#this guy's mouth is zipped up and i dunno why. that's kinda it

[front-facing-pokemon]

[steffigraf]

warning for a clearly anxiety-ridden oversharing freakout below the cut. sorry. i’m too sensitive and i’m unfortunately acutely aware of it.

tldr; im being a drama queen. gonna take a tumblr break for a week or two. to my mutuals, feel free to dm for my insta. i’ll be active until i wake up tomorrow morning and then i’m gonna zip

gonna preface this by saying this is in no way directed to the people whom i actually talk to constantly on here like you lot were lovely and im just dealing with a lot of demons in my head :(

anyway. sometimes i feel more like a product manufacturer than a person on here. and idk. i know most of you guys are really just following me for gifs and content and whatever but. yeah. idk. i guess the things i say don’t matter to anyone unless it’s funny. or if people want to call me out. not that im mad abt that exactly btw i do appreciate when people respectfully call me out for my own mistakes but. sometimes. i feel like im in a fishbowl and you’re all just waiting for me to say something wrong and cancel me. or then again, maybe most of you already think im a shit person and you just stay for the gifs. or maybe you guys think i’m a loser who has nothing to do but spend all day on this goddamn website.

and i know, somewhere inside me, that that’s not true and that it’s clearly the anxiety talking. maybe it’s just me maybe i’m making this up in my head i dunno. but i’m just kinda tired right now. too tired to battle the anxiety like usual at least. and i don’t really feel wanted outside of the content i produce, beyond the notes of my gifs or my fun posts. which ik shouldn’t matter but. i’m a pathological people pleaser etc etc.

(god, seeing this all typed out, i can’t even fucking blame you guys if you actly don’t like me cause. i kinda wanna shake myself by the shoulders and tell myself get a grip girl the world doesn’t revolve around you shut up shut up shut your damn mouth—)

i’ve been trying to manage by unfollowing and blocking a few people (which btw, if i did that to you and we used to be mutuals, it’s probably nothing personal i mostly just kept people i’m a bit closer to). but i’m still not really settled. and considering how i’m posting like every other day about feeling like shit, you guys probably figured that out lmao.

and well. on a separate note. seeing that rat’s name alone is too much for me sometimes. i couldn’t watch his game with carlos. i spent hours in his match with daniil turned away from the television, wearing noise canceling headphones while trying (and failing) to talk myself down from a full blown anxiety attack. i’ve said this before but the way people talk about him, both the fucked up silence and the justified outrage, it reminds me way too much about a family problem i have right now. hits uncomfortably close to home. prior to this i kinda thought i’d made my peace with the whole family situation but no apparently not. had he won the semis, i wasn’t even sure if i would be able to stomach cheering for jannik if it meant having to watch that man play.

so. idk. between the way actual tennis has been making me feel and the way tennisblr in general has seemed for me lately, i figure i need some space.

long story short ive been spending way too much time on tumblr this ao. and its gotten really bad for my mental health i guess. so i think i need to take maybe a week or two, to clear my head. watch tennis without opening this app every other point. spend time with people i love. get back to therapy. try to be a functioning adult.

(this is so fucking dramatic for a goddamn week of no tumblr i know that and i want to smack myself upside the head because why am i like this why do i make things snowball why why why—)

anyway. yeah. that’s it. if you actually read through all of that then. thanks. if not it’s okay too.

to my mutuals, the ones whom i’ve had at least some form of friendly interaction with in replies or dms, you can ask for my insta account btw. not that i’m crazy active on there but like. if you guys wanna be friends beyond the anonymity of this yknow. no pressure though.

[thinger-strang]

okay okay centerfold au (like....the song by the j geils band) where billy mas moved out and away from hawkins (he hasnt quite made it to california yet, hes not ready) and hes starting to let himself be gay and think gay thoughts and ya know indulge himself every so often

which obviously means he picks up a magazine from the back corner of the corner store he frequents

he does for something a little tamer, maybe throws in a few playboys just because hes nervous (which doesnt even matter because the cashier doesnt even spare the covers a glance once scanned)

gets home and eagerly flips through it, feeling excited that he can have gay porn out in the open in his living room without fearing for his life

hes mostly just idly looking through it, folding down a few corners of pages he'll revisit when hes in the mood, just kinda reveling in the freedom of it

until

he flips to the centerfold, the showcase, the main event and it's–

"steve?"

billy fucking drops the entire magazine, it lays open, teasing billy with those big brown eyes and tantalizing moles

its a good shot honestly, pretty tasteful, definitely not modest, but billy can appreciate the artful quality

of course not in this moment, in this moment billy is panicking?

who the hell told steve harrington he was allowed to do that?

billy finds himself staring at the photo; steve as the centerpiece, draped across several laps, being groped by way too many hands for billy's liking, steve's got a half hard cock in one hand, the other possessively wrapped around the thigh of a man standing next to him, everyone's sweaty and there's splatters of something all over everyone, and there's hard and soft dicks and muscular legs and soft bellies and flexing muscles but only one face

steve stares at the camera–at billy–with an enticing stare that seems to ask "what are you waiting for?" and the barest hint of a tongue pokes out–

billy cant look away but wants to tear his gaze away to anything else, he wants to memorize the page, he wants to burn it, he wants to frame it, he wishes it never existed, he wants to be in that room

billy thought he was over this silly crush on straight boy steve but heres he is, gripping another man's cock, letting another man's cock rest on his leg, letting other men hold him and touch him

it might be fine if billy hadn't seen steve in years, hadn't seen steve since he left that fucking hellhole behind but no, no!

steve harrington, the man who happened to be the centerfold of the one single gay magazine billy happened to pick up, was his upstairs neighbor

///

billy stares at the ground as he stops to get his mail, hoping, praying, that he'll be lucky and not run into anyone on his way home

prayers not answered

"hey billy, i haven't seen you in a while, you doin' okay?" steve asks cheerfully as he wiggles his own mailbox open.

"yup, doing just fine, thanks for asking" billy slams his box shut and hurries to the elevator without running and jabs the close door button a hundred million times

"woah hang on, hold the door!" steve calls after him, juggling his mail and his groceries that billy somehow didn't notice

steve makes it

fuck

steve's blabbering on about.... something, billy can't hear a word he's saying, he focusing on thinking about anything other than–

sweaty

magazine

dick

nude

moles

dick

dick

dick

billy is begging for any thought, anything, to cross his mind, anything but that stupid centerfold

"hey are you sure you're okay?" steve asks in a far too nice voice

"i told you i'm fine, please just leave me alone?" billy grits out

"i thought we were past all that" steve says in a sad voice

billy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose

"we are, i'm just having an off day, got this killer headache ya know?" he lies through his teeth

"oh okay, gotcha, i'll be quiet" steve mimes zipping up his mouth

why is that worse why is that hot?

it's billy's floor and he can't get into his apartment fast enough

pulls out his dick and jerks it a few times before cumming right there in his kitchen floor

///

things don't get better

at all

billy avoids steve like the plague, which it wasn't like hung out on the regular, but theyd chit chat in the elevator or say hi when passing each other

so it was just awkward when billy would see steve in the hallway and immediately turn the other way

so it's not that surprising to wake up on a saturday morning to angry pounding on his door

"i'm coming, i'm coming, hold your fucking horses" billy grumbles as he pulls on a shirt and walks to the door

yanks it open to find a grumpy steve with his hands on his hips

"what gives hargrove? you said we were fine yet avoid me any time we so much as make eye contact? did i do something?"

billy has not had enough sleep to handle this conversation

"no you didn't do anything, it's kinda hard to explain just–" billy opens up his door to invite steve in

steve shoulders past billy and plops onto the couch

"coffee?" billy asks as he rubs his eyes

"im good" steve bites out

great

billy rolls his eyes and gets busy making himself a pot, trying to figure out how to say this, what to even say that would make this remotely okay

"oh my god" steve gasps

"what?" billy groans

he turns around and sees steve holding the magazine, clutching it really, something close to horror drawn all over his face

billy left it out on the coffee table as some sort of sick twisted 'fuck you' to neil

"shit shit SHIT i can explain–"

"no no i get it, um... i think i'm going to go, just... yeah i'm sorry i'll just–"

and with that steve was gone

///

this is worse, so so so very much worse

they either need to talk about it or billy needs to fucking find a new apartment

billy comes home after a long day at work to find steve knocking at his door

"hey–"

"jesus christ you scared me!" steve jumps into the wall

"sorry i kinda... snuck up on you, what are you doing at my door?" billy adjusts his backpack

"i, um... i wanted to explain? or talk? i get why you were avoiding me, i honestly forgot that came out this month" steve is twelve shades of the prettiest blush billy has ever seen

"hang on, let's go inside, i don't really wanna talk about this in the hallway"

steve's shoulders relax and he pressed himself into the wall to let billy open his door

steve sits awkwardly on the couch as billy hang up his bag and jacket and starts taking off his boots

"i... don't really know where to start" steve chews on his bottom lip and fidgits with his fingers

"i'm gay" billy blurts out

"what?" steve laughs

"i mean, i have a gay porn magazine, you're all nervous, i figured i'd break the ice?" billy shrugs

steve laughs and looks ten times lighter

"those pictures are older, i did them to help pay some bills while i was inbetween jobs, it was for a smaller thing, a blog or something, i dunno, it payed good so i said yes, i was desperate"

steve tuns his hands through his hair and breathes

"the guy who took the pictures asked if i'd be okay with him selling them to a bigger magazine, he said i'd get half the profits so i said yes"

steve shrugs and looks out the window

"so you just... did it for the money?" billy asks

"yes and no, i'm gay–well not gay, i'm bi but i'm... into dudes and all that, but mostly just to pay the bills"

steve finally meets billy's gaze with an almost scared look but more of a 'what are you gunna do about it' look

a lot like the one in the magazine

"that's cool, pretty brave too" billy says casually and leans back into his chair

"yeah... i'm kinda scared my job is going to find out that my dick is all over a magazine" steve laughs nervously

"you'll be fine, if it helps, you'd make a killing as a porno model"

billy grins wickedly in steve's direction

steve tries to smile back but it turns into a grimace

"i don't think it's weird, by the way... and while i don't think my crush on you from high school has quite gone away, i'm not going to like, make a move ot try to do anything" billy nudges steve's toe with his own

"okay" steve smiles for real this time

"okay" billy smiles back

"you really had a crush on me in high school?" steve smirks

"oh god, yeah, it was so bad, i didn't know what to do so i was just... an ass!" billy laughs

steve laughs along too and it's just comfortable, more comfortable than they've been ever

"do you wanna go get dinner?" steve smiles lopsidedly

"what!"

"like a date, do you want to go on a date with me?"

"it won't be weird?" billy asks earnestly

"not unless you make it weird"

billy grins and stands

"then let's go on a date!" he hold out his hand an hauls steve up

///

they're walking in comfortable silence, bumping into each other's shoulders, trying to make the other drop their left over box

they get to billy's door and kean against it, very much in each other's space

"you wanna know a secret?" steve asks with a mischievous glint in his eye

"sure"

"i had a crush on you in high school too" steve smiles and rests his forehead against billy's

"oh yeah!" billy leans into steve's touch, their noses bumping

"hell yeah" steve closes the distance and presses a soft kiss into billy's lips

[goliath-de-senfina-sango]

Fathering a Phantom ch2

I just wanna Talk, I swear

Here we have the chapter 2 for that fic from earlier! Once again, here ya go @five-rivers @floralflowerpower and @uwuplasmiusuwu

“Cole I’m going to murder someone,” was the first thing that Toby said to his husband upon arriving once more in their temporary sanctuary. Cole paused mid throw of his javelin, electric sparks crackling up the polearm, and turned to look at his husband. Toby’s wings were ablaze, his nails sharpened into claws, and his eyes a colorful storm, as though he couldn’t decide what to turn into for maximum lethality. Cole set down his javelin and wrapped around Toby in a hug.

“Who are you planning to murder, sunshine? And should I join in? I haven’t gotten into a good fight since we got here, which is a shame.” Cole coalesced from a mass of clouds into something a bit closer to his original body when Toby relaxed in his embrace, running his fingers through shimmering feathers made of embers. “You really do look like a star like this, by the way.”

“There was, I think, a war forged around here who fired a bunch of rockets at a child! You know that liminal kid I told you about?”

“Oh right, we’re rare in this realm, huh?” Cole’s face scrunched up in confusion and he arched a brow. “I thought the liminal around here beat up the tyrant ruling the place when he woke up?”

“I didn’t exactly ask about what must’ve sucked when I half blew up the metalhead.” Toby flew over to the couch and flopped face first into it. “Now I gotta track him down.”

“Why only half? Sounds like someone you’d take out in one go if you had the drop on em.”

“Well, do you wanna traumatize a kid of unknown cultural origins? He’s so small, and his friends were clearly still living humans. I dunno if he’s seen someone die before, let alone a ghost getting Ended. If I recall, committing murder is a bad way to start a friendship with a child.”

Cole snorted and gave Toby a pat on the shoulder. “Alright, fair, Sildar didn’t like me much after that rescue. But hey, now you can put that on your to do list! Murder, the answer to most problems.” Toby laughed, phasing through the couch when Cole sat on him. “There he is, my giggly celestial chandelier.”

“Do you even remember what a chandelier is? I know you broke like three of them over someone’s head, but I forget whose head.” Toby put out the flames in his feathers and stretched, satisfied when his spine popped a few times. “It’s nice to still be able to do that.”

“I’ll be honest, being a cloud has made the sound of your joints popping kinda gross to me. It sounds like you’ve still got a flesh and blood body.” Cole sat up, scratching his head. “Do you still have a humanoid body? With like, meat and bones and stuff?”

“Probably, yeah. We’ll see, cause if so that’ll come in handy with helping out this liminal kid. Said his name is Danny Phantom.” Toby paused, the feeling of his feather being torn an odd and upsetting one. “Speaking of whom, I should go meet up with them. Think you can find this ‘Skulker’ guy while I educate some kids?”

Cole kissed Toby on the cheek and gave him a thumbs up. “Will do! I can’t promise there’ll be much left of him afterward though, I’m not a fan of idiots who attack kids.” Toby smiled and in a flash of light and beat of wings, he was gone. Cole nodded to himself and grabbed his maul, crackling with electric arcs, and opened up the door to their temporary Sanctuary. “Now then, who the fuck is Skulker?”

After having a small debate about where they couldn’t go and why, team Phantom finally ended up at the indoor roller rink that was partially destroyed by a giant ghost crab a while ago, and sat down at a table that Danny cleared of debris with an ectoblast or three. “Ok guys, I think this is a good enough place to call him up.”

“Are we sure it’s a good idea to call him at all?” Sam held up the feather she’d kept in her pocket, turning it about to watch the golden flame dance. “He took down Skulker pretty fast and it usually takes you a good half hour to do that, Danny.”

“Skulker specializes in attacking Danny is all, Sam. We’ve got the weapons to handle pretty much any ghost we normally deal with, and Danny took down the king of ghosts. I’m pretty sure he can handle anyone else.”

“Plus, Toby wrecked Skulker pretty bad. If he wanted to fight, I’m pretty sure he would’ve started a fight.” Danny condensed his ectoblasts into one ball of ectoplasma and stretched it out into a pole. “Imagine all the cool stuff he could show us!”

“Alright, if you say so.” Sam snapped the feather in half, surprised by how easy it was to do, and grabbed her ecto-pistol. For a moment, there was silence. Then the sound of wingbeats filled the room and Toby appeared above the rink as though landing from a long flight.

“That’s a spell I’m not used to casting frequently in a day. Heyo kids!” Toby waved, tucking his wings by his sides while walking closer. “Sorry for the delay, I was talking to my husband. So, names again just to be sure: Sam, Tucker, and Danny, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right. What do you mean spell, exactly? Do ghosts have magic ontop of the other ghost powers now?” Tucker spun the lipstick laser around in his fingers, remembering Desiree’s magic and Freakshow’s staff.

“Anyone who can do magic keeps the ability in death, usually. I’m not dead though, I’m Deathless.” He spread his wings and spun around, thumbs pointing to his chest. “I was born awesome like this, and so was Cole. But, based on your faces you weren’t born like this?”

“No,” Sam said, gesturing at Danny. “This is a recent thing, it’s been since about…” Sam paused, her gaze landing on the wall behind Toby. “March of last year, so 14 months.”

“Yeah, god, we’ve been doing this for over a year now, haven’t we?” Tucker, who had held up a camera to record everything Toby was saying, slumped a bit in his seat and sighed. “Feels like it’s been like this forever and like it happened yesterday.”

Toby stared at them all like they’d each grown extra limbs in odd places – Danny even checked to make sure he hadn’t done that while feeling both old and young at the same time due to how little time had actually passed – before zipping over to Danny and holding his hands just over the teen’s face. “Oh my gods, you’re a baby.”

“I am a teenager, thank you.” Danny gently pulled Toby’s hands away from his face, a brow raised. “What, is 14 infantile to angels, feather man?”

“You’re only 14 months dead, Danny, that makes you a baby ghost.” Sam snorted and Tucker covered his mouth to try and hide his laughter. A snap of Toby’s fingers and flowers began growing in Tucker’s hat, and seeds appeared above Sam, growing into flowers as they fell all over her. “If you’ve had regular interactions with that metal head, no wonder your aura’s all aggro.”

“Skulker’s not exactly the worst of the ghosts we’ve had to fight over the months,” Danny said.

“Oh yeah, that’d have to be either Walker, Spectra, or Vlad. It’s really a toss up between Spectra and Vlad, if you ask me.”

“Vlad wants to kill Danny’s dad because he sees his mom as a trophy that was stolen from him, while Spectra tried to kill Jazz just to depress an entire school so she could feed on the misery to look young.” Sam brushed away the flowers and weighed two in her hands. “Yeah, those around the same level of grossly evil.”

Toby’s wings ignited at some point while Sam was talking, and the sunlight streaming in from the hole in the roof grew somewhat brighter. He reached into a bag he had strapped to his waist and pulled out a book and a pen, his smile all teeth. “Tell me, please, a list of all the adult ghosts who have attacked you children? I’d like to have a discussion with each of them.”

“If we give you their names,” Danny said before Tucker could answer, “do you promise not to go slaughtering them all? I don’t need to know ghostly body language at all to know that flaming wings come from a place of anger and imminent violence.”

“When did you read a thesaurus, Danny?”

“Sam, I’m insulted: I know tri-syllabic words. I can even say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.”

“I promise not to slaughter all of the ghosts you inform me hurt you in the past few months, yes. Names?” When Tucker listed off names, Toby wrote them down with an inhuman speed, and Danny exchanged a look with Sam, worried about how exactly that deal might be loopholed around. “Right,” Toby chirped while slamming his book shut, “I’m here to answer some questions of yours, not just ramble about myself and assemble a… list of people to talk to. Got any?”

“So many that I don’t even know where to start.”

[astorytotellyourfriends]

hmm which character...I'll shock you this time! REGGIE PETERS! "Zip Me." (another shocker - PeterPatter related)

Anonymous asked: Zip me (dressing or undressing 👀) peterpatter please.

oh i love that you guys have the same brain it's wonderful

-x-

Reggie can't find his flannel anywhere. He's looked all over the garage for it but it's nowhere to be seen. He knows he had it here yesterday, and he's pretty sure it couldn't have sprouted legs and wandered off on its own.

"What're you doing?" Luke asks as he taps Reggie on the shoulder.

"I'm looking for--" Reggie stops short when he turns around and sees Luke.

"For what?"

"That," Reggie says as he points at Luke. "Why are you wearing it?"

"What?" Luke looks down at Reggie's flannel. "Don't you think it looks good on me?"

Reggie's cheeks go a little pink. "That's not-- I've been looking for that all day!"

"Okay?"

"Can I have it back?" Reggie whines.

"I dunno…" Luke hums as he rubs his hands up and down his arms. "I kinda like it."

Reggie whines louder. "If you cut the sleeves off, I'll be so mad at you. That's my favorite flannel!"

Luke rolls his eyes and starts pulling the flannel off. "I wouldn't do that, Reg."

Reggie looks pointedly at the shirt Luke's wearing underneath Reggie's flannel, and Luke fights back a smile.

"Okay, maybe I would," he admits as he holds the flannel out. Reggie goes to take it from him, but then Luke pulls it back. "Turn around."

Reggie's cheeks turn a darker shade of pink as he turns around, letting Luke help him put the flannel on. It's warm from Luke's body heat, and Reggie's pretty sure it's gonna smell like him for a while, too.

Luke hums, his mouth suddenly close to Reggie's ear. "Looks better on you," he whispers before smacking a kiss to Reggie's cheek.

"I--" Reggie's face burns red as Luke turns away with a cackle. Reggie tugs his flannel a little tighter around him, and - after checking to make sure Luke isn't looking - he pulls the collar up to his nose to sniff it.

He was right - it does smell like Luke.

prompt lists | filled prompts

[platypanthewriter]

Guess Again

Day Four of Harringrove AUgust, Profession AU!  Steve runs into a hot guy named Billy on his plane flight back to Indianapolis, and Billy lies about what he does for a living, then, laughing, admits he lied.  The prize for this guessing game: an exchange of phone numbers.

Steve found his seat, in coach, because that was the only seat available on the overbooked flight into Indianapolis a week before Thanksgiving.  He shoved his carry-on under the seat, and wedged himself in the limited leg room, opening his laptop to answer the emails that had been pinging his phone before the plane was ready to take off, and he—blessedly—had to go into airplane mode.  

He barely even noticed the guy wedging himself in to sit by the window, and trying to get the damn table to stay up.  Steve typed away as the busted table mechanism flapped onto the guy’s lap over and over.  Finally, Steve grimaced, glancing over.  “You can use my table,” he offered, registering only that the guy was tattooed, and kinda...hot.  “I’ll put this away as soon as we taxi to the runway.”

“It’s fine,” the dude said, smacking the floppy table with a sigh.  “Not like there’s a meal on this flight.”

“You can lean in and share my pretzels,” Steve told him, grinning over, and was met with big, long-lashed blue eyes, an annoying mustache, and curls that curved around an attractively firm jaw.  

