was strange. Seemingly off guard as he propped the knee of one leg against the window, giving a free range to his left to lean. Hair swept over the shoulder to show part of his sharp jawline, which dimmed only with each intake of the deadly nicotine.

The room was bland save for a few posters, white walls, brown dresser pressed against a corner and a night stand tucked at the opposite. Clothes were tossed about, either on the floor or hung up half assed on something that you could only guess as a proper hanger.

His nightstand was covered in trash and empty beer cans and you thought of shoving them away before deciding to place the plate on his bed instead.

You spared him a last glance after the action, perplexed by the fact he was just so— quiet. Which, was certainly odd to everyone at least within half a mile from here. Usually the moment you entered his space, his bubble, he erupted like an animal defending its territory.

You decided not to push your luck. Because right now, it felt like the deadly cat across the African plains simply hadn't noticed you. And so your steps were as carefully placed as they had been when you entered. It was almost relaxing despite the looming feeling from the boys demeanor.

Billy felt a wave, a sort of ripple through the air as the presence of another remained in the room. He didn't bother to speak, only raised the unlit cigarette to his lips in a curious manner and took an unsteady puff, letting the wind carry the smoke out the screen. There was a storm, one he had sensed earlier but was hard to make out amongst the many things that had clouded his mind with anger.

Luckily, the only thing he could blame his outburst on earlier this morning was exhaustion, a clear sign of his lack of sleep from the night before which would easily explain his half dead posture and irritability that had pissed off nearly everyone around him.

Another explanation for his hideout in his room but one you couldn't quite understand.

You neared the exit when the floorboards creaked just as they had before and you almost wanted to freeze in your place. Like the cat would come pouncing now, mauling you to death.

"Not gonna make a show of it?" Came Billy's voice, it was low and calm but you caught the slight strain of it. As if he needed a clear of his throat to even be fully heard.

"A show of what?" You cast a glance over your shoulder, brows knit.

The blonde gestured with his lips, the subtle shift in his elbow drawing attention to the stick of tobacco. "I was waiting for some goddamn spectacle, L/N. "

"I don't know what you're talking about, Billy. " You sounded exasperated already and you stepped over a black shirt with a design you couldn't quite decipher from its crumpled up state. You made sure not to add anymore scratches to the ground and turned around, placing your back firmly against the door frame.

Billy's muscles became tense with the new body turned on him and he felt the wave again, the stirring of new energy entering the atmosphere.

But you had simply done so so that your back wasn't uncomfortably to him when you left.

"Whatever. " Was all Billy seemed to say before shutting you out, shoving that fucking piece of shit plate away from him. And in the split second your brain focused on how fast food was supposed to get cooled and not nearly three seconds after swallowing his cancer stick Billy must've caught the attention of the devil himself.

There was no denying the jagged yell, the shuffling in his voice like someone was gripping his head and holding it under water. You jumped away, eyes as wide as saucers as Billy's bedroom door flung open, smacking the adjacent wall with a loud slam that nearly cracked the plaster from the force.

And yet, his voice was a lot less louder than his grand entrance. "Hey, shit face. Why don't you make yourself useful instead of sitting around all day, having our guests, " he gestured to you, "bring you your own fucking food. "

You moved a step back, almost tripping on your own footing from your struggle to balance yourself without the solid sense of feeling. Your eyes darted frantically between the two people within your viewing distance, and you could barely make out Susan a few feet away who had her hand clasped on Max's shoulder.

She was ushering her daughter to their bedroom but Max refused, and the red head stood beside the door with a wary look.

"Get up. And give him a ride home. " Another gesture to you and when you looked towards the entrance of Billy's room again Neil was taking up the entire frame.

"That's really not–" You began but stopped as both of the parents turned to look at you with an appalled look. It was nothing personal but you doubted Billy even knew where you lived and the only time you ever rode with him was pervious to when he'd beat your ass.

"My dad–" You tried again.

"He won't answer the phone, much less pick you up. " Susan jumped in, though the hesitation on her voice made you doubt if that was her plan all along. "Your brother got a ride with the Henderson's. "

"Put on a shirt, stop acting like a balless queer, and go. " Again Neil thrust a drawn out, mocking tone, like his son couldn't comprehend basic sentences and he stepped out of the way to make room for your departure.

Billy's got a storm brewing in his expression and there was one moment where his eyes met yours and you were sure you'd drown in all the hate there was.

You didn't get a chance to argue about the amount of time it would take to get there and about how you would manage on your own. In fact, something in Max's eyes told you it'd be better not to. So you pressed your lips against each other as Billy grabbed his keys and pushed past you.

You watched Billy stalk past everyone, a gruff 'Yes, Sir' leaving his lips that you almost hadn't heard as he passed his father.

You exited the room shortly after, not sparing Susan or Neil a goodbye as you gingerly took your shirt from Max's hands.

She made a comment, something quietly spoken that not even your heightened hearing could make out over Billy's obnoxious slamming of the front door that he knew he would pay for later. You watched the young girl as she returned to her room.

Silence welcomed you when you first stepped into the driveway, stretching across the cement with a sense of uncomfortablity that didn't seem to fade as you entered the car and were met with a chilling quiet.

Billy didnt look at you as his ignition roared to life, nor did he speak to you as he pulled out the drive way. He stared ahead, chin down as he leaned just slightly forward, supporting an arm on the side door, palm rubbing soothing circles into his temple.

He was going 20 above the speed limit. You assumed you two were trying to get as far away from the house as you could. But, the further into the neighborhood you went, the lower the numbers on the radio dropped and the more the car filled with quiet music.

Hargrove was completely out of it, lost in some other space where you weren't welcome. And the car had filled with a tension you doubted he'd meant to cause, but given his current mood, you didn't think he could avoid it either.

Despite this, you chose to press yourself against the door with a turned head, the muscles in your body growing taut with discomfort the more you tried to make it seem as if you weren't even of existence in the passenger seat.

You wanted out of the car.

That much you could draw from your mind when you found that the speedometer was at 55 and increasing.

"Billy. " You tore your gaze from the meter, flickering over the silent boy who was intent on looking only at the road ahead.

No answer. His jaw was tightened and set. There were lines buried in the skin.

"Billy. " Your voice held a certain firmness that he didn't quite like.

Silence still and he tightened his grip on the leather, knuckles turning white. The streetlights were getting ready to cast those obnoxious eyes and like a perfect chain of events the little hairs of a certain song burst from the speakers.

His hand, fast with anger, whipped across the volume dial, ceasing the tune and replacing it with the rumble of the engine.

An inhale, then a single word. "What. "

Somehow you think that's the opposite of an answer. It's barely a question. With the tone of voice he held he shouldn't have phrased it that way because he clearly didn't want to know what you had to say, what you thought.

"Stop the car. I'll walk. " It was simple enough and on any normal occasion Billy might've done just that rather than wasting his gas on you. But tonight was different, and Billy, seemingly fueled by his own agitation, just blew past the stop sign and sent the speed at which the Camaro rolled up with you at dangerous levels.

The car vibrated lightly beneath you, air whistling as you tore through the neighborhood at an alarming rate.

"Oh for fucks sake. " It was a mutter to yourself because you hadn't exactly expected the boy to be cooperative but you didn't think you'd be forced to jump out of a moving car again. Yet, here you were; gripping the handle, poised like a god damn animal, eyeing the road as you built up your goddamned gallantry.

You didn't catch the surprise on Billy's face when he noticed you push the door open against the harsh winds.

Fuck it.

You fell with ease and with a soft oof! your limbs were somehow able to stand the blow rather than becoming mangled chunks of meat against the pavement. You could hear the car skidding to a stop five houses down as you took a moment to roll around in your own pain.

Your shirt had rode up on your torso, back pressed against the heated road as your skin made contact with the tar. You had a few scrapes along your spine, one over the delicate hip bone. And you were pretty sure the road had peeled the skin on your forearm all the way down to the elbow but hey, at least it wasn't your fucking face.

A few drops of blood gathered on a pebble directly to your right. Your nose gave a sharp twinge of pain.

"Dick. " You said that in regards to him, for every aspect of his personality. Because Billy Hargrove was what others considered a giant dick.

If you hadn't suspected it before you were sure when you heard the wheels start to turn again, the shift of a gear springing the Camaro back to life. And then footsteps, louder than the car itself, were slapping against the asphalt.

"Are you out of your fucking mind!?" You raised your head, eyes coming to focus on Billy's very fucking pissed form towering above you. Arms crossed defensively, face twisted with irritation as he glared down at you with something close to— well it looked a lot like anger but Billy only knew one of three emotions and that was definitely not concern.

"Fuck you. " You managed through a puddle of blood in your mouth that you promptly spit out, only having realized it was there the moment it began forming bubbles when you tried to speak.

Billy's voice stuttered in reply. "What the fuck is your problem? Do you want to fucking kill yourself or something?! "

"Better than death by fucking vehicular manslaughter on the account of Billy fucking Hargrove. " You muttered, hands pressing into the road to give you leverage when you attempt to stand up. Your body immediately yells a no to this action and you lay right back down on the road.

"What?" Billy is completely distraught in the sense that his brain has seemed to burst due the sheer incomprability of your actions.

"Oh I don't know, Billy, maybe the next time I feel like killing myself I'll call you and we'll go a hundred miles an hour off the fucking side of a cliff. "

The boys eyebrows were nearly touching his hairline as he stared at you.

"Watch me die like an old school movie where they're surrounded by bubbles and colors and shit. "

You spit the last remnants of blood from your mouth and Hargroves face ran red and blue. "Can you fucking shut the fuck up and get up already before anyone sees you. " He demanded, practically dancing around your form. Arms stretched out with a stance that reminded you very much of a gymnast.

"No. No. I think I'll lay here for a sec. " You roll onto your backside, a groan in your voice, arms folding over your body, posed like a corpse.

Billy stops in his antics and stares at you incredulously. "Are you serious?"

"Very serious, yes. " Your voice almost comes out like a sigh.

Billy reels, and if it wasn't for the fact your eyes were sealed shut now, you'd be able to see the absolute bewilderment of the teen as he stood there in the middle of the empty street. Arms half poised over you but not touching your form. As if he didn't know what do with you.

"...Get up. " He demands, standing straight again, his hands on his waist. This time he's not commanding you in that cold manner. There's a little rise to his voice like he's beginning to lose his patience, his forehead furrowing with anger.

You take another few moments to enjoy the silence. You swear you hear a cicada or something squeak from a window sill nearby and the air felt cooler than it has in weeks. Until it all becomes overbearing and your chest burns from a lack of oxygen. You didn't even realize you were holding your breath.

You open an eye to test the waters.

Billy's scowling now, a hand on his hip and the other resting across his forehead in disbelief. At you or the situation, you weren't entirely sure. Both you imagined. But there was a certain look on his face like he was ready to pull some kind of theatric, a reaction, throw a punch to knock some sense into you but ultimately decided against it.

"Where do you live?" He asked the question in such a manner that you couldn't help but be wary of his intentions.

"...Why?" You asked, the caution obvious in your voice. As he loomed over you like that... it wasn't doing a whole lot of trust building.

You almost hear the growl of frustration from his throat as he began rocking on the balls of his feet, hands swinging like he wasn't able to grab hold of something. "So we can fucking go. Before someone calls the fucking cops. "

You still hesitated.

"Before I fuck you up so hard they'll have to identify you by your fucking sperm. " Okay there were his threats. But they lacked the substance of his normal demeanor. He didn't seem overly angry like he typically did but still, his body gave some kind of look as though he couldn't quite will himself to control the way it trembled with adrenaline.

"Nice one, but you're not my type. " Another bite and a second of Billy looking absolutely befuddled as he tried to keep his voice down. His glare had weakened but only because he was taken off guard, and his cocky expression fell to a tight line.

You watched as he took a moment to look around the empty street. The lights weren't too bright so you couldn't make out that typical, telltale flush of his skin that you've grown accustomed to in his anger.

Your eyes flickered across his face, scanning every inch like a beacon. Curiously, you looked at him the same way he always did. Maybe you'd find some sort of answer hidden somewhere behind his icy blues.

The look on his face was strange. Pensive.

"Get up, Y/N. " An even voice this time. Calming maybe. And to think, all it took was a slightly gay comment in order to simmer the violent bastard.

You half wondered where the fag-bashing erratic moron went. Maybe he'd packed his bags and runaway. You could hope.

You did more than that infact, you put that right there on your bucket list, and with a frown, more for yourself than anything else, you looked away from the boy above you.

"Fine. Alright. " Your movements were stiff with pain as you moved to push yourself up by the palms of your hand, your arms trembling beneath the weight. The skin on your hand and forearm burned with a stinging sensation.

Billy watched at your pathetic attempts, a sneer or two on his face but he didn't seem to offer much help until it'd all get too pathetic and he had to reach out and aid you.

"Idiot. " His lip curled as his palm met yours, his fingers holding onto the back of your hand tight as possible.

You stumbled slightly upon becoming fully upright, teetering against Billy for a moment as you took a minute to regain your ground.

"Yeah, well whose fucking fault is that. " You've developed a lovely habit of hissing through your teeth with an unnecessary amount of spite. You're surprised Billy hasn't knocked you on your ass and left you for dead by now.

He scoffs, trying to put as much distance between the two of you while still having your arm linked through his, helping you along. To the ignorant eye, you suppose this would look platonic enough but anyone that knew the two of you well would certainly think otherwise.

Billy's all rigid limbs and stunted movements. Even when you'd finally started to walk on your own and your grip on his arm began to slack, he held firm with a grip like a vise.

And by the time you're at the passenger's side, he's shoving you into the seat and you nearly knock your head on the top of car.

You didn't bother giving a remark when he practically seethed through his teeth, slamming the door in your face. He strode around the car like a man on a mission.

"If you go more than 5 over the speed limit—" You felt the warning die on your tongue when you saw the look of pure anger etched onto Billy's face.

"You'll jump out. Yeah. " His hand came down on the shifter. "Got it. "

There was a part of your brain that you didn't recognize that was screaming in terror, completely and totally convinced you were going to die tonight at the hands of the ever brooding Billy Hargrove.

But much to your surprise, Billy maintains that 5 mile leway the entire drive home even when there's barely a car in the streets. He hadn't muttered a single word since throwing his angry body in the driver's seat.

Instead, he'd cranked up the music all the way as if it'd some how compensate for the lack of speed and conversation, not that there would be much to say anyway.

You hadn't bothered looking at him. He hadn't bothered looking at you. But somehow, in one way or another, the feeling as if you were watching each other was even more abundant in the silence.

Whatever hostility had remained from Billy's mood in the first half of the night had receded back into his depths for later. Though the occasional frown on his face never quite leaves no matter what, his eyes are softer now.

And by the time he's pulling into the dirt driveway of your home, the soft beams of amber and yellow from the streetlights dimly hitting half his face, there's no sign of anger or any real semblance of emotion. It's oddly quiet, and the only thing to really speak up was the steady rumble of the engine.

"Thanks. " You beckon quickly and with reluctantance as you awkwardly grabbed at the door handle, trying to turn as quickly as you could while still maintaining balance. Anything just to get out of his car and away from the guy.

"Y/N. " He voices and the moment you pull at the handle you come to find it's resistance. A dull tingle shoots up your spine and the hair on the back of your neck raises with tension.

You turn, facing the teen who kept an unconcerned façade. He was a calm still pond with blue eyes flickering like small waves in the face of a strong wind, and although most times they were ice and snow that held such a cold, unforgiving passion of arrogance, there were times they were the ripples of a breeze.

Now was one of those times.

"Don't go around pulling fucking stunts like that. "

That was definitely closer to a warning than anything else that had come from his lips the entirety of the night.

"This is coming from the guy who beat my ass into the concrete two months ago. " And at this point, you were too exhausted to be filled with spite for the boy.

His posture falters and not just figuratively. There's a shift to the way he's sitting but the flicker of his eyes remains. Even with you half turned, his stare remained. In fact, it seems to have gotten all the more intense.

"What's it to you anyway? " The way he tilted his head might have been endearing in another life. Now, it seemed to hold meaning, the way a predator stalks its prey with such observant behavior before sinking its teeth into its jugular.

His gaze on you could have bored into your brain, much like a drill for how quick your defenses seemed to start dissolving.

He'd always looked at you like this. Whether or not you caught his eyes on you was by chance.

In class, in the halls, it was all the same to him. He'd get one look and that was about all it took. He'd stare with the attention like an interrogation, as if trying to decode some secret behind your stature, trying to pick you apart bit by bit with those watchful baby blue's of his. And if there was no easy route to doing that he'd dig his little meat hooks into you until there was.

You were all he'd focus on. Not you in particular. More so the idea of you.

Whatever that meant.

Of course the only instance Billy looked at you without fail, hard looked at you like the blue was about to spill out of his eyes and swallow you up like a tsunami, was when he was a little tipsy or riled up with heat and fury. But like most of Billy's emotions, they were very intense. Too intense for something as simple as just a fucking stare. It almost gave you the illusion of a dangerous threat that made your skin buzz with goosebumps, your nerves rattling in their sockets.

He was doing the same now, except, the only difference was that he wasn't pissed faced or smoldering with alcohol this time. In the confines of his car, beneath the yellow white shine of the nearby street lights, he couldn't tear his gaze away even if you begged.

Billy was the sort of thing to stop you mid thought when you glance and feel your limbs freeze, suddenly petrified with all this uneasiness and sudden confusion as to why there was only one sort of definition to put on why you felt such things whenever his presence was met with a hundred paces of distance.

"I..." He starts but his voice falls flat. Something beyond frustration, something between anger and concern. The sort of look that told you he was working something out in his mind. Or he just couldn't find the proper word choice that didn't end in an f-bomb at the end of his sentence.

He's still staring, his eyes flickering back and forth between yours, like a candle wick in the night. Wavering. Stuttering. Inconsistent uncertainty.

Like he's just asking for guidance to fill his barren vocabulary, the words never existing like an undiscovered civilization in his brain, unable to conjure up the sort of speech that would get him what he wanted.

An abrupt sense of panic washed over you. You inhaled sharply and you didn't let the breath go until your next move was placed in front of you like a chess piece on the board and you couldn't take the time to think out any future moves on your part.

All of your attention was pulled to him, focused entirely. The way he moved, the way he breathed, it left a tingling feeling trailing behind him like some faint breeze of emotion.

Everything stilled, it was him and you. Him. And you.

And he's just looking at you like that. Mouth halfway opened and the noise of shallow heavy breaths were the only sounds falling from his lips while he's looking at you all wide-eyed, like some fresh-faced virgin whose never seen one in person before.

You cursed yourself. Cursed the wind. Cursed the ground. Cursed Billy and his stupid face. And every corner of his stupid car and everything else about him. You can curse the sun but that'd probably be a step too far. Especially the moment you met those watchful pools of sea foam.

Fucking Billy Hargrove and his stupid, fucking car and his even more stupid...

Lips.

Lips and teeth.

Teeth, pale pink lips.

Blue eyes, long lashes.

Stupid fucking curly hair.

The sort of curly where it always managed to get you by the tips, tangling its brambles in your fingers and refusing to let go.

Which is why the second Billy made a small noise– not even really a noise, it's a breath. A single exhale that hits your nose, hits you the way nothing has before, and it causes a wave of heat to wash over you, overtaking your senses.

You grab those curls, your fingers entwine them and his breath is alot heavier, alot hotter as his hands grip tightly onto your shirt, like he's a frightened child.

His lips are wet.

He's messy.

Sloppy.

Like he's never kissed before in his life. Lips that keep moving, and his tongue is too sensitive, too eager.

Every sharp inhale of breath reeks of sweat and chlorine.

There's no time to stop and make sense of the situation.

He's scrambling over the middle console, desperate hands gripping on your collar and in any other scenario, this would've been the step before he plummeted his fist into your face. But there's hardly anything suggesting that. At least not without the time to see the tiny trail of tears lining Billy's eyes, glossing his cheeks.

He tastes as he looks. Like liquid gold with his tongue rubbing against yours in a hot mass of burning motion. And any semblance of a rational train of thought was chucked out the window.

There was enough room in the front seat for a teenage boy and then some. Billy Hargrove was not such a teenage boy. There was barely enough room to shift and breathe and wriggle around in this half straddle.

You can faintly hear a heavy car pass over a mound in the road, an off balance tire or perhaps someone forgot to inflate it and the uneven troll on the road, not entirely deafening, but it's there. And Billy hears it and he jumps from you, leg grazing the shifter, head knocking into the top of the roof.

His ears are steaming red as he all but falls into the driver's seat, face flustered and hair slightly disheveled.

He's looking around like a wild animal caught in a trap and he can't escape, eyes flickering back and forth; from the gearshift all the way to the rear view mirror and then to your face.

Pupils shot open, dark and wide, and a hand coming up to press on his forehead, eyes squinting.

"Billy‐ " It's a start, but it doesn't stay long enough to be deemed a full sentence, not with his name lingering on your lips while you try to swallow down the heat in the pit of your stomach. Billy's looking at you, breathing heavy.

"Get out. " He mutters forcefully, the lock clicks open and when his hand comes up to rub across his face, it's shaking.

"Billy. " More insistent this time.

He looks a few shades redder than when he was before, his head snaps back to meet your stare, hair curling beneath his ears in a gentle mess, curls threatening to fall into his face.

"Get out!" His voice pitches, breaks into something close to a sob and Billy swings his arm wildly, fist connecting with the steering wheel and there's a loud honk as a warning before he shouts again. "Get the fuck out, you fucking faggot!" His voice reverberates across the entire neighborhood, shattering your ear drums in the process.

There's dogs barking from far away, probably due to the horn.

You hesitated but only for a moment before swinging the door open, just barely missing the opportunity to knock the shit out of your leg by the time Billy decided to slam down his foot on the pedal. The door shuts fast. The car speeds off before it has the chance.

You watched him drive away, with just as much intensity as the boy inside the car watched you in the rearview.

As your house began to shrink away into the distance, and the glare of the car grew smaller and smaller. You could hardly see those searing blue eyes the way you did in class. Though this time, instead of a look of hatred or scorn, it was one of fear and dread.

And maybe, just maybe, if there were more light shining on his face, it would reflect a thousand scenarios playing on his cheeks. Not that you would've been able to tell from all the way out here.

"Fuck. "

[camaro-and-smokes]

Nightmares

Chapter 6: Eddie

No warnings for this chapter. Just some more good old angst (honestly this whole fic is angst, don't know why I even bother to point it out lol). Notes: It seems that I'm able to get out a chapter every three months... Well, it's more than no chapters at all I guess :D Moodboard by the ever so talented @a-redharlequin 💜

Read on AO3 >>

Summary: The morning before Eddie is leaving for the hospital for his treatment is gloomy.

::::::::::

For once Eddie didn’t have any nightmares. It wasn’t as if they’d suddenly magically disappeared but because he couldn't sleep the whole night. Even though he was sleeping between Billy and Steve. Usually he slept there like a baby, but tonight all he could do was to try to memorize how their breathing sounded like when they slept, what it felt like to press his nose into Billy's neck or how Steve's chest hair tickled when he pressed his cheek against it.

Though he knew he wasn't the only one who was not sleeping well from the way Billy kept tossing and turning. Eddie wanted to calm him, to hug and assure him that he was still here without waking him up. But he knew better than to hug Billy in his sleep, though. What was Eddie's loving hug in real life, in Billy's dreamworld it might be the suffocating squeeze of the mind flayer—and Billy might act accordingly, fight it to teeth and nails. So, Eddie hoped that his body pressed against Billy's and his nose buried into Billy's curls was enough.

“Can’t sleep?” Billy asked a moment later with a hoarse voice.

“No.”

Billy turned around and on his other side, nuzzling his head under Eddie’s jaw, and Eddie wrapped his arms around him.

“You know…” Eddie started.

“Mmh?”

“About the other day. The music.”

Billy was quiet.

Eddie felt a sting in his chest because he knew that Billy was hurting because of what he’d said. “I was having a bad day. Didn’t mean it like that.”

Billy still said nothing.

“I’m sorry, peaches.”

“I get it,” Billy whispered after a while.

Eddie felt something wet on his chest. Tears. “Fuck,” he whispered, the guilt squeezing his chest. He pressed his lips against Billy’s forehead, hardly able to hold back his own tears and hugged him tighter. “Oh, peaches. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was an idiot.”

For a while Billy just sniffled and Eddie just hugged him, tight, holding on for dear life.

“It’s not just that,” Billy whispered when the tears had eased.

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie whispered, carding Billy’s hair with his fingers.

Billy pulled back and looked at Eddie in the dim light of the night light, examining his features and sliding his finger over Eddie’s nose, lips and chin.

Eddie usually bit the finger by the time it reached his lower lip, causing Billy to yelp, him tickle attacking Billy, one thing leading into another…But today the crease between Billy’s brows was deep and his eyes were sad—and Eddie didn’t feel like teasing Billy either, so he just smiled. “How did I get this lucky?” he asked instead, from no one in particular. “Because I wonder that each and every day.” Now he was the one who couldn’t hold back the tears.

Billy curled his arm around Eddie, and they held each other as they both shed more tears.

Eddie could feel Steve stir behind his back.

He turned around, pressing himself against Eddie and his cheek against Eddie’s neck “Hey, what’s going on?” he asked quietly.

“Mutual pity party,” Eddie tried to lighten up the mood.

“Why wasn’t I invited?” Steve asked as he rubbed his cheek onto Eddie’s neck and snaked his arm between Eddie and Billy.

Eddie knew it was a joke, but it still stung. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Steve whispered.

“As if.”

“Eddie, come on,” Steve scolded him gently, hugging him tighter and sighing. “What if it all works out? What then? All pity partying for nothing. Imagine that. All the wasted sobs and feeling sorry for ourselves…”

Eddie snorted. “Okay, I get it.”

Steve pressed his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck. “Since it seems where all up, maybe we should go for breakfast. What do you think?”

“Sounds good,” both Eddie and Billy confirmed.

Eddie was slumped in his chair, his head pillowed on his arms, observing Billy and Steve who were going about the usual morning routines; Billy by the stove, Steve filling the coffee maker and putting slices of bread into the toaster.

Boring everyday life with his boyfriends. For so long he’d taken this as given, and now he would give a lot to have this moment last just a little bit longer.

Billy was making Eddie’s favorite, scrambled eggs and bacon. It wasn’t that Billy didn’t make it every day anyway, but today there was something different about it. It felt like a last meal, and Eddie didn’t like the notion. In fact, he hated the way his brain concentrated only on the cons of the operation he was about to go through, how he didn’t seem to be able to see the good things it would bring. He was terrified of the whole thing, so he figured it was that why he was so concentrated on what could go wrong instead of what could go right.

When Billy started piling up food on their plates with a smile, Eddie’s gloomy thoughts eased a little.

There was shuffling in the corridor, and they all turned to look at El walking in. “Morning,” she said with a weary smile.

“Slept well?” Steve asked as he went to the cupboard, taking out one more plate.

El nodded and sat next to Eddie on the table. “How are you?” she asked him.

“Hanging on,” Eddie replied.

“It’s going to be alright, I know it.”

“Yeah. Everyone keeps saying that.”

“It’s true. I can feel it. Here,” she said with a smile, placing one hand over her heart and grabbing Eddie’s hand with the other.

Eddie felt the by now familiar lump gathering to his throat. All he could do was to nod and squeeze her hand. It wasn’t that he normally didn’t trust El’s premonitions, this time it was just…too close. Too real, for him. Everyone was right about needing to stay positive, he knew that, but…

“Hey, Bambi,” Billy said as he pushed a plate of eggs, bacon and toast in front of Eddie, “snap out of it and eat.”

Eddie let out a laugh and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Trust you to keep it real.”

“Just want you to stay in the moment, baby,” Billy replied and brushed Eddie’s cheek with his hand. “’s all we have.”

Steve poured them all cups of coffee and handed out sugar to El, then took out milk from the fridge and splashed it into his own. Billy and Eddie took theirs black.

The atmosphere around the table was gloomy. No one clearly felt like talking, so they munched their breakfast, everyone succumbed to their thoughts.