The guy nodded, and put the broken table away.  “...kind of a workaholic?” he asked, probably because it was nearly ten o’clock at night, and Steve was glaring at his screen and typing emails like his survival depended on a high word count.  

He snorted a laugh.  “I left them all until now,” he said, grimacing.  “They really don’t need my input, but if I replied earlier, they’d just ask me something else.  Something they could google.”  He narrowed his eyes at an email from a coworker who’d actually emailed to ask for exact details of what was allowed under the sexual harassment policy.  Talk to HR, he sent back.  Creep, he thought.  He finished the last of the replies, hoping he wasn’t sending anything too weird in his distraction, and closed his laptop.  “Um.  Sorry.  What do you do?”

“I sell life insurance,” the guy said immediately, with a toothy grin.  “I’ll sell you so much insurance on this flight.”

“Uh,” Steve said, blinking at him.  “Umm...oh.”

“That’s a lie,” was the dude’s followup, and Steve stared at him, starting to regret his offer to share a table, or catch the flight at all.  “I don’t sell life insurance, I swear.  I promise,” the guy said, laughing.  “God, your face.  I just...my job is...I started telling people I sell life insurance, so they wouldn’t talk to me.”

“I can just sit over here,” Steve offered, pretending to zip his lips.

“No, no, it’s, uh.  Sorry I lied.  Talk to me, it’s a long flight.”

“Why do you have to lie?” Steve had to ask, and the guy grimaced.  

“My job’s kinda awkward,” he said, laughing.

“Are you a...porn star?” Steve asked, trying to figure out what kind of job would get the worst people to talk to you, and the dude cracked up.  

“Jesus, no, but thanks for the ego boost,” he said, and Steve snorted a laugh.  

“Um.  What about…” Steve thought, opened his mouth, and then closed it.  “Can I guess?” he asked, grinning, and the guy snickered.  

“Sure.  Give it your best shot.  Just don’t tell me any horror stories.”

“Do you embalm bodies?” Steve tried, already holding back a tide of questions, like did you ever drop one and have to fix a broken nose.

“Nope!” said the guy, turning to lean more against the window, to face Steve.  “How many tries do you want before I just tell you?”

“Oh, no, no, lemme guess,” Steve said, thinking as they came around asking for drink orders.  “Horror stories...um.  Are you a soldier?” he asked, wide-eyed, and the guy laughed again.  

“No!  No, nothing like that.”  He leaned to see Steve’s ID as Steve pulled it out to order a beer, and Steve grinned.  

“I’m Steve.”

“Billy,” said his mysteriously-employed seatmate, offering his hand, and Steve flipped it over investigatively.  

“You don’t have those, like, love/hate knuckle tattoos,” he said, feeling like a detective.  “So...maybe not a biker?”

“I’m not a biker,” Billy snickered.  His hand was warm in Steve’s.  “Is that even a job?”

“Oh!  Oh!” Steve leaned forward, sure he had it this time, and Billy moved the armrest between them out of the way.  “A writer?”

“What?!” Billy laughed, which probably meant Steve was wrong, but he argued his point.  

“People tell you horror stories,” he said, narrowing his eyes.  “So—so probably everybody tells you they have a great idea for your next novel—”

“No, uh.  One clue,” Billy said, grimacing.  “They’re true stories.”

“True stories,” Steve said, going to cross his arms in thought, and realizing Billy hadn’t taken his hand back.  “Uh, what do I get if I guess right?” he asked, squeezing Billy’s hand, and Billy snorted a laugh, grinning like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

“I dunno, I feel like Rumpelstilzkin, you want like my firstborn or—”

“No, nope,” Steve made a face.  “I got enough kids around, thanks.  Oh—” he blinked, realizing how that sounded as Billy started to pull his hand back, and lean away, “—not, like, I’m not a dad, I don’t have a wife and kids or anything.  I just have some little shitheads that come over all the time and eat all my popsicles and pizza.”

“Oh good,” Billy said dryly.  “I’d feel terrible if holding my hand ruined your marriage.”

“No other knuckles can fulfill me, now,” Steve said soulfully, and then when Billy burst out laughing, Steve couldn’t hold a straight face.  

“You know how fucking dirty that sounds, right,” Billy whispered, rubbing his face with the hand Steve wasn’t holding, and Steve snorted a laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’m not trying to get you to fist me on the plane,” he hissed back.

“Coward,” Billy shot back, and then they started giggling again, like they were ten.  

 “True horror stories,” Steve repeated, later, as they leaned together over the napkin on his tiny airplane table, where he was keeping track of the guesses he’d already made.  “True horror stories.  Are you a reporter?” 

“God no,” Billy said, making a face.  “Imagine this many tattoos in front of the news cameras?  We’ve got a ways to go before they allow that.”

“Oh, true,” Steve nodded.  “I mean, unless you worked for, like, a tabloid.  Circling everyone’s stomach in pictures and writing ‘BABY BUMP?!’ on it.”  

Billy jumped when Steve yelled ‘BABY BUMP’, and half the plane twitched and mumbled.  “Fuck no!” he hissed, laughing.  “Ssh!”

“Huh,” Steve said, studying the napkin.  “Oh!  Um,” he grimaced.  “Police officer?”

“No,” Billy growled, and Steve nodded, writing that down and crossing it out, and sipping his third beer.  “We never worked out what you got if you guessed,” Billy said, watching.  

“Oh, yeah,” Steve agreed, nodding.  “Uh, what about...dinner?”

“We’re gonna land at like six in the morning,” Billy pointed out, and Steve fingergunned him.

“Breakfast.”

Billy laughed.  “I dunno if I’m willing to put out on our first plane trip together.”

“Lemme get you, like, bacon and eggs,” Steve said, leaning in and waggling his eyebrows, “—and my phone number.”  He smirked as Billy cackled, leaning his head in the window.

“Yeah, okay.  Gimme some breakfast sausage, Steve,” he said softly, the overhead reading light making his curls glow a little, like a halo.  

“Now I haveta figure it out,” Steve said, frowning at his list, and Billy’s fingers twitched towards him.  Steve grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together, and accepted another beer from the flight attendant.  “I wonder how many beers that is,” he said, prodding at the label with his thumbnail.  “I think they’re like ten bucks a pop.”

“I bet the alcohol will really help you think,” Billy said dryly, and Steve made a face at him.  

“Shut up, I got it.  I got it this time,” he said, tipping his head back for a long, satisfying drink of beer, and wiping his mouth.  Billy’s mouth hung a little open when he finished, and Steve licked his lips, grinning.  “You—you’re a doctor.  A—a doctor of butts.  A butt-doctor.”

Billy started laughing so hard, silently, that Steve was starting to wonder whether he could breathe.  

“I’m right, right?” Steve said, taking a triumphant swig, and Billy shook his head, wheezing for air.

“You mean a proctologist?!” he gasped.

“Yeah, and you understood fine,” Steve told him, annoyed.

“I’m not—I’m not a butt doctor,” Billy choked out, tears of laughter in his eyes.  “I don’t have a doctorate in ass—”

“Your loss,” Steve muttered, glaring at the napkin with the list.  “Man, my cousin is one, and he has some stories.  Dude, that’s everything, that’s every damn job.  Ever.  Do zookeepers get told horror stories?!  Oh!”  He pointed the beer bottle at Billy.  “Dentist!”

“No,” Billy giggled, his hair rising with static in the dry air of the plane, and sticking to the wall and window behind him.  He looked ruffled and fond, and Steve squeezed his hand again, trying to think of what he’d missed, before the plane landed, and he’d spent the entire flight guessing jobs, and Billy hadn’t even given him a last name.  

“Shit,” Steve said, then straightened again.  “No, okay, this time,” he said, the beer making his words a little soft around the edges, “This time I really have it.  You’re a Mickey Mouse person.”

“I’m a what now,” Billy said, still snickering.

“You know,” Steve said, his eyes narrowed.  “You crawl up the ass of one of those suits and let kids think you’re a Disney princess.”

“No, Harrington,” Billy said, breathlessly, as he shook with laughter.  “No, I do not.  Do people tell mascots horror stories?!  I don’t even want to know.  Which princess?  Just for scientific curiosity, Steve, which princess do I crawl up the ass of, in your brain?”

Steve tried to remember them all.  “Not Jasmine,” he said with certainty.  “Um.  Wait, Peter Pan?  Maybe?”

“Peter Pan’s not a princess,” Billy choked out, wiping his eyes as he tried to muffle his laughter.  

“Hrm,” Steve said, accepting another beer and huffing a sigh, but Billy leaned in suddenly and just kissed him.  His lips were warm and chapped, and Steve hummed happily against them.  Their teeth bumped, a little, because Billy was giggling so hard, and Steve was grinning so wide his cheek muscles ached.

“I’m a drug and alcohol counselor,” Billy said with a grimace, and Steve glared at his beer, betrayed, "—so, um, horror stories.  Yeah."

"I just have butt-doctor horror stories," Steve said quickly, trying to salvage the situation, and he shoved his beer behind him.

Billy laughed harder, shaking his head.  "I’ll still take that number,” he whispered, kissing Steve again—and snickering, his cheeks flushed.  “And breakfast?”

Here’s my other Harringrove stuff!  Or check out the Harringrove AUgust collection on Ao3!  Add something!  =D 

[peachbear88]

A Whole New World (Pt 4)

A/N: Part 4! Hopefully I can cram the rest of the series into 5 parts. So hopefully, the next one will be the last one. Hopefully.

Spoiler alert: Pietro is gay here. :) IT'S AN AU PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!

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

Genie encircles you, examining you with almost judging eyes.

"Skinny figure, barely any muscle." He prods you and you recoil.

"Hey!"

"We can make it work." He shrugs, pulling up what looks to be a flimsy notebook of materials. "I'm feeling a... Periwinkle!" You attempt to peer over his shoulder.

"What's periwinkle?" You ask, concerned as a pair of glasses and measuring tape appear.

"No! Chautrese!" He exclaims, swirling around you fast, whipping up a small cloud of dust. You cough as the dust dissipates noticing the immediate change of clothes. "No Genie! You're slipping!" He says, slapping his forehead. You do a little twirl in the sparkling blue puffy dress, gesturing to the massive black hat on your head.

"This is a big hat."

"No it's not a big hat." He snaps. "We gotta go bold n' gold!" A massive roll of golden fabric appears as he tears massive pieces of it off of the roll before wrapping you up in it. When you emerge, you find yourself wearing a thick golden suit, a cape draping off your shoulders. "Ah man! No! It clashes with your eyes! No!" He flips through his notebook again.

"This is kinda heavy..." You mutter and the genie's eyes light up.

"Yes! I've got it!" He takes a massive breath, fussing over you once again until you emerge. This time you come out wearing a sleek black suit, white dress shirt and a small golden watch. The carpet claps enthusiastically while the monkey wanders off. "And the crowd goes wild! The genie's on fire! The genie's on fire!" He exclaims into a megaphone before dropping it and zipping around the area, bright fire trailing after him everywhere he goes. "Somebody put me out! I'm too much!" He screams and a giant rain cloud appears above him, drenching him and effectively putting out the massive fire. He snaps his fingers and a tall mirror appears in front of you. "What'd you think kid?" You pose, smiling confidently.

"I like it. I think it's really me." The genie tuts as you continue staring at your reflection in the mirror.

"Well technically it's me but yeah, I get you." He scratches his neck as you tear your gaze from the mirror.

"Who am I again?" The genie avoids your gaze, still scratching the back of his neck.

"Uh Y/N Stark? Duh. The youngest of Stark Enterprises." You turn to face him, skepticism clear on your face.

"Is that a real company?" He nods vigorously.

"Oh yeah. A New York company. They've got a website and everything." You arch an eyebrow but he doesn't expand. "All right let's get you to your girl!" He exclaims, clapping his hands.

-----------

You fidget nervously at the entrance hall of the Maximoff's living quarters.

"What's taking them so long?" You mutter. Genie elbows you, making you wince.

"Relax kid, you'll do fine." The giant door swings open and your head snaps up to see Oleg, the CEO of M Towers, Loki, the COO, Pietro, the apparent heir of the business and of course, Wanda. Your jaw drops a little at the sight of her, looking flawless as ever. Genie leans over and nudges you. "Might wanna close your mouth kid." Your jaw immediately flies up so hard that you bite your upper lip. You inhale sharply as a little blood trickles down into your mouth. Ignoring the strange look from Wanda, you greet Oleg with a nervous smile.

"Welcome Ms. Stark! It is our honor to welcome you our humble abode." Oleg greets you and you do a little bow only to hear the genie snicker beside you.

"Why are you bowing?"

"I dunno, it just felt right!" You exclaim quietly, standing back up awkwardly. "Yes, it is just as great an honor to uh- Meet you eh- brilliant sir." You choke out and your face heats up at the strange glances you recieve.

"So, it is apparent you are here for one of my children's hand in marriage? Pietro perhaps?" Oleg offers and you politely decline.

"No, thank you sir. I'm actually uh- I'm actually requesting for Wanda's hand in marriage." Loki stares at you while Oleg arches an eyebrow at you. You tug nervously at your shirt collar, positively bursting from embarrassment.

"Mention the gifts." Genie whispers and you sigh in relief.

"Right! We have gifts!" After a moment of silence, you lean over to genie. "We do have gifts right?" The genie sighs before clapping loudly, startling both you and the Maximoff twins.

The glass door behind you swings open as servants march through the doorway, large platters of artifacts and more balanced on their shoulders.

"We have artifacts, money, spoons, tiny spoons! How do they make them that tiny?" You exclaim.

"Tiny spoons!" Pietro repeats, flashing you a reassuring smile which you gratefully reciprocate.

"We have jams." You point at a crate of jams in the corner.

"Jams?" Loki asks disbelievingly.

"Yes jams." You bite back snarkily. The man did push you off a cliff, it's normal to hold grudges. "Yam jams, fig jams, date jams. Seedless, exotic jams." Genie sighs.

"Step. Away. From. The. Jams." He gets out through gritted teeth.

"Jewels! We have them!" You say nervously, your hands shaking so badly you decide to hide them behind your back. "And that! Hidden for suspense!" You point at an item covered by a golden cloth. Genie lets out a sharp exhale of air. The servants pull the cloth off, revealing a golden spinning wheel.

"Is... Is that a wheel?" You hear Wanda mutter to her brother.

"It's very expensive." You reply, flashing what you hope is a suave smile at her.

"Right. And what do you hope to buy with this... expensive item?" She asks coolly, unfazed.

"You."

Pietro's head snaps up to look at you as audible gasps go around. Oleg's eyebrows furrow while Wanda just stares at you.

"Wow." Genie whispers as you slowly comprehend your mistake.

"No! No, no, no, no. A moment with you. A moment. Yeah. No. That's not what I..." You trail off, your ears turning bright red with embarrassment as the genie mimes a little explosion.

"Are you perhaps suggesting I am for sale?" Wanda quips and you melt, her pure green eyes staring right back into your e/c ones.

"Of course..." You reply, entranced by her beauty. Pietro gives you a pointed look while you correct yourself. "Not! No, of course not!" Wanda looks down at her feet while Pietro purses his lips.

"You know, it's cold and it's dark in that lamp. Honestly, I prefer it to this." Genie whispers, patting your shoulder.

"Please excuse me." Wanda says after a bit, gathering her wits. "I need to go and find some bread." Pietro cringes.

"For the jams. You did great." He flashes you a sympathetic smile before following his sister out of the room.

"You will get the chance to speak again. We hope you can join us tonight Ms. Stark, for the New Year's celebration in the gardens." Oleg sighs, exiting the room with Loki right on his tail. The moment they are gone, the genie turns to you.

"In 10,000 years, never have I ever, been this embarrassed."

-----------

The two of you make your way to the Maximoff Gardens, you tugging at the hem of your black suit jacket.

"So what do I do?" You ask as the genie dusts of his top hat and rearranges his tie.

"Just do whatever you normally do at a party." You shuffle your feet around a little.

"I, uh... I've never been to a party." He stops walking to stare at you.

"Oh no. Then you gotta go back to the room 'cause you ain't messin up this night for me." He instructs but is interrupted by a tall figure, stepping out of the shadows.

"Ms. Stark. May I have a word?" Loki asks as he eyes Genie. "Without your servant." You pause for a moment before locking eyes with Genie, who understands.

"Right. I'll just be over there, minding my business." Genie says, awkwardly pointing to a well lit corner, far away from Loki and you. Loki's eyes watch the genie thoughtfully before you clear your throat and he returns his attention to you.

"So... What do you need?" You ask cautiously, testing the waters.

"I know who you are." Loki interrupts, his cold eyes boring right through your facade. You gulp, waiting for him to continue. "You're a person of great ambition like me." He finishes, flashing you a tight-lipped smile. You almost sigh in relief, returning a polite smile.

"I don't believe we've been properly introduced." You stick your hand out and he grabs it with two fingers, a look of disgust apparent on his face. "Y/N Stark of Stark Industries." His forced smile grows wider.

"Loki, COO of M Towers." He leans uncomfortably close and you take a step back. "I could be a valuable ally to get you what you want." He drawls and you gulp, remembering how the last deal you had with him went.

"That is a very generous offer but uh-" You scan the crowd. "Oh is that Ms Maximoff over there? I better not keep her waitin-" You scramble for an excuse by he grabs your arm, whirling you around, his golden scepter dangerously close to your face.

"Perhaps I'm not making myself clear." The scepter gets closer and closer to your face before another pair of arms wrap around you and pulls you away. You turn to see the smiling face of the genie.

"Ms Stark? Your presence is requested." He gestures vaguely to the crowds of people, dragging you away from Loki. "So I'm guessing that's the guy?"

You nod.

"That's the guy."

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

"Alright, there's your girl. You just have to walk over there and ask to dance. Oh and it looks like her insanely attractive brother is going to get some punch! Feelin' a lil' thirsty myself." Genie whispered in your ear, readjusting his hat as you approached the center of the garden. Fear wrapped its icy hands around your heart and you froze.

"I can't do this." Genie groans and pulls your hands away from your face.

"Hey, no. Kid, this is a party." He emphasizes, gesturing to the masses of people and buffet tables. "I live in a lamp. Do not mess this up for me." He makes a threatening chopping gesture with his hands. You raise your own appendages in mock surrender.

"Alright!" Genie claps as you roll your eyes and make your way over to Wanda. You gain confidence with every step and you open your mouth to greet her but another man rushes forward, a blond one with an obnoxious smile.

"Ms Maximoff!" He says, raising his hands as if he were about to get on his knees and bow down to her. She arches an eyebrow as Pietro sighs.

"You! You're... still here." She gets out through a tight lipped smile. The blond man stands regally in a black suit with golden linings, his laugh joyful and careless. You instantly turn around, opting to sit on the side of the fountain instead of asking Wanda to dance.

"What are you doing?" Genie whispers harshly and you jump, turning around.

"I'm uh... making sure the water is a good temperature... Yeah, that's what I'm doing." You reply and he sighs, sitting down beside you. One glare is all that it takes to melt your lie. "I just... How can I compare with him?" You gesture to the blond man who's still completely oblivious to the eye-daggers he's receiving from Pietro. "He's so confident and rich and powerful an-" Genie cuts you off.

"Listen kid. You have to be more confident about what you have to offer." You scoff, watching as the blond man reluctantly leaves Wanda.

"What do I have to offer? I'm nothing but a poor kid from the streets. Now Y/N Stark, Stark has money, jewels, jams..." You trail off, looking at your hands.

"It's not about the money. You have to be yourself. That's the only way it'll work. You said you already had a connection right? So use it. Y/N Stark might've gotten you to the door but Y/N Y/L/N has to open it." He finishes, looking at you expectantly. You open your mouth to respond but your attention is caught by Oleg, who raises a toast glass your way. Smiling, you stand up, raising your own glass.

"Ah, see, Oleg does like me!" You murmur and Genie raises his glass next to you.

"Great, well maybe he'll let you be his wife."

-----------

Wanda scoffs watching you and Genie toast to her father.

"Another person more interested in Papa." Pietro leans towards her.

"Someone jealous?" He smirks as she flushes, pushing him playfully. "Ooh and she comes with an incredibly attractive friend. Please make it work." Pietro begs, his eyes trailing after Genie. Wanda stifles a laugh, watching her brother's beady eyes.

"And what about Y/N?" He sighs, placing his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently.

"Oh look at her. She's trying so hard."

"That's the problem."

-----------

You pace around the garden, avoiding Wanda at all costs with Genie trailing right behind you.

"Ooo! Show time!" Genie whispers and you shake your head, smiling.

"No, I'm waiting for the right moment." Genie smiles right back at you, wiggling his fingers.

"No, we're done waiting." You feel an invisible force tug at you and you look down to see your feet being forcibly dragged towards Wanda.

"Genie. Genie!" You whisper forcefully but he just keeps smiling until you reach Wanda. Pietro immediately notices your presence and whispers to Wanda.

"He's here! Act natural- Hahahahaha, hi!" His sentence fades off into forced laughter and an even odder greeting. You give him an odd look before clearing your throat to gain Wanda's attention.

"I'm sorry. Uh- about the jams and uh- the jewels and the uhm. The buying you." You stutter, feeling the tips of your ears heat up. A slow tune fills the garden and you tug at your shirt collar. "Would you like to-" Wanda cuts you off.

"Dance? I'd love to." You gulp as she walks off.

"Yes?" You say meekly and Pietro slaps your shoulder.

"Go get her tiger." He mimics a tiger growl and you smile queasily before taking your spot next to Wanda.

"Dance?" You mouth to Genie and he smiles reassuringly, miming a little dance with his fingers.

"Just dance." He mouths back and you give him an exasperated look. The band strikes up the music, raising it even louder and Wanda wraps her arms around your neck making you flush bright red. As if possessed, your arms fling themselves around Wanda's waist, a little forcefully. Wanda flinches and you apologize. Genie cringes, making his little finger movements a little more subtle. The two of you glide gracefully across the room with the other couples and you smile to yourself. But then the beat speeds up and you find yourself tripping over Wanda's feet a few times, muttering rushed apologies every time she winces. You find yourself gliding away from Wanda, your movements becoming more erratic as your dance moves take a more eccentric, more hip hop style. People watch you in awe, giving you wide berth as you start break dancing. Pulling yourself up, you jump onto the stone fountain, eliciting sounds of surprise from your audience. You twist around, winking at Wanda who scrunches her nose up. Twisting back around, you take a deep breath before pushing backwards into an elegant backflip. The crowd you've amassed cheers and you turn around just in time to see Wanda slipping away through the crowds of people. The smile slips off your face and you gesture exasperatedly at Genie who doesn't seem to get the message.

"Strange. Very strange." Loki mutter before turning to his loyal guard. "Keep an eye on Y/N Stark..."

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

You flop down on the soft guest bed provided to you and Genie.

"I don't get it. What did I do wrong?" You mutter as Genie lifts a massive dumbbell, his blue muscles straining.

"I mean, if I can't impress her, I wonder who can." Genie responds and you give him an annoyed look.

"Really? You know what, you actually kind of have a point." You make your way to the balcony where you can see Wanda's room lit up. "If I only I just had a few more minutes with her..." You trail off, an idea popping into your head. "You need to get me over there." The dumbbell disappears with a poof.

"Is that an official wish?" You scratch your head sheepishly.

"No. More like... a favor. For a friend." Genie tuts, turning to face the massive mirror in the room.

"Genies don't have friends." You sputter in protest.

"B-but I thought you said you never had a friend like me." He whirls around, his face becoming comically large.

"No. I said you, never had a friend like me." He returns his attention to the mirror.

"You're right. You're right. It would've involved distracting a certain charming sibling of Wanda but it's oka-" Genie zips in front of your face, a smile on his face.

"Ah! I see what you did there! You hooked me. See you there!"

----------

A soft knock comes from outside Wanda's massive bedroom. Wanda watches as Pietro opens the door, surprise clear on his face.

"Hey. What are you doing here?" He says, leaning against the doorway in an attempt to look casual. Genie clears his throat awkwardly.

"I uh... was noticing how pleasant the evening was. And I also noticed you, noticing how pleasant I am." He stutters and Pietro arches an eyebrow. Genie mentally slaps himself as he hands a bouquet of flowers to Pietro.

"Awww... They're beautiful!" Genie's face lights up. "Wanda will hate them. Tell Y/N the way to her heart is through her mind." Pietro finishes, handing the flowers back to Genie.

"Uh... These are actually to you. From me." Genie clarifies and Pietro turns bright red, snatching the flowers back.

"Sorry, give me a second." He slams the door shut in Genie's face and Genie recoils, mentally berating himself.

"'How pleasant I am?' God that kid is contagious!" Genie exclaims quietly. Inside the chamber, Pietro tosses the flower bouquet to Wanda, who catches it swiftly and gestures for him to go. He smooths his hair suavely before opening the door again.

"Continue please." Genie's face brightens.

"A stroll. Would you like to take a night stroll?" Pietro's eyes widen and Genie frantically begins to ramble. "I mean, only if you want to of course. You definitely don't have to." Pietro cuts him off by grabbing his hand.

"I'd love to." Wanda does a silent little fist pump inside her room. Pietro pokes his head back in, winking at her before Genie pulls him down the corridor. She smiles to herself before returning to her laptop.

"Wanda." She whirls around at the foreign voice to find you, standing on her balcony. A strange wave of deja vu hits her but she shakes it off, raising a throwing knife. You raise your hands, slowly walking towards her. She throws it at you and you dodge easily.

"Don't make another move. How did you get there?"

"Magic carpet?"

You continue your slow path towards her and when she finally lowers her knives, you let yourself have a small, mental celebration.

"I just came to check on you because you left so early." You mutter. "Did I go too far with the backflip?" She smirks.

"Maybe a little." You smile and she smiles back before turning back to her laptop, her friendly demeanor replaced with a colder one. "Actually, I'm glad you're here." You gulp.

"You are?"

"I can't seem to find Stark Towers. Care to show me?" Your eyes widen.

"Right! Yes." You make your way over to her desk. "Genie I need to find Stark Towers." You mutter under your breath as you pick up her laptop, swiftly turning it away from her. She raises her eyebrows skeptically but makes no move to stop you. You clear your throat. "Stark Towers!" A little genie appears on the Google Maps website, waving at you. You mouth 'Stark Towers', hoping that this little genie clone knows how to read lips. It quickly begins to paint until a small building labelled 'Fantasy Land' appears. You groan, shaking the laptop violently. A small hand places itself on the laptop, gently setting it back down on the desk.

"Have you lost your company?" You sputter under her expectant gaze before jabbing at a random spot on the screen, squeezing your eyes shut as you prepare for the worst.

"There it is." She snorts.

"I don't think that's possible. I've looked everywhere..." She falters as she examines the screen more closely.

"There it is." You repeat more confidently as she squints at the screen.

"How did I miss that..." She mutters as you gently close the laptop.

"Who needs Internet anyways? It's nothing compared to the real world." She stares at you coldly.

"Internet is how I see the world." You gawk at her sudden confession.

"Forgive me but... I thought a rich person like you could go anywhere they wanted." She smiles sadly at your naivitivity.

"Not this rich person." She turns away, staring at the elegant walls of her bedroom. An idea forms into your head and you take her hand gently, so as not to alarm her. She considers pulling away but she decides against it. You pull her towards the balcony.

"Come on, I'll show you what you're missing out on." You clamber over the glass railing and she surges forward.

"What are you doing?" You flash her a genuine smile.

"Sometimes, Wanda. Sometimes you just gotta take a risk." You hop off the balcony and she gasps, clutching her chest.

"What just happened..." She rubs her eyes as you float back up on the magic carpet. "A magic carpet?" You flash her a look that clearly reads I told you so, before offering her your hand.

"Do you trust me?" She stares at you.

"What did you say?"

"Do you trust me?" You repeat and she tentatively takes your hand.

"Yes." The two of you soar off on the carpet, zooming above the dark city Sokovia, her hand still entwined with yours.

"I can show you the world,"

"Shining, shimmering, splendid."

"Tell me, Wanda,"

"Now, when did you last let your heart decide?"

You tug at the carpet's tassels and it ascends up into the clouds.

"I can open your eyes,"

"Take you wonder by wonder,"

"Over, sideways and under,"

"On a magic carpet ride."

You fall back under the clouds and dip down, skimming the sea lightly.

"A whole new world."

"A new fantastic point of view."

"No one to tell us, "No","

"Or where to go,"

"Or say we're only dreaming."

Wanda's voice joins you in harmony. Her singing is the most beautiful thing you've ever heard, breezy and alluring. You clutch onto the carpet in fear of falling off in awe.

"A whole new world!"

"A dazzling place I never knew."

"But when I'm way up here,"

"It's crystal clear,"

"That now I'm in a whole new world with you."

She smiles at you as you squeeze her hand reassuringly.

"Unbelievable sights,"

"Indescribable feeling."

"Soaring, tumbling, freewheeling,"

"Through an endless diamond sky."

"A whole new world."

The two of you hurtle over a waterfall, the water sparkling below you like a million diamonds as she clutches your arm tightly, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Don't you dare close your eyes."

You chide and she smiles at you, her eyes twinkling.

"A hundred thousand things to see."

"I'm like a shooting star,"

"I've come so far,"

"I can't go back to where I used to be."

You soar back up into the clouds, basking in the moonlight.

"A whole new world."

"With new horizons to pursue."

"I'll chase them anywhere,"

"There's time to spare."

"Let me share this whole new world with you."

The carpet slows down, bringing you to a stop at the edge of Sokovia.

"A whole new world."

"A whole new world."

"That's where we'll be."

"That's where we'll be."

"A thrilling chase."

"A wondrous place."

"For you and me."

You stare at her, pure, unfiltered adoration clear in your eyes. In the distance, a small bit of smoke makes it's presence known as carpet glides over to it. You take off your jacket, hanging it on Wanda's shoulders, who smiles gratefully at you, leaning into your shoulder. Below you, a family lies peacefully on the grass, huddled around a modest campfire.

"They're beautiful." Wanda whispers, breaking the comfortable silence. You stare at her before she elaborates. "The people. Don't you think?" You smile, tucking a stray strand of auburn hair behind her ear.

"Does it matter what I think?" Her breath hitches as she pulls away slightly. You return your attention to the people below as the gears whirr in her head.

"The view is quite beautiful here but definitely not as beautiful as your humble abode." You chuckle at her observation.

"Good one. You flatter me..." Your eyes widen in horror as you realize what you just disclosed. She turns on her spot to face you.

"So how many names do you have Ms. Y/L/N?" You sputter as she continues her verbal barrage. "Who's Ms. Stark then?"

"I am." You signal for her to calm down but she continues.

"But how would you know the city so well? And have a place in the city too?"

"I came to Sokovia early." You exclaim in the spur of the moment. She stares at you, waiting for you to continue. "Because to know a people you have to see them for yourself. But you already know that. When we first met, you were disguised. In your own city!" She blushes and you gain confidence as your lie grows. "We arrived with jams, jewels and a magic carpet. Do you think a thief would have all that?" She stares at the sky thoughtfully.

"But how could I not recognize you?"

"People don't see the real you when you're royalty." You shrug, lying smoothly.

"I'm sorry. I'm embarrassed. I mean, you've seen more of Sokovia in days then I have in an entire lifetime." She takes your hand gently and you crumple.

"We should..." She looks at you expectantly. "We should probably head back."

"Already?" She regards you with sad eyes.

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

She shrugs off your jacket, handing it back to you as you help her off the carpet and back onto the balcony.

"Until tomorrow Ms. Maximoff." You whisper as the carpet lowers you to her eye level. With a jolt, the carpet pushes you off and you deftly catch the railing your nose only an inch from hers. She grabs you shirt collar, pulling you into a gentle kiss. You sigh and she smiles, pulling back.

"Good night Y/N." She whispers before gently pushing you off the balcony. You fall, landing on the carpet, who swoops you away back to your room.

"Yes."

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

Taglist: @username23345 @musicinourlips @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @trikruismybitch @ima-gi--na-tion @nicole-rayleigh-hot @olsensnpm @peabrain112

[princeleyjeans]

The seggsy experience: The do breakdown.

(Oh god I can't stop giggling) Seggy time, dunno why my brain decided to spontainiously throw it up but as a writer, you know I had to do ANOTHER character dismantal and talk about how T an Mikers would get down and dirty. Last night, I was like "They can't do romantic, it's either gonna be violent and resentful or sappy with loads of crying cus they just can't get passed their shit", and then after that surprise Grace and Frankie season 7 release (only 4 half hour episodes but it'll keep me going till 2022...hopefully). ANYWAY, Soals "I need you to twirl a rock over my crotch to help me get hard for Robert otherwise he'll eat us out of house and home dealing with this dry spell" inspired me, and being the sort of writer who likes to 'expand' on things, of course, I had to bring you this: Dry spell eating, totally Michael's thing, he and Trevor are going slow in the bedroom department cus they wanna see if this can go somewhere so he's cramming the carbs cus M's too repressed to try a sex toy until literally, he is so deprived, his skin vibrates with 0 bone time energy, he just loads up on ice cream and bread and stores all that fat for winter cus its the only pleasure the guy gets until they agree they're both ready to get less than usual nasty. But when they do....in a non "Having my revenge thru my dick" sense, presumably, it is awkward and painful as all hell. Figuratively and literally. --- Picture...squirming, they've got the making out down but once pants come off, everything is new ground far as Michael's concerned and T's eagerness and expertise in the ways of the penis is frightening and obviously off-putting, like M NEEDS to know EVERYTHING ABOUT ANYTHING and T having the upper hand is setting off all sorts of red flags, meaning nobody gets their rocks off until someone agrees to go easy and the two of them call a truce on any funny business so they can both enjoy the evening. Of course, T fucks around (No pun intended) so Mike becomes a fussy bitch, they argue over whose catchin' and when M finally decides to try 'Being the woman' he constantly complains about pain and Trevor being too rough even when the guy is just lying there or isn't even touching him. Like M's ass up, face down and T's a good foot away and the guys like-- "I SAID FUCKIN' EASY!!!" cus he has no idea what this side of the sex scene is and he ain't willing to listen to his body and take a chill pill. inevitably, they either give up and settle for lame jerking (Which again, Michael is funny about cus he isn't used to doing it to 'another guy') or they fall into a bemused silent arrangement where Trev keeps his mouth zipped and M tries the suck an slide, suck him off and then slide onto that moist pole like a newbie at the Vanilla Unicorn. Falling off now and again, even yeeting the bed entirely at times. In the end, it's sorta cute, disgusting, and tense with annoyance so thick it gives Michaels's ass some competition. Basically, they fall into some sort of weird rhythm where they kinda get off but are still kinda mad at each other and afterwards just lay next there in twaty silence until one asks if their partner came and they huff something along the idea of "Yeah" but you never really know. Then they give each other apology jerks in the morning cus love

[mimiplaysgames]

save it for the morning after (3/3)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: E (Explicit) for Smut Word Count: 7,850

Summary: Aqua learns the value of being vulnerable.Terra learns to trust his body to another. Everyone gets a happy ending. ;)

Read on AO3

A/N: AAAAHHHH Happy Terraqua Day!!!! I can’t believe I finally finished this one, it always felt like it would never happen. I’m actually quite nervous - I don’t take the same kind of path of other smut and being so deviant honestly freaks me out so much. I really do pull this story into extreme directions for smut, that I wonder if I can call it smut at all. But let’s see. Hope you like. <3

~*~*~*~*~

“Aqua.”

“Hm?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you…”

“Go ahead.”

“....”

“Are you okay?”

“The... um, your scars...”

“They’re not yours.”

“Aqua—”

“They aren’t.”

“Please.”

“...They’re not yours.”

~*~*~*~*~

Well, damn.

Ven hones in on Terra—a ballsy move considering it’s a super-bad idea to get this close to a large opponent—but Ven skids, spinning on his knees and tripping Terra like a pet running through its owner’s legs. Ven serves an uppercut with his short Keyblade. It almost jabs Terra on the ribs if not for his lurch backward, and he lands squarely on his ass against the desk behind him. 

A pot of ink rattles and tips, spilling all over his pants and spreading up the spine of his shirt. 

Ven snorts. “You look like you shit yourself.”

Terra wipes his backside, picking up excess ink in layers. It’s slick, skating through his fingers with the weight of iron and dripping onto the floor. More of it runs between his legs, finding a way in between cracks and folds of skin, moistening up his boxers. Damn it. He slathers his hand through Ven’s hair with so much force (Hey!) that Ven waddles to stay in balance. 

“And you look like you’ve been picking through trash.”

Ink clumps chunks of blond hair together, drooling down Ven’s ears and staining his collar. It makes him look oily for lack of a better term, like someone who hasn’t taken a shower in weeks. When he touches his scalp out of reflex he flinches, wiping his coated fingers on his own shirt… before realizing what he’s doing. He groans. 

“It suits you,” Terra says. 

“I dunno.” Ven wipes the rest of it on Terra’s shirt. “Looks better on you.” Might as well. The shirt is honestly ruined. 

One corner of the offending desk is covered in globs of shiny black. Terra corrects the ink bottle and surveys the damage. The tile floor will be easy to clean, but the wood is inhaling the color. 

“Aqua’s going to kill us,” Ven mutters. “She spent a lot of time in this room.”

Weeks of time choosing which books to display on the shelves. Days researching the right chalkboard to purchase. Journeys spent gathering minerals for students to practice with: ash from a far away volcano, water from the forest river nearby, unearthed dirt from the garden, and feathers from nests settled at the peak of the tallest mountain. Aqua has a vision of this room playing the dual role of serving lectures and encouraging hands-on experimentation in a safe environment. She wants it to be respectable and impressive before the semester starts. They’re not allowed to traverse the room with shoes on, and Terra and Ven were respectable about that before one of them (Ven) started to get cocky about his fighting abilities. 

Yeah, they fucked up. “Think of it this way. We proved it’s not practical for physical training,” Terra says. 

“You’re the one who’s going to tell her that.” Ven scoffs, splaying a wet towel on the floor.

Terra pulls his suspenders over his head and lets them hang from his waistband. Pinching his stained muscle shirt off and bundling it up, he uses it as a rag to absorb the puddle on the table. What’s sinking into his socks is now warm. He ignores it.

“Do you think I could pull this off?” Ven asks as a by-the-way, twiddling a shy hand at the back of his greasy head.

“Black hair?”

“No, you’re right. It’s creepy.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Pfft, you also ‘didn’t’”—Ven bookends the word with finger quotations—“spar fairly.”

Terra considers throwing his damp shirt at Ven’s face. “I’m not at my prime yet.”

“That’s not it.” Ven flips the towel and swipes the remaining streaks with the cleaner side. “You’re holding back. You promised you wouldn’t do that anymore.”

“I’m not holding back.” He is. Just the image of raising his Keyblade against either of his friends is enough to make him nauseous, but he swallows it to be a good sport. 

Giving it his all is something else entirely, a deeper, invasive illness. 

“I know you can hit harder than that.” Ven dunks the towel in a pail of water, clouding it. 

“I just have a lot in my mind and it’s hard to... relax, I guess.”

There’s a moment of pregnant quiet before Ven says pointedly, “I thought Aqua was helping you out with that.”

A moist squish slaps Ven on the nose.

“Now you’re being sensitive,” Ven says, pulling Terra’s shirt off his shoulder.

“You missed a spot,” says Terra, using his thumb to smear the stain across Ven’s cheek. For shits and giggles he continues upward, rubbing raccoon circles on Ven’s eyelids. “You really pull this off.”

“Do you annoy her this much?”

“She enjoys it.”

“Ugggh.” Ven throws Terra’s hands off of him, his chin tucked in so much that two layers of neck skin fold over. “Gross.”

Terra pauses. Gross wasn’t what he expected out of Ven’s mouth. 

In fact, Terra hasn’t been sure of how Ven took the news the first time. 

Oh, Ven had said when they told him Aqua was moving into Terra’s room. Okay. Cool. He shrugged as if he could have heard more exciting news, and left to take a short walk in the woods with Chirithy. The three of them never spoke about it again. Ven wouldn’t mention a word when he saw them dragging her dresser and vanity table, and seldom joined them if he heard them laughing together with the door closed. 

Things are changing in minute strokes, in seconds that cluster for as long as Terra can recognize them, until they dissipate and become something not quite foreign but never quite familiar anymore, as though where he comes from is far from home and who he thinks he knows are almost-strangers.

“Have we ever made you uncomfortable?” Terra asks. 

“What, no!” Ven waves his hand, feigning shock, staring at his shoes and everywhere else but Terra. “I mean, Aqua’s been Aqua since we got back, and you’re just weird sometimes, but—”

“Then why do you...” Terra sighs, choosing his words. “Avoid us when we’re together?”

“I don’t want to interrupt.”

An almost-lie. “I hope you don’t think we don’t want you around.”

“Noooo. Neither of you make me feel that way.”

“But you do.”

Ven lifts his shoulders higher than his ears and drops them with the same weight as throwing books on the floor. “It’s just… nothing’s the same.”

Nothing is, what with the quiet mornings since the Master is no longer here to prepare breakfast before the sun rises, or huff at anyone when they disturb his meditation. Now they’re preparing the castle for the largest student body of Keyblade wielders it’s seen in years, something Terra thought would be a good distraction for everyone. 

But Ven’s right. Home doesn’t feel like home when the floors are re-tiled, and specific rooms are repainted, and the Master’s favorite lounge chair sits empty in the same spot in the library by the fireplace. Maybe for Ven, home is the turn right to knock on Terra’s door and the turn left to knock on Aqua’s. 

“It’s weird.” Ven grimaces. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m used to talking to you about things you promised to keep from Aqua—”

“I still wouldn’t tell her anything!”

“—and I’m used to it being the three of us.”

Terra pauses. “We’re still the three of us. We’re still best friends.”

“That’s not how it works, and you know it,” Ven says, smiling warmly. “You are one half of two. You share a language I can’t butt into.” 

Terra kneels onto one knee, brushing oily hair out of Ven’s face. Aqua would have liked this look on him: less spiky. “Ven, you’re always going to be a part of our lives.”

“Stop worrying. What you have is not a bad thing. I think it’s kind of awesome. I wish you’d give it your all in a fight. I wanna see what you and her are capable of together, because it’d be huge.”

“I’m only trying to say that we don’t want you to feel like a third wheel. You’re more than welcome to knock on our door anytime—”

“Ah. No. No thanks.” He shoos Terra away. 

“Why?”

“I don’t wanna see anything.” Ven squints.

Terra snorts. “You’re not going to see—”

“I don’t wanna hear about it either.”

“But—”

“Nope.” Ven covers his ears with his palms. “Nothing. No inside jokes. No pet names. Yuck. Keep that to yourself.”

Terra presses his lips together to zip up the snickering. “Okay, I won’t say anything.”

“Good. I don’t want any images in my head.” He wipes his hands like he’s done a good job explaining himself. “I should’ve expected it anyhow.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” Ven says slowly. “I mean, the Master kinda knew.”

“He said something to you?” Terra asks with a shaky voice. He’s flipping through memories, when he and Aqua were very careful and very private, when they didn't touch each other in case there were witnesses near. He was so certain he’d suffer punishment if Eraqus ever found out. Lists of long essays about the dangers of being reckless with emotions every time Aqua made him laugh too much. Grueling physical regiments to knock discipline into his body every time he made bad decisions based on a tug between his legs. 

“I didn’t understand it at the time,” Ven says, leaning back on his hands and tapping his heels on the floor. “We were all hanging out, and you and Aqua left, and then he got sad.

“When I asked him what was wrong, he told me you guys created a very bright Light together. A Light bonded is a Light stronger, he said.” Ven mimics the Master’s lilts in speech, using his finger to emphasize points. “But be aware, Ven. Such a blinding Light casts an equally blinding, deep Shadow. What a dangerous force that is.”

It’s a good imitation. The ache in Terra’s chest twists into his guts and warms him at the same time, like a loving hug that squeezes too hard.

“Honestly it made me think you and Aqua were doing something you weren’t supposed to.”

“Maybe we were.” Terra’s throat constricts, his voice gravelly and his shame nostalgic. “We thought the same sometimes.”