Finally El broke the silence. “So, Billy, what do you need me to do while I’m here?”

As if they hadn’t figured that all out already before, Eddie thought. But talking it through again was better than sitting in silence.

“Well, driving Steve around, I guess. Help with the groceries. Make sure I remember to take my meds,” Billy said. “Helping if I have a bad day. Going with me wherever I need to go outside the house. That kind of stuff. Just aiding with whatever I might need. I won’t let you touch the stove though,” he continued, grinning towards the end.

“Okay,” El said with a smile. “And what about you, Steve?”

“Uh…well, basically with everything Eddie does. I mean, I will do my part, and help with whatever I can. But when the vertigo hits all of a sudden things get halted and I need to take a break.” Then Steve sighed. “And yes, driving me around, too. You better be ready at six am to drive.”

“I can do that.”

“And…” Steve started and looked at Eddie. “Keep reminding him that everything will work out and that he’ll be back to us. Alive.”

El nudged Eddie’s leg with her knee and smiled. “I can do that, too.”

They talked more about what Billy and Steve could use her help with. About laundry and in general making sure they always had what they needed. Normal everyday chores. Until Eddie would come back and as long as Eddie’s recovery took, both Billy and Steve kept emphasizing that. It made Eddie feel more confident that maybe everything was going to be alright in the end. Even if he maybe didn’t believe it as strongly as they did.

He had a good reason to be sceptical. All previous treatments, tried and experimental, even though always promising a lot, had been unsuccessful in actually healing him. They’d always fell back to just trying to reduce the viral load at least for a while, because nothing else had worked even that much in the end.

And now this would shut down the last bits of his of his own immune system. If this didn’t work, then no one knew if anything ever would again.

“Hey, Earth to Bambi, again,” Billy said, snapping his fingers in front of Eddie.

“Ah, what?” Eddie said, blinking and looking at Billy.

“You went all glassy eyed there for a moment. Don’t need you to go there.”

Eddie looked back at his half-eaten eggs, nodding and prodding them with his fork. “Sorry, I’m not really hungry anymore.”

Billy smiled softly and reached out his hand over the table to place it on Eddie’s. “’s alright, baby. We get it.”

After breakfast Billy and El were left to finish cleaning the kitchen while Eddie and Steve went to check on the last things Eddie needed to take with him.

There wasn’t much. He’d already packed earlier accordingly to Dr. Owens’ guidelines. There was no real need for his own clothes since he’d be in isolation for the first few weeks and was provided everything from the hospital. And he’d given Owens lists of what he’d want to do and listen to while in isolation.

+ + +

Owens’ face had been worth seeing when he’d gone through Eddie’s list for books he wanted to read and music he wanted to listen to. “You have quite a list here.”

“Yeah. If I can’t play, I can at least listen to music and read. Those are just the ones I haven’t read. Yet.”

“You read a lot?”

“Around 50 books a year. More or less. Haven’t kept count lately.”

“And the music…I haven’t heard of any of these before. ‘Symphony for Destruction’? Sounds quite menacing.”

“Well, that album is more critique about destruction than provocation to it,” Eddie replied with a tilt of his head.

Owens nodded without a word. After a while he said, “We’ll make sure we have all this when you come in. But you know, we can organize basically anything you want here, more than this.” He paused for a moment, smiling sadly. “It’s going to be tough as it is. We don’t want to make it any worse. We just need to disinfect everything early enough.”

Eddie looked at his hands. “Yeah.” Then he looked back up. “I’ll provide a list of all the things I could do while I’m here.”

+ + +

The mood was gloomy for the rest of the morning and during the quiet drive to the hospital.

Owens was waiting for them at the reception of the hospital. “Hello, Eddie,” he said, “and Billy and Steve. Nice to see you two again, too.” He was surprised to see El with them. His smile widened at the sight of her and he asked, “How are you, El?”

As they started walking towards the elevators, El nodded with a small smile. “I’m fine, thank you. Helping Billy and Steve while Eddie stays here.”

“Right. Well, that makes sense. How are your studies?”

“Alright. I’m getting the practical part covered with this.”

“Well, that’s good.” He looked at Billy and Steve. “You two are in good hands.”

“Um, could you walk us through the procedure once more?” Steve asked in the elevator.

“Sure,” Owens replied. “It’s quite straightforward. We administer the drug straight into the nervous system in a rapid succession. This might have a severe impact on the immune system which is the main reason we keep Eddie here during the treatment but of course because we need to see the drug also in action. Then we wait for the results. When Eddie’s immune system has recovered enough, he’ll be ready to go home.” Owens glanced at Eddie. “We hope that he can leave the hospital as soon as possible but it’s impossible to say at this stage when it could be. It could be in a week or then in a month or two. The drug is experimental and Eddie is unfortunately the first human Guinea pig.”

“So the results from previous stages have been promising?”

“They have,” Owens nodded with a small smile. He paused, clearly to choose his words carefully. “Let’s be honest here, because I know you all appreciate that. The results have been promising with rats but a human is a whole different animal. And Eddie isn’t having a cancer, he’s having a virus that’s been impossible to kill so far. But since this drug has killed some of the nastiest viruses as a side effect, we’re trying it on him.”

“Because there’s nothing to lose,” Steve continued while looking at Eddie to whom Billy was clutching. “How many rats survived the killing of the nasty viruses?”

“More than died. But not by much.”

A heavy silence fell over them for the rest of the way up to the research labs.

When they arrived in the floor and stepped out of the elevator, Owens turned to Eddie. “This is the final stop for the rest of you for now. It’s just me and Eddie from here onward. Eddie, are you ready?”

Eddie nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Billy had been tangled with Eddie the whole drive, both of them just wanting to be close to each other, and Billy had managed to remain without crying. But now the tears poured on his cheeks uncontrollably.

Eddie hugged him, running his other hand through his hair, pressing him against him as close as he could. And Billy returned the gesture. “Peaches,” Eddie whispered. “We’ll talk every day, alright? You can call me any time, day or night.”

Billy nodded into the crook of Eddie’s neck, letting out a quiet sob.

“I love you. You’re my everything. Never forget that,” Eddie whispered, meaning the words maybe even more than he ever had before.

Since Billy wouldn’t let go of him, Eddie gestured to Steve to join them for a hug.

“I’m going to miss you,” Steve said quietly as he wrapped his other arm around Billy and the other around Eddie’s waist. “We’ll come see you as much as they let us. All you need to do is fight.”

Eddie took a deep breath of both Steve’s and Billy’s scent. “I will,” he whispered back, tightening his hug on them both. “I love you both.”

“We love you too,” Steve said, pressing his lips against Eddie’s cheek.

It wasn’t a kiss exactly, but it was more than Eddie had ever gotten from Steve outside sex. It made the moment bittersweet. That it took this high a stake for Steve to finally show Eddie was important maybe in other ways too than just on a family level. He pulled back a little from Steve and looked at him, mouthing ‘I love you’.

Steve did the same, and it made Eddie feel bold enough to carefully lean towards him, his lips slightly parted, asking for a permission to kiss him.

Steve leaned in the rest of the way to meet Eddie’s lips.

Eddie melted from inside. There was no doubt in his mind that he couldn’t fight for this. Knowing that he didn’t have just a half of the deal waiting for him on the other side—but all of it.

[anintrovertwriter]

Embry Call imagine - Campfire

It was already nighttime when I got back to Forks, but just in time for me to get changed before heading to the res. Tonight was the  campfire night held by the ancients and I was invited by my boyfriend Embry. People like me, who were  not from the tribe, weren’t supposed to be here, but because I was Embry’s imprint I had the right to come. 

I was getting closer to my friends group, and Embry was amongst them. Sensing my arrival, he came to meet me. 

“ Hey

Hey baby, he said, holding me in his muscular arms. Everything okay on the road ?

Yeah, a bit of rain at the start, but that’s nothing new. But it was okay”

I just came back from  a conference in Seattle that I was really looking forward to and I couldn’t miss it under any pretext. This long day must have been tiring me, especially the three-hour ride my mom and I did, because I started to yawn. Which made him laugh as he joked 

“ Don’t you dare fall asleep during the stories! You’ll offend Billy and Sue.

I wouldn't dare ! I said,laughing.”

But obviously, the opposite quite happened..

We were all seated around the campfire, listening to the Quileutes legends, and were told by Jacob’s father and Sue, who took the place of her late husband at the council since poor Harry Clearwater passed away. 

Another particularity of this night was the presence of Bella. Jake took her and I was not the only “pale face” present tonight. It was Jake’s turn to protect her, because, as Embry told me, Edward was gone hunting to get some force before the upcoming fight. Which was getting me nervous. 

I went to say hi to her when I saw her coming. We were at the same high school and had the american literature class in common. We get along pretty well and I was happy to see her even if her relationship with a vampire and the pain Jacob was getting from it made me feel awkward. 

Even Though I knew the secret around the Quileutes and their transformation into wolves, and being Embry’s imprint, I never heard the legends of the tribe. This is why he took me there and I was delighted. The explanation due to their mutation related to the presence of their longtime enemy, the vampires of course, made me turn to see Bella, who was seated next to Jacob. Embry followed my gaze, chuckling, even though I knew deep down that he was simmering with hate towards these creatures of the night. 

However, when Billy Black mentioned the tense atmosphere in the area and the transformation of more and more young Quileutes, such as Leah or Seth and the fact that we got to be ready for whatever was coming made me quickly hold my boyfriend’s arm while hearing those words. The idea of the fight got me so stressed. He placed his hand on my thigh and gently kissed my forehead. 

He didn’t seem afraid, unlike me. I leant my head on his shoulder and he reassured me, or at least tried to, telling me in my ears that everything will be alright. But I couldn’t stop imagining the worst. My life without him will have no meaning. 

The more the legends were being told the more my eyelids were getting heavy. I did exactly what I promised myself not to, the tiredness of the journey to Seattle got the best of me. 

Those were Paul and Quil’s laughs who woke me up. Embry started to growl by way of disapproval but they still continued their teasing, calling us ‘lovebirds' '.

“ I really fell asleep ! Oh no !” I said, rubbing my eyes.

I gave an embarrassed side look to Sue and Billy and also to Embry because I really wanted to hear those stories. Just as he read my mind he told me 

“Don’t worry it’s no big deal that you fell asleep. They know you really wanted to listen, after the countless time you asked them to

Yeah but still…

 No worries, you’ll come back next time.” 

With this he took me in his arms as if I weighed nothing and carried me to his place, not without saying goodbye to his packlates. It was clear that I was fighting against sleep on the way, only to talk with my man. But I was so good and cozy, my body against his warm chest, him who did not fear the cold, unlike me. I closed my eyes  of contentment. 

“ We’re home my love”. He dropped me on his bed and helped me put my pajamas on, which was one of his shirts. It was way too long for me but it really did the job. There was his scent on hit, which made me think of home. He was everything to me, my home, my universe, my life. 

“ Are you going on patrol tonight?, I worried

No Sam gave me the night but I should go at dawn. But I’ll be back before you know it”

I only could make a “hum” in appreciation, my head against his torso and him stroking my hair, which only emphasized my sleep. 

“Stop this ! If not I will fall asleep baby”

Go to sleep, I’ll be back when you wake up and you’ll tell me about Seattle.”

I love you Em’, I said, kissing him tenderly and got back in my sleeping position, my head on his chest, his heartbeat bullying me to sleep. 

I love you too princess”

[kurokoros]

actually really messed up over the way that Steve Harrington is a character that's desperate to be wanted by someone and the narrative repeatedly punishes him for it. he's a very metaphorical and literal punching bag each season, but it's Steve so it's always a haha funny in hindsight moment or whatever trauma he goes through simply isn’t addressed afterwards.

like, it's implied that his parents aren't around much and/or they have an unhappy and unhealthy marriage (his mom has to follow his dad on business trips to make sure he isn't cheating, which happens often enough that his friends can joke about it). his friends sucked and he obviously didn't agree with or like some of the things they did, but at least they paid attention to him so it was something. he has a reputation for serial dating (or at the very least sleeping around) by the beginning of his junior year in high school. S1 has Nancy blow him off, lie to him, and then spend the night with Jonathan Byers in her bedroom, leading him to believe she’s cheating on him (and despite the audience knowing that’s not technically the case, there’s no denying that the scenes between Nancy and Jonathan were meant to imply romantic chemistry between them). in S2, drunk or not, Nancy is extremely cruel in the way she blames him in part for the death of her friend and calls their entire roughly year long relationship bullshit (which she never really apologizes for), after which she disappears for several days, leaving their relationship ambiguously over, only to show up again a few days later with the new boyfriend she spent over a year pining for. S3 he pours his heart out to Robin just to be rejected when there were totally different ways to work her coming out scene into the plot that didn’t involve spending x number of episodes hinting towards them as a couple just to pull a bait and switch for the audience. and then in S4 Steve is both insecure about his friendship with Dustin, who has more in common with Eddie than he does with Steve, and he has several different people telling him that he's still interested in Nancy and that she's also interested in him (Dustin, Robin, Eddie), only to have his heart kind of broken all over again when she goes right back to Jonathan. 

and that's emotional pain on top of getting beaten or otherwise attacked every season. though arguably justified, in S1 Steve is slapped, punched, and shoved around. during his fight with Billy in S2, Steve is beaten to the point of being knocked out cold for an undetermined amount of time between roughly 10-30 minutes. this is treated like a joke in S3, but considering the number of blows he took to the head there should have been a very serious concern over him having a concussion at best and trauma to the brain at worst. S3 is the same, but the focus on him feeling “like [his] eye is about to pop out” implies ocular trauma. he’s then drugged and nearly has his fingernails ripped off as a form of torture. finally in S4 his bare back is dragged across the ground, he’s strangled, and he has chunks of flesh ripped out of his sides, which I can’t remember being addressed at all after the group returns from the upside down. 

that’s a lot to go through in the ~2.5 years that Stranger things covers. and what’s worse is that I can’t remember a single time where a character asks if he’s okay

[feeder86]

Billy’s Bad Boy

“Good morning, Rob. The usual?” Billy asked with a smile, as his favourite customer waddled in: a giant, 450lb burly and handsome guy in his mid fifties, with a particular love of all Billy’s tasty treats.

“Yes please!” the greedy guy grinned, swallowing back saliva as he glanced at everything on offer. 

If Rob had been gay and twenty years younger, Billy would have been after him for sure. The guy was so friendly and charismatic; supporting Billy as he worked his way up from owning a little mobile take-out truck, to the large premises he now inhabited in the middle of town. It hadn’t been easy to get the business up and running, but there was clearly a gap in the market for tasty snacks in this town, and Billy was sure going to fill it. 

“Are you working out in this hot sun today, Rob?” Billy asked as he plated up Rob’s usual selection of cream-filled donuts. “You’d best have another one of these - on the house,” he winked flirtatiously at him as he put out another donut on the man’s loaded tray of food. “You’re going to need your energy!”

Rob smiled back, always enjoying the way Billy playfully flirted with him, despite Rob being happily married for thirty years. “You know, my pants don’t quite fit like they used to since I started coming here every day,” the big man joked, rubbing his large, deliciously rounded gut.

“Good! That’s exactly what I like to hear!” Billy nodded back. “You can buy new pants, but you can’t get donuts like mine anywhere else!”

Rob chuckled and mumbled in agreement. “Quite right,” he replied, handing over his card to pay.

“YOU NEED TO KEEP CONTROL OF THAT BOY OF YOURS, ROB PARRY!” shouted a sudden angry voice. “How can you live with yourselves? You need to put him on a fucking leash! He’s an animal! My husband’s car is a fucking wreck because of him!”

Billy turned and looked frantically at Fran, stood behind him, pointing an angry finger at Rob. “Fran!” he shouted, mortified that one of his employees was screaming at a customer. “Get back in the kitchen area, now!” he ordered.

Fran exchanged a few more bitter words at the man before she finally followed her instruction and slid back into the kitchen, every bit as angry as she had been when she burst out. 

“I’m so sorry about that, Rob. I’ll be having a word with Fran. There’s no charge today,” he offered apologetically, handing back the payment card. 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Rob countered, passing back his card to be charged. “My son’s been in trouble with the police again. I know he has a lot to answer for around here. He’s slowly becoming ‘Public Enemy Number One.’ Smashing up that car the other day is the least of it. Trust me, I’ve heard a lot worse than what Fran had to say in the last couple of years. I just don’t know what to do with him. I’m at the end of my tether.”

“Who is your son?” Billy asked, wondering why this was the first he’d heard about the renegade offspring. After all, Rob had been coming for donuts from him for a couple of years by now.

“Jensen Parry,” Rob sighed. “I’m sure you’ve heard the name about town before.”

“Jensen is your son?” Billy asked, hardly believing it. He certainly knew the name. Jensen had earned a somewhat notorious reputation for troublemaking, fighting and joyriding. Billy had been in the year below him in high school, before Jensen had been expelled in his final year, without graduating. There really was nothing about him that seemed in any way connected to Rob. Jensen was a smart-mouthed, arrogant jerk who worked his way from one bed to another with his pretty face and large-framed, overly muscular body; the bad boy that girls knew they should avoid, but never could; even if it was obvious to everyone that he was holding a one-way ticket to prison through all his wild antics.

“He’s not a bad lad,” Rob sighed. “He’s just a little lost. He hangs out with a rough crowd; guys he knows through his gym. But he’s always been easily led and he thinks his ridiculous behaviour is incredibly hilarious. I was exactly the same when I was younger; before I met my wife. I fell in love with her cooking and that was it for me!” he joked with a forced smile, whilst patting his oversized belly. “That’s all my Jensen needs; someone to love and calm him down a bit, in the same way my wife did with me.”

Billy nodded sympathetically at Rob. He couldn’t imagine how much stress it must have caused being the father of Jensen Parry. Despite Rob’s optimism, Billy was inclined to share the opinion of the rest of the town: Jensen was a lost cause.

A few weeks later, Billy was enjoying the opening night of the brand new bar across the street from his store. As a local entrepreneur, he was often invited along to events such as these, and he was more than happy to support local businesses where he could. The bar looked great, although the selection of alcohol on offer was perhaps a little mismatched with the clientele here in town.

“Jensen Parry has just barged his way in,” fretted the girl behind the bar, looking over Billy’s shoulder. “That’s the last thing we need on our opening night! I knew we should have hired someone on the door. He’s going to ruin everything!”

Billy looked back and saw the man they were so worried about, sneering as he looked around, knowing that he wasn’t invited. “Leave him to me,” Billy sighed after downing the last of his beer and standing up. Perhaps something was missing in Billy’s brain, but guys like Jensen didn’t intimidate him like they did most people. His parents had never been much use to him and so he’d learned the fine arts of charm and tact could get him a lot further in life than anything else could. It was how he had survived high school completely unscathed by guys like Jensen, and the reason why so many people came into his store on a regular basis. “Jensen! Hey, buddy!” he called out with his hand outstretched and ready to shake. “Long time, no see!”

“Do I know you?” Jensen asked; a little caught off guard by Billy’s friendliness; seemingly insulted by it perhaps.

“I was in the year below you in high school. But, trust me, buddy, everyone knew who you were!” he chuckled, patting Jensen on his broad back, as if congratulating him on a job well done. “You know, I was telling a friend of mine about the cafeteria stunt you pulled back in the day. She thought I was making it up! She didn’t believe a word of it!”

Jensen’s smirk was full of nostalgia and his suspicion of Billy seemed to be dissipating.

“Care for drink?” Billy asked. “I’d love to know how you did it.”

Jensen looked around, as if searching for a better offer, and finding none. “Sure. Why not?” he nodded, starting to head to the bar when Billy politely stopped him.

“Not here,” Billy whispered. “Shitty, overpriced cocktails are not really my thing. Let’s go somewhere we can get a proper beer.”

Clearly already a little intoxicated, Jensen nodded and started to leave the building, fine to go wherever in order to get a free drink. Billy looked back to see the girl behind the counter mouthing ‘thank you’ to him across the room; clasping her hands as if she had been praying.

Billy’s satisfaction at having lured Jensen out of the bar was soon spoiled by the fact that the security standing outside the next bar simply raised their hands and barred Jensen from entering. “You know you’re not allowed in here,” they explained gruffly. “Beat it!” 

Jensen hurled back a barrage of expletives and on they walked to the next place, where, unfortunately, the same thing happened once again. Billy cringed to be seen with such a loud and openly aggressive guy; no less than two hundred and twenty pounds of giant muscle and taller than any of the security folks. More than once he thought Jensen might start using his fists to get what he wanted. But, even so, Billy still wanted to play his part and keep Jensen from going back to the cocktail bar and spoiling their opening night.

“I know somewhere we can go,” Billy stated, forcing a smile onto his face. He led Jensen back along the street to the front of his store and opened the door. 

“This is your place?” Jensen asked, obviously surprised. 

“It sure is,” Billy nodded. “Take a seat.”

“My dad talks about this place all the time,” Jensen mumbled, taking his seat as instructed. “I think your donuts are the reason why he’s so fucking fat!” he laughed.

“I know your dad,” Billy smiled, heading into the back for a couple of beers. “He’s a funny guy. And as much as I would love to take credit for how big your dad is, I’m pretty sure he was already enormous, even before he started coming in here every day!”

Jensen accepted his beer and chuckled back. “Yeah, dad’s always had a sweet tooth!” There was a warmth in his eyes, as if he truly did love and admire his dad, despite everything he was putting him through. “Mom overfeeds him. He’s like one of those fat, spoiled house cats to her!”

“Well, thanks in part to your dad’s sweet tooth, this place is turning into a little goldmine,” Billy joked, clinking his beer bottle with Jensen’s as if making a toast. “I’m looking into opening another store a few miles away. Then I’ll be able to fatten up a whole load of other folks, just like your dad!” he chuckled.

Jensen seemed a little restless and he was taking his beer down in long, gulping strides. Before Billy would know it, he’d be finished and out that door; back harassing the rest of the town in no time at all.

“You want to try some of the stuff I sell?” Billy asked, trying to hide his desperation to keep Jensen where he was. He didn’t wait for a response before he got up and headed to the kitchen area. “These are the ones your dad likes best,” he explained, returning at lightning speed, holding a plateful of donuts. 

Jensen reached and took one, stuffing it into his mouth in the same way his father did. It was the first similarity between the pair of them that Billy had ever noticed. “So, how many calories are in these things?” Jensen asked suspiciously, taking his second helping.

Billy laughed to himself. “Oh… these things are absolutely PACKED full of calories!” he replied wickedly. “How else do you think I get them to taste so good? Just, keep it to yourself… I don’t want folks getting put off coming here! If they all gain a few pounds, that’s just too bad!” he teased.

“So you really weren’t kidding when you said you were fattening everyone up around here,” Jensen nodded with strange approval. Undeterred, he picked up the next donut and fed it into his mouth. Now that Billy was looking properly, the similarities between Jensen and his father really were quite striking.

Despite everything, Billy found that he had quite enjoyed his conversation with Jensen that night. After discussing school days, the conversation had turned to Jensen’s dad, since that was the only other connection they shared. It really seemed to Billy that Jensen looked up to his father in ways that most people wouldn’t be able to identify. And for that, Billy found that he actually quite liked the town’s ‘bad boy’ after all.

“How did Jensen’s court case go?” Billy asked a couple of months later as Rob came in for his morning coffee and donut.

“A suspended sentence with community service,” Rob sighed with relief. “We’re all so relieved the judge went so easy on him. Now he’s just got to keep his nose clean for two years,” he grumbled pessimistically.

“That’s excellent news!” Billy beamed, surprising himself with how much better he felt, knowing that Jensen wasn’t sitting in a prison cell right now.

“You’ve been a great help these last few weeks, you know,” Rob went on, looking with the utmost sincerity into Billy’s eyes. “He likes coming in here and having a chat with you. You’re one of the few people in town who actually bothers with him. It’s what he needs, you know; a level-headed friend. Not one of those stupid gym buddies of his. A bunch of jerks, every one of them!”

“Jensen’s a nice guy,” Billy nodded. “Sure, he’s made mistakes. But who hasn’t?”

“I’m glad you think so,” Rob smiled, looking around to see if anyone else was listening in. “Because I think you might be the key to keeping him out of trouble for the next few months.” With that, he reached into his deep pocket and brought out a thick wad of rolled up notes, passing them to Billy.

“Rob? What the hell is this?” Billy gasped, wanting to pass it back immediately.

“I know you give him free donuts and coffees when he comes in. You don’t have to do that and you shouldn’t be out of pocket because of it.”

“Well… that’s just… me being nice,” Billy mumbled. “But this is…” His eyes boggled at how much cash was in his hand still. “Rob, there’s no way he’s eaten enough for this amount of money.”

“No, I know that,” Rob admitted. “But the more time he’s in here with you, the less time he has out there, getting himself into trouble with the scum that he hangs around with.”

Billy tried to protest, but Rob was having none of it. And, not wanting to argue with his favourite customer, Billy eventually slipped the bundle of notes into his pocket with an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. Rob really was counting on him to help keep Jensen on the straight and narrow. However, that was probably going to take a lot more than just a few donuts and coffees.

“If I get this job, I’ll be able to start paying you back for all these snacks and coffees you give me,” Jensen smiled as he bit into his third donut of the day.

“If you get that job, you’re going to start paying back your mom for trashing her car first!” Billy laughed. “I love that you thought about giving me something, but these donuts cost almost nothing to make. You don’t need to feel guilty about having a few lousy treats.” 

The guilt of having so much money handed to him still weighed heavily on Billy’s mind. Two or three donuts a day didn’t seem enough to cover it all and he found himself upping his game on a daily basis; an extra coffee here, a milkshake there, with more added whipped cream,. But just the fact that Jensen was talking about the idea of holding down a steady job was such a huge step for him. Before, he had crashed from one employment to another, exhausting his dad’s many contacts within the construction industry until he was no longer welcome anywhere.

“How’re things going with that second store you wanted to open?” Jensen asked. “You’ll have a whole new town to fatten up with your treats soon!”

Billy smirked. He’d only been joking when he’d said that he was fattening up the neighbourhood, but Jensen had seemed to hang onto that idea as if Billy really was that wicked. Then again, perhaps he was, Billy chuckled to himself. “I’m still looking for the right premises,” he explained. “So, for now, I’m just going to focus on fattening up everyone in this town first,” he winked.

“That’s fine by me!” Jensen nodded. “One of the guys my dad works with says he’s gained thirty pounds since you opened up here.”

“Which one is that?” Billy asked, trying to think of the many construction guys he’d seen with Jensen’s dad.

“Steve. The younger one with short brown hair.”

“Oh, yes! I know who you mean,” Billy laughed to himself. “Yeah, that one is getting proper little man boobs and everything! He clearly doesn’t work out in a gym like you do and I get the impression that he’s fairly lazy in work; so of course it’s going to stick. But he orders the orange cream donuts and they really are VERY fattening indeed! Plus, I may occasionally slip him a couple of free ones, which partly explains why his ass has got a bit of width to it recently,” he joked. “I’m sure his wife wouldn't thank me!”

“The orange cream one? I don’t think I’ve ever tried that,” Jensen pondered cheekily.

“Coming right up!” Billy smiled with delight, pleased to offload as much as he could to relieve his conscience for all the money he had taken off Rob.

The more Billy’s business brain thought about the town, the more he realised that there were loads of opportunities for extending his menu with things that you couldn’t really get anywhere else: waffles, local ice creams, pancakes. There were so many ways he could expand his operation. He spoke at length about the ideas to Jensen who really was nothing if not encouraging.

“Are you still seeing that Bethany girl behind your friend’s back?” Billy asked disapprovingly. “You know it’s only going to cause a whole load of shit when he finds out?”

“She’s the one who always comes on to me!” Jensen smirked indignantly, thinking himself blameless. “Like I’m going to say no to a free blowjob?”

“She’s bad news!” Billy cautioned. “When it all comes out, there’s going to be a massive fight and her boyfriend is going to do his best to make you break your probation and have you sent off to prison. You know none of those guys from the gym really care about you. Is a quick fuck with Bethany really worth going to prison for?”