“Which isn’t fair. Why can normal people experience that but it’s such a big deal if Keybearers do it?”

Because when you elevate the person you admire to a standard you can’t match, it makes you do stupid things. Aqua had followed him world after world, expecting it would eventually lead to a fight. Too many Keyblades in a friendship does no one good. 

To-may-to, to-mah-to. They did end up fighting, it just wasn’t his own Keyblade that inevitably hurt her. What a dangerous force that is.

“So the Master did not approve?” Terra asks.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Ven rubs his cheek in thought, forgetting all about the ink. “He said your combined Light looked beautiful and warm. And that you’d have many nights where it would be enough when it gets hard... Honestly, he only wished that you keep your head on your shoulders.”

Wishes asked for are wishes granted, the Master used to say, so long as you work for them. The years Terra had wished for this exact approval had only left him with space to forge false hope. Nothing major, nothing long-winded. Just a simple, impossible wish as they placed the flower wreath on his memorial and bid their goodbyes. 

Finally, that wish is fulfilled. As Ven grants it to him, it’s hard to believe or accept, sitting on the floor of what used to be a ballroom, covered in drying ink. 

“Thanks, Ven.” Tears cascade down his cheeks, pretending to be inconspicuous. He wipes them with his clean forearm but he can’t keep up. There’s one for every moment in the last twelve years when he wanted to apologize to the Master, leaving his eyes burning. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop soon.”

“S’okay.” Ven tucks his ankles under, giving Terra time to process. Ven knows when a topic is too sensitive. But he can also tell when enough time has passed for the raw cuts to seal, when everyone’s ready to laugh. It’s his special gift. Only after Terra slows down does Ven lean forward. “Did you know you make this ugly face when you cry? You’re a train wreck.”

Terra yanks Ven’s head under his arm (Oomph, grunts Ven), locking his elbow around the neck.

Ven beats on Terra’s biceps. “Let go of me.”

Terra summons his pauldron, elbow pad, and gauntlet—for good measure. He licks salt from his lips and smirks, clutching Ven more, sinking him into the pecs. 

Ven coughs. “You smell horrible.”

“Nasty-horrible or heroic-horrible?”

“Do you make Aqua sniff your armpit? Let go of me.”

A poor mistake. Ven tumbles back when he’s let go, but he grabs Terra’s shirt before his head hits the floor. He punches it into Terra’s stomach so quickly that Terra isn’t allowed time to react or block, leaving a sprawled, black bruise over his abs. 

“Put a shirt on,” Ven says when Terra can’t rub it off. “Freak.”

~*~*~*~

Their bedroom door is ajar. Terra hears the shuffling of feet. He quiets his arrival, crumpling his messed-up shirt in a fist, and leans on the door frame to watch her. Aqua pulls a book out of a stack deftly with one hand, the other carrying a cheese pastry. She swallows a final bite, licking her fingers (something she’d never do in front of anybody else but him), and meditates on the chew before sitting at her desk. 

He likes her best like this: half-dressed, without her usual corset and sashes, down to nothing else except her shirt and shorts, simple and free. 

Her longest scar creeps out of her backless shirt. A snake, a reminder of the damage Keyblades are capable of: they never heal and barely fade. This is why wielders shouldn’t raise them against people. 

Gluing her attention to an open book, Aqua reaches over for more cheese pastry, but her hand meets a plate of crumbs. When she realizes, she snaps up, alert as if she’s been robbed, glancing over her shoulder for signs of movement. This is also something she would not appreciate anyone else seeing, how she’s afraid of being alone, how she’s paranoid that she’s actually not.

Terra steps in and taps her shoulder before she could ask him what happened to the pastry. “That looked delicious.” 

She blinks, slowly absorbing his words; she doesn’t feel well today, nothing to be ashamed of. Terra says nothing else. This way, he doesn’t bring more attention to the fact. He won’t touch her so she doesn’t feel coddled (despite how much he wants to). He won’t crack a dumb joke when there’s better moments for them. This way, she keeps her dignity. 

When Aqua sees the smears and handprints on him, her eyes finally find reality. “What happened to you?” She stands up and swipes the stain on his chest. It’s dry but not enough, leaving a mark of gray on her fingers. 

“An accident.” Terra clears his throat, trying to seem unbothered. Just another day in the castle. Everyone gets covered in ink, what’s the big deal?

If she hears the hesitation in his voice (and she should, she knows him too well), she doesn’t care, marching to their bathroom. The sink turns on. 

“What kind of an accident?” she calls. The water flow is disturbed. She’s washing her own hands first. 

“Eh, we spilled some ink,” Terra says, praying to the stars she won’t interrogate further. He tosses his ruined shirt into a wastebasket and opens the first dresser drawer for another. Gone are the days when Terra used to stuff his clothes into a heap; Aqua likes to fold every single article, his on one side and hers on the other. 

“What does that mean?”

“It’s fixable, I promise.” At least he hopes there’s some magic spell in some book somewhere that could lift ink out of cracks of wood.

He goes down one drawer for pants and it’s the same story. 

Down to the middle for socks and underwear, each tightly rolled. Tucked into the back of this one are two newly purchased books, their hardcovers wrapped in plain paper so that anyone peeking in couldn’t read the titles. Edited with illustrations of anatomy, they are lectures of techniques on what to try with your partner. Where to place your hands, how to play with your fingers and tongues, how to listen, when to take it slow and when to take it fast...

“Here,” Aqua says from behind him. She has a wet rag. It’s warm as she gently rubs it into his skin, across the spread of his chest. Her other hand is splayed on his hip. 

Just the thought of those books now, of slipping her out of that shirt, the stains on his stomach be damned—

“Am I going to get mad at you?”

Be damned. Terra smirks in a way to invite her to join along with him. “At both of us. But... You never stay too angry for too long so… Why worry about it?”

She pauses. “What are you rambling about?”

“Nothing.” He glances away. “It happened in the new classroom.”

She digs the rag into the groove above the diaphragm as if contemplating his vivisection. A stream of water drips over his belly button, into the hem of his pants, down the dips of his pelvis, between his inner thighs. Let her get mad. Be damned. 

“How bad is it?” Her voice is hard.

He caresses the small of her back, which is right now tense and stretched as she makes herself seem taller, like she’s about to take him on. “You’re smart. You’ll figure something out.” She opens her mouth to say something and he kisses the bottom lip. “I’ll do the dishes for three months. That’s enough atonement, right?”

Aqua clenches her teeth into a false smile, nails now leaving divots on his skin. “And the cooking.”

“Sounds fair.”

“And the gardening.”

“Now you’re pushing it.”

She continues to clean him, this time rubbing harder. It leaves his skin lightly raw. “You’re not in any position to bargain.”

“Do you expect me to beg?” 

“Then beg.”

Terra would be lying if he says he doesn’t find this side of her hot. She’s a splash of freshwater that would bring him back from the brink. The woman standing in front of him chooses to clean him despite the shower being paces away. She’s the same girl who would plant an extra candle on his birthday cakes, for the year to come. To her, maybe it meant little or nothing. Stars, she’s beautiful, and he doesn’t say it enough. 

“You’re doing better,” she says, leveling her voice, nodding to herself as if checking her information. That’s Aqua. Putting aside her annoyance for the sake of making sure he’s taken care of. “You’re not flinching as much.”

Maybe. Her touch is absolutely making the hairs on his neck stand. It is absolutely driving his dick insane. “You know, Ven’s okay with us.”

She stops. “He said something?”

“Kind of. He doesn’t want to know or see or hear anything.”

Her eyes go wide. “Excuse me?”

“He never said he actually heard anything.” He kisses her temple and lets it linger there, taking the opportunity to inhale her smell. Even when she sweats and spars for hours, there’s still a sweetness. Terra laughs into her hair. “He doesn’t want to know nicknames, either.”

Aqua flashes him a look.

“Now we have to,” says Terra. “We don’t have a choice.”

“What should we use?” Aqua moves to his abs, fighting an amused smile that’s twisting its way to her lips. 

“Terr-able.”

“That one is awful. I think Terr-bear fits you better.”

“So you admit I’m big, strong, and scary?”

“I admit you’re adorable sometimes.”

Terra purses his lips. “What about you?”

She shrugs. “Maybe Aquamarine.”

“How about Aquafina?”

“That’s worse.”

“Babe?”

“Absolutely not.”

“We could call him Ven-tilation.”

“Stop.”

He follows his instinct to lower his head so when she laughs with him, their lips meet. They kiss everyday, but the first taste of the hour is always the one to discharge his breath, like he’s been underwater and she’s giving him the chance to surface. 

“You’re going to get me dirty,” she says, giggling into his mouth.

He moves to her neck. “A little mess doesn’t hurt anybody.”

It’s when he brushes his fingers across her back, skating over the scar, coiled like rose thorns, that he hitches. Across from them is her vanity mirror. The scar is still red despite its age of twelve years. He’s so stupid. 

“This again?” she whispers. She’s not upset but disappointed, though in him or in herself, he can’t tell. Moments like these are weird, when he can’t read what she’s thinking. Working on the straps on his left arm, she pulls off his gauntlet, finger by finger. 

“I wish you would tell me,” he whispers back, as if having the conversation at a normal volume would shake them up. 

She turns his bracer to make its removal easier. “I already did.”

“I wish you would be honest with me.” He leans his chin on her head, feeling her fingers slide down his arm. 

“I am.” She flicks a knob and slips off the couter from his elbow. “You want me to tell you it was you who did this to me,” she continues, unbuckling the pauldron on his shoulder. “But it wasn’t.”

“I know better.”

“I know better.”

“It was done with my hands.”

To that she says nothing, rubbing the rag down his exposed left bicep. Ink had run under the armor. Darkness seeps in even with protection. 

She sighs. “Promise me you won’t obsess over it.”

He really shouldn’t but… he nods.

Aqua hesitates anyway. Taking him by the wrist, she presses his right hand on the rib under her left breast. “This one was his.” She warns with her eyes. “Not yours.”

Terra can’t feel anything through her shirt. He slips it under, running the pads of his fingers across the bumps and ridges. This one was his, this one with the gnarly tear right through the middle of the scar tissue, a ravine rupturing open. This one would have been done by that nameless silver Keyblade, with its sharp, ornate frills and that giant hook at the tip of it. It would have caught her skin as it tried to disconnect her body from her heart. And Terra? He’s had so much to lose and nothing to give back.

Terra holds his Aqua close as he continues to read the scar, how deep the hook sunk in, how she must have dodged back and broke that connection. 

“Did it hurt?” he asks. 

She sighs like she finds something amusing. Or trying to. She shudders, closing what little is left of the gaps between their bodies. “The Realm of Darkness numbs everything. I don’t think I felt it much.”

The view from their window looks over blossoming fields under mist, what’s left of snow capping just the mountaintops, everything else green. She’s lucky. So is he, ridiculously enough. 

“I should have done more to stop it,” he says.

“You can’t continue to say things like that.” She swallows and stares at the wall. “What about the person I’ve become? I wouldn’t be here, standing in this room, now. It changed me. The Realm of Darkness did things to me that I’ll never be able to claim back. I will never be able to remedy it. I never wanted it, but I don’t know if I deserved it.”

“You didn’t.”

“I couldn’t make mistakes, in case I got hurt. I couldn’t be vulnerable. I had to be brave.”

“You already are.” 

“And now I’m like stone.”

Terra presses his forehead to hers. “No, you’re not like stone at all.”

Aqua buries her face into his shoulder, anchoring herself to his waist. It’s so unlike her, to be unable to look him directly in the eyes. Whatever she has to say scares her. “You’re here, and I’m here. I give you my scars and you give me yours and… I don’t know if I would trade that for something else. For something that looks better on the outside. Every moment we shared since you woke up, how could I want to erase them? I need you, Terra. I have to chip away somehow. I’m braver now, to hold you like this.”

She says it like she has her chest cavity open, heart beating to open air. 

She’s brave for not crying. 

She’s brave for telling him what she can’t say right now. I’m braver now, to hold you like this. (I love you.)

He lifts her chin to kiss her. (I loved you first.) 

She drops the rag to hold his face. 

Before, their kisses were desperate, thirsty and famished, hoping to be found. Now, they’re deliberate, wandering but not lost. She tastes like sugar and flesh, her tongue inside with his, slow and careful. Their needs have more definition this time: please, and more, and yes, again. 

Terra indulges in the impulse to press her onto him. She should feel how greedy he is, her chest arched against his. She’s soft and he’s in love. 

“Where is Ven?” she says, breathless. 

“Probably showering,” he mumbles.

She waves her hand and the door slams shut. 

“I said probably,” Terra murmurs, but his mind turns off when she kisses him again. Who cares what Ven hears?

Aqua treads slower. She tempts Terra’s tongue to seek her out, puckering her lips around it and giving it a small tug. 

“Touch me, please,” he begs.

The sound of his pants unbuttoning makes his heart hammer, his entire groin anticipating for what’s next. When, when, when. Terra closes his eyes. Her hand glides down, palm first, his breath snagging when she wraps her fingers around his erection. His pants are at his ankles, Aqua is on her knees, and she presses a kiss right under the tip, where it’s most sensitive, before licking the entire length. Terra buckles. He catches the dresser behind him to keep standing. 

“Shhh,” she breathes onto him. It shoots a spark from his stomach to his scalp. 

Terra braces his teeth with his finger to shut himself up. He watches her work. She takes him in bite-size pieces, snail-tracking with her tongue before her lips close in on him. Fuck. She sucks while she pulls. Fuck. To see her like this, Master Aqua with poise, with grace, with affection and care—with him in her mouth. The hand wrapped around him squeezes tighter, and the other comes up to meet him at the testicles. 

He stifles another moan, staring at the ripples of the drywall, listening to the feathered tap of spring rain on the window and the noise she’s making. His erection twitches against the roof of her mouth, and he has to restrain himself from thrusting into her. Maybe he can let go and let be, finally throw himself off the cliff, ride the thrill all the way. Give it his all.

But he can’t. The moment gooseflesh spreads across his inner thighs, the moment he feels full, is the start. The floor will rip out from under him, the lights will go off, he will fall, he will lose all his fingers, he won’t remember anything, he’ll be the monster who makes her cry.

“I can’t,” he hisses, pushing her off. “I can’t.” He lurches over his knees, his insides twisting at the sudden cutoff, aching as it throbs and shrivels. He was so close. They were just laughing a few minutes ago. Stupid body, stupid mind. “Damn it,” he groans, pounding the dresser.

“Hey, you’re okay,” she says softly, holding him by the elbow. “You’re safe at home.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.” He digs his eyes into his palm, his body faraway like it’s a glass vial with his soul dumped inside. “Help me.”

Without letting him go, Aqua braces him with something cold—the rag, now on his lower back. It slaps him back to the bedroom, his beige carpet, the mist outside clearing out to a view of a forest that separates the castle from the mountains. 

She greets him with a smile. “You really did something to yourself,” she says, cleaning him like it’s a lazy weekend day and there’s a list of chores. 

Terra straightens up, shivers riding all the way up to his shoulders. “It’s so frustrating.”

“Don’t worry, Terra,” she says, softer and lower. “There’s no need to rush. I’ll wait.”

“But I’m tired of feeling caged up and stuck. I just want some semblance of control.” 

Aqua kisses him on the shoulder to shoo away the haunting for a few seconds. “I’m here, anytime you need me. Would you like me to run you a bath?”

“No.” The rag is likely caked with ink, but its iciness is unlike the chill of clammy sweat a few seconds old. Every frigid touch is a reminder that he’s alive. “This is nice.”

Aqua runs the rag up his spine. “You know what I think? If we’re going to call each other pet names in front of Ven, we should have guests over.”

Terra snorts. “That’s evil.”

“He won’t be able to bark at us in front of other people.”

“I think I’m a bad influence on you.”

“I think you’re right.”

Terra sighs at her touch, cold at his neck, at his hairline. Like a light at the front porch in the dead of night, like hot tea on a sick day, she is what it feels like to come home.

She tells him, “Lean your head back a little,” and he obliges, letting her reach behind his ears. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen, her hair frizzy, eyes blue and focused as she takes care of him. 

“I can still kiss you, right?” 

“You don’t have to ask.”

Tilting his chin down, he does. He braids his fingers into hers; from the rag they’re like icicles, and he brings them to his heart. 

They’re barely millimeters apart, but he’s still in that cage. If only he could be touched the way he needs. If only the lock trapping him inside the cage is brittle and easy to crumble. What if he tries to test it? What if he finds there is nothing at all? Stupid mind. What if there are several, each of them needing unique keys when he has none, no hope of ever knowing what real freedom is? Stupid body. 

Should he pretend? Should he try over and over, to slam his head against the bars each time? Should he submit, should he accept he will never have what he wants? 

Life has made him uneager to trust. But her lips have a deliciousness unmatched by anything he’s ever tasted, and he’s still a silly, stupid man.

“Let me try again,” he says, breathing deeply. “I want to make you feel good.”

She’s surprised. “Only if you’re comfortable.”

“It will make me feel better.”

“...Okay,” she says so modestly. Terra never figured out how to knock it into her head that he wants to give her everything, that he is so, so guilty.

He invites her into an embrace, growing desperate the more he detaches his mind. Her body, the curve from her waist to her hips. The brush of her body against his reminds him that while he is naked, she is not. He picks her up by the thighs. Lost in the momentum of deep kisses, he carries her to bed, straddling her on his lap.

She hums. “The… the sheets.”

Dry, messy layers of ink still track down his legs. He groans into her mouth. She’s grinding him, and while he really likes that, it makes it incredibly difficult to take her clothes off, one hand rising the hem of her shirt and the other deep under her shorts, cupping her ass. 

“Whatever, we can wash them later,” she says, lifting her arms up. 

Her bare breasts—stars, this is what it feels like to come home. 

“Kiss me,” she says, and he replies, nibbling down her neck, coming down to her breasts, where his lips and his tongue and his murmurs take in her nipples as they perk. Aqua stays quiet, leaning onto his shoulders. 

There’s something about her amazing body, the silk of skin draped over defined muscle, treasure and tenderness in his hands, that he’s needy for. Every time he tries to define what that means, his mind ceases to function. 

Xehanort tried to take it all away from him. If he lived, Terra would crush every tooth bloody. Damn him.

How dare Xehanort do this to him, lock him in this cage, keep him away from her? Damn him.

Why is he thinking about Xehanort?

“Are you okay?”

Terra is frozen, the nub of a nipple suctioned in his mouth. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

He lets her breast go with a pop. “I’m redirecting.” Leading her to the mattress, Terra lowers himself into her arms, but he’s halted by a light kiss and a hold of his face.

“Do you need me to check in on you?” she asks.

“No.” He smiles, kissing her with all the hope that she psychically understands his body is about to burst open, if only from the lack of space for the appreciation he keeps nurturing for her. “Thank you, but I’m okay.”

She nods, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. “You take your time.”

Oh, he will. No more interruptions. Focus on the smell of her skin, on the collarbone at the base of her neck. Right here, it makes her bite her lip. On the hollow between her breasts, the sound of her breath getting heavy. On the slight movement of her legs as she instinctively responds, spreading them, hooking around his. The buoyancy of her breasts in his mouth. The way she arches to push them against his face. 

Under that left breast is the scar, tightly knitted.

The purpose for living is for memories, not reminders. Do not linger. Do not think about the cage. Terra lightly kisses it and continues downward. 

Terra’s fingers glide down, a caress at the hips, a squeeze of her ass, running a mile of goosebumps as he bunches her shorts and panties and pulls them off. Her skin is streaked with fingerprints of gray, at most of the places he’s been. Aqua shivers as his lips brush the sides of her waist, as he traces his tongue and inhales the dips of her pelvis, as he loops his arms under her thighs, as he kisses her between the legs. She gasps. He licks from bottom to top, sucking on the clitoris once, then starts over.

Footsteps walk by outside their bedroom door.

Aqua jerks up. “Terra,” she whispers, warning him.

“Hm?” Stars, what now? “Here.” He grabs the comforter and throws it over her head. She chuckles as she wraps both of them in hiding. “Relax,” he whispers back. “He’s not going to hear anything.” Not that Ven opts to stay; his footsteps are already fading away.

He goes back to work, and hears her sigh—it’s loud enough to make him look up but too hushed to escape the sheets. Bottom to top. Again. Again. She cloaks the sound of her moans with the comforter plastered on her face. 

It’s her taste. It’s the softness and suppleness of the skin between her legs. The way she fastens her knees over his shoulders, how wet she is. Her reaction. When he tongues the inside of her slit, she jerks, chewing her lip hard enough to make it white. Master Aqua, with poise and grace, for her there’s only love and the way his tongue curls up. 

Her fist crumples the sheet—it holds her own breast, caresses her stomach down to rake through his hair and hold him there. 

“Don’t stop,” she breathes.

Stars, that did it. He’s hard again. He drapes his arms over her pelvis, using his fingers to open her up so he has more access to her clit. She bucks, and he holds her down. 

Her entire body trembles: the first sign that she’s running off her own edge. 

Terra strokes her, the outside lips, the tease inside, the puckering motions. She’s a sweet, musky taste he can’t compare to anything else.

Aqua throws herself back on the pillow. Her thighs crush his head, and she clamps her hand on her mouth like a topper. Her mewl shudders and stops, it heaves, it mumbles. The wave rises then crashes, and she finishes with a long sigh, a release, a settlement, a tempered peace.

It feels so good to listen to her. Terra rests his head on her hip and brings a hand to his erection. A little bit of freedom paid with a little bit of control. 

“I’m ready,” he says. “I need you.”

She hums in contentment, fixing the comforter so they’re completely covered and opening her arms to him. “Come here.”

Terra crawls over her, bracketing her body like he’s a fort, tethering her fingers to his and cradling her head in a protective halo with his arms. Aqua has to spread her legs wide to take on his thick waist, and she breaks her kisses with whimpers when he enters—she’s always more sensitive after he goes down on her. 

She’s warm and tight, oh stars. Massaging him as he moves inside her. Their bodies compress into each other, hers curled up to mold against the way he rocks his hips, as though the subtle air between would have split them up too far, as though he can melt into her when he pushes, their hearts only separated by muscle and bone. He plants a messy kiss on her cheek, exhaling and inhaling in rhythms opposite of hers, her breath loud against his ear, tickling his neck.