“You really don’t like my gym friends, do you?” Jensen laughed.

“Not one bit,” Billy replied honestly. “If I had one wish, it would be for you to walk away from those jerks down at the gym and never look back. It would be the best move you could ever make.”

Jensen sat back a little in his chair, raising his eyebrows at the idea of giving up his whole social group. “You really do give a fuck about me, don’t you?” he asked, a little thrown by how the conversation had turned.

“You know I do,” Billy nodded sincerely. “I just want the best for you.”

A small, playful grin came to Jensen’s face and he sat up again, as if he had had the most marvellous idea. “Tell me to quit the gym and I’ll do it,” he stated with a sudden rush of enthusiasm.

“Just like that?” Billy laughed sceptically.

“Yeah. Just like that!” Jensen nodded. “Go on. Tell me to quit!” he insisted, as if daring or seducing Billy in some way.

“Quit the gym then,” Billy relented. “Cut up your membership card and never see those meat heat buddies of yours again.”

Jensen sat back, looking pleased with himself. “Your wish… is my command!”

With the introduction of Billy’s new expanded menu over the coming weeks, Billy found he was playing host to Jensen more than ever before. It seemed, rather remarkably, that Jensen had been true to his word. He’d not been down to see his old friends at the gym once and there hadn’t been a single complaint about him in town.

“Whatever you’re doing, just keep on doing it,” Jensen’s father smiled, passing over far too much cash for his impromptu evening visit and spotting his son in the corner; his back turned and watching videos on his cell phone while nibbling on things that Billy had brought over.

“Rob, not that I don’t love having Jensen here, but is there anything you could do to help him find some work? He just sort of hangs around all day and I’m a bit worried that all this food is…” He looked across at Jensen just as he scratched his side, lifting his shirt and giving a glimpse of a fleshy, budding love handle.

“People won’t hire him because of how much he’s dicked around in his jobs in the past. It’s his own fault,” Rob grumbled unsympathetically. “And if you’re worried that he’s getting a little chubby - good! Just let him. His mother and I have no intentions of becoming grandparents anytime soon, so the fewer chances he has to get some crazy girl pregnant, the better!”

“But…” Billy tried, looking over again as Jensen started a fresh plate of food, biting in with as much gusto as his father.

Rob went back into his wallet and pulled out a few more notes of cash, stuffing them into Billy’s shirt pocket. “Trust me,” he whispered. “Just let this play out…”

Jensen’s body was changing. It was obvious to anyone that the guy had done steroids in the past to get his body so packed with muscle, but now that his gym had been taken away from him, he seemed to be softening up with quite remarkable speed. Billy had noticed the little love handles starting to sprout and the way his pecs were beginning to look ‘full’ rather than pumped. But there was also the slight puffiness to his face and the softening of his jawline and buttocks to think about too.

“How was that? Do you think it would work on the regular menu?”  Billy asked as he picked up Jensen’s plate.

“Very nice!” Jensen beamed. “I think it worked really well. Maybe just add a little more cream at the side though.”

“More cream?” Billy asked in surprise. Jensen really had inherited his father’s sweet tooth. “Okay, good suggestion,” he nodded unconvinced. “Do you want to try something a little more savoury now?”

“I’d love to,” Jensen nodded, going straight back to playing a game on his phone.

“He’s getting fat, that one,” Fran grumbled as she looked over at Billy bringing back Jensen’s plate. “Look at him! Sat there all day on his cell phone, stuffing his face. It couldn’t happen to a nicer person!” she sneered sarcastically. Billy could tell from her tone that she still couldn’t bear the sight of him, much like the rest of the town. “He’s going to end up just like his idiot father in no time.”

Billy tried to breathe a little deeper and calm himself down. He’d always loved chubby guys and hearing Fran comment on Jensen’s changing appearance, like she was doing, only seemed to be arousing a strange desire within him. “Bacon and cheese waffle for table eight, please” he ordered simply.

Fran looked straight over to Jensen again, sat on table eight. “Fuck me! Not more food? Hasn’t he got somewhere else to be?”

“Bacon and cheese waffle for table eight,” Billy repeated, not wanting to engage in any sort of conversation with her right then.

“Fine!” Fran grumbled, knowing that she and her boss would never agree when it came to Jensen. “I’ll feed the fatso!” she complained, starting to walk back to the kitchen area. “I’ll pile it up with that really greasy cheese; see how the pig likes that!”

Billy closed his eyes and took a second to breathe behind the counter. He was supposed to be helping Jensen turn his life around,and yet, his boner for him seemed impossible to quash of late. The guilt of taking money from Jensen’s dad and now these feelings of arousal; Billy started to feel like the most morally corrupt person on the planet. His eyes popped open as he heard Jensen’s chair scrape along the floor and he watched as the town’s bad boy took himself off to the bathroom; leading with a stout little paunch and displaying his wider, overly padded rear as the door closed behind him. He didn’t know where all this was going, but he suddenly felt like he had lost control of it entirely.

“How would you like a job in the kitchen of my new store?” Billy asked triumphantly. It was the perfect solution. Jensen needed a job, Billy wanted to help him, and it was the best way to keep the guy busy all day without overloading him on fat and calories. Getting him out of town was also bound to help the guy find himself again; away from the scornful faces and shady characters he had mixed with in the past.

“Seriously?” Jensen asked; his face lighting up. “You want to give me a job?”

“It’s yours if you want it?” Billy smiled.

“Yes! Absolutely!” Jensen beamed, suddenly getting up and enveloping Billy in a massive hug that quietly made Billy flush bright red with unwanted lust.

“It’s in Clinton though. You think you could make it there for your shifts? I know you’re not allowed to drive for quite a while still.”

“I’ll get the bus. And I’m sure my dad will help me out every now and then.” He was beaming from ear to ear and pulled Billy in for yet another hug. “I’m so glad I met you!” he smiled, never using his gruffer, defensive tone around Billy anymore.

“Well, I’m very glad I met you too,” Billy nodded, not making eye contact and looking for a way to retreat back to the kitchen before his erection pressed too firmly against his pants.

There was one major flaw in Billy’s plan. Outraged by the idea of Jensen working in the new store, Fran declared that she would have nothing to do with training him up to work in the kitchen. If Billy was going to put everything he’d worked so hard for at risk, she wasn’t going to be a part of it. And so, in the hours after the store closed, Billy had no choice but to invite Jensen in to show him how to prepare all of the deliciously fattening treats he had gorged on for the last few months. But if Billy had found himself aroused by Jensen as he simply sat down at the table to be served, having to stand beside him and see him from all those different angles was even more of a challenge. Perhaps it was because Billy knew Jensen’s father’s shape so well, he could see how Jensen’s body was swelling in an all too similar fashion. The extreme height, the awkward way his pants were starting to fit across his broad butt which had always been so tight and athletic looking up until a few months ago. Under his broad chest, it was undeniable that a firm-looking, rounded pot belly was beginning to push its way out, just like it must have done all those years ago on his father, before that monstrous ball gut had finally taken hold of him.

Jensen was a good student, listening carefully and taking it all in as Billy demonstrated some of the dishes. He completed one and Jensen would greedily offer to consume it while watching the next. Even the sound of his chewing and swallowing was getting to Billy as he tried his hardest to stay focused. Jensen had always been a large man, but it was so incredibly arousing to know that with each bite, the greedy boy was just going to get bigger… and bigger.

“Jensen is really excited about his new job,” Rob smiled the next day as he came in to order even more snacks than usual for all the guys working on a job not too far away. Billy knew that such a spending spree was the guy’s way of showing his appreciation.

“I think he’ll be great at it,” Billy replied. “And, hopefully it will get him up on his feet a little more than he has been recently.”

“Yeah, he’s starting to take after his old man!” Rob chuckled, rubbing his enormous gut as if he was proud of it.

“Well, maybe just a little bit,” Billy conceded, wondering why even this conversation was getting him aroused.

“His mom is worried about how fast he’s piling on the pounds, but I say leave him to it. I remember how exciting it was for me, back in the day, getting a belly for the first time. Jensen is just the same, I’m absolutely positive.”

“Exciting?” Billy asked, captivated by Rob’s use of the word.

“Oh, absolutely!” Rob nodded, passing over his payment card. “I think we’re just wired differently in our family. My father was the same, my two brothers, a few of Jensen’s cousins, his older brother. Let’s just say, he’s been around a lot of extremely fat guys his entire life.It’s not hard to feel a little envious at times.”

Billy had always wondered about his strange fascination in watching his customers slowly pile on a few pounds. He’d made a joke of it to Jensen more than once. But was it possible that someone could appreciate it from the other perspective as well. Was Jensen’s father right? Was gaining weight something that Jensen actively… enjoyed? 

Watching from a distance, Billy studied Jensen keenly in a way that he hadn’t allowed himself to in the past. He’d never noticed how often the guy’s hand reached down to rub his little tummy, or the way his face only seemed to get more and more excited with each item he ate. It also appeared, judging by the heavy sighing and strained pauses that came later on, that Jensen was in some way forcing himself to eat; as if the act of eating was no longer about the enjoyment of the taste, but a task that had to be completed at all costs.

“It looks like we’ve already got a good bunch of regulars,” Billy smiled after their first two weeks in the new store. “I think we’re a hit!” he declared, looking at the sales for the week whilst Jensen boxed up the last few items left over from the day. “Take those home with you,” Billy pointed at the leftover raspberry cream donuts which had not sold well all week. “They obviously don’t like them so much here. I’m taking them off the menu.”

Jensen’s piggish eyes lit up and he immediately grabbed one to take a large bite, nodding his head in appreciation, like he hadn’t eaten all day long. In truth, Billy had allowed him to consume as much as he wanted all day long; remembering the additional large bundle of notes the guy’s father had given him not so long ago. He’d ordered Jensen an extra-large work shirt with the company logo on, but already it was looking overly stretched across the almost constantly bloated stomach.

“Did you notice that blonde girl came in twice today? You know, the one I said was checking you out yesterday,” Billy teased playfully. She;d seemed like a nice girl: pleasant, well spoken and together; exactly the sort of girl Jensen needed. “I think she has a bit of a crush on you…”

Jensen shook his head. “No chance!” he chuckled between bites. “I have other priorities at the moment.” With that, he pushed the remainder of his donut into his mouth and prepared the next one ready, while his other hand gently rubbed his stomach, as if soothing it. 

“Oh yeah?” Billy asked curiously. “And what priorities are these?”

There were a few moments of quiet as Jensen chewed and swallowed the oversized piece that he had put into his mouth. “I’m just focusing on improving myself at the moment,” he answered.

“Does that include giving yourself a sixty-five inch gut like your dad?” Billy asked, his eyes popping open with shock the second the words left his mouth. For the briefest moment, his tongue had simply run away with itself.

Jensen simply smirked and looked across at Billy as if he was impressed by the comment. “What do you expect when your boss insists that you eat the leftovers every night after work?”

“I hardly insisted…” Billy chuckled, enjoying the playful way he and Jensen had become accustomed to speaking to each other.

“You just told me to finish all the donuts or I’m fired!” Jensen teased, pushing the next one, almost whole, into his mouth.

“You’re ridiculous!” Billy laughed, watching the guy’s puffed up and bulging cheeks and he tried to chew the massive quantity of donut. “All right then!” he chuckled. “If that’s how you want to play it… those chocolate brownies need to go as well tonight. Eat them up, or you’re fired,” he joked.

Jensen grabbed the leftovers as well as the large carton of whole milk they had been using that day, taking a long long swig to stop his mouth from getting dry. Then he burped, loud and long, like a man more than double his size. “No worries, boss!” he declared; enjoying their game. “I’ll have them all cleared away within the next five minutes!”

Over the coming weeks, Billy found that he had never threatened to fire an employee more than he had with Billy. It was their own private code; their way of playing. Billy would come over at the end of the shift to help close up and then he’d watch as Jensen stuffed himself as if his job really did depend on it. But the results of their little game? Well, those were truly the best part of all. Billy’s butt had ballooned out, along with his thighs, and he often arrived to work looking a little underdressed in sweatpants that were more accommodating to his developing shape. Some might have said he was less striking without that strong jawline, but Billy simply adored the way his employee was getting such a double chin and puffier, rounder cheeks on his face. The outrageous muscular definition gained from years at the gym had slowly been masked by a creeping layer of fat, settling all over Jensen’s body. As that layer thickened, it was increasingly difficult to tell that the guy had ever been anything but doughy. Billy could see the blubber ripple in his love handles as he trotted about, and the depth of Jensen’s belly button was a constant presence, visible through the way his undersized and poorly shaped shirts fitted across his torso.

“How would you feel about staying in the little apartment above the store here?” Billy asked the large, remarkably altered man that stood before him a few months later. “It would save you having to get a bus here, or dragging your dad out to pick you up. You’d be doing me a favour, having someone here at night. I wouldn’t charge you.”

“Seriously?” Jensen asked in disbelief. “You’d just let me just have it?”

“Sure,” Billy smiled, finding a true joy came to him whenever he spoiled Jensen in any way that he could. “I think it would be good for you.”

“My own place…” Jensen murmured, picturing it in his head. It had been just over eighteen months since he’d been on the edge of going to prison, and now here he was, holding down a steady job and about to have his own place. “You are like my guardian angel,” he smiled.

“I’m glad you think so,” Billy chuckled, feeling suddenly embarrassed by Jensen’s sincerity. “Now, there are a load of cream cakes over there that I can’t refrigerate tonight. Get them down… or you’re fired,” he teased.

 “We’re not used to seeing you in our store these days,” Rob smiled a few weeks later, surprised to witness Billy behind the counter and not in his new store with Jensen. “I’m used to the ever delightful Fran serving me these days, and she’s not so generous with the freebies,” he whispered so that the grumpy woman wouldn’t hear him.

“Oh, well, we’ll have to sort that out!” Billy beamed, already thinking what he should give to Jensen’s oversized father. “Are you enjoying the peace and quiet now that Jensen’s moved out?”

“Very much so!” Rob nodded; his piggy eyes watching keenly as Billy picked out his complimentary offerings. “Joyce and I finally have the house to ourselves again for the first time in thirty years! It’s like we’re newlyweds again! She’s giving me all her attention like she never could once the boys were born. I’ve gained twenty-five pounds in two months!” he laughed at himself, patting his enormous gut.

“Lucky you!” Billy grinned, deciding to give the man two free extra helpings instead. “I’m sure you’re having the time of your life.”

“After all Jensen’s put us through over the years, I never thought we’d get to this point where we could just sit back and relax like this. And I know Jensen is having just as much fun being away from us.”

Billy smiled and couldn’t help but agree with Rob. Judging by how round Jensen’s stomach had been getting in the last couple of weeks, Jensen was enjoying himself immensely.

It was gone midnight when the alert came on to Billy’s cell phone. Something had tripped the alarm in Jensen’s store and a message had automatically been sent to him. He got up and tried to call his live-in tenant to investigate whether it was the system playing up again, but when there was no answer and Billy knew he’d have to drive over to see for himself.

Pulling up, Billy could see the lights still on in Jensen’s apartment and he tutted to himself that the guy hadn’t answered his phone and saved Billy the trouble of having to come over here so late at night. The shutters were down on the store and there was no obvious sign that anyone had broken in, so Billy simply rolled up the shutters and opened the door to head in and reset the system. He punched in a couple of numbers and the software was reset. The clunky old thing needed changing if it was going to keep playing up like this, Billy grumbled to himself. But as Billy looked around, he saw that the door to the hallway leading upstairs, the one that was usually locked, had been left open, triggering the alarm. Had Jensen come down and carelessly set off the alarm himself?

“Jensen?” Billy called up the stairs, seeing that the lights were on and, as he got closer, the door to the apartment upstairs was wide open. “Is everything all right?”

Billy hadn’t been up here since he’d handed the space over to Jensen, and it surprised him how awkward he felt walking in. The television was on, and as Billy turned the corner, he saw the shape of Jensen sat up in a kitchen chair with his back to Billy. “There you are!” Billy sighed in relief. “I’m sorry to pop in, it’s just the alarm system…”

Billy stopped talking the moment his eyes took in the vision of Jensen before him: completely naked, the man sat, tied to the chair with leather straps. A kinky gag was resting between his teeth to prevent him from speaking and, even more bizarrely, a plastic pig snout was resting over his nose. Without his clothes on, the evidence of how much weight Jensen had gained was all too clear. Billy had no idea that his nipples had grown so pointed, nor that his fat belly could cover up his crotch as much as it was doing now; slowly becoming every bit of the ball gut his father had. People might have been surprised to learn that Jensen was well over four hundred pounds, but it really was obvious once all those concealing clothes were stripped from him. He was so tall, so broad and large-chested, yet he had still amassed the most shocking of bellies.

Jensen’s eyes were wide with alarm at having been caught as he was right now. Billy stuttered, wondering what to say, when his composure faltered and the urge to laugh became all too much for him, “Jensen Parry, you bad boy!” he teased. “Just what have you been up to now?”

As Billy went to unclip the gag, he noticed a tattoo on Jensen’s shoulder; that of a pink, round and plump pig. Jensen had many tattoos on his body, but this one had to be new, for Billy had never seen it on any of the shirtless gym selfies Jensen used to post. Billy was sensing a theme…

“I’m so sorry!” Jensen gasped the moment his gag was off. “I was with a girl and she… well, she thought she was being funny and kinky, leaving me here like this. I knew the moment I heard her open the wrong door downstairs that she was going to set off the alarm.”

Still strapped by his ankles, knees and wrists to the chair, Billy didn’t rush to remove the pig snout. It was far too amusing and entertaining seeing Jensen trying to explain himself whilst wearing it. “She sounds charming!” Billy chuckled, seeing the predicament Jensen had been left in. “Have you known her long?” he asked, enjoying seeing Jensen squirm as he tried to engage in simple chit chat, dressed, or rather, undressed, as he was.

“I met her on an app,” Jensen mumbled, trying to gently shake the straps on his wrists. “We’ve only met up a couple of times. She’s kinda into bondage,” he explained sheepishly.

“That’s not all you’ve been up to!” Billy grinned, looking around the space surrounding Jensen. Wrappers and soda cans were discarded on the floor, while a gallon of full fat milk sat, half-finished on the table, next to a strange looking funnel. He bent down and picked up Jensen’s t-shirt, surprised by the weight of it, given how much material was becoming necessary to cover the man’s swollen form.

Jensen blushed. “It was nothing,” he mumbled, clearly embarrassed. “She wasn’t very good at it anyway.”

“Is there a key for the straps?” Billy asked, deciding that Jensen had suffered enough.

“Over there, on the counter,” Jensen motioned with his head. 

Billy collected the small key, wondering how on earth the girl had ever expected Jensen to free himself without help. As he bent down to unlock the ankle lock, he tried wedging the key in to find that it wouldn’t even sit properly inside. And, upon further inspection, the same was true of the other side. “You’ve busted it when you tried to free yourself,” he sighed, looking up and suddenly catching an eyeful of Jensen’s erection, visible as Billy crouched down; the added ropes around the man’s knees preventing him from hiding anything.

“Sorry!” Jensen shot, mortified that Billy had seen his boner. “I just wasn’t expecting you to… I’m not…” he faltered. “Try the wrist straps!” he finally insisted, in an attempt to change the subject altogether.

Billy half-heartedly tried to unlock the wrists, before he declared that the key simply wasn’t going to work. “I think you might be stuck like this for a while,” he teased.

“You’re enjoying this!” Jensen complained, starting to realise that his saviour wasn’t about to free him anytime soon.

“And you’re not?” Billy chuckled, stepping back and deciding to crouch down with his knees outstretched, back at a level where he could see Jensen’s hardness again. He heard the guy squirm, but under such scrutiny, it was obvious that the man’s dick was only filling with more and more blood. “So, what was the deal? She came over and indulged her bondage kink, and in return, you got her to feed you all this stuff?” Billy asked, picking up a selection of empty wrappers that littered the floor.

Seeming to accept his situation more, Jensen nodded.

Billy smirked, pleased that he had guessed correctly first time. He really did know Jensen inside and out by now. Maybe even enough to push their invisible boundaries just a little more…  “But, you said she wasn’t very good at it. So, I’m guessing you’re still hungry?” he smiled, finding a few still wrapped Twinkies on the floor and starting to get one of them out.

Jensen swallowed back saliva and he nodded with his greedy eyes fixed on the sugary snack. Without prompting, he opened his mouth once Billy’s hand drew nearer. As Billy sat the edge of the Twinkie on the guy’s tongue, he noticed that Jensen wasn’t biting into it. He pushed it in a little further, but still the guy left his mouth wide open. Finally with the tips of his fingers, Billy crammed the entire thing in until Jensen’s mouth was completely filled and he began chewing at last. Then he moaned, as deeply and passionately as if they were having sex; gazing up into Billy’s eyes.

“Careful, buddy!” Billy chuckled, starting to sense that something deeply sexual was happening between himself and Jensen now. “If you keep eating like that, you’re going to get absolutely enormous.”

Jensen chewed faster and swallowed. “That’s exactly what I want to happen,” he moaned. His gluttonous eyes looked down at the next Twinkie in Billy’s hand, but seeing that it wasn’t so forthcoming, he carried on explaining himself. “Do you know how much it fucks you over when you grow up knowing that all you really want in life is to become a gigantic ball of lard? I tried so hard to fight it. I wanted to find my thrills in other ways: stealing cars, getting into fights and not giving a shit. I got involved with the wrong crowds and I pushed myself to get massive in the gym instead, but…”

Billy grinned wickedly, feeling more aroused than he had ever been in his life. “But, you’re just a fat pig!” he finished with a smirk, prodding a finger into the shelf of belly fat that had formed under Jensen’s broad and increasingly fleshy chest.

Jensen moaned louder than ever as his fat was pressed and poked. “Oh, I want to be!” he insisted. “I want to be taken and fattened. I want to be someone’s gigantic, greedy pig!” He looked into Billy’s eyes again, as if searching for that connection he knew they both shared. “I wanted it to be you, so badly!” he insisted once more. “I wanted you to order me to stop going to the gym and stuff me full of all your most fattening treats. I wanted you to get hard as you watched my body transform for you; as you saw me grow fat and soft.”

“Trust me, that’s definitely been happening,” Billy grunted as he tried to adjust the thick boner that had swollen down one side of his pants. His body tingled with energy, his brain lighting up with arousal. It seemed to build into a crescendo, until his hands gently ripped open the next Twinkie and stuffed it into Jensen’s mouth whole. With one hand, he steadied the back of Jensen’s head, and with the other, he pressed it over the guy’s mouth, not allowing a single crumb to escape as he chewed. “Come on then, Piggy!” he breathed, giving himself over entirely to the lust inside of him. “Let’s do it! Let’s turn you into the fattest pig out there!” 

When Jensen had swallowed enough of the large Twibkie in his mouth, Billy took his hand down to rub the amazing, sweaty gut that was taking over Jensen’s form. It had always looked so firm and packed, but up close like this, it was clear how blubbery and lardy it was beneath the skin. He grabbed at it, finding that it rolled easily into a pinchable handful and used his grip to gently rock the entire mass of fat. Then, out of curiosity, he reached under Jenen’s fat gut and grabbed at the exposed hardness between his enormous thighs. It was so hard and only started to pulse further as Billy began stroking it. “Oh, yes!” Jensen encouraged him. “Yes!”

Billy grabbed at the key again and forced it into the locks on Jensen’s wrists. With enough brute force, the click finally came and they released. With their freedom, Jensen’s fascinated hands immediately began rubbing Billy’s hardness over the material of his pants as Billy leaned over him, untying the ropes across Jensen’s knees. Once they were free, Jensen stood and the legs of the chair were lifted easily from the shackles, though the leather straps remained wrapped loosely around the fat man’s ankles. He pulled off the little pig snout and threw it onto the floor.

“I love you,” Jensen whispered passionately after the pair of them fell into their first kiss. “I’ve loved you since the first night we met. I just knew that you were the most special person I would ever meet in my life. I just never dreamed that I could be good enough for you.”

Billy shook his head in sadness at hearing that Jensen saw himself as being unworthy. “I love you too,” he shot back, realising that he had been feeling this way for quite some time. “I just want to give you everything I possibly can. The best of everything!”

Jensen sighed in happiness. “Make me enormous then!” he whispered. “Don’t stop until I’m completely unrecognisable! Until I’m nothing but a big, fat pig!”

The pair fell into another, even more passionate kiss, and gently slid backwards into the bedroom area as Billy felt his clothes being pulled off him. He wondered what people would think once they knew he was with Jensen Parry, the bad boy that they had once so despised. 

But Jensen hadn’t been a bad boy in quite some time now. Quietly, and at his own pace, he’d been transforming himself into what he’d really needed to be all along: the biggest, fattest pig in town. Now Jensen wouldn’t have to make that journey alone anymore. For, as they both came that night, Billy knew that he was going to be there for every delicious, blubbery step of the way.

[blueeyedheizer]

hotel room - four/billy (smut)

REQUEST: Billy or frank fake dating?? Maybe fluffy and a bit smutty?? Haha love your stuff💙

A/N: there isn't much fake dating but I tried to keep it fluffy and smutty. Thank you for requesting !

•••

"One room please." you smiled at the receptionist, feeling Four's hand on your waist pulling you closer. Taken aback by the sudden gesture, you had to fight the startled look on your face as you were forced to make eye contact with the woman in front of you.

"Would you like a single or a double room?"

"Single."

"Double."

Your eyes widened and you gave a discreet yet harsh kick to Four's foot, side-eyeing him with a cold glare.

"We'll take a single room. Thank you." Fortunately, the receptionist only chuckled as she typed on the computer, seemingly not finding your disagreement suspicious.

"Under what name?"

"Jones." you blurted out randomly. The receptionist then reached behind and grabbed a key off the wooden shelf before handing it over to you.

"Here's your key; room 305, second floor. Enjoy your stay!" you both thanked her and made your way to the stairs, Four's hand leaving your waist as soon as you were out of sight.

"Two rooms, are you serious?" you whisper-yelled.

"Hey, we never discussed that!"

"We're supposed to be a married couple, of course we're taking a single room!" you exclaimed, rolling your eyes as you reached your room. Four opened it and cautiously looked around to make sure no one was around before locking the door behind you.

You tossed your bag on the bed and rubbed the heel of your hand against your forehead in frustration. Four watched your reaction and let out an amused scoff.

"She's just the receptionist, Eight, it's not that big of a deal."

With one last glance his way and a tut you fell on the bed, sighing loudly. You were glad it had a decent amount of room for you both.

"We're inside. Room 305" Four spoke through his mic.

"Alright. Two and Three are room 280. I'm going in with Five." One's voice answered on the other side. There was a pause. "Hey, Four?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't have too much fun."

"Oh, fuck off." he mumbled, rolling his eyes before turning the mic off and tossing it on the bedside table. A slight tint of pink began to color his cheeks and he cleared his throat, trying to brush the thoughts that accompanied One's words from his mind.

"This has to be the worst idea One has come up with so far. Who the hell decides to spend a night in a hotel where some crazy psychopath is planning his next attack?!" you complained, rubbing your hand over your face and sighing loudly.

"Are you afraid?" Four asked and you stayed silent for a moment, sighing softly as you turned so that your back was facing him.

"Of course i'm afraid." you admitted. There was no point in denying it. "Who knows what he might do while everyone's asleep?" You felt Four sit on the bed and closed your eyes, dreading the conversation awaiting you. You hated showing your vulnerable side, especially now that you had joined the Underground; there was no room for weakness. But after all you were still human and very much alive, avoiding your fear wasn't the easiest part of the job.

"He's not going to do anything. We're tracking him, we know his every move. One gets an alert every time he leaves his room."

You shrugged in response, pouting as your hands hands slipped under your head on the pillow. You inhaled then exhaled deeply, trying to calm your nerves as you still weren't fully convinced.

"Hey, you're safe here. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise." you turned to lay on your back again and gave him a small smile, mentally apologizing for snapping at him.

"Promise you won't help him murder us in our sleep?" you joked and he let out a laugh, moving to lay down next to you.