Here it comes again, the oncoming of the precipice where he has to step off. 

Fuck.

He can’t do it.

At the sprint towards the edge of the cliff, he skids and scrambles to hang by the rockface. Terra grunts, all his muscles seizing up as he holds his breath.

Aqua strokes his hair. “Do you want to stop?”

Of course not. “Give me a minute.”

“Remember, you’re safe.”

Terra nearly chokes. “I’m scared of losing control.”

“You won’t. You’re in control.”

In control. The intent to wring his fingers through the bars, a sleight of hand to balance the padlock like it’s on strings, turning it over and pulling it out of the latch. But Terra is no escape artist. 

Terra licks his lips. He’s not in danger. He should trust she’ll catch him when he falls. In her arms, there’s no safer place to be. He has to remember this. Shut that mind up.

“I want to continue.” 

She rubs his back. It’s soothing. “Tell me what you need.”

Terra smirks. “To get back in the mood.” He takes one deep kiss. “Entice me.”

Her insides squeeze him and he trembles. “How is that?” she asks.

“Do it again.”

She wraps her ankles over his back and squeezes. He hums into her shoulder. 

“Again.”

This time, she takes back her kiss.

“Don’t let me go,” he says, and she hugs him tightly. 

He starts slow. Terra leans on his elbows, bunching the comforter in his fist so it stays in place. She looks at him with half-lidded eyes, a healthy red blush, her mouth gently open, cast in the filtered glow of a secret, sweaty cocoon. This body he’s thrusting into, the lips he’s kissing, may the stars bless her. 

“Aqua.”

“You feel so good.”

She stole the words right out of his mouth, squeezing his hips again. 

“Oh,” he moans. It provokes him to thrust harder, deeper, feel her, feel her breasts bouncing under him, feel her moans coming from her throat, the desperation in the way she squirms with her hands. She massages his slick back, her nails digging in.

There. 

Let him throw himself off. Give it his all.

“Don’t let me go,” he repeats.

“I won’t.”

He throws himself off. It’s not the wind thrashing him all the way down. Instead it’s fire, a combustion of flames in his muscles as his entire body submits to its force, leaving his knees weak. A flash of white that blurs everything he sees, a hurricane that knocks his mind into a stupor, a delicious burn that slicks over his body, trickling embers on top of sweat, hot and cool, good and better, good and fucking good. Terra shoves his face into her shoulder to muffle the sounds of groans escaping him, shuddering as the climax picks up again, a body alight in an ignition that throws him out of any awareness. 

His eyes prick when he finally remembers where he is. Aqua is safeguarding him with a strong hold, keeping him in place with her. He sighs. The cinders that continue to radiate heat leave him with a hearth to wrap himself into, a happiness that he never thought he would ever feel again.

Aqua sniffs. She wipes tears onto his shoulder.

“We really should stop crying at these things,” he says.

She snorts, refusing to let her grip on him slack. “You did amazing. How are you feeling?”

“I’m…” he mumbles. Stars, wow. His arms can’t pick him up anymore but it’s a gratifying cloud to ride. He shifts his legs, alleviating the weight of his body. “A little weak.” 

She runs a hand on the back of his head, coaxing him to rest on her chest. “When did you know?” she asks, brushing hair off his damp forehead. “That you wanted to kiss me? You must have spent some time thinking about it before it happened.”

Terra smiles into her chest. Somehow, they’ve never talked about it. “Long after I knew I was going to marry you.”

He feels her laugh. “Is that so? I’m going to marry you?”

“You will.” He looks up at her grinning face. “I can see the future.”

She scoffs. “You can see my eyes rolling at you.”

“I knew before you did.”

“Prove it.”

“I was seven.”

“You’re older than me, that doesn’t count.”

“You asked me to have a tea party with you, but the one thing that bothered you most”—he brings up his hand, pinky out—“was that I wasn’t drinking my tea right.” He mimics the high pitch of a little girl’s voice. “Pinky out. Pinky out, Terra, don’t be a slob.”

She gapes. “I don’t remember any of that.”

With renewed will, he props himself up, leaning close so their noses touch. “I knew then. That early on.”

“Since when is this a competition?”

“Still the first to know.”

Aqua interrupts what she’s about to say, like she’s about to step into cold water. She’s having an epiphany. Vulnerable again, like she’s allowing him to cut her right down the middle. 

“I love you.”

She says it like the touch of a high note on a piano, a beautiful accident. 

He leans closer, lips to lips, whispering, “I still got there first.” 

She laughs into him. “I suppose, but I was the first to say it.”

“Then I’ll be the second,” Terra says. Like coming home, a shelter to withstand the downpour, that births life to the roots, that thunders, that opens for a clear day, he brushes her hair out of her eyes. “I love you.”

“Too,” she corrects. “You love me, too.” 

A knock on their door jolts them, like a hard punch to the stomach.

“Okay, Terra,” Ven says from the other side. “I thought about it and I’m trying out this knocking thing.”

Wrong timing. Wrong timing.

“I’m going to kill him,” Terra hisses, and against Aqua’s hushed chuckles, he throws the comforter off their bodies and announces, “Ven, we’re naked.”

The silence that comes after is as loud as the crash of a chandelier. Terra can feel Ven recoil, a tea pot at the verge of whistling. “I didn’t need to know that!” Terra is about to reply but Ven groans dramatically. “I AM NEVER GOING TO KNOCK ON YOUR DOOR AGAIN.”

Ven stomps away, and if the door was actually open, he’d slam it. 

Terra sits on his knees, pinching his nose. It’s hot in this room. He feels clogged again, back at the edge of the cliff. He wants to strangle Ven for dragging the moment away from him. “Great, I pissed him off.”

“Poor Ven.” When she sits up, Terra pulls her to him, sitting her on one of his thighs. “I can’t predict if he’ll ever get over that,” she says, balancing herself by hooking her arms around his neck. 

Terra presses his lips to her ear, whispering, “But I did predict that you wouldn’t stay mad at me for long.”

She slaps his bicep. “I haven’t seen what you’ve done yet. Don’t be so proud of yourself.”

“But I am.”

“You’re still a slob.”

Slobby as he is, Aqua hugs him dearly. Hold her, you never know when the dream will end. You never know when the cage takes you back.

“I don’t know if,” Terra says, “it will be difficult for me next time.”

“Then it may be difficult,” Aqua says, kissing his forehead. “But it will be okay.”

Hold her. Not passively. Not half-minded. Hold her tightly. Hold her in the quiet, undisturbed, uninterrupted.

A drop of hot liquid spills from between her legs and drips down his thigh, almost burning. When Terra looks down to see that it’s white, Aqua jumps.

“Oh,” she squeaks.

“Oh. That would be me.”

She squeals, hiding her blush. “I’m going to wash up.” 

“Such a slob.”

Aqua giggles, looking him in the eye when she rubs his chest. “Come with me?”

“Go ahead.” He kisses her. “I’ll catch up.”

If anyone told him twelve years ago that hope feels like a long day full of small conversations, the anticipation of cleaning a messy room, Terra would have considered that cynical. A sarcastic joke, the loss of the will to dream. 

Twelve years later, it’s the sound of the shower running that teaches him to look forward to the next day, when he wakes up next to her, when he prepares dinner with her, when he kisses her in the middle of the night and play all over again. Peace is a long-distance acquaintance, a pen pal that urges you to look at your day like a spectacle.

Terra leans back to twist the latch of the window open, letting the spring haze billow in. Much better, the room is cooler now. The sky is bluer somehow, the mountains as grand as a painting.

[buckyskorpion]

11 hours - part six

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: so i was gonna leave this on ANOTHER doozy cliff hanger but i genuinely thought i would get lynched so i decided to just leave it at a baby cliffhanger. a lot happened in this chapter and a lot of seeds have been planted for future chapters..... so lemme know what you think hehe. predictions?? angry letters?? pitchforks??? lemme know!! i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist | please donate to my ko-fi!

masterlist 

“You’re very calm for someone with a gun to their head.”

Honestly, you had been thinking the same thing. Sure, your stomach feels like a snake pit and your hands are sweating and you don’t think you’ve ever been more aware of your own heart beat, but other than that - you don’t understand why you aren’t panicking more. There are three men standing in front of you, one behind, all with guns. They’re wearing matching leather jackets with an octo-head patch on the sleeve, and they all look very scary. Briefly, you wonder if Bucky has a jacket like this, with a patch on to match his family. It’s an irrelevant detail you can’t help but fixate on right now.

Bucky. Hopefully listening on the other end of the phone you have tucked in your back pocket which your kidnappers haven’t been bothered to check yet, thankfully. You flex your wrists against the zip ties holding you to a chair and ask, “Where am I?”

“You should know,” your stalker turned kidnapper says with a condescending sneer. “You followed me here.”

“The Lerna?” you clarify, for the sake of hopefully someone on the other end of your mobile picking it up. You glance around at the old-style bar; chipped wood and beer stains, a rickety pool table one of your stalker’s friends is using as an arm rest. You curl your nose up at it - a little proudly, you note it has nothing on Sam’s bar.

“Do you recognise the place?” your stalker asks. That throws you. You want to ask what he means by that, why you would recognise this gross bar you’ve never stepped foot in, but you clench your teeth and school your face.

Once your dad sat you down in a chair much like this one, in his office at the house you grew up in. You were eleven, maybe, and you didn’t quite understand why he was tying your hands to the back with a necktie but you went along with it. He did this, sometimes - would orchestrate some strange lesson when his nightmares got really bad, his ghosts chasing him inside the house until he saw enemies in lampshades and kitchen cabinets. To keep you safe, he would say, and then he sat opposite you and asked what you would do if anyone ever put you in this position against your will.

“Kroshka, they will use anything against you,” he had said, and you see that now with the way these men are looking at you for any weakness. But you didn’t understand then, you were a kid thinking your dad was spiralling again, so he had cast around until he found a beer bottle on the coffee table. “See, like this. When the label is flat it’s fine, but as soon as one little corner lifts you can’t help it - you have to peel it all the way off. Don’t give them any corners, kroshka.”

You blink, once. The man in front of you scowls when you don’t answer, presses forward into your space in a show of intimidation. You try not to flinch, but that fear you were missing before is starting to set in real fast. What did he mean, do you recognise it? And why the hell are you so prepared for a situation like this, almost as if your dad has been training you for it since you could remember?

“Fine,” your stalker says, his breath fanning over you with how he’s leaning into your space. “Maybe you can answer something else, about your boyfriend.”

“Dunno who you’re talking about,” you say. It’s not a lie - technically, you hadn’t had the ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ chat with Bucky yet. This man is not appreciative of your loopholes. He grabs your hair and yanks your head back, pressing his glock into your neck. You shiver, both at the pain and the cold of the metal. Through gritted teeth and mild hyperventilation, you say, “As a matter of fact, I dunno who you are either. That’s kinda weird, dontcha think?”

You can practically hear Bucky in your head telling you to shut up, but he’s not here right now. No corners, just like your dad said. Doesn’t mean you can’t try and find some corners of your own.

What you meant as a question to buy some time, with a bit of attitude on the side, sends your stalker reeling back from you. He’s confused, eyebrows drawn down low and his friends behind him look to each other with the same expression. Now, you’re confused as well. Everyone in the room stands (or sits, in your particular predicament) in a pure state of what the fuck is going on. It would be funny, if there wasn’t still a gun to the back of your head.

“You don’t know the patch?” the man asks, gesturing to the sleeve of his jacket. When you don’t respond he continues, slowly, reiterating his question from before but as a statement, “You don’t recognise this place.”

You have zero idea what’s going on, but whatever you’ve said seems have thrown your kidnappers for a bit of a loop, so you decide to roll with it. You say, and hope to god the man standing behind you doesn’t shoot you for it, “I’m starting to think you’ve lost control of this situation, pal.”

From the corner of the room behind you, a familiar husky-toned red head says, “Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

Shots ring out, shattering the windows as one by one your stalker’s friends drop like dominos. Someone crouches behind you and cuts you lose with a knife, and you hear it clatter to the floor as they launch over the back of your chair feet first into your stalker. Natasha. The flash of her red hair over your shoulder as she sends him flying is unmistakable. You scramble from the chair, fumbling for the knife she dropped but your hand slides through something thick, wet. The man behind you with the gun lies dead, throat slit, his blood now all over your fingers. It mesmerises you in a sickening way, making your stomach turn and your vision go fuzzy.

You’d never seen a dead body before. Now they are all around you, the bar smelling like blood instead of beer and the sound of bullets pinging off glass the only noise other than Natasha grappling with your stalker. She’s so small compared to him but she has her thighs clenched around his throat and he gasps for breath, clawing at her legs. You watch, stunned, as he gets a grip on her and throws her off, sending her crashing into the wall with a groan.

She hits the floor and you see red - all you can think is that’s Bucky’s family and that man is walking towards her, his gun trained on her body as she tries to pull herself to her feet, so you stop thinking at all. You picture the back of your stalker's neck like the dartboard at Sam’s bar and you throw.  

Bullseye. Just like your dad taught you.

The man drops, knife buried in his neck and haemorrhaging blood. He gurgles this awful, awful sound as he clutches at his throat, trying and failing to push the blood back in. Natasha looks from your still outstretched hand, trembling in place, to meet your gaze. You can’t begin to decipher her expression, nor do you want to. You feel like you’re going to throw up, or choke, or scream, or all three. The man you just stabbed in the neck groans in pain, eyes rolling, coughing blood from his mouth in thick clumps. You can’t feel your hands anymore.

The door bangs open and you flinch, stumbling back until you trip on the chair you had been tied to and fall to the floor in a crumple of limbs. It’s Bucky, eyes wild and larger than life with a rage you’ve never seen before. He has a huge sniper-rifle slung over his back as he strides into the bar, stepping right over the writhing body of your stalker.

“I’ll deal with you in a second, Rumlow,” he practically growls, kicking aside the man’s hand that tries to grab for him. You scramble to your feet, practically tripping over yourself to get to Bucky. Doesn’t it say something about you that you run towards the man responsible for the death all around you?

You crash into Bucky hard, the force of the impact knocking the breath right out of you and once it’s gone you can’t get it back. It feels like his arms encompass the entirety of you as he holds you so tight your feet leave the ground. His chest rumbles with words but you can’t hear him, your ears are ringing and your chest is tight because panic attack, you dumbass. You press your face into Bucky’s neck and hope that’s enough to escape the scene unfolding around you.

“Get her out of here, I’ll deal with this,” you hear Natasha say somewhere behind Bucky but you refuse to lift your head to see.

Bucky attempts to pull away from you to look at Natasha, you can feel him try and twist his head but the inarticulate whine that rips from your throat stills the both of you. It’s mildly embarrassing, the sound you’ve just made, but it’s out there now. Bucky shifts his grip so one big palm rubs soothing strokes up and down your spine and you feel yourself becoming boneless with every pass of his hand.

“I’m not fucking lettin’ him get away with this,” Bucky says, low, threatening - if you were this Rumlow guy bleeding out on the ground, you would be afraid.

“And he won’t,” Natasha says, and then like she has to remind Bucky of his own thoughts, “but you have other priorities right now. Get her out of here.”

You feel Bucky nod, his scratchy chin moving against the top of your head. He kisses your temple and holds the back of your skull with one big palm, pressing your face further into his neck. It means you don’t see the carnage of the bar when he moves to place an arm around your shoulder and steer you out the door, stumbling under his guidance on shaky, cotton-fuzzy legs. He’s hurrying you, but as gently as he can. Once you feel the bright burn of sunlight on your skin you pull back from Bucky’s neck, blinking in the now empty street and Bucky’s piercing gaze as he looks down at you.

“Are you with me?” he asks, his hand dropping from your skull to squeeze the side of your neck. You still feel like you’re sipping each breath through a straw but you nod. You can see in his eyes he needs you to be with him right now, to get out of here, so you try and blink away the fuzzies in the corners of your vision and focus on his face.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and christ, now is not the time for that stinging pressure behind your eyes you hate so much. You hope Bucky understands - sorry for not listening to him, sorry for getting you both into this mess, sorry for not being strong when he needs you to be.

Bucky shakes his head vehemently, tugs you in harsh and strong by the grip he has on your neck to press a bruising kiss to your forehead. Your eyes flutter close at the fierce way he holds you, presses emotion into your skin like the tattoos littering his skin - a brand of your own, in the middle of this eerily empty street with the blood of strange men on both your hands. The thought makes you shake, so you twist your fingers in the hem of Bucky’s t-shirt and breathe him in deep.

“I’m sorry, doll,” he says, then pulls away from you. He grabs one of your hands from out under his shirt and links your fingers, beginning to drag you down the street. Looking back over his shoulder, he says with a grimace, “We gotta go.”

He leads you to his bike, squeezed between a brick wall and a dumpster in a side alley a block away from The Lerna. It roars to life before you’ve properly swung yourself on the back, and you aren’t bothering with helmets this time as Bucky eases the bike out from it’s tight spot with unsettling ease. All you can do is hold on tight and close your eyes as Bucky leads you away, weaving through the city in nonsensical loops before you feel the air open up around you and the familiar sounds of Brooklyn.

Bucky takes you to Steve’s tattoo in Red Hook, the first time you’re been back there since that fateful run-in with Natasha. You’ve checked out completely by the time Bucky parks - he has to lift you off the back of the bike because your legs won’t work, and he all but carries you inside. Steve is quick to rid the shop of the two customers looking at designs out front as Bucky settles you on the couch by the tattoo beds. You sink into the faded red leather without feeling a thing. Distantly, you notice the kid who usually mans the tills looking at you like you’ve grown a second head, and you suppose you deserve that.

“Stevie, I think she’s in shock,” you hear Bucky say, and the childhood nickname makes you smile. You watch Bucky’s face crease up deep concern at the dreamy look on your face, so you suppose you should stop smiling like a crazy person. A giant blonde head swims into your view, just as concerned, and he drapes a blanket around your shoulders.

“Bucky,” you say, your eyebrows drawing down as you fumble for his hand. He squeezes your fingers and mumbles something to Steve who leaves you again, his voice mingling with the kid’s somewhere over Bucky’s shoulder but you can’t focus on that. All you can do is swim in the back of Bucky’s too-deep stare and say, “I killed him.”

“No, no,” he says, shifting closer between your thighs as he kneels on the floor in front of you. This would be funny to you in any other moment, something to tease him for as he takes both your hands in his and squeezes them together, silently imploring you to stay looking at him. He says, “That’s not on you, sweetheart, it ain’t. You didn’t kill him.”

You’re crying now, properly, which you suppose is a good sign because you don’t think people in shock can cry. You watch as something cracks in Bucky’s eyes as he watches you break apart, but you can’t stop now you’ve started. You say, “I did, I killed him. How do you do it? How do you just- I feel like my throat’s gonna close up. How do you live past this?”

Bucky’s face darkens, smoothing out to something stone cold and frightening. You don’t feel scared, though, as he leans into your space so close you almost feel cross-eyed trying to stay glued to the blue of his eyes. He searches your face for something and says, no room for argument, “You did not kill that bastard, you hear me?”

“But-“

“No,” he says, simply, and that’s that. “The only reason you were in that position is because of me, doll, so no. You didn’t kill him. It’s on me, and I live with that so you don’t have to. You got that? You don’t ever have to live with that.”

You don’t know how he makes you feel like he’s physically reached into your chest and pulled out your guilt through your throat, but he does. You can see it clenched tight in his fist, his eyes shuttering down dark as he shoves it between his own teeth to hold. It’s too soon for the feelings clawing at your ribcage but you feel them just the same, that cigarette burn he left on your heart aching so bad you could scream from it. You extract a hand from his to run down his cheek, along his jaw, cupping his face in your palm. He closes his eyes, shudders as though swallowing down the guilt for the both of you.

I love you for that, you think to the soft flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks. I’ll love you forever for that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Natasha returns to the shop, and Sam bundles in not long after that, the four bikers sit around Steve’s prematurely closed tattoo shop and have a family meeting. You can’t help but feel like the kid who’s stayed up past their bedtime to try and hang with the adults, the words flying over their head and sleep pulling at their eyelids but they fight to stay awake anyway. Bucky pulls your head into his lap as he sits on the couch beside you, so you lie there and let him stroke your hair while they discuss what happened over the past two hours.

Two hours, and that’s all it’s taken for your whole world to spin on it’s axis. You’d learnt to throw knives at tree trunks with your dad as a fun, albeit unconventional after-school activity. And now you’ve buried a knife in someone’s neck, you’ve been kidnapped and tied to a chair and watched Bucky gun down men from a rooftop with his sniper rifle. He pulled the trigger with the same fingers he’s carding through your hair now, nails scratching at your scalp in a way that makes your toes tingle. How is that at all ok?

“We’ve started a turf war with Hydra, now,” Sam is saying, sitting backwards on a chair facing Bucky and spreading his hands out in a placating gesture as Bucky bristles. “It was unavoidable, alright, I’m just saying.”

“Not necessarily,” Natasha says. “Rumlow has had a vendetta against Bucky for years. He could’ve been acting alone.”

“It is strange we haven’t heard anything from Pierce,” Steve says thoughtfully. He is pressing an icepack to Natasha’s back, already bruising from where this Rumlow guy threw her into the wall. She’s lifting up her t-shirt and you can see a glimpse of a back piece standing out stark against her pale skin. Giant, feathered wings and a talon, a mosaic piece of what looks like a large hawk spanning the length of her spine.

“When Pierce finds out it was us that shot up his bar, though,” Sam says, making meaningful eyebrow movements to the group. They all nod thoughtfully and fall into silence.

None of these names make much sense to you - Hydra, Pierce, even Rumlow who you’ve gathered by now was your stalker. Was, because he’s dead now, and the thought turns your mouth dry and rusted. You shift in discomfort, drawing Bucky’s attention down to you as he gives you a concerned once over. He had done a thorough analysis for any injuries, even after you’d assured him you were fine, but you can tell he’s still unconvinced.

Unfortunately for you, all your wounds appear to be mental. They’re getting deeper by the second.