"I'll spare your life, promise." he teased. You scrunched your nose at him, feigning a mocking expression before raising your eyes back to the ceiling, smiling. A couple of seconds went by and you felt him tentatively poke a finger into your side, causing you to jump.

"Don't even think about it, Four."

"What? You're ticklish?" he tried again and you slapped his hand away, biting down on your lips to try not to let any giggle out of your mouth.

"Fuck off!"

"You're ticklish."

Without warning he climbed over you, his legs on either side of you and pinning you to the bed as his fingers dug into your sides. You squealed and immediately burst out laughing, tears quickly forming in your eyes as you tried to push his hands away, squirming underneath him.

"Stop!" you shout between laughs as you tried to push him off, punching his chest with both hands. "I can't— breathe!"

"What? Isn't that what happy married couples do?"

"Fuck off! Stop, please!" He laughed at you and his hands eventually stilled, allowing you to catch your breath. But he didn’t move from his position, body hovering yours as he looked down at you with a grin. Your laughter gradually died down, both your smiles fading and cheeks heating up quickly as you suddenly became very aware of the proximity.

Four's eyes searched yours for a moment, looking for a sign that you and him both wanted the same thing. Your gaze darted back and forth between his eyes and his lips and you answered his unspoken question with a gentle nod, giving him your consent. Within the next seconds he leaned forward and pressed your lips together in a soft kiss, letting out a sigh of relief when you lips touched. You leaned up into the kiss, enjoying the feel of your lips moving in sync against each other, your breathing coming out slowly through your nose as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

By the time you parted from the kiss you were both panting, foreheads still pressed against one another as you smiled sweetly, a slight blush tinting your cheeks. Then Four leaned down again, kissing you once more before letting his lips move down to your jawline and neck.

You tilted your head back, capturing your bottom lip between your teeth when he nibbled on a particular spot, a soft moan leaving your mouth as your hands tangled in his hair.

"Can I touch you?" Four asked almost shyly, pulling back enough to look into your eyes. Your lips tilted up into a smile and you nodded your head, whispering the word "yes". Then you leaned your head up to close the gap between you again, your hands soon leaving his neck to unbutton and unzip your jeans just enough for him to slide his hand down into them.

"Shit..." you moaned out in a whisper, closing your eyes as his hand came in contact with your center, his fingers beginning to rub circles over your clit. Your hands moved behind his neck in response and your hips started to move, seeking more friction as you panted softly against his lips. Four tilted his head down to nip at your ear as he slipped his hand past your underwear and glided two fingers into you, effortlessly angling them just right and pumping them at the perfect pace, drawing a soft gasp out of you. You managed to tug your pants and underwear lower to give him easier access to your body, moaning as he pushed his fingers deeper in response.

It felt euphoric, the pleasure rapidly spreading to every nerve of your body. The coil in your stomach tightened embarrassingly fast, but you couldn’t care less at this point.

"Four, I— fuck." you tried to speak but all you could manage were whimpers and moans as your mind blurred with pleasure, your body tensing up as your right hand came to grip his hair while the other fisted onto the sheets. It didn't take long for you to continuously gasp and moan in the rhythm of his movements, and with a couple more thrust of his fingers you came with a drawn out cry, mouth falling open and head thrown back against the pillow, back arching while your fingers gripped the sheets. Four guided you through it all, whispering words of praise in your ear, kissing down your neck and only removing his fingers once you were completely finished.

You smiled as you calmed down from your high, your hands coming up to rest on his cheeks. Then you pulled him closer to you and reconnected your lips with his for a passionate kiss. His hand that wasn't holding him up above you went down to his belt, undoing it before pulling it off all while never breaking the kiss.

But before this could go any further, you were interrupted by three knocks on the door. You cursed under your breath, eyes growing wide in panic as you quickly pushed him off your body to get dressed. Four's expression mirrored your panicked one as he pulled his pants up and fixed his hair, trying his best not to look suspicious in case someone from the team was behind the door.

Then you ran to the bathroom and locked yourself there, running the shower water while Four answered the door.

About a minute later your heard the door close and cracked the bathroom door open, carefully peeping through the small gap before walking out.

"What was it?" you frowned, noticing the blush that was forming on Four's cheeks.

"Someone complained about the noise."

you froze, jaw dropping and gaping at him with wide eyes.

"But I— I..." you paused, unable to find a good combination of words. Then you let out a breath you were holding before speaking again. "...please tell me you're joking."

Four gave you a half amused, half apologetic smile as he shook his head which caused you to curse and hide your face in embarrassment. With a smile, he walked up to you and removed your hands from your face, chuckling before placing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Do you think they believe in the married couple thing now?"

[trashmouthkid]

Bill Denbrough sees him mostly just on Tuesdays. Sometimes Wednesdays, sometimes Thursdays, an occasionally Sunday—partial to Catholic nostalgia—but always, always Tuesday. 

He’s never thought about why, and doesn’t need to. Doesn’t need to know that Tuesday was the day it happened, only that Wednesday was the next day, and Thursday came afterwards. That somehow the week went on until it ended, and then a new one began.

Yesterday was Monday. Bill knows this, too, and staggers in an off-campus library, a Shyamalan cliché watching a gray hand pull a book off the shelf.

“English test tomorrow.”

The hand is always gray, always dead. Probably the entire arm, but Bill never sees—the boy always wears jackets. The rest of him is fine. Clean. He’s older, in a cruel and taunting way that makes Bill miss the waterlogged body of a four year old he sometimes sees instead. 

Not one of those days, he guesses. Maybe because he’s flunking out of psychology and still lying to mom about it, or because he avoided the mirror when he washed his face this morning. So he turns away from the nightmare, gripping the book in his own hand a little tighter, and walking towards an empty table. 

Georgie follows, because Bill gives him no other choice.

“You know much about Catcher in the Rye?”

He collapses into the chair across from Bill, tilting his book slightly to catch his attention. Bill glances at it briefly as he flips his book open and shrugs.

“Think that was a little after my time,” he says plainly, not sure if the joke is bitter or sweet. Georgie leans in a little, his elbows on the table, and smiles.

“Come on, I know Mrs. Barlow asked to submit your work to Derry’s SLM,” he presses. “All four years. You can’t lie to me, Billy. I’m in your head.”

Bill decides the joke is bitter, after all. He often wonders if Georgie would have grown up to have this bite, or if he would have stayed the same, kind and soft on all edges. It was a particular kind of sweetness–not something young boys just have and then grow out of.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Bill mutters, somewhat to the convoluted words of Daniel Kahneman in front of him.

“You never want to talk about anything,” Georgie says, a whine in his voice that makes Bill ache for annoyances he never had.

The letters in front of him are starting to blur together, and a headache is forming in the back of his head. He’s about to argue when wetness touches his white-knuckled grip, the hands he’s pinching the book on the table with.

The water, again. It slips beneath the cover of the book and spills over the edge of the table into Bill’s lap. He doesn’t want to look, but it’s not about wanting. 

He fights the current back to Georgie, and Georgie is gray all over. Gray and utterly dead. Eyes black holes, neck bent unnaturally to the left (Bill’s left, Georgie doesn’t have a left–he’s dead). The water is falling from his mouth, a dark and muddled honesty.

Today, Bill’s in the library. Some days, he’s not. Some days, he’s in his dorm. Some days, he’s at home in the kitchen, where his dead brother’s room is just above him. And he wants to drown in that water. Georgie’s water. 

But today, he’s in the library, and he knows the uselessness of it. He doesn’t even try.

“Cut it out,” he says instead, quietly. His voice comes out cracked and uneven. “Georgie.”

Georgie’s face comes back for a moment, still discolored, still wet. But he smiles.

“I miss you, Billy.”

He is all water, and then he is all gone. 

Bill bites down on the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood, and keeps reading.

[cherrydreamer]

Soda

My entry for Day 12 of the HarringroveApril challenge!

(2.7K Fluff)  (Read on Ao3)

Steve’s been talking with Billy for a few months now.

He’s not sure why. Not sure if it’s some self-imposed penance, some way of dealing with the guilt that bubbles through Steve everytime he thinks of Billy dealing with all that shit. The monsters. Suffering through it all without anyone trying to help. Or maybe he's just that damn bored now.

Either way, it’s not much of a conversation.

Billy just sits there, adding nothing and staring into space, his fingers occasionally picking at the loose threads on his blanket. 

Steve knows he can talk. He’s heard him give one word answers to the nurses. Caught the tail end of one of Billy’s heated conversations with Max.

But Billy doesn’t talk to him.

It’s eerie, really, and Steve thinks he preferred Billy in those first weeks, when he was still asleep. It was easier to talk, to unburden himself, when he knew that Billy couldn’t hear him.

Then again, Steve thinks, he’s probably not even listening now.

Steve lasts for another agonising ten minutes before the awkwardness gets to him and he rises to his feet, grasping for an excuse, "Hey, I, uh, bathroom. You want anything while I'm up?"

Steve doesn’t really mean to say the last part, just hears it slip out. He’d said it a few times while Billy was asleep. Unconscious. Comatose. Whatever. Just some dumb joke that fell flat even to his own ears.

But this time, he gets a response from Billy.

"Kinda thirsty?" It comes out small. Weak. Steve can hear the cracking of the words and the rasp in Billy’s throat.

"Yeah?" Steve tries, and fails, to hide the surprise in his voice as he pauses in the doorway, "Anything in particular?"

"Surprise me," Billy says, and Steve swears he can see the slightest hint of a smirk appear on his face.

“Sure,” Steve nods, but Billy’s eyes have already fluttered shut.

Steve starts thinking as soon as he's out of the room.

Keeps thinking about it in the bathroom.

He’s still mulling it all the way along the corridor.

And then he starts to panic at the vending machine.

It's dumb, he knows, but that croaked out request was the first thing Billy had said to him since...well. Probably their fight at the Byers’.

It feels significant. Like a test that Steve could fail. And he wants to get it right. Choose something to make Hargrove happy. He’s not quite sure why. Maybe some lingering guilt, or some innate desire to please. Maybe he just wants to see if he can make Billy’s lips quirk up again. Make him look like Billy again, rather than the shell of a man he’s been talking to. At.

Steve eyes the limited drinks options with his head cocked, trying to make a decision

What would Hargrove want?

In all honesty, Steve guesses, he'd probably be happiest with a beer and a half naked chick to bring it to him.

But Steve only has a pocketful of quarters. 

So. A can of Coke from the vending machine it is.

Because everyone likes Coke, right? 

Steve second guesses himself all the way back to Billy’s room. Shaking his head at his own idiocy when he opens the door to find that Billy's already fallen back to sleep.

He’s all curled on one side, face smushed against the pillow, and a little patch of drool already growing by his mouth.

Steve watches him for a moment. Watches as Billy’s chest rises and falls slowly. Consistently. And then Steve smiles to himself  and leaves the Coke can within easy reach on the table by Billy's bed.

__

The next time Steve comes in, Billy’s a lot more talkative. More than that, he’s being an asshole. Insulting Steve and rolling his eyes and just generally acting like Hargrove again. 

It’s not long before he asks for a drink. The same, dumb little 'surprise me' routine as before, and with a definite smirk this time.

This time, Steve takes a little less care over his selection, and decides to have a bit more fun. 

He hands the can over without a word, grinning as Billy eyes it warily, turning it over in his hands before staring up at Steve with narrowed eyes, "What the fuck is this?" 

"Cream soda?" Steve leans over to tap the curly writing on the can, the letters he knows Billy's already read but, hey, ask a stupid question...

Billy doesn't look amused, "Why?"

"Because...that's what it...is?  I don't-"

"No, why the hell did you pick this?" Billy throws the can back at him, smirking when Steve fumbles it, "Does anything about me say that I'm a cream soda guy?"

Steve just shrugs, tossing the can between his hands, "Beggars can't be choosers," 

Billy snorts, "Fucking...guys who nearly died getting their chest impaled by a monster can though, and I choose Coke. Or Dr. Pepper. Yeah, damn, Harrington. Bring me a Dr. Pepper."

Steve stops throwing the can and drops it down onto Billy’s table with a clang, "You wanted a surprise." 

"And now I want a better one," Billy shrugs, that damn smirk back on his face.

Steve huffs, "I literally just got back!" and Billy tilts his head, makes his eyes all wide and innocent and puts on some soft, simpering voice,

"I guess I could call a nurse, but don't you think those poor angels have got more than enough work to do? And yet, here you are, sitting there on your ass and not-"

"Fine!" Steve doesn’t even try to hide the annoyance from his tone, knows Billy will only find it funny, "Fucking. Fine, Hargrove. Dr. Pepper. Anything else, your highness?"

"Surprise me," Billy smirks again. Bigger. Wider. Paired with a wink

And Steve can't help it. Because Billy did ask for it.

He licks his finger, gets it all shiny with spit, and then jams it into Hargrove's ear, wiggling it a little.

It's gross. Juvenile. It has Billy yelping and squirming and calling him an asshole over and over again.

And Steve can't stop giggling all the way to the vending machine and back.

--

Steve starts coming in more and more. He doesn’t always bring pop ‘ definitely pop, Hargrove. Soda’s what my Grandma puts in cakes,’  trying to switch things up with piles of candy and burgers from Rosie’s Place and homemade cookies from Joyce. Bringing things to turn Billy’s smirk into a softer, realer smile and make him push a curl behind his ear when Steve hands them over.

But sometimes. Sometimes Steve sees a drink so perfect that he can’t resist.

Like this one.

Steve’s throwing the can at Billy before he’s even fully through the door, whooping when Billy catches it one handed,

"Have you seen this?” he crows excitedly, “Jolt! It's new! It's got like way more of a kick than Coke. I've had, like, three already and I'm all...I'm buzzing! Buzz buzz!"

He is. He feels giddy. But he's been feeling like that a lot around Billy recently so he's not sure it’s entirely down to the cola.

"You're sugar high," Billy groans, reading the small print on his can, "And...shit, caffeinated. Oh fuck, Harrington. No. I can’t deal-”

But Steve's already tugging at his arm, "It's too nice to stay in here, we should go out! Hey! You wanna go skating? There's a new rink out near- no, wait, duh. You're still all...yeah? But what about-"

"Harrington, calm the fuck down. Jesus. OK."

Billy pinches the bridge of his nose, thinking for a minute, "There's a little garden just around the back, I do my physio there but it's...it's kinda nice."

It is nice. And there is a garden. All nice and neat and calm. But Steve immediately looks past the flower beds and the well spaced benches, to stare at the neighbouring play park instead.

It’s not the most exciting set up. Just two swings and a slide attached to a shitty rusting climbing frame. But Steve's eyes light up as soon as he sees it, and he's off, leaving Billy to stumble by himself as he runs towards the entrance, stopping only to point at the 'Paradise Park' sign above the gate.

It’s high enough to be a challenge. And Steve can’t resist. He turns round, waves at Billy shuffling behind him, and points upwards as he yells,

"Think I can touch that? I bet I can! If I jump like-" Steve leaps. Reaches. His finger tips just graze the edge of the sign and Steve whoops, running straight over to Billy and holding his hand up for a high five.

Billy obliges, grudgingly, and then Steve’s off again, grumbling at monkey bars that are so low that his feet stay flat on the floor, and then crying with laughter when he gets his ass stuck halfway down the slide.

They end up sitting next to each other on the swings, Steve spends the first ten minutes trying to swing himself over the top of the set, while Billy alternates between explaining why it isn't physically possible and then creasing up with laughter at Steve's frustration when he fails. But eventually, Steve starts to feel calmer. Mostly. His leg's still bouncing, there’s a twitch in the corner of his eye and that fluttery, churning feeling in his tummy is still there.

But he doesn’t want to run anymore. Doesn’t need to shout. Instead he wants to sit and just stay here, swinging gently into Billy and knocking their legs together as they talk about… everything. Big things and bad things and little things and good things. Things that seem too much to talk about in the too-white sterile room, but flow easily when there’s the sun on their faces and the creak of a swingset and the occasional brush of Billy’s hand against his when they both sway into each other.

__

Steve’s one who comes to pick Billy up on the day he gets discharged. It just makes sense. He has a car. He’s not got work that day. It seems right.

He’s surprised when Billy directs him back to Cherry Lane. Concerned, really. Because he’s heard a little from Max. Heard a bit more from Billy. Put it together and he didn’t like the picture.

He tries to keep his voice from wavering when he asks, "You gonna be OK living back at home?"

But Billy just shakes his head, "Fuck that, I put that government bribe to good use. Got a home of my own now. But, yeah. Need to swing by the old place first. Got a few things to grab.”

It turns out that the few things are a stack of cardboard boxes, neatly packed and labelled by Max and then a single smaller one which  had obviously been packed a long while before and hidden deep in the closet.

Billy holds that one close while Steve packs the rest of them into the car. And it’s the first one he carries into his new house.

They’re just about done unpacking when the exhaustion hits Billy. Steve sees him start to stumble, start dropping things and tripping over his words and just generally...slump.

So Steve waves him onto the couch. Makes him sit. Grabs him a glass of water and tells him to chill and insists on sorting the rest out himself.

Not that there’s much to sort. The first box Steve grabs is labelled 'Miscellaneous' in Max's neat handwriting and, from what Steve can see, it’s a whole damn mix of stuff from protein powder to a Rubik’s Cube. He dumps it on the kitchen counter for Billy to look through later.

The next box, the one with Billy’s bathroom stuff, is easier and Steve tries not to grin when he notices that Billy’s got quite a few of the same bottles as he does. He lines them all up carefully recreating the order he has at home, feeling a warm glow at how good it all looks when he’s done. How right.

And then there’s just the little box. The one Billy had been keeping hold of in the car. It's been placed carefully on the wobbly table in the entryway, and Steve narrows his eyes as he tries to decipher Billy's messy scrawl on the cardboard. It definitely starts with an 'M', but the rest of it may as well be German, for all Steve can make it out, so he opens it, figures if he sees plates or pyjamas or another random hodge-podge, he'll at least have a clue where it needs to go.

There's a few tapes in cracked cases, one with a handmade cover and the words ‘Bill & Theo’ outlined with a heart; a couple of folded up shopping lists, written in elegant, loopy cursive; a yellow, chiffon scarf and a tube of lipstick, worn down to a stub.

And there are four soda cans.

Coke, Cream Soda, Dr. Pepper and Jolt Cola, all empty and clean and nestled down right at the bottom of the box.

Steve puzzles over the collection for a moment, then he closes the lid and carries it through to Billy,

"Hey, is this, uh, is this another-" he glances at the box on the counter, "another Misk-El-Anoos one?"

Billy's lips quirk up at the corners, "Miscellaneous," he corrects gently. And then he notices the box Steve has in his hands, and he jumps to his feet, reaching out for it, "No, shit, no. That's, uh, that's...shit. Give it here."

"Nah man,” Steve pulls the box closer to his chest, “It's the last one just tell me where-"

"Bedroom.” Billy’s eyes dart from the box to Steve, and he looks wary. On edge.

"This does not say bedroom," Steve grins, fingers tracing over Billy's scribble. And Billy sighs, shoulders slumping like he can’t hold himself up anymore.

"Memories," Billy says softly. "It says memories. It's all special things. Or, things from special people, I guess."

"Oh." Steve's silent for a moment, lips pursed, "But there’s...there’s like old cans in there."

Billy freezes at that and his face pales, goes from pink to white to practically grey in an instant, "You looked?"

"Uh, yeah.” Steve ducks his head, rubbing at the back of his neck as he feels a prickle of shame, “Just to kinda...to figure out where to put it. But, yeah. Sorry dude. Are they, uh, are they supposed to be in there?"

"Yeah," Billy nods, slowly, "Yeah. They are."

"O...K?" Steve grins, trying to get the joke, but Billy doesn't smile back. His face is serious, mouth pressed into a line.

"They're the ones you got for me," Billy says quietly, wrapping his arms around himself, "The sodas." 

"Huh?" Steve scrunches up his nose as he thinks, "Oh right! That's right, I...I did. I-" And then the implication hits him. "Oh."

"Yeah," Billy's hugging himself even harder now, biting his lip, and Steve hates the worry, the fear that's crossing his face.

"So. I'm…special?" Steve's hesitant, almost too scared to voice it. Because it might not mean what he thinks it means. What he hopes.

If anything, Billy’s face creases even more. He looks on the verge of tears, face screwing up in pain, "Yeah. Fuck. Steve. Yeah. And it's...it's OK if you wanna leave cause I know this is weird and-"

"Hey. No,” Steve steps forward, shaking his head, “No...it's not weird."

He watches Billy's face carefully. Sees the worry turn into confusion as Steve gently reaches out and takes hold of both of Billy's hands.

"I just can't believe you kept them."

"It's dumb, I know. But..." Billy swallows, and Steve hears the click of it, loud in the otherwise silent room, "They were the first things you ever gave me."

And that comment goes straight to Steve's heart, filling him with a warmth that seems to spread all the way through him. Because it's just so damn romantic. So soft and sweet and thoughtful and a whole side of Billy that Steve didn’t know he had.

Steve kinda wants to see more of that side.

“Yeah?” He steps even closer, letting go of one of Billy's hands to grab at his waist and tilting his head to one side to whisper, "Anything else I can give you?". 

And he's standing so close that he can feel the breath against his lips when Billy whispers, "Surprise me."

[sh1tbird-shantytown]

sorry this is LONG but i feel like an issue for each of the boys would be feelings like they were a third wheel in the relationship of some sorts.

for bill he’d see these two childhood best friends turned lovers and feel like he’s invading on their destiny. with all their history and memories and inside jokes, he feels too new sometimes like he’s temporary. like one day he’ll end up a side character in their story, someone they’d wonder about in old age. yet the feeling always subsides and he realizes how loved he is.

for steve he finds himself feeling like a drag on billy and tommy’s fun relationship. he fears one day they’ll get sick of his worrying and his fussing and his neediness and realize they’d be happier with each other alone, with no one around to cry wolf when it comes to danger or simply cry all the time. but then they’ll soothe his tears, or cuddle up to him and thank him for stopping their impulsive decisions and he realizes they need him just as much as they need him.

for tom though, the feeling never really goes. it’s just stronger or weaker depending on the day. he feels inferior to both of his beautiful boys in every way, and fears that one day they too will realize how undeserving he is. he looks and steve and billy and they way they love one another as being starcrossed soulmates and himself as some stupid tag along, taking as much as he can get before what he believes is the inevitable. the breakup, the reveal that he meant nothing to them. that they’ve known all along that he was ugly, worthless, annoying and that very other dark thought he ever had about himself was true. he pulls away to lessen the hurt for himself, and it takes a lot of anger, frustration, and heartbreak before steve and billy realize what the true reasons behind tommy’s coldness really is.

i got it, dove 😏. and don’t apologize! thank you so much <3

</3

steve always saw how well tommy and billy just- linked. they were both so smart and impulsive and temperamental and fun. which meant that safety and caution was rarely considered between the two.

they never told steve shit.

one of the worst cases steve had to deal with was when they’d decided to key the principal’s car. all fun and game because the guy was an asshole. steve knew that, wouldn’t have cared all that much.

except the principal had his lunch at 1:15pm every day. and every day he drove down to the diner for a coffee.

any guesses as to when steve’s particular idiotic boyfriends decided to go on with their diabolical plan?

to put it simply. steve got the call that they were in jail. and steve would do anything for his boys. anything.

even call and beg his own father for the funds to bail them each out.

tommy and billy were grateful. hugged and kissed and praised and served on steve once they were released. celebrated and made sure steve stayed relaxed.

except he wouldn’t relax. not after tommy gave a massage. not after billy made steve’s favorite, dulce de leches.

nothing. worked.

so they asked. and steve eventually mumbled.

“i have to work for my father this summer. full time.”

tommy tucked some hair back and out of steve’s eye, “why? you said you wanted to go into—“

“to pay it back,” steve responded. ashamed. ashamed that he was complaining, that he was so banged up for being fortunate enough to have a job. no matter how much he thought about the waste it was going to be. mad. that “tommy and billy quality time” ended like it had. with steve a step more out of the loop and a whole summer of tense lack in communication. and he knew what that led to.

in the end. no one needed to ask what he meant by it.

</3

tommy and steve were close. they didn’t consider themselves closer than either of them were with billy. even if it was a tug at the truth. they wouldn’t accept it. they had a long past but their love was billy’s before it was anything other than.

they told their stories occasionally. and billy felt left out. so he annoyed and rattled the other two more and more until he got their attentions back.

he spat water at steve’s bare back and threw a balled up wet sock that was either billy’s or tommy’s at tommy’s crotch. he missed. just barely. and they two tossed their popsicles off to the side and ceased their conversation about third grade. hopped in and started gulping and spitting water right back at billy.

he was proud. that he managed to pull them out from the times without him. sometimes he wanted to cry because he felt he had to.

</3

now they never left each other for good. they eventually did learn that it was all three of them or nothing.

but before they really became set in stone. before all their silt settled and they grew and little older and wiser.

tommy was the first to lose his balance.

he’d been gone from the room for ten seconds. ten. and when he came back billy and steve were already making out. passionately. tongues out and hands around each other’s shoulders. something churned in his gut and he sat on the opposite end of the couch.

tommy regretted not growing his hair out more. as he ignored how billy and steve rolled and crawled over like puppies, he somehow took notice to how steve twirled billy’s hair between his fingers. billy kissed his temple and it made him feel a little better. but he felt his heart temper up to boiling water as steve watched him. either suspicion or annoyance. both of which tommy couldn’t handle.

they didn’t mention it. tommy leaned more into the couch. and he didn’t speak to either of them for a week and a half.

didn’t return until he saw billy and steve fighting outside the public pool. after hours. tommy had just wanted to sneak in.

“it’s your fault!” billy screamed at steve. he was snotty and his cheeks were wet. steve was blotchy red and his eyes had that hollowed look he got when he was about to break down.

“you’re the one that mounted me! he came back and saw that, how is it my fault. he felt left out. you should have waited until he came back!” steve stumbled over his sentence structure. tommy stayed planted on the gravel.

“you didn’t tell him goodnight before he left,” billy mentioned. tommy thought about it. steve actually had said goodnight that night.

“what are you talking about?” steve asked, incredulous.

“i don’t know!” billy yelled. steve took a step back. a full one. tommy took one forward. watched billy’s shoulders shake like he was a scarecrow in the wind. then he asked in a whimper, “why is he doing this to us?”

steve didn’t have an answer, but he nodded, “it hurts. like he…he took every tendon in my legs and half my heart all at once.” billy dashed to steve, hugged him tight just as steve started crying. both sobbed as the force on both their chests caused collapsed collision.

“i miss him so much.”

tommy took a slow breath. and returned with much more understanding and too much regret to fully acknowledge at once.

[omegatheunknown]

AEW Double or Nothing 2021

In which the spirit of WCW is alive in confusing and delightful ways and we are left to parse whether overbooking and extracurriculars are offset by having actually very good wrestling happening at the same time.

- Lessons learned from Revolution on the production side? Maybe just cool it on pyro, though the rappelling adventure in the Stadium Stampede showed some of that now-characteristic 'trust us it'll look better on TV' flair. Hot crowd tends to paper over most woes, and the crowd was pretty hot. My one gripe is that the casino theme is hanging around like yesterday's takeout containers. Nothing wrong with clinging to a theme, I just think it's time for season 2. My suggestion? Under the Sea.

*Pre-Card Serena Deeb (C) v Riho for the NWA Women's Championship (***1/2) - Serena Deeb's star has finally risen. She's a remarkably consistent technician and she can get a match out of anyone at this point. She's working at the level of Mercedes Martinez or Madison Eagles at this point, it's amazing that she was overlooked or considered fit only to be a coach for so long. With the NWA belt she has this new swagger, she's basically everything Tessa Blanchard might bring to the table with none of the downsides (Serena has a lot of friends and seems like a lovely person, even!) - Riho's back and here to stay. Her time in Stardom didn't do much for my evaluation of her, which is that there are many better wrestlers that would be better representatives of the joshi style and she's merely pretty good. - The match was very good. Serena showcased a champion's aggression against a sympathetic Riho, they really work well against each other, Deeb's technical prowess against Riho's flexibility led to a very dynamic finish.

*Main Card Hangman Adam Page v Brian Cage (***1/2) - Here the shenanigans start. Brian Cage is on Team Taz, Team Taz has nothing else much to do tonight, so why wouldn't Team Taz flex their muscles, bait us with HOOK, etc? (Because it would be nice to have some variety in the card in terms of a match where one competitor stands across from another competitor?) - Hangman is (checking notes) yeah, still over as fuck, as befits the Anxious Millennial Cowboy. Cage terrifies me, he's a child's drawing of a body builder. He do be very agile for a man of his immense musculature tho. They match up well, Page is biggish for a flyer, Cage loves to play catch. Nothing much to write home about, other than Hangman's beautiful moonsault to the floor and what was overall a very good curtain jerker. - Okay fine, I am curious about Cage's reluctance to lean on the goons, Starks can't come back soon enough.

The Young Bucks v Jon Moxley & Eddie Kingston (***) - I will not be referring to Mox & Eddie as (The) Wild Things because it gives me 'he calls it the wacky line' flashbacks for some reason. - The Bucks have to cheat and abuse Rick Knox's attention span constantly to be on even footing with Mox & Eddie, which is a clever sort of thing that gets washed out by the appearance of LG and Karl Anderson, which again, is cool in a vacuum but was the story of the evening. - Pace was weird - repetitive in eliminating Eddie, then Mox fights back, failed hope spot, Bucks team up, Eddie saves x2/3 in a row. - Mox, unlike Cody (in so many ways,) will probably actually be taking some time off with Renee, which is the kind of thing I would prefer not to know in terms of booking, but they really uh, put him down on the canvas here, and it felt pretty finale-esque.

Casino Battle Royale (n/r, but on the balance pro) - Any changes to the theme of the PPV would likely include changing up the nonsense suit format of these largely joyless slogs. - Obviously anticipating a NJPW talent, or... I dunno, actually -- Lio Rush was a surprise. Got in a quick demonstration of his otherworldly quickness, and you know what, there's probably a fun place for him in AEW. He'll need some friends, of course, feel like Team Taz might fit his temperament. I wonder if he was aware of the Mark Henry news... - Christian does not need to win this kind of match to get a title shot, obviously, but that said it was super lovely to use him to give Jungle Boy the shine. Jungle Boy would be a license to print money if he was even as big as Hangman. - Could register some continued griping about how Penta is not getting his due in AEW but he also literally was dressed as the Joker so I'm low on sympathy on this one particular night.

Anthony Ogogo v Cody Rhodes (*) - I did not like this. It's hard for me to read jingoism as a face move to begin with, and Cody's was egregiously tone deaf and kinda silly yet delivered without a trace of irony because Cody doesn't do irony on purpose, ridiculous neck tattoo aside. - Great argument to be made that Ogogo just isn't experienced enough to be winning matches against Cody. But like, what are we doing here? Cody needs to take some time off, maybe. I thought that's what was happening when he had his mini feud with Penta that really just ended in quick decisive Cody win. I though maybe Cody was being turned when QT and The Factory snapped-- sure, they're a group of impotent player 2s, but Cody is an out of touch elitist with a callous and manipulative streak. Alas, also no. America #1. - Cody is approximately 8 times as tough as Billy Gunn based on his weathering of the one punch man. Match ran a bit long given how little there was to go on. Cody gigged? Quelle surprise. - Cody had the best match on the card like, 3 out of the first 4 AEW events or something, and that was all booking and storytelling. I do hope Cody follows Moxley's lead into a little sabbatical.

Miro (C) v Lance Archer for the TNT Championship (**1/2) - Card's hossiest hoss match, a quick burst reminiscent of a car wreck. Absolutely hit on what it should've hit on but a little slow moving considering it went all of 10 minutes. - I will not complain about Jake the Snake, who I love. And also the gimmick spot, with Miro very astutely yeeting what was definitely a snake in a bag (surely.) back down the tunnel.

Dr Britt Baker, DMD v Hikaru Shida (C) for the AEW Women's Championship (***) - Picked up a lot of steam toward the end but seemed a little toothless (heh) until the last five. - Shida 'deserved' some more time as champion in front of crowds but also it's time to let heel Britt reach her peak, I can't even imagine how obnoxious she can be as the champ, it's going to be great.

Sting & Darby Allin v Ethan Page & Scorpio Sky (***1/2) - Such is the power of STING that I feel like I might be underrating this match... I mean it was an okay match about very simply getting some revenge and the sixty year old man did a very subdued Code Red and a slightly less subdued dive. He's also Sting. They missed an opportunity in calling it the 'Scorpio' Death Drop, but the main takeaway here is you see something like this where it's The Icon and you start to understand why WWE trots out their legends to come out of incredibly still kick ass without bending their knees. - The difference, I guess, is that Sting is absolutely being used to build up Darby Allin, whereas it's not like the fed brought back Goldberg and his attendant aura to pump up... anyone but Goldberg?

Kenny Omega (C) v PAC v Orange Cassidy for the AEW World Championship (****) - Off the top I have to say I'm very sad that the rest of the Galaxy's Greatest Friends were seen only very briefly, nice of them to bring OC's backpack. - Also have to point out that PAC's promo featured one of my favourite jokes, that Kenny must be short for Kenneth as a sort of legal/birth name belonging to a professional wrestler. (See also: Samoa Joseph) - And Mr Cassidy certainly did try in this match, ragdoll sells and all. Kenneth and PAC are absurd talents who bring aerial, power and technical maneuvers in equal measure and OC is not doing any of those on the same level, but he picked his spots, showed his genre savvy and hung in there to the point that he wasn't just the fall guy. - The extracurriculars continue in a match that was already a little overboard for silliness due to asymmetry... I think if you're the Invisible Hand it would've made sense to save up all your tricks for this match, but who am I to question the golden goose? - Sure, Kenny and Don ran the classic heel manager interference spot and taking out the ref in desperation spot but having to take out the ref because PAC wouldn't break the hold is fun, as is the stupid/inspired sense in running the 'smash opponent with the belt' spot four times so as none of your heavy gold prizes feel left out. (I love that AAA Mega Championship, they weren't on TV so we get to see it?) - "Fuck You, Don," indeed.

The Inner Circle v The Pinnacle in 'Stadium Stampede II' (***1/2) - This one had to grow on me for two reasons, first that it's usually pretty unforgivable to co-opt the main event spot from the championship match, and second to law of diminishing returns on dumb gimmick matches. - But grow it did. There's a full on meat locker? Commentary will refer to a cardboard cut-out of Shahid Khan as Tony Khan's father (that's canon now,) and Jericho will lovingly pat it? Konnan happened to be the DJ at whatever night club there is a Jaguar Stadium? Spears surrounds himself dramatically with chairs and his hoisted by his own petard? - Ultimately it comes down to letting Sammy shine. His involvement with the Inner Circle has sometimes come at the cost of being able to showcase that prior to AEW he was an ascendant talent in PWG, on his way to Ricochet level feats of acrobatic excess. Still feel like Sammy could've/should've been the one tossed off the cage a few weeks ago, but even better is being the guy getting the pin in the ring.

[withoneheadlight]

| a house (is a home) | (i). the keys | (ii). memories&herons | (iii). old dogs&inheritances | (iv). memorabilia | tinyplaylist |

~

The kitchen’s Steve’s favorite part of the house.

It has this odd shape. Trapezoid. “Fuck, Stevie, so goddamn weird”. Doesn’t make sense in a, on the other hand, perfectly rectangular house (or, well, it does but, they’ll only find out about that later). The cabinets are ceiling-high. The tiles of the wall white and cracked under the repeating pattern of light mint-green-stemmed, yellow-petaled lilies. The whole backdoor is painted on that same shade Billy calls Ripe banana dreams, both so terribly old-fashioned and fiercely cute none of them says a word about repainting it. There’s a wooden piece, built into the farthest end of the counter. It looks disgustingly juicy and mercilessly stabbed when they move in, but Billy insists on keeping it, and sanding, and treating, and varnishing it. Manages to get it back up on shape because “Better than anyone, darling you should know what a little touch of class can make”. And for more than two weeks straight the only goal of his life is to learn to cut vegetables at high speed because “I have to live up to this level of professionalism. Impress our most un-impressionable guests”

(And, to Steve’s surprise –and probably hers– when she finally deigns to pay them a visit, his mom is, in fact, pretty much impressed.)

He learns how to make good casserole. Tries his luck with Mexican and Italian. Fails miserably with Japanese. Will never-ever admit it but, he loves it when flour ends up staining every single surface, making the biggest mess around himself when he bakes. Steve knows why it is. It’s a shared feeling. Floats up till it reaches the ceiling and bounces back down to them, heavy with the warm smell of cooking pie and cinnamon. Tastes docile and tamed like “Maybe not so much vanilla next time. Whaddaya think, babe?.” Tastes savage and daring, like the overwhelming tang of freshly squeezed lemon lingering on Billy’s tongue, when he crowds Steve against the fridge and kisses him, nibbles a shuddering laugh out of him “How the fuck are you able to even think about putting your mouth near that thing, Hargrove?. That was––ugh. That was disgusting”, “Well you know me, whatever it takes to make you squirm” leaving Steve with absolutely no option but lick the sugary dough stain over his cheek to “Cover up that foul flavor” and maybe because he wants to make Billy squirm a little too. 

It’s a heart-warming, welcoming feeling. Like the vivid smells of green tomatoes and parsley and mustard sauce. Like the taste of love on Billy’s lips. The way he loses his breath when Steve kisses the sugary flavor into Billy’s mouth with his:

This place smells like home, tastes like home. Like finally, finally. Home.

It’s Billy’s favorite place, too. But Steve doesn’t think it’s just because of that. But also because maybe,

maybe.

He has also noticed that–

There’s this particular, particular moment. It happens around seven on autumns, right when the day starts to fade. It happens between six and six past twenty-eight on winters, and holds the sleepy cheeks of the newborn tulips on Steve’s garden till they fall asleep on springs, sun already sinking behind the horizon by the time both hands of the clock meet over the spiral of the eight, pointing towards infinity. And then grows bigger and bigger and bigger from there, flooding into summer: the golden sunlight seeping through the wide, double-paned window facing the backyard in an oblique angle, making the yellow flowers of the tiles look like they’re re-blooming in gold. 

It’s the moment the day turns into a fire. 

It’s their favorite moment in time. And in this particular, particular day of July, it happens at ten past nine.

Billy is making Spaghetti Carbonara. The kitchen is damp with the rich smells coming out of the boiling water. Mushrooms and oregano, black pepper and lime. A song is cooing at them from the radio, the beat of the drums a boneless memory of that one echoing around the quarry on faraway almost-night on a faraway July. Water rippling under the quiet sigh of the breeze. Trees cutting the liquid rays in asymmetric halves. 

Billy takes off the apron. Turns the stove down.

Reaches out to Steve, fingers wavering come, come, come.

To me. Come to me. “C’mon, Harrington. Do I scare you or what?“

He has this way of looking at Steve that makes the space between them narrow, narrow: the whole unknown world. And aseptic, non-lived-in flat in downtown Florida. This tiny, tiny town. A mysteriously-shaped kitchen––

“¿Can I have this dance?” 

Steve walks to him, takes his hand. 

––Their bodies, pressed flush. 

Inside his chest, Steve’s heart is running. 

(“Can I at least have this dance, before we say goodbye?”

Mazzy Star was playing. The corner of Billy’s eye felt wet where his skin brushed against the corner of Steve’s mouth. They danced till the daylight faded, till there were teardrops falling from the night sky.

“Billy, I don’t have to––” 

“Don’t, pretty boy. Don’t say it. I’ll make you stay if you do. And I can’t do that”)

They made lovelovelove on the back of Billy’s car.)

In this light, they fell in love, they fell apart. Ran away. Ran back. 

Steve nudges at Billy’s chest, makes him move backward till he’s far enough to tug, draw him in between their tangled arms, hands intertwined. Steve curls himself around Billy’s back, noses at the warmth trapped between his curls. He smells like BillyandSteve, like this home, like past, like future. Like us.

Steve whispers in his ear. Three words. Billy’s neck curves towards him. An instinct. Tickled by their warmth. Steve kisses the curve of his ear. Tugs the collar of his shirt aside, bites where shoulder meets neck and up, up.

“Easy, Prom King” Billy teases, grins at him tender and wild. Knows when to use the one that gets Steve every time “Or you’re gonna make me think we’ll become picture-perfect from this magical moment onwards. A bunch of kids. White fences. You know, the whole shebang” 

(Billy crashed the Camaro into a tree in the winter of two thousand and fourteen. Had left the house in a frenzy. Something happened Max wouldn’t talk about. But she was scared, so she had called,

“Find him. Please.. Make sure he’s alright”

When Steve found him, Billy was in the middle of the Brookville road, feet stumbling on the twin yellow lines, following them nowhere. So weary, so impossibly small like this: head hanging, arms wrapped around himself. A crooked shape, carrying the weight of the shadows the tall pine trees cast on his back.  

So unlike him. 

Steve stopped the car at his side, engine oozing steam, shaking in the icy mid-May air “Billy” he said. Low. Careful. Careful. Billy’s eyes looked wet in the moon-silver night, pupils blown, deceivingly calm, “What are you doing? This is dangerous” And Billy’s spine had bent even lower, forearms finding rest on the window frame. Leveling with Steve. Looking wasted, looking tired, but still, he flashed a grin at him, teeth-shark white, never going down if he wasn’t going down swinging. And Steve–– hadn’t known at the moment, but the blood staining his cheek, the screaming-purple mark around his eye.

Those weren’t from the crash.

 “I was sleepwalking, Harrington” he said, voice dry, laugh harsh. Shrugged “Waiting for a lucky strike”)

“What does it make you think that’s not what I’m aiming for?”

(When he took Billy to his house Max was already there. Had sneaked out. “Neil will kill you if he finds out,” Billy said and she nodded, white knuckles peaking red with how hard she was gripping the handler of her bike, and Steve hadn’t seen her cry before, not ever, but her eyes were swollen and wet and,

“Are you––”

“I’m alright, kiddo. You know me. I’m always alright”

And the lie sat heavy, between them. Two lies, covering the truth. Poorly stitched. But Max had called Steve for help, so that’s what he did. Help. Sent her back home. Took care of Billy’s face. Billy’s hands. Nodded at those same lies, let them do their work while taking care of wounds he didn’t know, back then, couldn't have been for a crash. Made him spend the night. 

Billy still hadn't woken up when Steve left the next day, leaving food and a note on the nightstand ‘I’ll be back soon. Stay’. 

Retraced Billy’s steps down the yellow lines splitting the forest in half. To find it.

The Camaro wasn’t done yet. Howled like a wounded beast under Steve’s touch, but stayed together all the way to Donny’s garage. And Steve paid for the repairs. Covered it all up. Max has said “His dad can’t know, Steve. Can’t know. If he finds out he will--” and steve was starting to put two and two together. To realize some billy was, maybe, running away from something. Someone. When he crashed his car.

Woke Billy up when the hands of the clock met over the spiraling infinity of the eight. Seventeen hours straight of sleep and still looking like he could use a lifetime. Told him “The car will be ready in two or three days. ‘Til then, you stay'' covered his mouth with his hand. Didn't let him complain “And If whatever happened last night happens again, you take it and you run. Back here. And you stay again, ok?”

Two weeks later, Billy showed up at his door. Lit him a cigarette. Offered to teach him how to fight.

“I cannot give you back your money, but I know you don’t need that”

Made him laugh.

They spent almost the whole summer together, after that. Some days. Most nights.

Wasting time. Fighting. Joking. Driving.

Falling.

No ‘what ifs’. No promises. Just,

“Leave the light on if you can’t sleep, pretty boy. If I manage to sneak out of the Old fuck, I’ll pick you up. Promise I won’t stop kissing you until dawn. Gotta make up for what you paid for that ca, uh?”

Because Steve was gonna leave. Wasn’t gonna throw a single glance behind his back.

That was the plan.

And he did. He did. But––)

He spins Billy out. Tugs him back. When their chests bump, his laugh bursts, bubbles up. Weightless. Happy. Because all that matters to him, to them, it’s between these four irregular walls now.

And God this, this, is Steve’s favorite part. 

(–ended up coming back running, hoping the love would re-stitch itself as he followed the road’s yellow lines. 

Hoping Billy was the one letting his light on this time.)

Because the sun’s gonna keep on shining. They can keep on dancing in here, in their weird trapezoidal kitchen (in their house, in their home), for as long as they want. Hearts touching. Lips brushing. Bodies swaying, spinning, cutting through the golden light. 

~

[scripts4dreamers]

Bedside Manner

AN: Lockdown is always hellish but it does leave you a lot of time to think. Characters: Marcus Arguello Pairing(s): Marcus x reader Spoiler(s): None Warning(s): Swearing, unhealthy coping mechanism (Smoking/drinking)

 Prompt: this post I saw from @write-it-motherfuckers

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

When the monks rushed in and started pulling people out of class, you weren’t sure if you were terrified or relieved. On one hand, you could hear the fight happening in the corridors, the sound of Saya and Maria yelling at one another, kids cheering something on, and you were scared of what they might do to one another if no one intervened. On the other, the school itself getting involved was almost never a good sign and, as a staff slammed into your back, ushering you forward, you couldn’t help the rising tide of panic in your chest. The corridors were packed with students being pushed and shoved towards their rooms and you searched through the chaos, without much hope, for a familiar face.

“Y/N!” You heard someone call, “Y/N!”

“Marcus?” You shouted back, turning in the direction of the voice, “Marcus where are you?”

“I’m here!” He shouted, closer now.

The kids next to you pushed and shuffled forward, blocking your view and, no matter how much you twisted and turned, you couldn’t see past flashes of navy blazers and anonymous patches of skin. It was horribly claustrophobic but, just as the panic started to get too much, you felt a hand wrap around your wrist and caught sight of a familiar mess of brown curls.

“Got you,” Marcus assured, still several people behind you, “shit Y/N/N I thought-shit, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Maria and Saya?” You asked.

Marcus shook his head, “I’ll explain later. What’re the monks doing?”

You opened your mouth to explain but, before you could, Master Lin did it for you.

“Everybody back to your rooms,” Master Lin’s voice boomed, “We’re officially in lockdown.”

Marcus’ eyes widened. The monk at your back shoved you hard, forcing you forward and through the first available door. You stumbled in, tripping over a backpack on the floor, and just managed to catch yourself before you fell. From behind you you could hear Marcus being pushed into the room and, beyond that, just for a second, the sounds of your fellow students yelling and complaining before the door to your room slammed shut and you heard the lock click into place. Your heart sank and you swore under your breath, turning to face Marcus, who was tugging uselessly on the door handle.

“It’ll be locked from the outside,” you told him, “always is during lockdown.”

Marcus Arguello was almost a friend of yours. Almost. You liked him well enough. He was smart and funny and caring, he was friends with all of your friends, he was helpful and interesting, he respected boundaries and he always knew how to get a smile out of you. All in all, he was an incredible person, but that was kind of the problem; you liked him a lot. Too much. Since his first day at King’s, Marcus had done nothing but make you smile and blush and generally make an idiot out of yourself at every available opportunity, which, at this particular high school, wasn’t just embarrassing, it was dangerous. Trouble followed him like a lovesick puppy, putting your life at risk more than once but, no matter how many times you told yourself to just forget him and move on, you couldn’t. You just kept coming back, every time. You wanted to believe that some part of you was distancing itself from Marcus and that that was why you were hesitant to call him a friend but, if you were honest, you just weren’t keen on lying to yourself. You were in too deep, he meant too much to you.

He sighed, “Fuck.”

You hummed in agreement, trying to hide how nervous the idea of being stuck in a room with Marcus made you feel. There wasn’t much else to say about lockdown anyway. They didn’t happen often, but this was by no means your first, and you knew there was no real point in fighting it.

“This is bullshit,” Marchus continued, “they’re not really just gonna keep us locked in here, are they?”

“Yup,” you answered, collapsing onto the bed and picking up a book, “no leaving except two bathroom breaks a day and meal times. You might as well get comfortable.”

“This isn’t even my room,” Marcus complained, “what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“No, it’s my room,” you explained, gesturing to the other twin sized bed, “you could start by sitting down and telling me what the hell is going on.”

Ever since that trip to Vegas, where everything had gone so horribly wrong, things had been different. Marcus had been different. He was more somber, vacillating between being on edge and being extremely happy and relaxed. He was stressed, of course, you all were but there would be moments when you would look up and catch him just watching you and then, when he saw you looking, he would just smile a bit, like he was sad about something. It always made something in your chest pinch. What made the situation worse was that, outside of those moments, he’d been distant with you. More distant than what was usual for Marcus. As far as you could tell, he was avoiding you in class, sitting next to Petra or Lex at lunch and just generally keeping you at arm’s length. You hadn’t had a real conversation in weeks. You wanted to be indifferent to it but, in reality, it had hurt more than you wanted it to and you wanted an explanation.

He wasn’t smiling at you now. If anything, you noted as Marcus folded himself onto the floor with his back against your roommate’s bed and buried his head in his hands, he looked tired, like he hadn’t slept in days and it was wearing on him. That thing near your heart pinched again and you cursed your own selfishness. Marcus had obviously been dealing with a lot, more than the rest of you combined probably, and all you could do was think about your bruised ego. Typical. Cautiously you swung yourself upright, sitting cross legged on your mattress to face your friend.

“Marcus, are you okay?”

“Hmm?” he answered, his voice thick with exhaustion, “What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine Y/N/N, don’t worry about it.”

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief but didn’t push, knowing he’d open up in his own time.

‘How long do you think we’ll be in here?” he asked.

You shrugged, “Until Lin gets what he wants, I guess.”

“What if-” he paused, “what if he doesn’t though? What happens then?”

You leant forward, “What’s going on, Marcus?” you asked gently, “You can tell me. Maybe I can help.”

Before you’d even finished the question he was shaking his head, “No. No, Y/N/N trust me, you can’t help with this.”

“I can try,” you argued, giving him a small smile, “I’m pretty smart, you know?”

For a second it looked like Marcus wanted to cry. His eyes watered up and you had to fight the instinct to reach down and pull him into a hug.

“Yeah, I know that.” he said softly, sniffing and wiping his eyes to force back the tears, “Okay, Y/N, I’ll tell you.”

Satisfied, you leant back on your bed, waiting expectantly while Marcus collected his thoughts. He sighed again, running his hand through his already messed up hair. His dark eyes darted around your room, taking in every inch of the place like he’d never seen a dorm before. It made you feel strangely unsettled.

“This really your room?” he asked, pulling out a cigarette and sliding it between his lips, “It’s nice.”

You rolled your eyes, “Yes, it’s my room and you,” you started, leaning forward and pulling the cig out of his mouth, “can’t smoke in here.”

“Wha-really?” Marcus complained, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

His hands were fidgety, which meant he was nervous.

“Yes, really, Now stop deflecting and tell me why I’m stuck in my room with no one but you for company, and why you look like you haven’t slept in a month, will you?”

He met your eye and you felt, more than saw, his resistance crumble.

“Well, I should probably start with how I blew up my old roommate at the boy’s home,” Marcus started, leaning back against the bed, “and why he wants to kill me for it.”

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

When Marcus finally fell silent you were shocked. You felt like a tidal wave of information had just knocked you over and you were just drowning in it all. How had so much been happening without your knowledge? Some things you’d known about, of course, like Maria killing Chico and Billy killing his dad but, all this other stuff? Chester and El Diablo? Maria killing Yukio? Juan going after Saya in the middle of the hallway?

“Jesus Christ,” you said.

Marcus snorted, “You can say that again.”

You reached behind your bed and pulled out a bottle of vodka that was still mostly full, left over from some house party or another that you’d managed to smuggle in. In one fluid motion, before you could think better of it, you twisted the cap off and took a deep swig, sloshing a little bit on your uniform by accident. The alcohol burned like fire on the way down and you grimaced as you passed the bottle to Marcus.

“Thank fuck,” said, accepting the bottle gratefully, “Y/N, you’re an angel, if you ever need anything-”

“Yeah, yeah,” you smiled, “shut up and drink, Arguello.”

“If I must,” he joked with a melodramatic sigh, taking a massive gulp.

As he drank, you watched Marcus as inconspicuously as you could. He seemed lighter now, like the act of opening up to you had taken a huge weight off his shoulders. You still weren’t exactly sure how you felt about it all. Were you confused? Angry? Terrified? Did you wish he’d never said anything? Were you happy he’d trusted you? You didn’t know, probably a little bit of all of it but, despite the craziness and confusion, you were glad you’d been able to help, even if it was just by listening. Talking to Marcus had always been one of your favorite things to do and, sadly this was the most genuine conversation you’d had with one another since Vegas. It was nice, in a weird, messed up sort of way.

“Is this why you’ve been so off with me lately?” you eventually asked, “You were trying to keep this all a secret?”

Marcus grimaced, whether from the alcohol or embarrassment you weren’t sure, and passed the bottle back.

“I’ve always been shit at lying to you and, yeah, I wanted to keep you out of it,” he admitted, “I thought if I just waited long enough everything would just sort of die down.”

“But it hasn’t?”

“But it hasn’t,” he agreed.

“So, we’re all basically fucked.” you said simply.

“Unless I can get to Saya, convince her not to gut Maria and explain what happened before anyone else does, yeah.”

“Well,” you sighed, pushing yourself up onto your feet and sliding your secret stash of contraband from its hiding place in the ceiling, “you know, whatever happens I’ll fight by your side when the time comes,” you said, avoiding his eye, “but for now, since this might be one of our last chances, we might as well enjoy the peace and quiet.”

Marcus looked up at the contraband and smiled, “you’re amazing, you know that?”

Blood rose to your cheeks and you broke his gaze, tossing a bag of cheetos at him, “Shut up.” you said fondly, “And don’t ever keep me in the dark like that again.”

The teasing glint in Marcus’ eyes softened and he reached out to catch your hand, forcing you to look back at him from where he sat on the floor.

“Never.” he promised.

You passed the first few hours of lockdown in a bubble of serenity. While you lay on your bed reading and listening to music, Marcus doodled in his journal all the while maintaining an easy conversation with you. You avoided the hard topics, focussing instead on music and comic books and which teachers you thought would win in a fight as you passed the bottle of vodka back and forth. It felt good, easy even, joking with one another like nothing had happened, like nothing had changed. And maybe it hadn’t, you reasoned to yourself, maybe this is how it had always been at King’s; a little bit messy, a little bit terrifying but better than what your life had been before. Maybe this was enough, maybe this was the trade off you made when you agreed to go to a school for assassins and, maybe, you could be okay with that.

At some point Marcus had moved and was now leaning up against your bed instead of your roommates so that you could play with his hair while he drew. It was something you’d discovered that he liked entirely by accident, sitting on the roof together one night when he was still fairly new at King’s. Back then he’d been so touch starved that he’d almost cried the first time he felt your fingers carding through his hair and you’d wondered, not for the first time, what exactly had happened in that boy’s home to make him so afraid. You’d never do it in public of course, people would get the wrong idea and pick on you both if you did but, in private, you’d gotten used to just reaching out and twirling one of his curls around your finger whenever you wanted. As you gently let your fingers scrape against his scalp you could hear Marcus' pencil as it scratched against the paper, and you fought the urge to lean forward and see what he was drawing. Journals were private shit, you reminded yourself, if Marcus wanted to show you what he was doing, he would.

“What’re you reading?” He asked, breaking the comfortable silence you’d fallen into.

“The color purple,” you replied, “my mom sent it to me.”

“I didn’t know you and your mom were close like that,” Marcus said, a note of confusion in his voice, “in fact,” he stopped drawing suddenly and twisted his head to look at you, “I don’t really know anything about your family.”

You shrugged, “There’s not much to know, really. My parents are smugglers and I’m at King’s, end of story.”

“End of story? Just like that?” he retorted, “Come on Y/N/N, you know everything about me and I know almost nothing about you. Tell me something.”