“I keep thinking,” you say to Bucky, “why was he so surprised I didn’t know where I was? Or who they were?”

“Hydra is our biggest rival,” Bucky says, and huffs a laugh at your crinkly brow so he clarifies, “They’re another gang, one we’ve had a lot of run-ins with. Rumlow especially. He wasn’t our biggest fan.”

“So he expected you to have told me about him, and Hydra,” you say, the name unfamiliar on your tongue. He nods, and you have to ask, “Why didn’t you?”

Bucky frowns at that. “I already told you - the more you know, the more dangerous it is.”

“And I already told you, no secrets,” you say, frowning just as deep. A beat passes and Bucky doesn’t budge, just glares down at you like he can physically bore his opinion into your brain and make it yours. Exasperated, you say, “Bucky, it didn’t matter anyway - the danger found me. Telling me things like that isn’t going to make a difference.”

“It would’ve if you’d listened to me and not done the stupid thing,” Bucky says, raising his eyebrows. He may have a point, but you aren’t going to back down that easily. Bucky knows you, he knows if you see a loose thread you’re going to pull it. The fact he thought you’d listen to him tell you what to do at all is laughable.

“This gang is your life,” you say, and you don’t bother to hide your frustration now, “They’re your family. I’m no safer not knowing what’s going on - I got stalked and kidnapped regardless. Clearly, it’s dangerous no matter what, so just tell me, Bucky. Whatever it is.”

Bucky stares at you for a long time. Steve, Natasha, Sam - they cease to exist in this room with you. Those first few weeks, when you refused to stay the night in Bucky’s bed and would only see him to fuck - you used to be scared of looking into those eyes for too long, for fear of getting lost. Now you dive head first, a part of you hoping you do get lost so you never have to find your way back out again.

Eventually, Bucky clenches his jaw tight and says, “You’re right.”

You blink, surprised. You hear Sam whisper to Steve, “did you record that?”, and honestly, you wanna ask the same thing. Except the way Bucky is look at you- dread curls thick and choking in your gut. You look up at Bucky and he seem so far away, out of reach even though you feel him all around you. He continues stroking your hair but it’s absentminded, his mind far away too.

You are drawn back to the tattoo shop by Sam saying, “I gotta say, Barnes, your girl is smart as hell. Keeping your phone on you and out-smarting Rumlow in a hostage situation? Pretty badass.”

Bucky smiles briefly down at you, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. You turn to Sam and say, “I got the impression out-smarting Rumlow isn’t really that hard.”

Everyone laughs at that, even Bucky, and it clears away some of the dread eating away at your stomach. But it’s still there, acidic and bubbling no matter what you do to smother it.

Eventually, they grow tired of talking in circles about Rumlow and Hydra and the possibility of the feds showing up (Bucky assures everyone the cops will find no rifling on the bullets and won’t be able to pin them to the crime scene, but Sam mutters heard that before and an argument erupts about some debacle in Bucharest so you tune out). Bucky takes you back to his apartment, tucked securely in his leather jacket in the best kind of shock blanket you could ever ask for.

For the first time, you noticed the tiny embroidered star on the sleeve of his jacket. You wonder if all Bucky’s friends have the same star on their jackets, because they’re not just friends, they’re a gang. One you feel suddenly, irrevocably intertwined with since they’re the only reason you aren’t sitting in a jail cell for murdering someone.

You feel jittery as you walk into Bucky’s apartment, almost nervous. It looks the same as this morning, the coffee cups you used for Steve and Bucky still in the sink and hoodie of his you’d worn last night draped over a chair. But everything is different, now. It’s all changed, there’s weird new shadows over everything long after Bucky turns on the light. You linger in the doorway to Bucky’s bedroom while he rummages around for sweats and jumpers, laying out a pair for you before he begins changing himself. He shucks off his t-shirt and you see his tattoo sleeve, the mottled scars hiding underneath, and your heart flies out of your throat before you can stop it.

“So do you guys have a fun, spooky name like Hydra or what?” you ask, closing your eyes with a grimace as soon as you ask the question. What are you, twelve? Bucky doesn’t answer and you’re too afraid to open your eyes too see the look on his face.

You’re startled when you feel him kiss your cheek, sensing his large frame towering over you and blocking out some of the soft bedroom light. You open your eyes to find him smiling down at you, laughing at you with his eyes as he says, “Not so spooky. Steve named us, he called us the Howling Commandos. The HC, for short.”

You crinkle your nose up at him and he flicks the tip with his ringed fingers. You say, “That’s very old-fashioned.”

“Nat teases him for it all the time,” he says, “She calls us her barbershop quartet.”

You smile, imagining Bucky in suspenders playing the accordion, and say, “Now that I like.”

The longer Bucky looks at you the more sober he becomes, mouth becoming pinched and jaw muscle ticking. He holds you soft by the biceps and walks you back until you hit the wall, still gentle, but bracketing you in now so all you can see is the weight of whatever complicated thing is running across Bucky’s face.

“You scared the fucking shit out of me today,” he says. He shifts, grips your jaw tight so his rings dig into your skin with none of the gentleness of before - he means this. “Never do that again.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, twisting in his tight grip to press a kiss to his fingertips. He softens, allows you to pull him in flush against you by his waist, his bare skin so warm under your hands. “And, thank you. I don’t- I guess I’ve never had someone come save me before, I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t thank me,” Bucky says, shaking his head. He kisses you, a rough press of chapped lips against yours and is gone again before you can react. Says, “I’m sorry, too.”

“Come back,” you say with a pout, and you have just enough time to see Bucky smirk down at you before he’s kissing you again. It’s just as fierce, almost painful, but the rough slide of it distracts from the burn in your chest and your racing thoughts like razorblades. You lick into his mouth, chasing away the ghosts nipping at your heels, and he presses you back into the wall with a thunk hard enough to leave a bruise on your tailbone tomorrow. You don’t care. It feels good to hurt in a way that’s physical.

The ease with which Bucky picks you up makes your head spin. It’s all you can do but pepper kisses along his stubbled jaw as he carries you to the bed, lips suddenly ripped from his skin as he dumps you on the covers. He is quick to follow, squashing you down with his tongue in your mouth before you can take another breath. This, you know. All the messy feelings and heartache and fearfearfear that beats in time with your heart, that maybe you’ll lose him or he’ll lose you and you came so close today, is unfamiliar to the both of you. But arching your back off the bed so he can take your shirt off, scrubbing your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck as he peppers kisses across your tits with a trail of goosebumps left behind - this is how you know Bucky best.

He makes quick work of your clothes and you fumble with his jeans, laughing into his mouth as he bats your hand away to do it for you. Bucky bites your bottom lip in playful admonishment and you chase his mouth as he tries to pull away. He places one big palm on your clavicle and pushes down, holding you against the bed. He shakes his head at you with a smile.

“Stay,” he says like he would to a dog, grinning wide as you glare at him. But you do as you’re told as he leans over you to grab a condom with his left arm. Maybe you bend the rules a little to trail kisses up the bits of his outstretched forearm you can reach. Over a shadowy skull, the stem of a rose, what looks like military windings near the crook of his elbow and tiny handwritten letters that spell S N S. Sam Nat Steve, because Bucky might be a tough guy to most but he’s a giant sap deep down.

Bucky shudders at your touch, and it makes you wonder if the scarring under his tattoos is extra sensitive. Or maybe he is just sensitive to anyone touching him in such a vulnerable place. You flick your eyes up to watch him watch you, lip drawn between his teeth and a dent between his eyebrows you ache to soothe if he wasn’t still holding you down. You don’t stop, even though he looks physically pained with every brush of your lips against his skin. You trace the edges of another small wolf with your tongue, like the ones on his chestpiece, and watch as his eyes flutter closed when you get close to the paper-thin skin of his inner wrist.

That hits Bucky’s limit. Suddenly his hand on your chest slides up to your neck and he’s leaning over you, left arm braced by your head and his mouth swallowing yours. You groan against his lips at the rough drag of his hands down your sides, gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. He makes your brain go fuzzy, the only coherent thoughts being Bucky and touch me more. He seems to understand. His fingers find your clit, smoothing slow circles which spark embers in the pit of your stomach. Bucky’s mouth falls open as yours does, as if to breath in the whine he draws from you.

“Fuck, you always sound so good,” Bucky groans. He buries his face into the side of your neck, taking advantage of your thigh trapped between his legs to rut against you while he continues playing with your clit. Every time Bucky gets filthy with you it’s like the first time, shocking and almost embarrassing in the sexiest way possible. Heat floods your cheeks and makes you lightheaded, unable to stop the moan he draws from you. You’re rewarded by Bucky’s teeth in your neck, the sensitive spot just over your pulse point, and if you’re being honest you could come just from this.

Bucky’s cock growing harder against your thigh, as his hips shift in rhythm with the circles he draws on your clit, becomes too difficult to ignore. To gain his attention you twist and nip at the closest piece of skin you can find, Bucky’s ear, and he engulfs you in a kiss which steals the breath right out of you. You buck your hips, hoping to nonverbally convey the demand get in me right now, and Bucky doesn't need any more hints than that.

He fumbles with the condom for a second and you take the time to sit up on your elbows and look at him. Bucky is so beautiful, drawn in harsh lines and stark contrasts. Tan skin turned paler against the opaque black of his tattoos, colour swirling in-between and it should be jarring, but you think he just looks like art. Bitten red lips, startling blue eyes pinning you to the mattress as he catches you staring - such bright, primary colours because he is a statement piece, and one you could look at forever.

Bucky grins almost bashfully as you stare at him, leaning back over you to kiss you soft and sweet in a sharp juxtaposition to the rough tumble which got you here. Again, he sends your head spinning when the tender kiss is punctuated by the unexpected push of Bucky’s cock in your cunt. He bottoms out before you can blink, throwing your head back out of the kiss with an untamed groan - both pleasure and pain, in the good way. Bucky drags his teeth from your lips down your chin and neck, biting a mark into your collarbone to set the tone for the bruising pace he creates as he pounds into you.

He doesn’t do anything in halves, you think. You gaze up at him with an almost dopey smile while Bucky fucks the literal breath out of you. You lift your hips to meet him as he bottoms out with every thrust, watching in awe as his face creases up in ecstasy - it’s you who brings him there. He palms your tits like he can’t help himself, loses control in your pussy because you make him feel that good, and the thought makes you giddy. Drunk, almost, as you drag your nails down his chest and nearly come once again just from the moan you draw out of this brilliant, dangerous, gorgeous man.

“You take it so well, baby, fuck,” Bucky pants, eyebrows creasing as the pleasure gets almost painful in its build. You know the feeling. Bucky’s mouth is always your undoing, rolling your eyes back into your head and the sounds you’re making turning positively feral. He kisses you again, more a slam of mouths than anything finessed, and says, “Never gonna get over this, never gonna get over how good you feel.”

“Bucky, you gotta-“

“I gotta what, huh?” Bucky grins at the pleasure-addled panic he brings you too, not wanting to come too fast but also needing to let go before you actually explode. He knows exactly what he’s doing, balancing on one hand to thumb harshly at your clit as he says, “You want me to stop? I don’t think so, sweetheart, I think you wanna come on my cock just like this, wanna hear me tell you how good you are, how sweet you are for me all laid out like this-“

Everything whites out as you come, hard, all your muscles spasming like crazy with the orgasm that rips through you. Bucky’s voice is drowned out, but it doesn’t matter what he’s saying anymore, he’s made you feel like you’ll never catch your breath again. Bucky thunks his forehead against yours, collapsing on top of you as the fluttering clench of your cunt around his cock becomes too much. His thrusts turn sloppy, his breath hot and ragged across your face as you press lazy, barely-there kisses to his cheeks - all you can muster in your fucked-out haze.

Bucky comes with his eyes closed, eyelashes tangling with yours, and you cling to him with all four limbs as he shakes through his orgasm. The release was so needed for the both of you, the events of the last twenty-four hours frying your nerves to the point where it was either fight, cry, or fuck. It feels so good to have Bucky on top of you, inside you, all around you in every single sense and it warms your heart in a way you didn’t know was possible until now. Until Bucky.

Maybe that’s the afterglow talking, and you should stop. But you can’t help but press another kiss to Bucky’s cheek, and another, over his nose and across his still-closed eyelids until you reach his mouth and he can kiss you back just as soft. You hope he gets it. You hope he feels it too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You go to see your dad, eventually. The chaos of yesterday kept you attached to Bucky’s hip - you showered together in the morning, and he allowed you to pretend it was just the water and not tears soaking your face. But he made you cuddle with him on the couch and fed you an omelette like you were incapable of feeding yourself, and maybe you were, because the reality of what happened in that shitty Manhattan bar was starting to eat away at your executive functions. It took all of your strength to convince Bucky you would be ok and that you’d come back to him as soon as you were done, but it was time to pull on a thread you’ve been ignoring for far too long.

It turns out, that paranoid over-questioning part of your brain doesn’t turn off even during a traumatic event. Your dad lets you in without a word, tugging you into a side hug as you both walk to the kitchen to make tea.

The house you grew up in has taken on a different light since the Lerna. The kitchen chairs aren’t the same, reminding you too much of ziptied wrists and a gun in your face. Why can you superimpose the memory of Rumlow holding you hostage to one you have of being eleven and tied to a chair by your father? You shouldn’t be able to do that.

He nudges your hip, jerking you out of your staring contest with the dining chairs, and offers you a mug of tea. You both sit at the table, either end, the fruit bowl a mediator between you. He looks tired, old, like he always has somehow in your memories from childhood. He’s still your dad, the same man who always been there because he’s all you’ve ever had. He loves you, you know does. Ya lyublyu tebya, luna. But he has always been the first to say your paranoid streak runs a mile deep, and once you find a thread-

Well. Everyone knows how that ends.

“Do you want to talk about it?” your dad asks, and it’s like he knows you aren’t here to ask for boy advice or moan about a case or your skyrocketing rent.

There’s a lot you want to talk about. Why did I learn to throw knives instead of joining the soccer team, like normal kids? Why did I learn how to survive an interrogation instead of going to sleepovers, like normal kids? Why did you train me to question everyone and everything in this world, but I’ve always blindly believed you? Like a normal kid would, you suppose, the only normal you’ve ever really gotten. Always believing your dad is the superhero of six-year-old dreams, someone who would never keep you in the dark.

“No,” you say, taking a sip of tea. It burns your tongue to numbness, but you can’t bring yourself to care. We had the secret language for only us - why did I never think you might have secrets from me as well? You grimace into your tea and say, “Not right now, I’m sorry.”

“Tayny budut presledovat tebya vechno, malysh,” he says. Secrets will haunt you forever, little one.

You don’t dare look up from your tea as you say, “Ya dumayu, ty by znal vse ob etom.” I guess you’d know all about that.

He gives you leftover curry in a carry bag when you leave. Kisses you on the cheek and lets you go, but you can feel him watching you the entire time it takes you to walk down the street and out of sight. As soon as you round the corner you retch into the nearest bush, a well-manicured rose which you silently apologise to as it gets covered in your bile.

This guilt isn’t something Bucky can save you from - it feels like it’s eating you alive. You had never, ever thought you would get to the point where you’d be leaving a bug stuck to the underside of your dad’s kitchen table, but you suppose you never thought you’d be stalked and kidnapped either. You wipe the your mouth with the back of your hand as your stomach finishes emptying itself of tea and betrayal, and try to tell yourself you won’t find anything, you're just being paranoid. But you know you will.

Maybe you always have, and that’s why you’ve been too scared to pull on the thread you’ve known has been dangling in the back of your mind since you were a kid. Just one secret you wanted to leave, one dark corner you didn’t want to shine a light into. That’s never been in your nature. You spit the foul, acidic taste from your mouth onto a poor, innocent rose bud and think with just as much bitterness as the bile coating your throat, that’s not who my dad raised me to be.

Part 7

[we-want-mini-mini]

I have this short one shot in mind. It’s essentially abt the entire Batfam gathering up together (and its also the anniversary of Jason’s death but that’s kinda jus a background detail).

Anyways, everyone gathers round the dinning table, eating, laughing, etc etc. And when I mean everyone, I fucking mean all the Batkids, which include but are not limited to:

Dick

Jason

Tim

Damian

Stephanie

Cassandra

Duke

Barbara

Anyways, Alfred and Bruce are obvi there as well, eating, and talking and stuff.

Suddenly, some fucking kid bursts through the fucking window, does a mid-air flip, and lands smack dab in the middle of the dining table, on their hands, which is conveniently holding onto this package.

All hell breaks loose, as various Bats (and birds!) start throwing various items. Then this kid sends out this weird ass pulse, that makes everything freeze in place. Only this kid and move.

The kid slowly floats up, cross legged in the air, moving a batarang, and throwing knife away from their face. They announce, “Hello, the Wayne Family and Friends! Who are also... Gasp, the infamous Bat and Bird themed Vigilantes of Gotham?! Now, to quote John Mulany, “we don’t have time to unpack all of that” which is fine! ...Why are none of you responded—oh sorry! I froze you all in place, my bad.”

The kid snaps their fingers, allowing the Batfam & Co. talk but their still frozen in place. Immediately Damian starts antagonizing the Kid. The Kid responses by literally zipping close Damians mouth like a Looney Toon cartoon.

The Kid sighs but continues on, “C’mon now! Don’t shoot the messenger as they say, whoever they is that is. Anyways, I have a package for one: Jason Peter Todd!”

“Who the hell sent you?” Jason askes.

The Kid shrugs, “No clue, they sent it in anonymously. Though, from what I know, there is a card inside the package so that might offer you some clues.”

“And what exactly are you?” Bruce inquires.

The Kid’s lips stretch out as wide as they can go, their pearly white, jagged teeth on display. Their eyes glow slightly red, as their neck cranes forward at a tilt. Their neck seems to extend a lot further, and their face tilts at an inhuman angle. They open their mouth, with rows of teeth on display for everyone too see.

“Why don’t you find out?” Their once chriper, goofy, kid like voice contorts into a deep, distorted version. Everyone freezes, at the Kid simply stares back at Bruce before their fave goes back to “normal” as they laugh their collective ass off.

“Ahaha... You know, that trick never does fail to make me laugh and all of you freeze in fear—then again, your already frozen but still!”

The Kid continues, their face still stretched out in a smile. A smile a little to sharp and inhuman for them. “But, you should know that’s quite a rude thing to ask! Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?! Then again, they are dead.”

A beat of silence.

“What? Too morbid? Seriously, what a tough crowd! But hey, everyone has their sore spots, so I can’t blame ya. Anyways, I’m guessing all of you have questions. So, fire away!”

They snapped their fingers, making the literally zipper on Damians face disappear.

“Who are you?” Damian seethes.

“I’m Ty Kidd! But call me Kid. Oh and, my pronouns are she/they, thank you very much. I am also a delivery person for—” Kid pulls out a business card, which start to multiple and appear infront of everyone. “—the Multiversal Express Delivery Service, or MEDS for short!”

“And what exactly is MEDS?” Dick asks.

“It’s literally in the name.” Kid deadpans, before another inhuman like smile spreads across their face. “I travel from parallel world to parallel world! Fun fact: there’s a world where you guys are just fictional characters who’ve existed since the 1930s! Isn’t that cool?! One of the many reasons I love my job.”

“Yeah, yeah, fun stuff, but who sent you?”

Kid shrugs, “I dunno. Sender was anonymous. But no worries! At MEDS we ensure that none of our packages include any sort of life threatening object, material, and etc! So, no need to worry about releasing a plague that would decimate this world in a blink of an eye or a nuclear bomb that would wipe this continent out of the map! But, if you do want to send world ending plagues or bombs, you must submit a form and blah blah blah HR bullshit.”

“And... how do know right trust you?” Tim spoke up.

Kid’s face once again spilts in half into a smile, their jagged teeth slightly teasing her lips. Her eyes turned into black silts. “You don’t.” Their voice reasonated throughout everyone’s ears, deep and contorted to the octave.

She pulled back, face once again going “normal”. “But! You can trust MEDS! Trust me when I say, nothing like a bomb, plague or that sort of item is inside this package. Anyways, I’m on a schedule, so—“

They snapped their fingers, a small device and pen appearing infront of Jason. “—please sign, and I’ll be on my merry way. Don’t worry about the window, I’ll fix it!”

Jason was momentarily stunned wondering what the fuck is happening? Why is their probably a fucking eldritch-demon-person in front of me? What is my life?

Before Jason could even tell what was happening, he picked up the floating pen and signed his name on the little device thingy. When his name was signed, the pen and device poofed! away in a plume is smoke.

The Kid, still smiling that inhuman and unsettling smile, snapped their fingers, fixing the broken window, and putting away all the various knifes and objects that were still floating in the air.

“Thank you for your service! If you ever want to send anything to a parallel universe, just give us a call and we will send it! No matter how desolate the Earth, no matter how frankly strange item, we shall send it! Anyways, happy Death day Jason Todd. Kid Out!” They said with a salute, before disappearing in a plume of smoke.

All hell breaks loose and after some arguing and lowkey existential breakdowns everyone converges to the Cave.

Bruce being paranoia incarnate, makes the package go through numerous tests. All being negative. They can’t even identify what it is.

After some more arguing, Jason slips by everyone, and tears open the box. Everyone tries to stop him, but it’s already to late, he opened it.

Now, no one can see what’s inside since Jason is blocking them with his gigantic ass figure. Bruce is the first one to realize that Jason freezes up, and goes to him, worried that something happened.

“Jason, whats wro—“ Then Bruce sees what’s in the box and pales. Everyone sees how Bruce freezes, just looking at the box.

Soon, one by one, it revealed: its Jokers decapated head.

Or alternatively, Jason is the last one to see what’s inside (Damian or someone else being the first). Up to you.

Anyways, there’s this card. Jason picks it up, and it reads:

As the Persians say: an eye for an eye. But the world doesn’t go blind. Happy Dead Clown Day, Jason.

—[Insert an intial or some shit]

Cue some time later, and, yes, it’s confirmed, this is Jokers head. You see, Jokers been awfully quiet for two years, as he went missing after an explosion rocked Arkham Asylum. This, is proof that Joker is finally dead.

News breaks that Joker is dead, and it follows Jason reaction to his death.

In my opinion he’d be lowkey angry that it wasn’t him who killed the damn Clown. But, holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. He’s... He’s dead. He’s finally fucking dead.

Cue some more time later, after everything has cooled down. Jason is in Robinson Park, sitting at a bench, when another kid (who kinda looks like Kid but Jason is too busy inner monologuing to care).

The kid speaks up, “You know, before I use to hate the phrase, ‘an eye for an eye’ ‘cause, the world would go blind.”

Jason freezes, and the kid continues. “But, now I get it. An eye for an eye, but the world never goes blind. Simple as that, since, sure, your blind in one eye, but justice was finally served, right Jason?”

The kid turns to him, and smiles. Not a too large, too sharp, too inhuman smile, but a sincere, warm one. “Y-Yeah.” Jason finally manages to choke out.

“It’s a nice day out, you know. It’s real nice. I know, that, at least you get to see more of these nice days.”

“You day that as if you can’t see days like these anymore.” He blurts out.

The kid sighs, with a bitter smile on their face. “Yeah, I can’t see or experience days like these anymore. I haven’t been able too for three years. But hey, an eye for an eye, but the world never goes blind.” As the kid speaks, their voice fades away. In a blink of an eye, the kid disappears, leaving behind daffodil and a note.

The note is an invitation for a funeral.

Jason goes to the Manor, specifically the cave, and conveniently everyone is there. Damian, Stephanie and Cass are sparring. Dick is using the aerial equipment. Bruce and Tim are working on some cases with Barbara helping. Alfred is done, handing out snacks.

Jason immediately shoves the card to Tim, who’s confused and then sees how utterly shaken up and pale he looks.

“Tell me what happened to this kid.”

Everyone immediately turns to Tim, as he types in their name, date and etc.

What they find out, is that, this kid, who died three years ago, died in the last ever attack wide scale attack the Joker committed. They were the only casualty in said attack (surprisingly).

And they were only 13. Like Jason. And the date of the attack... is the same day Jason died all those years ago in Ethiopia.

“I saw them.”

“...what?” Dick said, in an incredulous voice.

“I saw them. At Robinson Park. They even said that exact same phrase in that fucking card: an eye for an eye—“

“—and the world never goes blind.” Everyone says the last part in unison.

Then the Bats get news that rest of Jokers body was sent to the GCPD, addressed to—

-END-

Basically, that’s how the one shot goes. If anyone wants to use the idea:

Jason gets a package while he’s at the Manor. They test said package and nothing comes up. Some start arguing and someone opens the package (which is more dramatic, Jason seeing it first or last?). They see: Jokers decapiated head. Chaos ensues and a metric shit load of testing later, it’s confirmed: thats Jokers head. And Jokers been missing for [insert amount of time]. The Batfam then deal with the fallout of Joker being (finally) dead.

If anyone writes this, please tag me! I want too see ANGST, and FLUFF, and GOOD DAD BRUCE, and, DRAMA, and ALL THE BAT KIDS.

(I can’t delete the fucking pic below me and I refuse to rewrite this entire post. Lowkey it’s kinda ironic too lmao).

[ambivalent-anarchy]

Too Cheesy

Gender: Female

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Warnings: Sickening fluff and insanely cheesy pick up lines.

Summary- Ned agrees to stay at Peter's house and help him find the perfect pickup line to ask out his crush with before spring break. But what happens when his crush tags along and also wants to help? ---------------------------------------

"Nah Peter, too corny."

Peter Parker was standing in the middle of his room, his best friend Ned sitting on his bed, cradling their death star in his hands. Peter scrolled down the screen of his phone. "Okay, how about this one?" After reading, Peter looked to the wall and gave a smug smirk, as if he were actually looking at someone. "Hey [Y/N]... are you religious? 'Cause you’re the answer to all my prayers."

Ned cocked his head to the side. "Is she religious?"

"I dunno, I never really asked before," Peter answered, breaking out of his assumed position.

Ned scrunched his nose a bit. "Well, we probably should stay off of religious pick-up lines then."

"Right," Peter agreed, looking back to his phone again. He scrolled a bit more. When satisfied, he looked up at the wall again, raised his eyebrows with an award winning smile before he recited another.

"Life without you would be like a broken pencil… pointless."

"Wow..," Ned said. He pointed and nodded slowly. "I think that's a keeper. Try it again just to make sure though. Oh- and this time, make it more personal."

"Okay," Peter said, going back over the line in his head. He assumed the position and instead of a smug, gave a small smolder.

"Wait," Ned interrupted. "Does this one even make sense? I mean- a pencil still has a point even when it's broken, right? Unless, of course, it's the bottom half, but that would only work if it's a clean break. A-and-"

Suddenly, realizing how completely ridiculous he must look, Peter grimaced. "Ned, why're we doing this again?!"

Ned rolled his eyes. "C'mon Pete. It's because pickup lines always work!"

"A-are you sure? Cuz that doesn't sound right."

"Dude, I'm telling you," Ned defended. "I saw Flash walk right up to Sydney and gave her the perfect pickup line and he immediately got a date! Flash of all people! If he can, you certainly can!"

Peter rolled his eyes. Ned was seriously comparing him to Flash? There were tons of reasons as to how Flash got with Sydney. "But Flash is popular and rich and stuff... I'm just me."

Ned scoffed. "Well..." He looked up with a carefree smile. "If it makes you feel any better, if I were a girl, I'd totally date you."

"..thanks..." Peter said, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward. He looked around the room with a nervous chuckle. Ned, apparently not realizing the awkwardness in the room, hasn't looked away and continued to smile at his friend.

Finding his voice, Peter spoke up. "So, um, what was Flash's line anyway?"

"Uh-uh man," Ned answered. "You gotta find your own! Sydney probably already told the whole school, so you'd just be a copycat. Your line needs to be original."

Peter raised his eyebrows. "We're literally looking this stuff up from the internet, Ned! That's not original!"

"Just trust me. Now read another."

"Okay..." Peter begrudgingly agreed. He was regretting this whole thing more and more each second. He took a deep breath and recited his next one.

"[Y/N], my love for you is like dividing by zero– it can't be defined."

He looked to Ned, who was silently contemplating the words.

"...I kinda like it," Ned finally said.

"I don't know," the scrawny teenager sighed, throwing his phone onto his bed. "It needs to be really good! Not mediocre. Tomorrow is my only chance to tell [Y/N] how I feel before spring break starts. I can't back out!"

"Pete, relax. We'll just add it to the list. Now do another-"

"Peter!!! [Y/N]'s here!!!"

The two teenagers froze. Their eyes widened at his aunt May's voice. They looked to the door, then to each other.

"What is she doing here?!?!," Peter whisper-shouted, two seconds from panicking.

"It's your apartment, you tell me!," Ned whispered back, arms flailing wildly.

"She can't be here!," he yelled to himself, pointing towards the door you could be walking through any second now. "She can NOT be here!"

The two quietly went back and forth as you came closer to his room. Normally, you were always more than welcome. But today, unbeknownst to you, Peter's home was probably the one place you definitely shouldn't be.

You poked your head around the doorframe. "Heyyyy fellas!"

They froze, looking to you with their mouths zipped shut. "Why so tense?," you asked, a small smile playing on your lips.

"No reason!," Peter yelled.

"Hey [Y/N]." Ned gave a wide smile.

You return it with a wider smile that certainly betrayed the rest of your face, that held only confusion. "Uh, what's going on, guys??"

They looked to each other, then to you, then to each other again. Ned broke away first this time. "Peter's trying to find a pick-up line to tell his crush was tomorrow!," he spat out quickly, earning an excited gasp from you.

Peter's jaw stopped to the floor. If he were a computer, he would've definitely been crashing right now. "What the hell, Ned?!," he practically screamed, his voice cracking a bit before he covered his face with his hands.

"So, whose the girl?," you asked, pushing through them and climbing onto the top bunk to sit.

"Uh-"

"DON'T. SAY. ANYTHING!," Peter hissed out through gritted teeth.

It didn't take you too long to realize the tension in the room. "Uh, should I come back another time or something?"

"That would be ideal," Peter mumbled under his breath.

Your eyebrows scrunched together in annoyance. Why were they being so weird and vague?

"Okay, did I do something? Is that why you're acting so weird, Pete? I mean, I was gonna try to help you out so you won't make a complete fool of yourself in front of this girl, but-"

Ned dropped the death star as he excitedly clapped his hands together. "That'd be perfect, actually!!"

Both you and Peter groaned as you looked at the peices on the floor. "Ned!"

"At this point that thing needs to stay at my house cuz when it's at either of yours it always breaks!," you laughed.

"Umm..." Peter looked away and took a deep breath. "[Y/N]?"

At this point, he had no idea nor any control over what was going on and the only words processing in his mind were what the fuck.

His crush was not supposed to be here while he was practicing what to say to his crush tomorrow.

"Yeah, Pete?"

But you were here now, and you didn't seem to be leaving anytime soon.

So what's the worse that could happen?

"C-could you maybe, um, help me with this?"

"With your girl problems? Sure. I mean, if we leave it your hands, the poor girl won't even know what hits her."

Ned bit his lip, attempting (and failing) to hide a fit of laughter. "She sure won't!"

"Dude!," Peter hissed, nudging his shoulder.

"So what've you got so far?," you said, watching Peter expectantly.

"Uhh.." He blew out a heavy breath. Welp, he thought. Guess we're doing this now. He picked up his phone and awkwardly read off the line.

"My love for you is like dividing by zero– it can't be defined.."

He looked back up at you, frozen as statue. That was so embarrassing. You smiled and giggled a little. "That was so cheesy!"

"Oh..," Peter mumbled. He'd actually thought that one was pretty good.

"That's only because he's not doing it like he did a second ago," Ned, ever the oblivious one, noted. "C'mon! Do it the way you did it before [Y/N] came in here."

If looks could kill, Ned would surely have been maimed and then ran over a bus by now.

Peter sighed. He looked up to the wall right above where [Y/N] was sitting and gave his best smolder.

But before he could get a word out, laughter erupted the room. "PETE WHAT THE HECK IS THAT?!," [Y/N] shrieked, practically falling off the the top bunk of the bed with laughter. "Girls' want a genuine smile, not some James Bond wannabe look!"

"Y-you don't think it looks cool?," he asked, cheeks red as beets by now.

"Frickin' goofy is what that looks like!," she responded. "Gimme your phone."

Peter's face fell. Wow, he thought. I'm way off. No way I'm gonna get her now, except...He looked to Ned, who was practically just spectating the whole thing at this point. Their eyes joined, and they could both tell they'd come to the same conclusion.

What better way to find out exactly what to say than by finding out by who you're going to say it to?

[Y/N] scrolled down a few until she found one that she liked. "Ooh, this one's pretty good." She looked up from the phone. "Now, watch me and I'll show you how it's done." She hopped down from the bed and said the line straight to Peter's face, biting her lip and smirking.

"Hey you, apart from being sexy, what do you do for a living?"

Immediately afterwards, she broke out of it. "See?," she asked. "That's how it's done." [Y/N] tossed the phone back into Peter's hands before sitting back down. "Now do that."

Peter sucked in a quick breath, lightly tugging the bottom of his gray shirt. "U-uh, um, yeah okay.."

That was hot, was all he could really think at the moment. She's so frickin hot.

Scatterbrained, he stood and looked back at you. "U-uh.. -oh, here's one..." He shook his head slightly, as if attempting to shake the jitters out. "A-are you a cam-mera? C-cuz.. you sure do make me sm-mile," he stammered, ending with beyond awkward fingers guns.

[Y/N] chuckled, biting back a small smile. "Ya know, you're just too cute sometimes..."

At that, Ned's jaw fell to the floor. Peter's face turned a shade of red you didn't believe was even possible.

"Uh, u-um, ah, heh, thanks..."

"Hey yo, my mom's texting me," Ned suddenly announced. "I gotta get home. See you two tomorrow." He smiled at [Y/N] and then looked Peter square in the face with a shit-eating grin. "And good luck Pete!," he said, earning a middle finger from his best friend.

After the door closed, [Y/N] frowned. "What's up with you two? Are you guys fighting?"

"Nah, Ned's just being..." Peter trailed off, shaking his head slightly. If he were to elaborate, he could risk telling you. Better to play it safe. "So was that one good?"

"I mean, it'd be nice if you could g-g-g-get it out!," you mocked with a smile.

"No stuttering then," he concluded to himself. "Stuttering's a turn off."

"Well, not exactly," you corrected. "I actually think it's kinda cute when you do it." Noticing his intense blushing, you grabbed his hands to give comfort. "Just relax. No stuttering. And keep eye contact. Got it, Pete?"

His cheeks reddened as he looked away, desperately trying to redirect his focus from your turned up lips. "Oh, u-uh um, thanks! That's great, ya know! L-lets, ah, just get back to the th-thing- uh, the line..."

And so you did. You helped him til eleven o'clock at night. You went over about fifty. Until there was no way he couldn't have a perfect one to show the girl.

Until the next morning.

Spoiler alert: he didn't find a line.

When you left the indecisive teenager, he'd looked like he was on the right path. He had an entire list of good choices you'd picked out with him, along with practiced ways to do each one.

But, when he woke up and looked back at the list, each one just felt wrong.

Cheesy.

Overused.

Corny.

Lame.

You wouldn't like it. You'd already heard it. It wouldn't feel special to you if he'd told you something you'd already picked out for yourself, even if you didn't know you had.

You'd reject him. And more? Because you were a nice person, you'd probably still want to be friends.

Which was definitely way, way worse.

"Peter!," May yelled. "Engine's being turned on in five! Be there or you'll have to swing to school!"

-

Perer told you he'd tell his crush the line by the lockers during homeroom.

You couldn't wait. 'This is gonna be so awesome,' you thought, scanning the halls for his curly brown hair and wrinkled jacket.

'Of course, this girl better be worth his time or I'm gonna frickin' tackle her....'

The night before, Peter had told you nearly everything about this mystery girl.

He gushed about how she was perfect. Beautiful. Everything he ever wanted.

And you felt happy for him.

But deep inside, you knew that whoever the girl he'd chosen was, you wouldn't approve. Because deep down, you wished that it would be you.

But you and Peter were friends. Since the sixth grade. If anything was ever gonna happen, it surely already would've.

And It wasn't gonna happen...

And when this girl said yes (it's Peter Parker, why wouldn't you?), you'd have to watch them hug, kiss, give inside jokes, and everything else couples did.

And because he was your best friend, you'd have to just sit there and be happy for him.

"Miss. [Y/L/N]. Come on, get to class!," your homeroom teacher yelled, standing by the door, holding it open for you to walk into the classroom.

"Must be late again...," you mumbled, looking around the halls for Peter one last time before making your way to the door.

"[Y/N]!"

You whipped your head to where the voice was coming from. It was Ned, running down the hallway.

"Yeah?"

"He's gonna do it!," he yelled. "He's about to ask!"

You turned towards your teacher. "Um, can I go to the restroom please?"

"Yeah sure," the teacher replied.

Once the door closed, you ran to meet Ned in the middle of the hall. "Ask? Wait, on a date or to actually be his girlfriend?"

"TO BE HIS GIIIIRRRRRRLLLLLLLFRIEND!!," he yelled, shaking you by your shoulders back and forth frantically.

'Wow,' you thought, eyes wide. 'Peter's actually getting some balls now.'

This was it. And you were gonna hold your tongue and watch it happen.

Ned looked over your shoulder as he practically gasped for air. "He's coming! He's coming!"

You pulled his arm a bit, attempting to pull him to towards the wall. "Don't we need to hide? They don't need an audience!"

Suddenly, using his strength against you, Ned turned you around quickly for you to come face to face with Peter.

"Where's the girl?," you said, looking around curiously. After you were met with silence, your curious smile went away. "Pete, where is she? Where's she at?"

"I-it's...um, [Y/N] it's always been-heh. It's you," he answered, looking into your eyes shyly.

Ned could've bursts from joy right then and there. You could feel his grip on your arms tighten out of excitement.

But you didn't care, because you were sky high yourself. "So all that, yesterday? That was all about-"

"Yeah. You."

You sighed, practically frozen. "Major fucking plot twist, dude.."

He tilted his head. "'Saw' level?"

"More like 'Shutter Island' level," you answered.

"Ooh, that was a big one," Ned added brightly.

You shifted slightly. "So, um, what was the line you chose?"

"Oh!," Peter laughed. "How could I forget? Uh-" He grabbed your hands gently. "Okay." Hey blew out a long breath. "Relaxing. No stuttering. And keeping eye contact," he reminded himself aloud before he slowly and tenderly recited the line he'd chosen.

"[Y/N], ahem, um, If I had a penny for every time I thought about you, I'd have exactly one cent.."

You frowned. "Hold on, I don't get it. That means-"

"-Because you never leave my mind, sweetheart."

Raising your eyebrows, your heart warmed and you covered your hand over your mouth. That was one you hadn't chosen. You'd never even heard it before. He'd found it himself.

Noticing your reaction, Peter tensed. "W-was that too much? I'm sorry if that was too much! The last thing I would want for it to be is too-"

"That was perfect, Peter."

He paused. "It wasn't too cheesy?"

"Just a little cheesy," you said, pinching your fingers together and giving a quick wink.

"On a scale of one to ten?," Ned asked.

"Ned!," Peter scolded, quickly sliding his finger over his neck as a warning. He then looked back to you with a timid smirk.

"So, ah, does this mean you'll be my girlfriend?"

"Hmm, I guess it does, huh?," you giggled and turned to walk away just as the bell rang for first period.

-

"Sooooo, how'd it go?," May asked, poking her head around the doorframe of Peter's room.

When Peter turned towards her from his bed, May knew the answer before he even uttered a word.

He was staring up at ceiling twiddling his fingers and grinning like a madman.

"She said yes, May..I-i didn't think she'd actually say yes!"

May smiled. "Well, that's good!"

"Our first date's tomorrow and- Oh God! I might need to find another line to tell her! I'll use the math one this time since she was so excited about acing that test earlier today. Oh my gosh what if- what if we kiss?! That'd be SO awesome! Right, May? Ooh man, what am I gonna wear?? Ned said to wear a tux. But it's just a movie date, not prom! Jeans and a t-shirt should work, right? What if I get there and I'm underdressed?! Why is this stuff so hard?!"

Aunt May watched as the young boy frantically vented to himself and shook her head. "God bless him..."

She looked down at his desk in the corner of his room. On it was a small journal. It was opened to a page labelled 'Pickup Lines To Tell [Y/N]'

Underneath it were lines separated into sections based on 'coolness,' 'nerdiness,' and 'sexiness.'

May furrowed her eyebrows. "Hon, you know pick-up lines never work, right?

"Well May," Peter sighed, leaning back into his bed. "There's a special girl out there that would beg to differ.."

[piningfor-pinestwins]

Natural Attraction - Investigations (ch. 9 ) (Stan X Reader Slow Burn; Eventual Not SFW)

You scratch at your chin as you look down at the haphazardly-packed duffel bag on your bed, thinking of what else you should bring. Really, you should be prepared for anything with this crew…

It’s been pretty chilly the last few nights, so you brought both t-shirts and sweaters, in case of better weather or to layer up. You have your sturdy hiking boots (the ones you bought after your shoes got caught in the thorny brushes a few ‘adventures’ ago), four pairs of socks, five pairs of undies, 3 pairs of jeans and your most fluffy and warm pj pants. Tapping lightly at your cheek, you feel the way your mouth screws up in thought, moving around your room for just a few more things before you hear a familiar set of footsteps coming up the stairs to your bedroom door.

“I dunno if you wanted to pack the tent with your stuff or not, but I’ve got it here for you,” Stan’s voice says from behind you, and you smile before you notice you’re doing it.

Thanks, if you’d just leave it by the door, that’d be great, You motion, moving toward the foot of your bed to lift the patterned quilt you sleep beneath off the mattress. Could you help me fold this? You look to him just as he moves to make his leave, but he stops at your request, offering a little smile as he moves closer to help. You take two corners and he bends to do the same, watching you with a gentle confirmation of which way you’re folding the thing.

It’s a simple thing to do, yet each time your knuckles brush against his fingers, or the closer you step as the blanket folds smaller, you feel an odd sort of intimacy in the motion. He passes the bundle of fabric into your hands with a warm look, blowing hair out of his face as he takes a step back.

“D’ya not have a sleeping bag? Hon, y’might get cold, even with all that.” Motioning to your nearly-full duffel bag, he leans back against the wall of your bedroom, quirking a brow in something like concern.

No, and it’s too close to time to go into town for one, You admit with a sigh, shrugging a little as you shove the quilt into the bag. Shuffling some stuff around to make room, you tsk and readjust your journal against the side by your undies, glancing up just in time to see Stan’s gaze following your hands in your bag. You flush, but quickly cover the things with your hands as you look over at him with a smirk. Stan’s brows quirk up at your movement, and his gaze trails up your arms to see your heated cheeks and playful smile, his dimple showing as he tries to hold back his own smile with his tongue pressed against his cheek.

“Listen, y’shouldn’t have that shit layin’ around if you didn’t want me to see it,” He starts with a laugh in his voice, eyes glinting playfully in your direction before flicking up toward the ceiling instead. You scoff in response, but your smile doesn’t falter as you finish packing up the bag and zip the thing up, Maybe you shouldn’t stick your nose in other people’s business. Didn’t your mom teach you that?

“Oho, if you think Ma taught me to stay outta other people’s business, you’ve never met her. The woman’s a blabbermouth--probably why she did so well on the psychic line all those years,” He hums, scratching at his chin seemingly in thought. You’ve heard, albeit briefly, about the Pines parents and their respective lines of work. Though, you don’t know much else about the duo--not that it really matters, per se.

Well, anyway, thank you for your help, you snooper, teasing, you pull the bag on over one shoulder as you glance around, double-checking for anything else you might need before moving closer toward the door. You pinch lightly at his elbow, getting his attention back to you and making him laugh all in one motion. He’s smiling when he looks at you, and you feel heat in your cheeks when you find yourself smiling back, standing the closest you have to the man since the night before. You clear your throat, reaching to grab the little bag that holds the tent that he’d brought in and left at the door at your request, A-And thank you for this, too. It’ll be put to good use, you promise, immediately feeling dumb for it because no shit, Sherlock, it’ll be put to good use, you have to sleep somewhere.