“That’s ‘cause you are a chronic oversharer and a terrible judge of character,” you teased, ruffling his hair and returning to your book. Marcus sighed, all melodrama and betrayal and you could feel his eyes burning a hole through The Color Purple. You swore loudly and sat up, “Fine, whatever, you win,” you conceded, “what do you want to know?”

“Yes!” he sighed, laughing at his own cleverness before continuing, “Okay, do you have any siblings?”

“I had an older sister, she died when I was eight and we’re not going to talk about it,” you answered, “next.”

“Favorite colour?”

“Blue or grey.”

“Where were you born?”

“In a tiny little city you’ve never heard of,” you said.

“Have you ever been arrested?” Marcus pressed on.

“Twice, have you?”

“Never,” he replied.

“Okay square,” you joked, “my turn. What’s your biggest fear?”

“Jesus, alright,” Marcus laughed, reaching for the vodka, “if we’re going there we both need to be like 15% less sober.”

You snatched the bottle back, “How about this, for every question we choose to answer we get to drink. If we pass on a question then the other person gets to ask two more which we then can’t pass on, agreed?”

“A drinking game version of twenty questions? What are we, seven?” Marcus complained, but he shook your hand anyway, “Agreed.”

“Good, so back to my question,” you started, “what, Marcus Lopez Arguello, is your biggest fear?”

Marcus looked at you for a long moment, like he was sizing you up and, instinctively, you fought back the urge to shiver under the weight of his stare. He was, of course, incredibly handsome; the sort of handsome that you couldn’t help but notice, even when you were trying not to, but that wasn’t what made it so difficult to meet his eye. No, what made it difficult was that, despite what he thought, Marcus really knew you. He saw past all the bullshit showboating, all the carefully constructed facades. Every single defense mechanism you had was worthless against him because, at the end of the day, you didn’t really want to keep Marcus out. If anything you wanted him closer and, when he looked at you like that, you felt like he might see right through you, into that secret part of your heart that you kept hidden. So you did what any self respecting coward would do; you looked away. Marcus sighed and reached for the bottle.

“Dying without really having lived,” he admitted, taking a swig from the bottle, “and dying alone I guess. You?”

You wrinkled your nose, “Pass.”

“What?” Marcus laughed incredulously, “You can’t pass! I just bared my soul to you and you’re just gonna opt out? Boooooo! Booooooo Y/N!”

“Fine,” you laughed, “fine I’ll tell you. I uh-I’m afraid that I’ll never find somewhere to belong. Like maybe I’m just always gonna feel like an outsider wherever I am until I die, maybe even after that.”

“You belong with us,” Marcus said, “with me and Billy and Petra and the others.”

You shook your head and drank deep, wincing at the vodka’s burn, “Nah, I don’t. Not really at least, not like you and Billy. I’m sure they all like me just fine but, at the end of the day, I’m nobody’s reason for being there, you know?” Marcus looked thoughtful but, just as he opened his mouth to answer, you cut him off, desperate to avoid hearing whatever kind, pitying lie he’d come up with, “Anyway moving on, it’s your turn Arguello. Hit me with your best question, I’m an open book.”

You traded questions back and forth like that for quite some time, laughing and joking and drinking as you did. Marcus was ruthless in his honesty, laying himself bare in front of you and refusing to pass on even a single question. You passed on many. Not all of them were deep and personal, some were funny or nonsensical, but enough were deep and personal that, by the time the alcohol had started to really kick in, you were feeling a little raw. It was like Marcus was desperate to wrap himself up in his own honesty, clinging to every shred of emotional intimacy he could find like it was a lifeline and flinging himself ever deeper into his own vulnerability. Usually you would have pulled back so fast at the idea of being that open that you’d have given yourself whiplash but now, with the alcohol making you feel warm and light, and Marcus smiling at you like there was nowhere else in the world that he would rather be, you revelled in it. There was a sort of tension building too, not exactly something but almost something….very nearly something, and part of you was just excited to see what it was. Marcus laughed at something you said, you didn’t even remember what, and the sound made you so happy that you actually had to stop and catch your breath. He was still leaning against your bed but now his back was to the cupboard next to your headrest so that he could face you while you talked. Unfortunately this also meant that you could study his face more conveniently, mapping every dip and curve and scar like he might vanish if you looked away. Dangerous territory, a voice in your head whispered, sharp turns up ahead.

“Shhh, stop, it’s my turn,” Marcus asserted, still breathless from laughing, “Okay, no shhh-Y/N-listen, here’s my question; have you ever been in love?”

Dangerous territory! Your brain shouted, Abort, abort, abort, abo-

“Nope,” you answered, which felt like a lie even though it technically wasn’t, “have you?”

“Is that your question?” he asked, which some small part of your brain noted was strange since, up until now, you’d both been answering every question.

“No! Well-yes-but I have a different, better question so just answer this one anyway.” you said, pushing the thought away and looking down at Marcus expectantly.

He held your gaze for a second longer, took a deep, deep drink and nodded before saying, like it physically pained him, “I’m in love now.”

Your heart stuttered and dropped into your stomach like a stone, but you kept your face neutral, “Saya?”

Marcus gave you a wry smile that hinged on sadness, “Is that your question?”

You blushed and shook your head, trying to recapture the fun, carefree energy you’d had just moments before. Somehow, your drunk brain noted, you’d made Marcus sad. Or he had made himself sad. Or the question had made him sad, maybe? It was confusing and thinking about it made your chest feel tight so you just pushed forward.

“No, here’s my question-are you ready? It’s a good one-here it is; what is your most precious recent memory and why?”

Marcus frowned, “Most precious memory? What does that mean? Do you mean my best memory?”

You shook your head, “See, that’s why it’s so good; a precious memory is like a good memory, only more. It’s a memory you play over and over in your head whenever things get tough because something important happened there, something you didn’t realize was happening when you were in it. So you have to keep remembering it, you know?” you explained, “So you can figure out what happened and why it was so important.” you continued, “And I say recent because, well, we’ve talked about our families a lot, and the people we’ve lost, but we’re on our own now, and we’ve gotta start making new precious memories.”

“Oh,” Marcus said softly.

“It’s good right?” you continued, distantly aware that Marcus was looking sad again, “Like mine is that day that I tried to stop Viktor from stealing that girl’s kit kat.”

“You mean when he and his goons beat you to a pulp?” he asked dubiously.

“Almost to a pulp,” you corrected, “but while he was wailing on me, the girl got away. I knew when I went in that Vic would beat the shit out of me, but I did it anyway and it worked. It was the day I realised that the choices I make can have some positive effect on the world, so long as I’m willing to take the consequences of them.” you finished, shifting so that your head was resting on your hand, “So, what’s yours and why?”

Marcus shook his head and took another sip from the vodka bottle, “You’re killing me here, Y/N/N. Pass.”

Your jaw dropped, “What!?! NO! You never pass on questions, that’s like your thing.”

“Yeah well I’m passing on this one so just-” he waved his hand, shooing away your berating, “ask me something else.”

“Fine,” you sighed, mulling over the possibilities in your head for a moment, “okay well, since you apparently are in love and I’ve never been in love, what does it feel like?”

“Hmm?”

You met his eye, “Being in love,” you clarified, “what does it feel like?”

In the dim light of your dorm room it was hard to tell, but you were pretty sure you saw Marcus flush deep red.

“It-uh-” he started, fiddling with his hands, “it’s kind of hard to describe.”

“Try,” you encouraged softly, mesmerized by the shift in his demeanour.

“Well I-” Marcus cleared his throat, “for a long while I wasn’t sure it actually was love. I thought maybe it was just general teen stupidness you know? You want what you can’t have, projecting onto someone you admire, that sort of crap but then one day-after Vegas actually-it just,” he shrugged, “changed.” you listened intently as every word burrowed itself into the small secret part of your heart like a knife, and he continued, “Suddenly everything made sense. It’s like my whole damn life was leading me to that moment, like maybe this was why all the shitty stuff happened, so that I could be here, feeling like this.” he explained simply, keeping his gaze focused on his hands, “And now it’s fucking crazy ‘cause all this shit’s going on and all I can think about is keeping-is not losing this. My heart feels like it’s gonna explode half the time, like it’s too damn big for my body and it hurts but it’s a good hurt, like stretching a stiff muscle. I’m not even really worried for myself anymore, but I’m so fucking scared that something I say or do is gonna come back and mess everything up and-” he shook his head, his voice quivering, “and I’m terrified, but I also don’t ever want this feeling to go away. It’s scary having someone hold your heart like this but, at the same time, I think not feeling like this, now that I know what it’s like, would hurt a million times more.” he finished, tensing his jaw and fidgeting like he was nervous, “Sorry, bit of a rambling answer. I owe you another one, don’t I?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” you answered, snapping yourself back into focus. It felt like the air itself was heavy with tension now, like all the things you wanted to say were swirling around your head, invisible but always present because you knew that feeling. You knew it all too well and for him to feel that way, to talk that passionately about someone else...you just couldn’t take it. “Okay for my second question;” you continued, “tell me your most precious memory and why.”

This time all the blood leached out of Marcus’ face, like he was becoming a ghost right before your eyes. You felt mean, it was a total bastardisation of the rules and you knew it but there was a little voice in the back of your mind telling you that this was the only question you wanted answered, that this was what you needed to know.

“That’s so against the rules.” Marcus tried, lightening the atmosphere considerably.

“No it’s not,” you argued, “it’s a dick move for sure but there was nothing specifically forbidding it in our original agreement.”

“You suuuuuuuck,” Marcus whined, leaning into your arm where it hung off the bed.

Instinctively you threaded your fingers through his hair, playing with the soft curls like you always did. You felt Marcus arch up into your touch, humming with pleasure as you scraped your fingers through the baby hairs on the back of his neck. He shivered, but the tension slipped out of his muscles and he relaxed with a sigh, resigning himself to his fate.

“Do you really want to know?” He asked softly.

“I really do,” you replied.

“Okay then” he breathed, “honestly, it’s that time on the way back from Vegas when everyone else had gone into the gas station for food, and it was just you and me in the backseat of Willie’s car.” he continued, ���You had your hair pinned back and I was telling you some story about my childhood while we waited. You had a red sweater on, and bright blue nails. It was dark out, but the lights from the gas station were shining around your head like a halo.”

“I remember,” you told him, your voice hardly louder than a whisper, “but why? Why that memory?”

Marcus looked up, his dark eyes filed to the brim with the kind of vulnerable sincerity that made you feel breathless and afraid. Slowly, as though he were approaching an injured animal, he reached up and pulled your fingers from his hair and held your palm in both of his. You were frozen, like a deer in headlights, but you still felt the shiver as it ran up your spine at his touch.

“It was the first time I saw you smile, for real, since we’d arrived in Vegas,” he explained, studying your hand, “up until then I was pretty sure I was never gonna see it again but,” he shook his head and shrugged, “I made some awful joke about wishing I’d known then what I knew now and...you laughed. You really laughed and you rested your forehead on my shoulder and-boom-just like that...I knew.”

“Knew what?” you asked, half terrified of the answer.

Marcus gave you that smile, that sad little smile he’d been shooting you for weeks, the one that made your heart hurt just to look at and, before he even said anything, you were already shaking your head.

“Don’t make me say it Y/N,” he whispered, “surely by now you know?”

“No.” you said, pulling your hand away and leaning back, “No, you don’t. You can’t, Marcus.”

“Y/N/N-”

“No, you don’t understand,” you insisted, “it’s not possible. You aren’t-you don’t think of me that way. No one does, I’m not like that. I’m not lovable like you are.”

“Like I-?” Marcus started, following you up and sitting gingerly on your bed, “Y/N you’re infinitely lovable.”

“No I’m not!” You asserted, sure that this had to be some sort of trick, some sort of sick joke, “Who could love me? Who could possibly be fucked up and unlucky enough to love me?”

“I could!” Marcus promised, “I do, that’s what I’m saying.”

“Marcus, you’re the only person I’ve ever felt this way about,” you admitted, “please don’t joke.”

His answering smile was gentle and understanding, like he saw the pain you were in, like he understood. You couldn’t hope for this, you had never let yourself believe for even a second that-

“It’s not a joke, Y/N,” he promised, cupping your face in his hands and forcing you to meet his gaze, “I’m just-I’m in love with you. You were wrong, you’ve never been an outsider, you’ve always belonged with me.”

You searched his eyes, his dark, beautiful eyes, for some trace of deceit, some hint that this was too good to be true and that he was waiting to take it away from you, but found none. Maybe he was right, a small, hopeful voice in your mind chimed in, maybe this was how it was supposed to be. Maybe just this once, you didn’t need to be afraid, maybe you could let yourself want this, want him.

Because looking back, it made sense, didn’t it? All those things you’d written off; months of secret smiles and gentle touches, of seeking one another out when you didn’t need to, this was what they were leading up to. As you looked, Marcus blushed, his cheeks flushing a pale shade of pink as you both realised, for the first time, how close you were, how open and vulnerable you were to each other in that moment.

“Y/N/N,” he started softly, “Y/N/N I don’t want to be an asshole or anything but-” he let out a breathy laugh, “but I really want to kiss you right now. Would it be alright if-”

You were kissing him before he could even finish his sentence.

[weasleysprincess]

New Flame chapter 2

A/N: I had writer’s block for a good week or so and worked last weekend. But finally I did it, 6k+ word fic! feels like 12k after editing and prof reading. Hope you enjoy and I’m already writing chapter 3! 

Warnings: Cussing, drinking and implied smut(not Y/n and Bill, it’s coming thou), arguing, a tiny bit of fighting. Hopefully that covers everything, if not I’m sorry I didn’t catch it.  

The first task was going to start on Saturday and just about everyone was pissed at Harry for putting his name in the goblet.  It’s odd, Harry is just 14 and the twins are closer to 17 then Harry is.  Something doesn't sit with me about his situation.  It was getting closer to the end of the day, my prefect duty was tonight.  Sorta worried I’ll run into Cedric tonight, but then again I’m not worried, Charlie wrote me and said Bill was coming too.  

I looked at Hufflepuff’s robe and saw a pin  “CEDRIC DIGGORY, THE TRUE HOGWARTS’ CHAMPION'' She grinned, showing the Slytherin girl.  “That’s great, I love it,”  I looked again. “POTTER STINKS” I rolled my eyes and walked along.   “I don’t give a damn about your father, Malfoy!”, Harry yelled across the courtyard.  “Harry”, I sighed.  I walked out, getting a better look.  Suddenly Malfoy was turned into a white ferret.  “Oh my god”, I snickered along with the crowd. Cedric winked at me.  Harry was sitting with Hermoine at dinner,  “Harry”, I said sitting next to the boy.  “What happened with Malfoy?”, I asked.  Harry rolled his eyes.  “I’m not gonna report you, besides Malfoy an annoying git”, I rubbed his back.  “You answered it'', Harry said, with a huff.  I stood up, “Hey, good luck Saturday. I’m pulling for you”  Harry blushed, “Uhrm, thanks Y/n” George pulled me next to him, “Hi George'', I giggled.   Ron had a Cedric pin, I rolled my eyes. “Molly, would be ashamed”, I thought.  Professor McGongall gave me my instructions for tonight, it was 10 not long before I was off duty.  I made the corner and was face to face with a certain Hufflepuff, “You’re joking”, I sighed.  “Sorry”, Cedric backed up a little.  I moved past him, but grabbed my hand.  “Can we talk? Please just hear me out” I looked at his eyes, the ones who charmed me for years.  “Fine, five minutes and I’m out of here”, I rolled my eyes.  “I know last spring, I fucked up hard. You didn’t deserve any of that, I wish I had just talked to you instead. Y/n, you are a wonderful, amazing girl and I treated you like shit. I’m sorry, truly. The next person who gets you is one lucky person and again I’m sorry for how I treated you and did you in the end”, Cedric had tears in his eyes. 

“Ced, thank you for realizing what you did and I appreciate the honesty. Just promise me, you’ll treat Cho better than you did me. I know you two are a thing, don’t lie.  Oh and I guess good luck this weekend”, I said.  Cedric smiled, “Thanks, she’s pretty cool. I’m thinking about asking her to the ball, you have a date?”  “Uh no, haven’t really been thinking about the ball”, I played with my ring on my finger.  Cedric nodded, “Night, Y/n” “Uh night Cedric”, I swallowed.  I came back into the common room, there was a single lamp on.  “Really? We don’t know how to turn a damn lamp off”, I walked over to turn it off when suddenly, a pair of big hands grabbed my waist, pulling me towards them.  I was fixing to scream until their scent filled my nostrils,  “Bill?”, I asked.  “Hi Princess. Miss me?”, Bill kissed my cheek.  “You have no idea”, I smiled, turning to hug him properly.  

I woke up in Bill’s arms around my waist,  “Mhm, I gotta get up”, I mumbled.  “Stay a bit longer”, Bill whined in the pillow.  I smiled at him. His long ginger hair was sprawled across my pillows, freckled toned chest rose with each breath, the warm heat off his body. “I gotta, Billy. If it makes you feel any better, I have a half day today”, I grinned.  Bill had one eye open and a curious look on his face, “Maybe so. What time?”  “I’m free after lunch”, I finally got loose from his grip.  “Meet me at Hagrid’s hut, don’t wear your uniform. I’m helping Charlie, this afternoon”, Bill laid on his elbows, propped up some.  “Y/n, wake your lazy ass up!”, Fred yelled from the other side. “I’m zipping up my skirt, chill”, I said back.  I walked to my nightstand to grab my wand, Bill grabbed my waist.  “Are you mad? Let me go”, I pushed his chest.  Bill smirked, “Just wanted a few kisses, love”  I kissed him, but knew Fred was standing out there.  “I gotta go now,” Bill pouted. I opened the door, “Finally”, Fred sighed.  The curtain facing the door was pulled, no way he could his brother in my bed.  “Morning Georgie”, I smiled.  “Morning, what’s got you in such a good mood?”, George asked.  “Nothing particular, Weasley”, I said, grabbing a piece of toast.   “I’m gonna find out why, you’re usually hateful in the mornings”, George said.  “Oh, you’ll be surprised for sure”, I giggled.  “Who is it?”, Lee asked, wiggling his eyebrows.  “Mind your own, Jordan”, I giggled.  “Freddie, hold me I’m scared”, George hid in Fred’s shoulder.  “Would you knock it off, git”, Fred pushed his younger twin away.  I was coming from Flitwick’s class, when someone pulled aside.  “What is it now, George? Oh Adrian, hi”, I smiled.  “Hi love, how are you doing?”, Adrian asked.  “Pretty good and you?”, I asked, smiling.  “Do you have a date to the ball? I know it’s early but it never hurt to be early”, Adrian grinned, laying his hand beside my head by the wall.  “No, I don’t actually”, I replied.  “Well, how would you like to be my date to the ball?”, Adrian smiled.  Couldn’t deny he wasn’t handsome, because I would be lying or blind.  It isn’t like I can bring Bill, surly he won’t mind. “A slytherin asking a gryffindor to a ball, isn’t gonna cause a scandal, Pucey?”, I smirked.  “I think I'll be forgiven because of your beauty, love. So what do you say?”, Adrian ran his hand through my hair.  “My dress is silver, your dress robes should be able to match”, I smiled.  “Perfect, darling. See ya around”, Adrian smiled, running his thumb over my cheek.  “Bye”, I smiled.  I walked towards the great hall, but decided to go meet Bill and Charlie.  “What do you wear to see dragons?”, I asked, throwing my sweater off.  “No, Y/n! What are you thinking?”, I threw off the yellow sweater.  Finally I decided on, pair of light washed jeans, black sweater and maroon combat boots. “Uh jewelry” a silver ring and my first initial necklace and my ring that always stays on my other hand.  I had to sneak out with a professor or one of the Weasley kids finding me.  “Bill, who are you waiting for? Fred and George are still in class like the rest of them”, I heard Charlie sigh.  “Go see what Hagrid wanted with you”, Bill said.  Charlie stalked off, mumbling something about Bill.  Bill was watching Charlie, “Hi Handsome”, I smiled.  “Well hi there, baby. How’s classes?”, Bill kissed me.  “Alright, thanks for making my bed back”, I smiled.  “You’re welcome, baby. Just habit”, Bill smiled.  “Hello Y/n'', Hagrid stood behind Bill with Charlie, whose mouth was hanging open.  “Hi Hagrid, nice seeing you Charles'', I looked behind Hagrid.  Charlie rushed over,  “When? How? Why? She's still in school”  Bill and I rolled our eyes, “The summer” Bill said.  “It just happened and nobody broke it off before school started”, I finished for Bill.  “Does anyone else now? What about the twins?”, Charlie asked.  “I’m planning on it”, I said, holding Bill’s hand.  Charlie looked at us and our hands, “Bill, you’re my brother and I love you. But if you break her heart or hurt her feelings, I’m kicking your ass”  I smiled, letting go of Bill’s hand.  “I knew you would approve”, I giggled as I hugged his torso.  “Charlie!”, Someone yelled for the tall ginger.  “Do you want people knowing?”, Bill asked. “Yes, I do but not until you’re ready”, I replied back.  “I’m staying until the new year, maybe before christmas?”, Bill asked. “Up to you, love”, I smiled, grabbing his forearm as we walked.  “Have you ever seen a dragon?”, Bill asked.  “No, you?”,I asked.  “Unfortunately, they sent me to Greece for a job. Guy that was also there, we went into a cave, accidentally ran into one. Don’t think I’ve ever ran so fast in life or needed Charlie so bad either?”, Bill grinned.  “I won’t be surprised if Charlie has pictures of the dragons he has raised in his wallet”, I giggled.  It was a couple hours, until the other Weasley children came to find their older brothers.  “Y/n, what are you doing here?”, Ron asked.  “I invited her like I did you guys”, Charlie answered his little brother.  Fred looked like he was trying to piece everything together.  “Can we see a dragon now? You promised”, Ginny asked, looking up at Charlie.  “I promised you, Gin. Boys don’t play around, you’ll scare them”, Charlie said.  Ron and the twins nodded, “Okay come on”, Charlie said, picking Ginny up as he took his siblings.  I followed behind but Bill caught my wrist, “what is it?”, I asked.  Bill leaned down and kissed me, “I needed another kiss”  “Act like we didn’t make out earlier”, I sassed him.  Bill grinned, “Don’t act you don’t like it”  “Whatever, loverboy”, I grinned, walking behind Fred.  Fred looked down at me, furrowing his brows, but he looked back at Charlie.  Charlie had Ginny on his shoulders, letting her pet the Green Welsh’s neck. 

Bill pulled me aside as the kids started leaving with Charlie,  “I haven’t taken you on a proper date, I was thinking dinner”  I smiled, “Sure, why not?” Bill grinned as Fred and I locked eyes for a moment.  I changed into a skirt and switched my boots to black heeled boots.  The twins and Ginny were walking to the portrait hole when Ginny gasped.  “Y/n, why are you all dressed up for? It’s dinner in the Great Hall”, Ginny looked me up and down.  “For you guys it is, me. I have a date with someone”, I smiled back as I threw my black peacoat on.  “Who?”, George asked.  “You don’t know them, they’re already out of school”, I said naturally.  “Okay, come back in a decent time and don’t be drunk. Tomorrow's the first task and we need your help”, George said.  “I promise, Fabian. Go eat before Ron takes everything”, I said, kissing George’s cheek.  I snuck down to Hogsmeade where Bill said he would be waiting.  POV change- The twins followed Y/n bc they’re nosey.  “Hogsmeade? Bill is at Honeydukes”, George said watching Y/n walk towards Honeydukes.  “It can’t be Bill, they barely know each other”, Fred scoffed.  “They did disappear a lot back home, I did hear him walk her back to Ginny’s room one night”, George said.  “Bill’s six years older than her”, Fred ran a hand through his ginger locks.  “Let’s go”, George said walking towards Hogsmeade.  Fred tucked the map in his coat pocket and followed his twin.  3rd pov-  Bill was smiling at the girl, who told him about the niffler she had as a little girl. Y/n’s back was at the entrance, anyone who walked in couldn’t recognise until they got closer.  “Fred! He’s on a date with some brunette”, George yelled, making his twin stop. Fred pulled out the map to see who was with his oldest brother.  “Well who is it, Freddie?”, George asked, peering into the window. “Y/n Brooks, I knew it! They were too cuddly this afternoon, she lied”, Fred furrowed his brows in anger.  “Let’s get out of here, George”  “George! George! Georgie, come on”, Fred grabbed his twin’s hand.  “Why are you mad?”, George asked.  “She lied to us, Geo! Hell, I thought it was with Cedric at first, but Bill”, Fred growled.  “What’s so bad about our brother? It’s just dinner”, George asked.  “He’s twenty-four, she’s a child”, Fred yelled as Bill and Y/n walked out of the three broomsticks.  George smacked a hand on Fred’s mouth and pushed them into an alley.  “Thanks for the dinner, Bill”, Y/n said.  “You’re welcome, princess. Did you get enough to eat?”, Bill asked the girl.  “More than enough”, She giggled. The twins watched as their brother and best friend walked by, Y/n was holding Bill’s arm, looking up at him like he hung the moon just for her.  The couple turned down a different way as the twins walked out of the alley.  “Fred, George! You know you’re not supposed to be down here at this hour!”, a shopkeeper yelled. 

The twins were hiding in the common room as they heard Y/n and Bill talking.  “Come on, I’ll sneak up on you again, Billy”, Y/n whined.  “I can’t, Charlie got suspicious and asked. I’m sorry, love”, Bill said, brushing the girl’s hair back.  Y/n knew she was risking Professor McGongall bursting and finding the pair wrapped up together.  “Alright not tonight. I had a really good time, Billy. Thank you again”, Y/n smiled.  “I’m glad you had a good time now, go get some sleep, princess”, Bill kissed her cheek.  “Okay, goodnight, Weasley”, Y/n caught his lips with hers.  The portrait hole closed behind Y/n as she snuck towards the girls’ dorms.  Fred scooped her up into his arms, throwing her on the couch as George sat on her legs.  “Fred, George! What is the matter with you?”, Y/n yelped.  “How was your date? With our brother”, Fred asked.  “Great actually, How do you know it was with your brother?”, Y/n tried to sit up but Fred’s weight was on her stomach.  “The map and we saw you at Three broomsticks”, Fred said.  “No input from you, George?”, Y/n asked.  “No, just want answers”, George grinned.  “Fine, Godric I hate you guys! Bill asked me to dinner tonight, happy now? Let me go”, Y/n broke down.  Fred and George looked at each other for a minute.  “If you don’t let go now, I’ll scream my head off”, Y/n said.  “Are you sure, Princess? Just dinner with Billy”, Fred smirked.  “Hermione!!”, Y/n screamed, making Fred smack a hand over her mouth.  Y/n bit Fred’s finger, “Oww, you bitch. Okay okay go to bed”, Fred snapped his finger out of Y/n’s mouth.  The twins got off of her,  “Thank you boys, nice working with you”, Y/n smirked as she walked upstairs.  Pov change- Y/n’s 

My date with Bill was perfect last night besides the twins and their nosey selves. Sure, this was our first official date and we’ve only made out a few times. I feel something with Bill unlike another partner. “Y/n, you ready?”, Hermoine asked through my door.  “No just woke up, come in though”, I replied back.  The young curly headed girl walked in,  “Morning” “Morning Moine. Sleep good?”, I asked, climbing out of bed.  Hermione only nodded her head.  “Ginny said you had a date last night” “She was right, I did”, I said slipping a green sweater on.  “With whom I may ask?”Moine smiled, cheeky like.  “You can’t tell anyone, especially any Weasley child, okay? Promise?” I sighed.  “I promise to stay quiet”, Hermoine held her pinky up. I linked my pinky with hers, “Oh Merlin, Bill took me to dinner last night. We’ve been messing around for a couple months” Hermoine looked at me as the gears turned in her head.  “That means you’ve been doing him since the death eater attack in the summer. You lied to me that morning when I asked where you were ``''Moine, look I didn’t know what it meant with him. I would have looked like an idiot, if I told you we were together that morning. I don’t know what we are now, sure he took me to dinner and we’ve made out a few times. Charlie knows that we’re something oh the twins caught me sneaking back in last night. I’m sorry for not letting you know but-“ “It’s okay, I understand. Since I’m here can you give me advice?”, Moine held my hand.  “Of course what’s up?”, I asked.  Hermoine was smiling and blushing, “Um I like Victor Krum and I don’t know how to talk to him. You’re older and have had boyfriends before” I smiled, “The Bulgarian player? The one Ron has a boy crush on? Well, just say hello, I’m Hermione Granger. Wanna go study or something, you don’t even have to start anything just say hi. It worked with Cedric”, I said to the younger witch, on my bed.  Hermoine nodded, “Thank you, Y/n. I’ll keep you updated, cole we’re not gonna have good seats” I couldn’t sneak away for Bill like I wanted to.  Standing next to the twins and Ginny, the crowd cheered as Krum entered.  I looked over to my left and saw a certain redhead, I smiled.  He grinned back and waved, making me blush.  Krum had got his egg after a transfiguration spell.  “Let’s go Cedric!!”, a Hufflepuff student yelled beside Lee Jordan.  

Cedric and Fleur had got their egg and it was time for Harry to come out. My nerves were high, I was pulling for Harry and didn’t want him hurt. He was Sirius’ other god child besides me, Sirius wanted me to update him on Harry since he was still hiding.  “Come on Harry, make Sirius proud”, I whispered.  The dragon tried to burn Harry as Harry flew around the stands.  “Come on, Potter don’t fuck up now!”, Fred groaned. Suddenly, I could smell George’s cologne and the warm smell of cinnamon like Bill. I was hiding in George’s chest as the dragon flew up, tearing some stands as it flew after Harry.  “Well done, Dragon!!”, I heard one of the twins cheered.  “Y/n, you okay? Dragon is gone nowGeorge asked, lifting my head out of his chest.  “Yeah, Yeahh I’m good. Sorry George”, I stepped aside from him a bit.  “It’s okay, love” George smiled, before talking to Fred. Harry finally got his egg and everyone was heading to the common room.  “Hey Brooks!” Draco yelled. “What is it, Malfoy?”, I rolled my eyes.  “Did Adrian tell you?”, Malfoy sneered.  “No, tell me what?”, I walked closer to the boy.  Draco pulled me into his chest, “He asked you out to the ball as a joke, well Cassius betted he wouldn’t ask a gryffindor to the ball”  “Adrian asked me two days ago and hasn’t spoken to me since. Stop being a brat Malfoy and mind your own!”, I rolled my eyes. His hands dropped to my ass, “Get your slimy snotty hands off of my ass or you won’t have them anymore!”, I grabbed Draco’s hand, bending his backwards.  “Owww let go!!”, Draco whined.  “Why? Don’t like being touched somewhere you don’t want to be? Huh?”, I yelled.  “I’m sorry just let go, I still need my hands”, Draco cried. “Get the hell of my sight, Malfoy and don’t go whining to daddy about this!”, I pushed Draco to the ground, kicking dirt near his face.  I got to the courtyard and saw Adrian with Theo.  “Pucey!”, I yelled.  “Oh hi Y/n”, Adrian smiled.  “Wipe that smile off of your face before I do it myself! Am I a joke to you or hell even a bet? Malfoy told me that Cassius made you ask me to the ball as best, I’m guessing you would have been a pussy to ask a gryffindor if you didn’t!”  “Brooks, Draco is being well Draco”, Theo said.  “I’m not talking to you, Nott!”, I spat.  “So did you or did you not ask me out as a bet? I’m only asking once before I whoop your ass”, I stood tall and got in his face. “Cassius did make a bet with me but I’ve liked you since my 2nd year. After you helped me after a quidditch game when an older gryffindor pushed me. We had won that year”, Adrian admitted.  “So you genuinely asked me because you like me or something? I don’t appreciate being a stupid bet”, I asked.  “I want to go because I think you’re pretty, smart and you seem like you know how to have a good time”, Adrian said.  “I’m sorry for being a bitch and amusing what Malfoy said was true. Do you still want to be my date?”, I asked, feeling like a complete jackass.  “Yeah, I do. I’m sorry for being distant and everything”, Adrian smiled. “It’s okay, I’ve been busy”, I said.  “You said your dress was black right?”, Adrian asked. Theo had left by now and it was just us. I laughed, shaking my head, “No Silly, my dress is silver. I told you that last week, pucey” “Okay silver! A black dress robe okay? I can have dad send me a different color”, Adrian asked.  “No black is fine, Adrian. Hey, the common room is probably chaos right now and I need to get back. See ya around okay?”, I said.  “See ya later, gorgeous”, Adrian kissed my cheek.  

Little to Y/n’s knowledge Bill and Charlie saw the whole thing between the young students.  “Bill, it isn’t like she could have brought you”, Charlie said. “I know and we’ve not put labels on it either”, Bill sighed.  “You better go say your goodbyes, Mum is expecting us”, Charlie said.  

I walked into my dorm, Bill was standing at the window looking out. The tournament was finished and an English rainstorm started.  I wrapped my arms around his torso and laid my head on his back, “Missed you” Bill tensed up but relaxed again, “I’m gonna miss you” I frowned, “I’ll miss you too, Weasley”  After some convincing and bringing out my puppy dog eyes, I got Bill to cuddle with me in bed. The rain smacked the window at a peaceful pace, Bill’s heartbeat and body heat was perfect.  “Y/n! Y/nn, wake up!!”, I gasped for air, “Uh what is it? Oh Gin, it’s you!” “Yeah, it’s dinner time. You okay?”, Ginny asked.  “Oh yeah, just a deep sleep and the rain you know”, I sighed, the side where Bill laid propped up was cold.  I followed the younger redhead to the Great Hall.  “Hey sleepyhead”, Fred smirked.  “Y/n”, George said where I was with Ginny.  “Yeah?” “Charlie wanted me to give you a birthday present from last year. Said he found it a year after he left here. You know Charlie is too busy to come home”, George handed me a medium sized box that was wrapped in purple paper with a silver bow on top.  “Thanks Georgie, I’ll write him a thank you later.” Dinner was over and thankfully I didn’t have perfect duty tonight.  “Y/n?”, someone spoke behind me.  “Who’s asking now?”, I sighed, I met the eyes of Draco Malfoy.  “What could you possibly need to say now? Thank you for lying about Adrian”, I rolled my eyes. Draco looked down at his shoes, “I’m not lying, Brooks! He’s really pulling your leg, you're being lied to. Cassius and Adrian were laughing about it in the hall tonight.”, Draco said softly. The first time, he had spoken to me or any other Gryffindor with kindness. 

I looked at Draco for a second, he had an emphatic look and biting his lip.  “I’m not being mean to you either” Adrian and Cassius came out of the hall laughing, “She actually thinks me Slytherin wants to take her to the ball. My parents would hang me by my toes if I took a Gryffindor to a dance”, Adrian snared.  Cassius’ eyes were wide as he stopped beside Draco, “Cass, what are you doing? Y/n, hey! How much did you hear of that?”, Adrian’s face dropped and he gulped.  “You lied to me twice and you actually had me convinced you put the house rivalry away. I thought Draco was being his rude arrogant self when he told last week. I’m sorry Draco for not believing you both times, Cassius you can jump off the astronomy tower for all I care!” I yelled.  People were standing around, gasping, pointing.  “I can’t believe I was stupid enough to believe a Slytherin actually liked me for me”, I shook my head, gripping my nails in my hand.  “Y/n, I’m sorry honestly”, Adrian tried to stand closer.  I saw red as the boy got closer, I felt my fist on his nose. “Fuck you! You’re nothing but a stupid prick”, I screamed.  “Alright alright! Show is over!”  Fred yelled.  Cassius pulled Adrian away as the crowd started to leave.  “Y/n, it’s okay”, George said.  “No, it’s not! I’m gonna be the biggest laughing stock in all of Hogwarts history. Just leave me alone, the both of you!”, I pushed between the twins as I ran up the tower stairs.  The common room was busy, a party was going to start for Harry and today’s match.  I slammed my door open and locked it before jumping on my bed. 

I cried in the sheets, my hand ran over some soft material.  Pulling it out from my pillow, the one Bill laid today.  “Oh Billy, you sweet sweet boy! I really need you right now”, I cried, holding his black hoodie.  Bill’s scent flooded my senses instantly, sorta calming me down.  “Just want this year over with, so I can run away with you Bill Weasley!”, I laid the hoodie on the pillow, before laying on it.  The sun was coming up, shining through the window. My head was pounding, not for the reasons the older Gryffindors’ heads are.  Bill’s hoodie laid out on the sheets, I traced tiny shapes on the material.  “I love you”, I whispered, part of me hoped William had heard it at the Burrow.  “Y/n! You up?”, George knocked.  “Yeah, just a minute”, I shot up, throwing Bill’s hoodie in my trunk.  “Come in”, I shut the trunk. “How are you feeling? Your hand okay?”, George asked, gently shutting my door.  “Heads pounding, crying all night feels like. Kinda sorta but nothing I can’t handle”, I smiled. “I’m sorry Adrian’s a prick. You are more than some stupid bet a Slytherin made. Nobody should be a bet, you’re too gorgeous to be'', George said.  “Yeah sure, I was embarrassed in front of the student body and people from two other schools. Don’t forget that, Godric that’s icing on the cake!”, I scoffed. “I bet everyone has forgotten about it! Breakfast?”, George smiled.  “I’m not showing my face not today, Georgie”, I rolled my eyes. The thought of trying to eat while everyone stared and gossiped about my misfortune wasn’t ever appetizing.  George frowned, “Okay so not the day. What do you want? I’ll sneak you some food” I smiled at the tall red head.  “Is there something on my face?”, George rubbed his stubble.  “No, just thinking is all, Georgie”, I said. “I’ll bring your favorites, now go take a shower okay?”, George smiled.  “Okay Georgie'', I grinned. “Love you, Brooks” “Love you too, you big lug”, I smiled as the younger boy walked out.  

Four days until the ball, everyone had let go of the fact Adrian asked me out on a bet. Cedric even put his two cents to Adrian and asked if I was okay.  At this point, thinking about skipping the ball and heading home early.  Great Aunt Sophie, sent the finished dress. It was beautiful but why go to the biggest dance without a date. Nobody dared to ask me to go with them, probably thought it was poor taste or didn’t want to die on the spot.  Fred had asked Angelina, Hermoine got asked by Krum, Adrian and Pansy were flirting so they were probably going together.  I was in the library with George helping him study for potions.  “Y/n, can I ask you something?”, George looked at me across the table.  “Sure Geo”, I decided to revert my eyes from the textbook.  “I know you’re thinking about skipping the ball, don’t lie. You’re in your last year and the Yule ball isn’t an annual thing. I was thinking if you want I could take you. Y/n, would you want to be my date?”, George asked, while holding my hand.  What would Bill think if his younger brother took me? Is it wrong? George is my best friend, who said it wasn’t more than friends?   “You don’t have a date? That’s hard to believe, Weasley'', I laughed it off.  “Y/n, I’m serious. We don’t even have to miss at the end of the night. I don’t want you to miss the chance of something fun and magical”, George said in a serious tone. “Oh wow, you’re not joking. Ah what the hell why not? Sure I’ll go with you George Weasley'', I smiled. George had moved to the seat next to me, “Of course, I’m not joking” “This better not be a pity date, Fabian! One Weasley asking out of pitty is enough'', I said.  “He’s a git!”, George brushed a piece of hair out of my face.  “Definitely git worthy” 

I snapped the last clip in my hair, now I was done.  The dress fit me to a tee, the jewelry mom had sent was perfect! Hopefully George would like it.  Walking down the stairs to the ball, a couple Ravenclaw boys stopped to look.  Cedric looked for a moment,  “Wow” Angelina tapped George’s shoulder, Fred looked with his twin. “Is that Y/n?”   George held out his hand as I got to the bottom, “You look absolutely gorgeous, Y/n!” “Thanks George! You look handsome, see that you and Fred do know to clean up”, I grinned, while holding his hand.  “Come on, McGonagall is making us lineup for the champions' ', George pulled me with him.  “How are you and my dear brother doing?”, George asked.  I bit my lip, “Fine” George’s eyebrows furrowed,  “Just fine? I’ll kick his ass for you”  I giggled,  “We’re good, I’m assuming. We haven’t talked about what we are, you know?” George nodded,  “You can always marry me or Charlie if you really want to be a Weasley”, George smirked.  “If you don’t step on my feet like you did in practice, I might consider you as my husband”, I smirked back at the younger redhead.  “You were going too fast and who said you could lead?”, George playfully hit my arm.  “I was tired and wanted to go to bed”, I giggled.  “Are you still complaining about Brooks trying to lead?”, Fred groaned with Angelina by his side.  “I’m giving him another chance to see if I’ll consider marrying him later in life”, I replied back.  “Did you and Billy break up?”, Fred furrowed his brows. Angelina turned her head in curiosity.  “No! How can you break up if you don’t have labels on it, Frederick?”, I scoffed.  The doors to the Great Hall opened and the champions and their dates entered.  I smiled at Hermione as she passed us with Victor.  The weird sisters were in between sets, I excused myself for a drink.  

“Hey”, Cedric said beside me.  “Hey”, I slightly smiled and got my cup.  “You look beautiful, Y/n”, Cedric said with his famous smile. The one that used to get weak in the knees and sick to my stomach. “Thanks Cedric, you don’t look too bad yourself”, I replied back.  Cedric smiled, “Who’s your date?”  “Uh George, just friends though”, I looked away for a second.  “I’m sorry about  the Adrian situation”, Cedric grabbed my hand.  I looked at our linked hands,  “Uh yeah”, I sighed.  “There you are Cedric! Oh hi Y/n”, Cho grabbed Cedric’s arm.  “Hi Cho, bye Cedric”, I passed Cho.  I noticed Harry and Ron sitting at a table, “Why are we sulking at a Ball that doesn’t happen yearly?”, I stood in front of them.  Ron looked at me with a sad smile and his eyes fell to Hermione and Victor.  “Bands usually start with a fast song, so come on join the crowd for a couple songs”, I stuck my hand out for one of them to take.  They both looked at my hand like it was rotting off the bone.  Harry stood up and took my hand, “Come on, Ron. She has a point” The drummer counted in as Harry and I joined the crowd, “There you are”, George smiled, pulling me closer to him as the singer aparted on the stage.   A couple songs later and a crowd interaction, a slow song started.  “Are you sure?”, George asked as couples started spacing out.  “Yes Georgie, come on”, I wrapped my arms around his neck.  People were slowly starting to leave but there were couples still dancing. I laid my head on George’s chest as he held my back.  “Not to disturb your nap, but wanna get out of here?”, George whispered.  My heels were digging my toes and my feet started to cramp,  “If you do, sure”, I snuggled my head into his chest.  George held my hand as we exited the hall to see Hermione and Ron arguing.  “Next time don’t ask me as a last resort!”, Hermione yelled with tears streaming down her cheeks.  George and I looked at each other,  “He doesn't know girls at all”, George sighed.  “He’s fourteen, George. You and Fred weren’t into girls that much yet either”, I said as we walked up the stairs to Gryffindor tower.  “He’s a git either way”, George held the portrait open for me.  “Most fourteen year old boys are”, I giggled. Fred and Angelina were on the couch making out with a bottle of firewhiskey on the floor.  “I’ll walk you”, George said.  “You think Fred and Angelina might become anything?”, I asked as we stood outside my dorm.  “Maybe, if Freddie plays his cards right and doesn't embarrass himself tonight”, George smirked.  “And if you leave the alone. Thank you for tonight, you were right too”, I smiled.  “Me? Right about what?”, George asked.  “That I shouldn’t have been stuck up here while everyone had a good time at the ball”, I said.  George nodded, “So are my chances of becoming Ms. Brooks still stands pretty good, huh?” I giggled,  “Better than Fred. Now go get some sleep okay?”  “Okay, I will. Night Y/n”, He lent down and kissed my cheek.  “Night Weasley”, I said, letting his hand go. 

I changed out of my dress and headed to Hermione’s room, “Mione? You still up?”, I asked outside her door.  I heard shuffling of feet, “Boys are stupid”, Hermoine opened her door in her pj’s and ruffled hair.  “Yeah they are at this age. Can I come in?”, I asked.  Moine jumped on her bed and started crying again, “Oh love, it’s okay”, I pulled her on my chest and petted her hair.  Hermione cried even more, “Is this just over Ron?”, I asked.  “What kind of person asks someone as a last resort? I expected him to ask me but as a last option, I’m his best friend”, Hermione jumped out of bed and started pacing.  “Some people don’t realise what’s in front of them no matter how hard you show it to them. Ron’s fourteen and it’s an awkward phase for boys. Girls mature way faster than boys, that’s why we’re smarter and more rational”, I said. Hermione sighed, “When do they finally notice?”  I sighed, “Not sure. I thought Bill would see it but he hasn’t and he’s twenty-four for Merlin’s sake”  Hermoine shuffled her feet, “Can you unzip me?”  “Come here”  “Why hasn’t Bill asked you to be his girlfriend officially?”, Moine asked. “Hell if I know, we made out all summer and he took me to dinner. Which I amused was a date, you know? We walked around Hogsmeade and the night before he snuck into my dorm. He left last Saturday without saying bye or he would owl me. Maybe it was just fling”, I fell back on Hermoine’s bed.  “He snuck into your dorm? How, I thought the stairs were charmed to turn into a slide?”, Hermoine asked as she changed into her lounge shorts.  “Oh Hermoine, my sweet Moine! That’s been uncharmed for years now, it knows the reason for a boy to be up here. George walked me tonight and he didn’t bust his face”, I grinned. “Are all the houses’ stairs like that?”, She asked.  “Uh, just know about ours and Hufflepuff’s from personal experience. Your guess is good as mine”, I said back.   Hermione crawled into her bed, “Want me to leave?”, I asked. “No stay and cuddle?”, Hermione mumbled.  “Course”, I pulled her to my chest as she got under the blanket.  Ginny tried to sneak in, I looked at Moine and grinned.  “Do you know what time it is, Ginevera Weasley?” Ginny squeaked, “I’m sorry please don’t report me or tell Fred and George” “Gin, I’m not like Percy as a prefect. Get some sleep, okay?”, I said calmly to her.  “I hate you” “Loves you too, Gin Gin”, I snorted in Hermoine’s hair as she giggled too.  “Night girls”

Sun was shining through the windows, Hermoine and Ginny were still sleeping pretty good. I decided to sneak out and get some food.  After, throwing some light washed jeans and George’s old quidditch sweater on, I headed downstairs.  Fred was sitting on the couch in some flannel pajama pants, “Morning Freddie. Have a good time last night?”, I asked.  “Y/nn not so loud”, Fred winced and rubbed his eyes.  “Sorry, I’ll bring some food up for you. Go to bed”, I said as Lee walked in with a tray of food.  “Here, a greasy pork sandwich served in a dirty ashtray. Just what the man ordered”, Lee grinned.  “Stop being so damn loud, Jordan”, Fred groaned as I walked out.  I reached the Great Hall and Draco appeared in front of me, “Good morning, Brooks. Have a good time last night?”, Draco smiled.  “Are you still drunk, Malfoy?”, I had a confused look on my face.  “No, just being friendly is all”, Draco replied.  “Oh well then, yes I did have a good time. Did you?”, I walked past him.  “I did, my date was actually nice” “Who did you take? Parkinson?”, I asked him.  “Oh a Beauxton girl, Georgia” I nodded, “Nice talking to you, Draco. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to eat”  “Why was Draco talking to you?”, Angelina asked.  “No clue, he’s been doing that more lately. What time did you go to bed?”, I asked.  She looked down and smirked.  “Not exactly, my bed but about two am”  “Room of requirements?”, I smirked.  She blushed, “I’m not that kind of girl, but Fred and I spent the night there”  “Explains the hickeys on his collarbone and shoulders. Pass me the waffles please?”, I grinned.  “Y/n”, Katie asked. “Yeah Katie?”, I asked as an owl went by.  “Letter for you”, she handed me the envelope.   

 Bill Weasley- the Burrow,  Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England

The prettiest girl, I ever met in life (a small heart was drawn)

I excused myself and sat on a step,  “You better explain yourself, Weasley”

 Dear Y/n, 

I’m sorry for leaving without telling you goodbye, Charlie was admitted about being on time to return back home.  I know I’ve been awkward about what is going on between us.  You’re probably rolling your eyes and saying something smart about me. Yes, I’ve never had feelings for anyone like I do for you. You’re an amazing girl, also gorgeous as can be! Your parents did good with you, why lie? So will you be my girlfriend, Y/n? 

P.s. Hi, it’s Charlie. Bill left this out in the open, but please say yes to being his girl. He won’t shut up about you to me and pretty positive Dad has heard all about you too. Poor lad’s ear probably hurts.  My brother won’t stop talking about you, I get it you’re pretty but I need to sleep at 3am.  Have a good holiday, kiddo and keep the twins in line.  

[hainethehero]

BILLY BREAKS THINGS OFF WITH STEVE...

A big grin breaks Steve's face in two, glowing through his cheeks like a beautiful sunrise or something. He can hear the sound of Billy's Camaro rumbling to a stop in his front yard. His skin breaks out in goosebumps and his heart beats wildly, like an animal trapped in a cage.

It was movie night.

Nothing special, since they've been having nights like these since last Christmas. But tonight was different. Call him a stupid girl obsessing over shit that he shouldn't- but he really couldn't. Not after they'd done the Devil's tango for the first time about two days ago. Of course Billy had gone AWOL after that but he'd called earlier today... said he wanted to talk. It's been the only thing Steve could think about since that time... - that and the fact that he'd had sex with Billy for the first time! He stays replaying all the sounds and tastes in his head over and over again like a reel. He hoped to God that it had been as special for Billy as it had been for him.

His insides still felt soft, sore and mushy from where Billy had pounded into him, thighs burning with every movement of his legs. His pale hips sported several deep, purple, finger-shaped bruises and there were dark hickies colouring his alabaster neck like watercolours. And if he thought about it real hard, he could still feel Billy's hands in his hair, pulling and tugging and fucking yanking on it as he thrust into his tight hole.

God, he thinks, chastising himself for being so horny.

Get a grip Steve! Desperation was never a good look, on anyone.

Billy's suddenly at his front door, not even bothering to knock. No.

He just stands there looking all majestic and super chill in his aviators and leather jacket. Steve pulls the door open with shaky hands and just takes in the eyeful of glorious golden skin and Californian blue eyes. His heart flutters stupidly in his chest and Steve glares down at himself as if to berate his own goddamn heart. His cheeks become inflamed as Billy brushes past him, woodsy cologne filling Steve's senses. He tightens up involuntarily at the scent and slowly closes the door, biting at his lip with a nervous smile.

"H- hey," he mutters dumbly, craving the idea of rushing into Billy's arms but somehow restraining himself.

The blonde simply gazes at him; a kind of heat in his heavily hooded eyes. He's got on a white t-shirt under that black leather jacket, cotton pulled taut across his broad chest. God, Steve is going insane every minute his face isn't buried in Billy's chest. That's his safe place... and that white t-shirt is one of his favorites.

"We need to talk," Billy tells him in that raspy, low and smoky tone.

Steve goes molten between the legs and his heart does some weird kind of flip inside him. How the hell did Billy have so much control over his mind and body? Was that what sex with another guy was like? Or was this just a Billy thing? Because Steve has tasted the blonde once already- literally- ...and he wanted more.

"Yeah, we can," he nods with a grin, "but can we do it in my room? It's already warm in there and out here's like, freezing so-"

"Out here is fine," Billy interrupts, mouth drawn in a tight line and haw clenched tightly.

It's the first indication that maybe this was very serious and Steve hadn't noticed because he was too busy thinking about getting dicked down again.

"Wh- ...what's wrong?"

Billy stares at him, thick brows drawing over his darkened eyes. "I can't do this."

Oh God, Steve's gonna have an aneurysm.

"What?"

He forces himself to keep his cool, to not instantly turn into some crying, shaking mess that just wants to go down on his knees and beg the other boy to stay. He keeps repeating in his head that it's all just some sick fucking joke on Billy's part and offers the blonde a pained grin but his heart falters when Billy's expression doesn't change.

"Bill-"

"I'm leaving town. Tonight."

Steve feels the breath get knocked out of him and this time he takes a quick step forward. "Billy what's going on-??"

Billy takes a step back, growling. "I just told you, I'm leaving."

"That's not- ...What happened? Why are you leaving? Was it your Dad?"

"It wasn't my fucking Dad-"

"Well then tell me!"

"Tell you what?!" Billy shouts, getting in Steve's face now, a deep rumble in the back of his throat.

"Why are you leaving? Why now?" Steve snaps, the pit of his stomach hollowing itself. He's so fucking scared and hurt right now but all he can feel is the hot and cold running all over his damp skin. Hot tears prickle and sting his eyes but he doesn't dare blink for fear of missing Billy for too long.

"Harrington-"

"No!" Steve screams, "You tell me why you're suddenly moving out of Hawkins! Tell me why! Tell- wait, is it because of me?"

Something in Billy's expression shifts and he looks away, cursing under his breath, fists clenched hard.

"It's not you, don't flatter yourself Harrington."

And that particular statement puts Steve on notice. This couldn't have been Billy talking. His Dad maybe but he'd stopped calling him Harrington whenever they argued. Apparently it sounded too impersonal and not intimate at all. Which is the opposite of how Billy had been cooing and whispering his name the night they'd had sex. He'd even made sure to hold Steve through the worst of his first time, asking him gently whether or not he should pull out, or if he wasn't ready.

A tear slips down his cheek at the now sour memory.

"Then what was it? Is this town too small for you, Mr California? Not enough clueless hick town boys for you to fuck huh?"

Billy takes a menacing step forward and grabs him by the neck. "You're awfully close but no dice, " he snarls, "Unlike you, I actually got into college, so, I'm leaving. You think I want to stay stuck in this backwater town with some nobody who slings ice-cream for a living?"

Steve fights the strong grip, breaking it and taking a heaving step back, shudders wracking through his body. His breath comes out ragged, and pulls back in with a sob.

"What are you saying?" he mutters softly, too afraid to shout or even get angry, because that'll only make Billy leave faster. It always makes them leave.

Billy grunts, "Jesus Christ you want me to spell it out for you? I'm done, Harrington. We're done."

But Steve shakes his head, tears already falling silently from his eyes. His goddamn heart was in his throat.

"You can't do this..." he chokes, feeling sick to his stomach.

"Why can't I?" Billy growls, his face dry and emotionless.

"Because we-" Steve hisses but is cut off by an unexpected cry. He didn't have the strength to say those words right now- couldn't.

Too bad Billy had caught on anyway. "Because we what? Had sex a few days ago? Jesus Harrington, didn't take you for such a pussy. It was just a mindless fuck, didn't think you'd take it to heart. I'm not actually some fucking faggot like you."

Steve shakes his head, "Why are you doing this to me?" he sobs, feeling utterly betrayed.

Every part of his body felt betrayed right now- every single part of him that he'd let Billy touch, kiss and sink his teeth into. A sharp pain stabs him in the chest and then slowly sinks in all the way to his gut. It feels permanent, yet somehow like a terrible dream that he can't seem to wake up from.

Billy turns to leave and he doesn't have the strength to hold him back. Just watches him go through blurry eyes, body shaking with the massive effort it takes to keep from falling to his knees.

"Wheeler was right about you; you're bullshit Harrington."

Steve's knees only hit the floor when the Camaro rumbles off into the distance.

...............

Hardened blue eyes glare back at him from the rearview mirror.

The only sense of accomplishment he felt was that he'd finally put some distance between the monster in his head, and the one thing he loved more than life itself.

[one-boring-person]

Ok ok last one.

Poncho x medic reader who helps the team along but ends up getting herself hurt instead of him. And he realizes just how much she means to him

I hope you like this!😊💛

You Saved My Ass.

Poncho x reader

Warnings: death, injury, blood, swearing, spoilers

Masterlist

Poncho hates this more than anything he's ever had to do, this waiting with bated breath in amongst the shrubbery, the perpetually terrified air hanging around the usually fearless group souring his resolve. It is unnatural to him, to them all, the now decreased team unused to feeling entirely helpless, though they all know there is no way of changing this to their advantage at all, the situation being completely unforeseeable, even with hindsight. Cowering in the bushes just isn't their thing, it never has been, and, if they get through this, it never will be again. But he knows now that it is necessary; after all, he doesn't want to end up like Blain or Hawkins. At the reminder, he subtly crosses himself again, still torn over the sights of Blain's mangled body, and the remaining pile of gore from Hawkins.

Beside him, (Y/n) adjusts herself, clutching at her bag of supplies, the medic unarmed for ease of movement, though Poncho feels even worse about this than he does about hiding in the trees, fearing for his life. She has good aim, and she can defend herself, so without the weapon she is vulnerable, an asset he'd rather not lose, not now, not ever. The boys all teased him for having a soft spot for her, but he'd always shaken them off, chalking it up to the fact that his and her personalities seemed to match particularly well. Unfortunately, even after telling himself this for hours on end, he'd found himself clenching his jaw as he watched her patch Blain's arm up, back at the guerrilla settlement, somehow becoming irritable as he eyed her careful movements and teasing conversation with the muscular man. Of course, she'd given the others a once-over, including him, but something about that particular interaction had put him on edge. He knew Dutch had noticed, but the major had been too irritated himself to say anything, though this was more aimed at Dillon rather than (Y/n).

"What's he doing?!" The medic suddenly hisses, keeping her voice low as she stares out at the clearing where the trap has been set up.

"Huh?" Poncho blurts out quickly, before realising what she means.

Dutch has stepped out of cover and into full view, heavy gun held firmly in hand, muscles bulging as he tenses them, clearly nervous despite his bold move. The rest of the group fall silent, eyes wide as they watch their leader walk into sight, the trap ready to spring beneath his feet. The jungle is quiet, unnaturally so, every animal within the near radius having fled from this sophisticated hunter, just as the group are trying to do. Every sound Dutch makes feels amplified: the crack of branches underfoot, the rustle of leaves with each step, any normally insignificant noise seemingly deafening in the tense atmosphere. 

His foot catches on a trip wire, the major pausing to make sure it doesn't spring the trap on him, carefully moving his boot off of the tense cord. Taking another step, the muscular man moves further into the clearing, before all hell breaks loose.

There is a blur of movement behind Dutch, the forest seemingly coming alive as a distorted shimmer lunges at him, clicking filling the air as whatever it is tries to take out its next prey. Thankfully, it trips the wire, the net underneath it springing up towards the canopy, closing in on itself around whatever it had caught, an outraged cry of some sorts emitting from the invisible quarry as it writhes in its temporary hold. Leaves cascade down into the clearing as the group rushes to the aid of their leader, guns raised, ready to fire.

A familiar streak of blinding blue light dashes any hope of catching it whilst it's compromised, the energy shearing through the netting around its occupant, falling away completely. Another blast severs the cord holding the counterweight in place, the heavy log swinging down into the clearing, scattering the gathered group as they move to avoid it. Poncho, however, is too late to realize the danger of the situation, and is caught with his back turned, the weight picking up speed as it nears him. 

All of a sudden, he hears a cry of his name and he is shoved to the side, his body tumbling to the floor even as another goes flying a few feet away from him, landing much heavier than he does. Confused, he ignores the shouting and gunfire that has broken out, scrambling to get over to the fallen body, recognising the figure lying, motionless, on the floor, his heart dropping in his chest. Eyes wide, he drops to the ground beside her and rolls her onto her back, taking in the limp movement of her body, as well as its sheer lack of muscular strength. (Y/n)'s chest is jerking uncontrollably, the medic struggling to breathe properly as her face contorts in agony, each breath rattling in her throat, uselessly. The log must've smashed into her torso, most likely breaking her ribs and bruising her sternum and collarbones, leaving her in unimaginable pain.

"Shit, (Y/n), this is my fault...I've got to get you out of here. God, I'm so sorry, stay with me! Please stay with me!" Poncho pleads with her, awkwardly reaching down to scoop her up, wincing as she groans out. Internally, he curses himself for letting this happen, his own stupidity having gotten her here.

Panic floods him as her arms hang limply at her sides, head lolling backwards, her conscience clearly fighting to stay awake.

"You've gotta stay awake, (Y/n). Keep fighting, it'll be ok soon. Come on, (Y/n), pull through for me!" He rambles to her, trying not to jostle her too much as he moves, only now realising that Dutch is yelling after Mac, who has raced off into the jungle.

Billy and Anna wait at the edge of the treeline, watching as Dillon goes to follow Mac, Dutch coming over to help Poncho, who gestures to his gun, meaning for the major to take it. Doing so, the two of them follow after Billy and Anna, heading into the sweltering jungle, aware of the fact that they will most likely never see their comrades again. Glancing down at the medic in his arms, Poncho tightens his grip, hoping to hell she'll make it; he doesn't know what he'll do without her, and it's only now dawned on him that she means a whole lot more to him than he once thought. 

*

He'd been wrong. Poncho knew that now. Waiting in the jungle for the predator to find them had been bad, it'd been stressful and he'd been terrified, but it couldn't compare to what he endured now. Sitting there, between the beds of the only two other survivors, slouched in his chair from exhaustion as he waited for them to wake up, he decided that this was worse. In the jungle, he'd stood a chance, however small it was, of ensuring the survival of his friends, but now? Now he had no way of making sure they'd pull through. No, that was in the hands of the bustling doctors and nurses going in and out of their private ward.

Somehow, Phillips had secured a room in the nearest hospital strictly for the survivors of this disastrous mission, sending all four of them there as soon as he had them back in safety. Both Anna and Poncho had healed quickly, and now spent their days waiting for the other two to wake up, both members of the group having entered some form of coma in the twenty four hours after their arrival, being drugged up to the eyes and all to hold off the pain and let them rest. Dutch had been in and out, his slurred ramblings unintelligible yet disturbingly sudden and vivid as he drifted in and out of conscience, but (Y/n) had remained still, as if in a death sleep, never stirring, barely even breathing. 

The log had done serious damage to her ribcage and spine, nearly leaving her paralyzed from the simple impact, multiple of her ribs now broken and close to puncturing her lungs. Deep purple bruising mottled the skin disappearing below the collar of her hospital robe, the colour angry and harsh against her natural skin tone, leaving Poncho wondering just how bad it was lower down. Just looking over her now, tired as he is, he knows that she is lucky she survived the blow: had she instantly moved to get up again, the cracked ribs would've driven straight into her lungs, killing her from the inside. 

Shaking his head, Poncho climbs to his feet and goes to stand beside her bed, observing her face carefully, mentally kicking himself for not realising sooner how much she actually means to him. How could he have ignored it? She'd always been there for him, dressing his wounds first whenever he got them, unless there were more serious ones on someone else, messing around with him to get him to lighten up, joking with him, being there for him when he needed her the most. In the jungle he'd asked himself what he'd do without her, and he still hasn't found an answer.

Just as he goes to sit down again, (Y/n) shifts, her head twitching a little. Shocked, he stays where he is and watches her again, waiting for another movement, anything to prove she's healing. 

He almost can't believe it when her eyelids flutter, her face wrinkling as she goes to open her eyes, blinking to fight off the onslaught of unnatural light blaring down at her. Inhaling sharply, Poncho holds his breath, watching as she clears her vision, taking in her surroundings, brief confusion flicking across her expression before everything comes back to her. Instantly, a look of grief and pain etch themselves into the lines of her face, but she is quick to notice Poncho lingering by her. Her jaw immediately starts working at forming words, but he swiftly puts a finger on her lips, smiling down at her in relief.

"You're awake! Oh my god, you're actually awake!" Is all he can say, elation filling him as he takes in the medic lying on the bed.

A timid half-smile works its way onto her face and she manages a nod, before she winces in pain, the movement sending twinges down her sore spine.

"Take it easy there, you took a heavy-ass log to the chest, it might take a while to heal up properly." He grins at her, lifting an eyebrow at her when she goes to nod again.

For a moment, the two stay in silence, staring at each other, relieved to see the other alive after their ordeal in the jungle, Poncho's hand eventually finding her's. Carefully, he joins them, intertwining their fingers as he squeezes it for reassurance, beaming when she manages to return the gesture, her fingers tightening around his own almost minutely. 

"I wish I could tell you exactly how happy I am that you're awake, (Y/n), I've never been so relieved in my life. If you hadn't  have woken up, I really don't know what I would've done." Poncho looks down as he says the rest, blushing slightly, "You mean the world to me, and I should've realised it sooner, hell, I'm kicking myself for not realising before you saved my ass, but now I know that I've come to care for you in a way that I haven't cared for anyone ever. I can't lose you."

Her eyes are wide as she looks up at him, her mouth opening as she goes to form words.

"Me...too…" She manages out, voice hoarse but recognisable, her following smile wide and happy.

Happiness floods him as he hears this, the man eager to respond, wishing he could pull her into a hug, but he is interrupted by the sound of a groan of pain from the man behind him, coherent words finally coming from the major's mouth.

Turning, Poncho gives (Y/n)'s hand one last squeeze before he goes over to the veteran, finding a pair of hard grey eyes staring at him from the bed, clearly confused, though the events of the mission are quickly coming back to him. Clenching his jaw, Poncho goes to check up on Dutch, feeling much happier now that he knows the two survivors are awake, though he is even more overjoyed to know (Y/n) shares his feelings.

Glancing back at her, he blushes as he catches her staring after him, a smile on her face.

[chiseler]

Ginger Rogers: Curse of the Working Class

A natural-born mimic, ham, tease, hard worker, stoic follower and out-of-reach babe, Ginger Rogers has proven one of the most difficult to define of all the 1930s Hollywood stars. At her best she was a synonym for fun and high spirits while also conveying a dignified and skeptical kind of resistance to other people, and these contradictory impulses made her one of the most special and ambiguous performers of her time. Rogers excelled in her first seven musicals with Fred Astaire and in several of her comedy vehicles and even in some of the programmers she churned out in the early 1930s. She was beloved, and rightly so.

In Stage Door (1937), Rogers gives one of the most distinctive, most suggestive, and most perfectly judged performances of the period, molding every one of her bone-dry, wisecracking line readings (and what lines she has in that movie!) into something pleasurable, something unexpected, even something profound, delivering them all with her guarded, in-transit sort of face.

I’ve seen Stage Door probably more times than I’ve seen any other movie, but I always notice something new in it, some new line, some new angle. As a kid, I didn’t really understand the source of Rogers’s misgivings here, which is the same source that animates her outrageously and inventively bitchy yet somehow tender and worldly fights with Linda (Gail Patrick), her high-falutin’ former roommate. Linda is the mistress of Anthony Powell (Adolphe Menjou), a powerful Broadway producer. When Powell sees Rogers’s Jean Maitland rehearsing a dance routine, his little weasel eyes light up with lust. He thinks she’s just playing hard to get when she makes her habitual mordant jokes at him, but she is really just trying to delay the inevitable. She wants no part of sleeping with a man for his money not because she thinks it’s morally wrong, per se, but because she’s basically too tired-out to go through those motions.

Jean is so disenchanted that the disenchantment seems to be leading her to some kind of drastic change. She talks herself into going out with Powell but gets out of sleeping with him by getting, or pretending to get, disruptively yet vaguely drunk. Jean gets drunk the way she does everything else, at some very unusual kind of steady and wary behavioral half-mast. She cracks wise as a matter of course, but she sleeps with a doll and she plays a ukulele. These cute details don’t seem to fit her character, but they do express the divided character of the woman who was playing her.

Jean stumbles home from Powell’s penthouse to her new roommate Terry (Katharine Hepburn), a rich girl with airily la-di-da attitudes about life and the theater. Hepburn had not endeared herself to Rogers with her much-repeated remark about Rogers’s partnership with Astaire: “He gives her class and she gives him sex.” The competitive rivalry between Hepburn’s upper-class pretension and Rogers’s low-burning common sense is the heart of their conflict in Stage Door, and this conflict and mutual dislike reads as pure chemistry on screen, just as it did for Rogers with Astaire.

There is such chemistry between Jean and Terry that Stage Door has always been a kind of closeted lesbian classic just waiting to burst into full-on Sapphic love. Terry has no love interest and shows zero interest in acquiring one, while Jean looks more than ready to give up on poor, unreliable young men and rich, sexually demanding older men like Powell. Jean and Terry, in fact, are perfect for each other and wind up with each other, and in the last scene Rogers reaches a kind of epiphany as she reacts to their friend Judy (Lucille Ball) leaving New York to get married. “At least she’ll have a couple of kids to keep her company in her old age, and what’ll we have?” she asks. “Some broken-down memories and an old scrapbook that nobody’ll look at.”

I first saw Stage Door when I was eight years old. Now that I’m well into adulthood, these last few lines that Rogers tosses off with such face-the-facts casualness have the force of revelation, as if she has finally washed up on the shores of some final philosophy. They predict the real lives of both Hepburn and Rogers (though some people still do want to leaf through those particular scrapbooks) and Terry and Jean, and everybody else for whom the easy way and the conventional way of living will never fit or will never be acceptable.

Rogers was capable of that tough-minded and frank and bleak attitude on screen, but in life and in general she was actually, and alarmingly, one of the most clueless of stars, never quite knowing what it was that people liked about her. Starting as early 1938, the year she made Vivacious Lady and Carefree, something peculiar started to happen to Rogers. After years of the most unlikely and enormous success in her Astaire films, where she was up to any dance challenge he gave her and where her timing in both musical and comic and dramatic scenes was magically sharp, her timing started to go horribly awry. Rogers began to be afflicted by self-consciousness, miscalculation, cutesiness, self-infatuated archness and flashes of deep-rooted mean-mindedness. She slipped back into her best controlled star mode in several films after that year, but she started to deteriorate more and more by the mid-1940s, almost as if someone had put a curse on her.

Rogers was born Virginia McMath in Independence, Missouri in 1911. Her formidable mother Lela Rogers was a writer for silent films and a journalist, and she was seemingly joined at the hip to her daughter. It was Rogers who wanted a career as an actress, and Lela resisted this at first, but when Ginger won a Charleston contest Mama Lela knew which way the wind was blowing. She poured all of her own considerable energy and ambition into making Ginger a star and keeping her one (that first name supposedly came about because a cousin couldn’t pronounce the name Virginia).

At the height of her stardom, when Rogers was sent the script of The Hard Way (1943), she wonderingly said, “This is the story of my life,” and turned it down. In that movie, Ida Lupino works like a demon to get her malleable kid sister (Joan Leslie) into show business, and the comparison is not flattering to Lela, who made a fool of herself testifying before HUAC as an expert on Communist infiltration of Hollywood, citing particularly the time when Rogers had to say Dalton Trumbo’s line, “Share and share alike, that’s democracy” in Tender Comrade (1943). Lela herself actually turns up playing Ginger’s mother in Billy Wilder’s The Major and the Minor (1942), and she’s a rather low-key presence, but she talks and moves like a woman who has power and feels no need to make any outward show of it.

In that Wilder movie, Rogers spends most of her time pretending to be a twelve-year old, and this uneasy reversion to little-girlhood was one of her most troubling fallback modes. She had made her first successes on stage with “baby talk monologues” written by Lela, and her early style, as seen in films like Young Man of Manhattan (1930) and Honor Among Lovers (1931), was very much a hold-over from the 1920s, a Betty Boop baby vamp persona that was more suited to cameo roles than to leads (Claudette Colbert, the star of Young Man of Manhattan, gently mocks these baby affectations after meeting Rogers’s character).

She churned out lots of low-budget programmers in 1932, and in 1933 she made ten films. In two of those, 42nd Street and Gold Diggers of 1933, Rogers nearly steals the show in fairly small parts. As Anytime Annie, a notoriously obliging chorus girl in 42nd Street, Rogers is first seen wearing a monocle and affecting a grand manner accent, and this was the first sign of her aptitude for two-faced disguise. As Manuel Puig once said of Ann-Margret, Rogers is anything but reassuring.

She’s close to surreal in her gold-coin outfit singing “We’re in the Money” with pig Latin verse in Gold Diggers of 1933, looking directly into the camera and not flinching as it travels all the way up to her face. Rogers gobbled up attention like that, and she had what it took, but she needed something or someone to stabilize her. When she strips down to her slip and stockings and gyrates in Professional Sweetheart (1933), an outraged Norman Foster spanks and then punches her, the first in an increasingly ominous series of punishments that would shadow her later career.

In the very horny Pre-Code musical Flying Down to Rio (1933), her first film with Astaire, Rogers is a hot mama, singing and swaying to “Music Makes Me” in a vagina power dress that even Marilyn Monroe might have rejected as too overt. When they dance “The Carioca,” Astaire starts out holding his head slightly away from Rogers, as if she might be diseased, but by the end their electric chemistry has fully kicked in.

Astaire had spent his youth dancing with his sister Adele and didn’t want to get stuck with another steady partner. Rogers had her eye on dramatic parts, announcing to an incredulous press that she wanted to play Joan of Arc. She was an ambitious and competitive person, and she knew that she was not even close to Astaire’s Olympian league as a dancer. But that’s part of the magic of their series of films, in which Rogers improves as a dancer bit by bit until she is fully capable of following his every step.

Astaire objected that no one would believe Rogers as an English girl in The Gay Divorcee (1934), and surely no one could mistake her for English, but this part gave her the reserve that she intriguingly used and toyed with for her best years as a star. Like most first sexual experiences between two people, their first real romantic dance together in that film, “Night and Day,” is both exciting and a little awkward. In their follow-up Roberta (1935), Rogers looks tense during their slow “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” routine, but she comes wonderfully alive when they casually tap to “Hard to Handle,” their first really great dance together.

She was always at her best in the lively comic numbers, where her wacky energy seems to warm Astaire, but she worked hard at the dramatic routines, so that when they do “Let’s Face the Music and Dance” in Follow the Fleet (1936), Rogers has somehow ascended up to Astaire’s level as a dancer. It must have taken nearly super-human will, but she did it, and audiences saw and felt her progress, and they loved it because it meant that anything was possible if you worked hard enough, even dancing like or with Fred Astaire.

Astaire didn’t like her feather dress for the “Cheek to Cheek” dance in Top Hat (1935), and you can see why he didn’t: it’s a little tacky. Costumer Walter Plunkett said Rogers always wanted to “add a crepe paper orchid or a string of beads or some goddamned feathered thing. She just never could resist little improvements.” But her feather dress in Top Hat does move beautifully when she dances, even if we do see some of the feathers floating away from them, as if she’s molting.

A more characteristic and winning image of her comes in the way she hikes up her skirt in the “Pick Yourself Up” number in Swing Time, which has a deeply charming kind of put-on nonchalance, or in the soldier-like way she executes a series of brutally exacting turns at the end of the “Never Gonna Dance” finale toward the end of that movie (while she shot this scene, her feet started to bleed in her shoes). One of the real pleasures of American moviegoing is watching Rogers as Astaire sings a love song to her: she would listen so intently, with barely any change of expression, but with such sensitive receptivity behind her eyes and in the set of her mouth.

People like to wonder if Astaire and Rogers hated each other. Maybe there were moments when they did, but mainly they just resented being tied together as a team, and those misgivings are part of what give their partnership and their best dances such impact, such crackle. Rogers reported in her autobiography that Astaire had taken her out on dates in New York when they were both working in theater, and at the end of one such date he gave her “a kiss that would never have passed the Hays Office Code!” But when they worked together in films, Astaire was married to a woman he adored, and he was a distant taskmaster in the killer rehearsal sessions for their dance routines. His friends, cultivated when he played on stage in London in the 1920s, were the English gentry. Rogers was not his cup of tea, and he made that known to her in subtle ways. She said either, and he said eye-ther, and they wanted to call the whole thing off, but no one else ever did.

In the many years after their partnership ended, they were still stuck with each other, and they both still resented that. Rogers would sometimes make friendly overtures to Astaire, and he would politely but firmly put her off, and this led to hurt feelings for her, so much so that she didn’t even go to his American Film Institute Lifetime Achievement Award ceremony. Film scholar Joseph McBride helped to put together that evening, and when I asked him about it, he remembered Astaire saying, “I suppose we’ll have to have Ginger,” in an irritated voice. When she didn’t come to the ceremony, it seemed like sour grapes on her part, but it had been made clear to Rogers that Astaire only wanted the bare minimum to do with her, and so she withdrew. It would do well to remember, of course, just how obnoxious Rogers could be. If you want to feel the full force of that, just look at any number of the films she made from 1944 to 1964 and you’ll see one garishly misplayed, mistimed performance after another, including the last one she did with Astaire, The Barkleys of Broadway (1949), where her dramatic aspirations were mocked and then the mockery was unintentionally confirmed when she did a goggle-eyed recreation of Sarah Bernhardt reciting the Marseillaise.

So what happened to Rogers? Why did she lose all of the qualities that had made her a star right after her stardom was confirmed? Many writers have tried to explain it. Analyzing Astaire and Rogers in The Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers Book (1972), Arlene Croce says, “She’s an American classic, just as he is: common clay that we prize above exotic marble. The difference between them is that he knew it and she didn’t. Rogers always wanted to be something more. Probably no other major star has so severely tried the loyalty of her public by constantly changing her appearance and her style.” In his book Romantic Comedy (1987), James Harvey writes, “Can there be any other major star who was so variable, even from film to film, as she was?”

Harvey blames George Stevens, who directed maybe the finest Astaire/Rogers film, Swing Time (1936). He sees a softening of her character in the straight scenes in Swing Time, but the rot really sets in with Vivacious Lady, a romantic comedy that has all the elements for success but perversely ruins them with its taffy-pull pacing, its willful lack of coordination, its leaning on jags and cutesiness and bizarre sequences like the fight scene between Rogers and a rival that devolves into a series of unmoving tableaus broken only by a coy laugh from Rogers, as if Stevens wanted to turn her into Frank McHugh. In the same year, in Carefree with Astaire, Rogers exhibits such unpleasant sadism when her character is under hypnosis that it feels like a revelation of some inner nastiness that had always been prudently hidden from view.

The damage was reversed in Bachelor Mother (1939), a working girl comedy that has no right to be as charming as it is, where Rogers added a kind of moony dreaminess to her repertoire of personas. She then made two films for Stage Door director Gregory La Cava, 5th Avenue Girl (1939) and Primrose Path (1940). In her second La Cava film, Rogers is so deadpan that it reads as a lack of basic vitality, a first in her career; it’s as if La Cava is unearthing the suicidal or even homicidal side of Jean Maitland. “People annoy me,” she says in that movie, and boy does she mean it. In Stage Door, when Powell tells Jean he wants to put her name in big electric lights, she says, “Gotta be big enough to keep people away.” La Cava is the director who understood Rogers the most, discerning something anti-social and solitary behind her sunny audience-pleasing looks and manner. In Primrose Path, he cast her as a teenager who breaks away from her family before she joins their prostitution racket, and her work in that movie is stark, clean, unsentimental.

Rogers won an Oscar for Kitty Foyle (1940), and many have dated her decline from that point, even if she is modestly touching in what is a modest working girl soap opera. She was close to unbearable in Tom, Dick and Harry (1941), where director Garson Kanin seems to dote on every moment of her self-indulgent performance as a dumb and narcissistic telephone operator who must choose between three suitors. Something about playing dumb here makes Rogers’s style seem laborious and throws her timing all out of whack, yet the following year, in Roxie Hart (1942), she certainly gets her laughs with her broad playing of a very dumb murderess who lives for publicity and likes to do the Black Bottom for reporters. In her segment in Tales of Manhattan (1942), you want to say to her, “OK, you can have all that hair on the top of your head or you can have all that hair fanning over your back, but you can’t have both, Ginger.”

Leo McCarey’s Once Upon a Honeymoon (1942) did her no favors, but most writers agree that the real coup de grâce in her career was Lady in the Dark (1944), a Technicolor movie of the psychoanalytical stage musical that had starred Gertrude Lawrence. Rogers insisted on playing it, and she was at loggerheads with director Mitchell Leisen and Paramount studio chief Buddy DeSylva, who vengefully cut most of the Kurt Weill songs from the film. All in all, the mercifully little-seen Lady in the Dark looks now almost as if it had been made in a spirit of deliberate sabotage. It is has to be the most nastily misogynist of any major studio production of this time, constantly hammering home the idea that Rogers’s Liza Elliott is an unnatural woman unhealthily attached to her work, and her leading man Ray Milland warrants particular scorn here for the gleefulness he brings to the scenes where he humiliates Rogers’s character. In the one extended musical number Rogers has, “The Saga of Jenny,” she doesn’t seem to have been given any choreography or direction and she can barely move in the outfit Leisen designed for her. “After Lady in the Dark there was nothing left of the Rogers character,” wrote Croce. “She died on the analyst’s couch.”

Rogers’s career proceeded only through sheer determination on her part (and on Lela’s part). She floundered in an updated remake of Grand Hotel (1932) called Week-end at the Waldorf (1945), and the next twenty years of her career were a real trial for her fans from the 1930s. Howard Hawks’s Monkey Business (1952) was supposed to be about scientist Cary Grant reverting to childhood when he drinks an elixir of youth, but Rogers insisted that she “wanted to do the kid thing too,” and so she ripped into scene after scene of coarse-grained youthful impersonation, the wise child of her early ‘30s character bearing rotten and poisonously un-watchable fruit.  Cast as a hardened gangster’s moll in Phil Karlson’s Tight Spot (1955), Rogers is so heavy-handed and slow and cutesey with her dialogue that the effect is ghastly. If I were to make a simple diagnosis of her problems in the last half of her film career, I’d say that she caught a bad case of George Stevens-itis and never got over it (she had an affair with the married director during Vivacious Lady, which had Lela up in arms).

When she worked with a fine and sensitive director, as she did with Frank Borzage for Magnificent Doll (1946) and with Edmund Goulding for Teenage Rebel (1956), Rogers was still capable of restrained and acceptable if somewhat colorless work. But hateful things kept happening to her. In something like Storm Warning (1951), where she does battle with the Ku Klux Klan while also doing a transposed version of A Streetcar Named Desire, it seemed as if someone behind the scenes wanted to see Rogers punished. When Steve Cochran attacks her in Storm Warning, the scene is so prolonged that finally it is Rogers being humiliated and hurt, not the character she is playing.

Rogers went through five husbands, including the pacifistic and beautiful Lew Ayres, and most of them lasted for a couple of years, but Lela was her real partner for life. The last husband, William Marshall, got her to play a madam in a dire film shot in Jamaica, variously known as The Confession and Quick, Let’s Get Married (1964), and after that low point she made only Harlow (1965), where she was intriguingly cast as Jean Harlow’s mother, before retaining her star status in long-running stage stints in Hello, Dolly! on Broadway and Mame in London. After that came a little TV and nightclub work, where she ended most of her songs with a corny wink to the audience. A Christian Scientist like her beloved or at least inescapable mother, Rogers refused medical treatment after having a stroke, and she was ill for several years before dying in 1995.

The last forty-five or so years of Rogers’s long career basically ran on fumes of good will from her first twelve years in movies, and particularly those Fred Astaire musicals that she preferred to forget. Like many actors, Rogers had no real center or base that was really her, and this lack of center meant that she was able to in effect be something she wasn’t with Astaire, and transcendently so, but it also meant that bad habits and instincts were ready to rush in and overwhelm her when her guard was down.

“May I rescue you?” Astaire asks her in Top Hat, to which she snaps, “No, I prefer being in distress.” The Astaire/Rogers films are so romantic because part of her resistance is that she is suspicious of romance, and maybe she doesn’t believe in it at all. That lack of belief was what made her so sexy beyond her God-given but worked-on perfect figure (“Women weren’t born with silk stockings on, you know,” she says in Follow the Fleet). Look at how cool and unreachable she is when Fred is singing his heart out to her during “Never Gonna Dance” in Swing Time. She preached that God is Love and soda fountains were forever, but in her best work with Astaire and in Stage Door, she let darker and more movingly yearning things cloud her almost cartoonishly pretty brow, and those things are what should define her and what should be remembered.

by Dan Callahan