He shrugs, motioning you ahead as he moves to leave your room behind you. “It’s really no problem. If Sixer’d thought ahead, he would have warned us that we’d need them and we wouldn’t be in this mess, but I think his tent’ll be big enough for the three of us guys to sleep in for a couple nights. S’long as they can keep their mouths shut for a few hours of shuteye, it’ll work out fine.” Stan shuts your bedroom door behind him as you take the steps down to the second floor, stopping to see his things already packed and waiting outside his door.

“Are you two nearly ready?” Ford calls from downstairs, a soft grumble of a headache complaint following his question. You smile at the voice as you respond, glancing over the bannister as you start down the rest of the stairs, It would seem so.

“Good,” Fiddleford’s voice chimes in, and you catch sight of the two standing together with their packs and warm jackets on as you come further down the stairs, “We’ve got about thirty minutes o’daylight left, and if we plan to get anywhere close to the first clearing in the trees, we’ve gotta shake a leg.” You look out the window when he talks about lingering daylight, nodding at his approximation.

You said this creature creeps out at night, right? Do you think we’ll get wherever it is this evening?

“It’s unlikely,” Ford answers, and you hear Stan come down the steps and stop a step or two behind you to join the conversation, “But if we make our way far enough tonight, we’re likely to find more evidence of the being, at least.”

“What kinda thing d’ya think it is, anyway?” Stan asks, and Fiddleford shrugs in response. “I couldn’t rightly tell ya. Have you got any idea?” He cocks his head in your direction. You feel all eyes on you, offering a shrug as you step off the stairs and move toward the back screen door, Let me take a look at these tracks while you three lock up.

Ford nods, pulling his heavy backpack on with a grunt, and Fiddleford tugs his own canvas bag closer, double-checking the carabiner attaching it to the little icebox containing what you can assume is your meals for the next few days. Stan pulls his (seemingly lighter than Ford’s) backpack on, taking the last remaining steps down to the duo as you make your way out the back door to find the tracks that your inebriated colleagues claimed to see.

When they join you again a few minutes later, you’ve found the tracks, near Fidd’s truck, and sure enough, veering off into the woods. You reach to where your camera strap is hooked to the duffel bag, quickly undoing the tie and snapping a picture of the tracks. Eyes are on you again as you study the real deal ahead of you, but you hardly notice the trio of brunets watching you with varying degrees of intrigue as you shake the film that’s fresh from the printer and put the camera strap around your neck instead.

They’re odd, you murmur, the thought coming to you easily from your years of studying, It’s a bipedal thing, with something akin to toes, but...its gait stays on the balls of its feet--if you want to call these feet.

“Yeah, I see what you mean,” Stan offers, and your head turns to look at him just as Ford and F’s do, too. The man seems almost surprised at the attention, brows flying up as he stammers to explain himself, “T-The thing’s got like, three toes. I don’t know if you can call these feet.”

You nod enthusiastically, getting a little more excited at engaging in your wheelhouse. Four, actually. The three you see on the front, plus the one in back, implies that whatever this is, is skilled in perching or climbing. So, it’s possible we’ll find it in a tree, or some other off-ground thing.

“Are we chasin’ some superbird?” Fidds asks, brow furrowing toward you and Ford. Ford frowns with a shrug, looking to you for confirmation as he offers a shrug, “It doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibility...She’s not been wrong before.” He adds, a lift of a smile curling his lip. He’s excited to put your knowledge to work, the prospect of discovering another new species causing a joy-filled anxiety to bubble in your belly.

That was my next point-- Near here, where the tracks end, you take hurried steps beside the trail and the trio follow behind to keep up, The pattern of steps is interrupted. Two steps, two steps, one step, and nothing.

“But, there’s these...marks,” Stan seems to be following your train of thought, foot scuffing against a distinct pattern in the dirt a few feet from where the single footstep (clawstep?) is settled. Fiddleford points to the pattern’s twin, mirrored on the other side.

Exactly! Indication of an upward force in the dirt. If I were to… You move a few steps back, stepping toward the pattern near Fidds. You cup your hand as you kneel close to the ground, raising your hand above your head and swinging the force down toward the ground without hitting it, the fast-moving air making a whizzing sound by your ear.

Pleased, and maybe a little excitable still, you look at the mark made by the force of air in the soft soil, standing as you confirm the similarity, Wings! At least two, as the patterns indicate. We’re looking for a creature capable of at least short-term flight, with an anisodactyl arrangement of toes. By the looks of these marks, it’s possible the creature can be...well, about my height, You conclude, looking up at the boys with pride and a grin.

Ford looks similarly pleased, smiling with a warm, almost-smug look on his face as Fiddleford and Stan both look at you in something akin to surprise. “Impressive as always, my friend. I almost forgot how quickly you’re able to come to conclusions.”

Fiddleford laughs, clapping a friendly hand on your shoulder as he gives you a little shake, “Astonishing! Well--now we know, we gotta be lookin’ up as much as we’re lookin’ down. Aw, hell--” He looks at his watch, waving toward the three of you, “We’ve got about twenty minutes left of daylight. We need’ta keep our flashlights as charged up as they can get, so the less time we use ‘em, the better. Come on,” F leads the charge toward the woods with Ford following behind, grinning at you with pride as he flashes you a wink.

You turn to look at Stan, finding the twin starry-eyed for a brief moment before he coughs and comes back to himself. “That… Wow, you uh, really know your stuff.” He clears his throat, and you swear his cheeks aren’t normally that pink. A trick of the setting sun, you’re sure…

Thank you, you laugh, feeling almost embarrassed as you rub at the back of your neck, putting the developed picture into a safe spot in your bag before rethinking your decision to leave your camera around your neck, putting it away too. I probably got a little carried away there, I’m sure.

“No! Not at all--I may not understand all the words y’said, but you’re...You’re seriously smart, sugar. It’s cool to see.” He smiles, rubbing at the nape of his neck. Your cheeks definitely flush at that, laughing lightly at his words, and biting into your bottom lip to muffle it. Clearing his throat, he adjusts the pack at his back, his smile lingering as he points to the duo moving ahead. “We should catch up. God forbid we get lost with whatever, uh...winged an’i-social or-whatever-you-said superbird flyin’ around here.”

You snort at his words and correct him, Anisodactyl, to which he replies, “Yeah, that’s what I said, isn’t it?” with a laugh of his own as you both move with purpose, following to catch up to the duo of brunets.

[whisker-biscuit]

Home Is Where The Hedgehog Is

Fandom: Sonic Movie (2020)

Rating: G

Summary: Living with Donut Lord and Pretzel Lady is super fun, even if there are dumb rules he has to follow sometimes. Sonic is going to hold onto it with everything he has.

The first in a one-shot collection of a hyperactive hedgehog trying his best to fit in with his newfound family, and two humans who want him to know he doesn't need to try at all.

MAJOR spoilers for the Sonic Movie!

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Living in a house was much different than living in a cave.

For starters, the draft wasn’t nearly as bad, even when Sonic forgot to close the attic window at night. And now he had an actual, honest-to-goodness bed to burrow into when it really was that cold. Came with a blanket and pillow too, deluxe model!

The other thing that was different was the company, Tom and Maddie and Tom’s so-called “best friend”. Maybe he should have mentioned that one first, but hey, a hedgehog could only focus on so many new changes at one time.

Speaking of changes, a personal alarm clock wasn’t something he was expecting this morning.

“Good morning, Sonic!” Maddie’s head poked up past the attic trapdoor.

“Mmph…” The teen mumbled, curling into a tighter ball under the covers like it would make him invisible.

The woman hoisted herself up from the ladder and made her way to his side. “Come on, you promised you’d go to bed early tonight, so you can’t be complaining now. It’s time for breakfast, up and at ‘em.”

“Food?” A pair of ears perked out from the quill ball. Sonic’s head popped up soon after. “What kind of food?”

“Guess you’ll have to get up to find out, won’t you?” She winked at him and ruffled the fur on his forehead, then started heading back to the ladder.

There was a whoosh of wind and the pitter-patter of impossibly fast feet against the wooden floor, and suddenly Maddie was all alone in the attic.

“Come on slowpoke, I’m hungry!” Sonic called up to her from the hallway before he zoomed into the kitchen, sliding to a halt just in time to avoid crashing into the kitchen island. Tom was busy loading up three plates with eggs and bacon. He didn’t even flinch at the boy’s arrival.

“Morning, Sonic. What took you so long?” The man raised an eyebrow with a bit of a smirk as his comment made the hedgehog pout.

“It’s not my fault, you guys didn’t even wake me up! Ooh, is that my plate?”

“Ah, not yet,” Tom grabbed the offending plate and held it up out of Sonic’s reach. “Go wash your hands first.”

“But Tooooom…”

“You heard me the first time.”

“Ugh, fine. Why you hafta be such a stickler for rules? You were more fun on the road trip.”

“That’s because –” the man blinked and the teen was no longer there. He sighed good-naturedly as Maddie arrived looking just as frazzled.

“Day one,” she said with a smile and a slight giggle. Her arms found their way around his waist as he scraped grease off the skillet. “This might take some getting used to.”

“You’re telling me.” He tilted his head back to sneak a quick kiss to her cheek. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Me neither.” The woman hummed against him. A breeze picked up.

“Hey, if you wanted to do lovey-dovey couple things you coulda just said that.” Sonic sat at the table with his arms folded, kicking his legs out and giving them a scrunched up look like he couldn’t decide whether to be grossed out or resigned.

Maddie laughed and gave her husband another kiss, then released him from her hold to help carry their food. Tom shook his head, giving the boy a look. His response was a smirk and eyes too large to be innocent.

“Okay smart aleck, I expect to see that plate clean before you even think of excusing yourself from this table.”

By the way Sonic was eyeing the food laid out in front of him, it didn’t seem like a hard task.

Through breakfast, the three of them ate and chatted together like they had been doing it for years. There were a few mishaps – Sonic had a very bad habit of talking with his mouth full, and accidentally ratted Tom out when the man tried to sneak some bacon to the dog – but the energy didn’t wane at all. It wasn’t until Maddie pulled Sonic over to help her with the dishes that things started to quiet down. Tom, having made breakfast this time and contractually not required to help this time, went to change into his uniform.

The woman was making small talk as she washed the food off and handed each item to the teen to place in the dishwasher, and he’d occasionally interject with comments or questions. Just as they finished, however, Maddie noticed as she dried off her hands that Sonic had stopped talking entirely and was just staring at the hand towel she’d given him.

“Something on your mind?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, I mean no, it’s fine.” He was quick to toss the towel on the counter and rubbed the back of his head. “I just realized that I’ve never done this before.”

“Washing dishes?”

“That too but…all of it, I guess. It’s kinda weird. You guys have this whole routine thing going on and that’s cool, but for me it feels…. I dunno, more important? It’s dumb.”

He was starting to fidget in place, obviously wanting to say or do something else but not sure how to bring it up. Maddie frowned a little in thought and crouched so she was at the hedgehog’s level.

“Do you mean eating breakfast? Or – ah.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “You know, having company in everyday things is nice. I used to take it for granted.”

Sonic looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Tom and I married not long before I started vet school. We had been so used to being around each other for every little thing that it felt like they weren’t ‘special’ anymore. I think that’s how it can get for a lot of people, honestly. But when I started school, we didn’t see each other nearly as often. I was gone all day for classes, and he had to pick up a second job to help make ends meet, which usually meant evening shifts. We barely had the chance to even sit down for a decent meal together, most days.”

The teen’s expression was opening up into something more vulnerable. “Was it hard?”

“Very hard. We still loved each other, so not being able to just be together without work or school in the way made it hard sometimes. But it was because we loved each other that those times we could just sit back and relax became so much more precious. It’s been a while since those days, but I try not to forget the feeling.”

She reached out and took his hand, making sure to keep steady eye contact. He was stock-still.

“It’s alright to find joy in doing things with people, even if they’re simple things like eating breakfast or doing chores. No one’s going to think it’s strange that you’re loving it. Especially not me or Tom. Okay?”

Sonic was staring at their connected hands. There was a barrier around his emotions in that moment that looked very close to crumbling. With a quiet sniff and a nod, he gave her a huge grin.

“Okay.”

Tom’s voice from the other room broke the moment.

“Why’d it get quiet all of a sudden? You two aren’t planning my untimely demise right now, are you?”

“You bet your badge we are!” The hedgehog called back, already settling into his more common mischievous persona. He made a motion to zip away, then stopped to give Maddie a tight hug first. She almost lost her balance from the impact but returned it anyway.

“Thanks, Maddie.”

“Always, kiddo.”

A blur, a whoosh, and he was gone.

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A/N: I'm back on my Sonic kick from forever ago, and there's no obvious end in sight. I love the found family trope, I love that it happened in the movie, and I love that Sonic is allowed to express real negative emotions (screw you Sega, do our blue boy justice). Have no idea how many of these I'm going to do nor how long they might get, nor do I know if they’ll all stay rated G. We’ll see.

[andrewmoocow]

Steven Universe Alternate Future chapter 10: Prickly Pair (originally posted on March 22, 2021)

AN: We're getting close to shit gettin' down here! As Steven tries out a new hobby, we learn pretty quickly he refuses to move on from anything while his hobby begins to turn on him. Wow, that's a sentence I never thought I would say.

Synopsis: Steven takes up gardening and grows a sentient cactus that repeats everything he says.

Cast:

Zach Callison as Steven, Cactus Steven

Estelle as Garnet

Michaela Dietz as Amethyst

Deedee Magno Hall as Pearl

Shelby Rabara as Peridot

--

One afternoon in Beach City, Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl were helping Steven carry large bags of dirt to his conservatory above the beach house. A few days had passed since the Little Homeschool graduation, and Steven had decided what he wanted to do next.

"We got your dirt, dude!" Amethyst exclaimed as she helped the other Gems with carrying the dirt to the conservatory.

"Thanks, guys," Steven replied gratefully while opening the door to the conservatory. "come on in."

Inside, the Gems discovered a beautiful garden of flowers awaiting them. "How many of these did your magic spit grow?" Amethyst asked.

"None." Steven answered with a chuckle. "I grew all these the old-fashioned way."

"So this is what you've been up to since leaving Little Homeschool." Garnet realized.

"Yeah, teaching was great and all, but I dunno if that was my calling in life." Steven said. "Besides, it was really bittersweet seeing the Off-Colors leave."

"Well, I think this is a wonderful way to spend some you time." Pearl praised Steven's new hobby.

"Me time? I'm hardly alone here." Steven snickered before he knelt and gazed at a bluebell flower. "I call this little smartie Connie." Then, he got back up to examine an onion. "And this onion I call, well, Onion." Next, Steven gestured to some perennials. "And these perennials will never leave!" He began to point to a few of them in particular. "That one's Sadie, and this is her band Daisy Clover and the Shrub-Spects." Finally, he walked over to a pink flower in a blue pot with a star on it. "I named this one Lars." Steven revealed before he started talking to it. "You're stuck in the ground, aren't you?" he said in baby-talk. "Not going to zip into space and leave everyone behind. No you won't, no you won't."

Garnet and Pearl just stared at Steven with concerned looks on their faces, but Amethyst was too busy snacking on dirt to look the same.

"Uh, Steven?" Amethyst said, chewing on some of the soil.

"This might not be the healthiest approach to your new hobby." Garnet admitted bluntly.

"Besides, Onion ain't ever leading anytime soon!" Amethyst added. "Unfortunately!" she coughed.

"I'm just having fun, that's all!" Steven fibbed. "You all should take it easy. They're just plants!"

"In that case, we'll leave you to it." Pearl declared while the three Gems left the conservatory.

"Have fun, dude!" Amethyst called while the door closed behind them. After a bit, the door reopened.

"You should probably keep an eye on your plants, though." Garnet warned, peeking her head through the door before leaving again.

As soon as the Gems departed, Steven turned to discover a lonely, decaying cactus sitting on a wooden table behind him. "Huh?" he muttered while walking over to check up on the prickly plant. "What am I doing?" Steven mused to himself. "Is this really my thing now, plants?"

Steven then picked up a knife and began using it to cut off the top of the cactus. "Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl aren't even impressed." He continued monologuing to himself. "I guess gardening just isn't as awesome as saving the universe."

Steven then moved the cactus cutting away from the cactus he cut it from while filling a new pot with dirt. "Okay, little guy, welcome to your new-OUCH!" he yelped in pain from pricking himself on the cactus top, before sticking his injured finger in his mouth. When Steven popped his finger out, the saliva gathered began to sparkle as he placed the cutting in the pot. "Probably should've worn gloves."

Just then, Steven's tummy began to rumble. "Whoa, guess it must be lunchtime." He said to himself before turning to the cactus. "I'll be back for you soon, little guy."

As Steven left the cactus in the conservatory, something about the succulent began to change slowly.

--

"Yo, you think something is up with Steven?" Amethyst asked Garnet and Pearl down at the beach house. "I mean, I'm sure we can all agree it's weird he's naming the plants after people who already parted ways with him."

"Yes, very strange indeed." Garnet agreed. "Perhaps we should talk to him about it."

"Or, maybe we could just leave him alone." Amethyst suggested. "I mean, I'm sure it's a very touchy subject for him."

"That reminds me." Pearl interjected, plucking her phone from her gem. "Childcare book author George Ikari is holding a signing in a week, and I plan on going." She showed Garnet and Pearl a picture of a bearded man with glasses ominously clasping his fingers together while on the cover of a book titled "What to Do When Your Child Feels Directionless."

"That cover doesn't look menacing at all." Amethyst declared sarcastically.

"I'm going to have to side with Pearl for this, Amethyst." Garnet stated. "Maybe this book could be helpful."

Just then, Steven came walking downstairs from the conservatory. "Hey guys, what are you talking about?"

"We were just discussing this author Pearl wants to see some time." Garnet said. "So, how are things going with your plants?"

"I just pricked my finger on a cactus, no big." Steven laughed nervously.

"Oh my, best get that looked at!" Pearl yelped. "Who knows how long till it gets infected?"

"Relax Pearl, I'm fine." Steven replied. "Nothing some healing spit can't fix."

--

The following day, Steven went back up to the conservatory with a watering can in hand to take care of his cactus when he made a startling discovery.

The cactus had grown! Not just bigger and healthier, but it had also grown a face, and was barking like a dog at him.

"Whoa!" Steven exclaimed as he threw the watering can away and raced to the now living cactus. "Oh my gosh, did I make my cactus come to life? I have got to tell the Gems about this!"

--

Downstairs, Amethyst was taking a group selfie with Garnet and Pearl when Steven came to them with his latest discovery.

"Hey guys, look what I made!" Steven proudly presented his plant, which continued barking. "Look at the little guy!"

"I thought you weren't using your spit on your plants?" Amethyst wondered while putting the phone away.

"No, I think I may have accidentally made it come alive with my spit." Steven replied. "I think it may have been after I pricked myself yesterday."

"A likely story!" Amethyst declared, squinting at Steven suspiciously.

"That cactus really bounced back." Garnet remarked, thinking back to how decayed it was yesterday.

"A real survivor, much like you." Pearl added proudly.

"Aww, and he's got a little lumpy head like you!" Amethyst cooed to the cactus. "Hey, why don't we call it Cactus Steven?"

"Cactus Steven, eh?" the real Steven asked. "Call me conceited, but I kinda like it."

Cactus Steven began cooing at the Gems, though in a way that made Pearl concerned. "Is he okay?"

"I think he just wants some sunlight." Steven realized, turning the pot so that his cactus lookalike faced him. "Maybe I could use some too."

--

Throughout the rest of the day, Steven took his little cactus around Beach City and Little Homeworld, showing him to all his friends and introducing the succulent to all the things he liked to do.

As the day rolled to a close, the two Stevens took this moment to just sit down on the beach and watch the sunset together.

"This beach, it just never changes." Steven mused to his new cactus friend. "I mean, a lot has changed. I'm trying to be cool about it, but everything just feels so weird now. Everybody's moving on with their lives, and I should be too. I gave up running the school, but I still don't know what comes next." He then turned to Cactus Steven. "You know what I'm talking about, right?"

As a cactus that only came to life not too long ago, Cactus Steven turned to his Gem/human counterpart with an expression that one would make when saying, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"It's probably better that I'm not running Little Homeschool anymore!" Steven continued, even though Cactus Steven probably isn't able to make a concrete reply. "But who am I to decide what's best for everyone anymore?" Steven then got up and began to walk away from Cactus Steven. "Those Gems are better off learning from Garnet, Amethyst, Pearl, Lapis, Peridot, Bismuth, everyone!" He started getting more stressed with each word. "Why do I need to be needed?! Come on Steven, what's wrong with you?!"

Cactus Steven turned his little head sideways, or as sideways as he could in his pot, with a sad look Steven's way.

"Sorry I had to dump this all on you, Mini-Me." Steven chuckled apologetically to his plant.

"Eeee!" Cactus Steven squeaked in comfort.

"Okay, let's go home." Steven obliged in understanding, and the pair began making their way back to the temple.

--

Another day passed, and Steven was once again tending to his plants in the conservatory. "Good morning Ronaldo, good morning Nanafua!" he said to his flowers as he watered them. "And a very special good morning-" Steven suddenly tripped over in alarm as he discovered something about Cactus Steven has changed. "-to you. Wow, you really grew overnight!"

"Good morning to you!" croaked Cactus Steven, who now began taking the shape of Steven's head.

"Whoa, did you just speak?!" Steven cried in amazement.

"Whoa, did you just speak?!" Cactus Steven replied.

"This is too much!" Steven shouted. "I've got to tell the Gems about this!"

--

Amethyst was looking at a tablet while Pearl was drawing in a notepad and Garnet reviewed her art downstairs on the couch. "Oh, hello Steven." Pearl greeted Steven as he came downstairs with Cactus Steven in his hand. "Hello Cactus Steven."

"Hey Pearl, you have to see this." Steven said while presenting his cactus counterpart to the Gems.

"Hey Pearl." Cactus Steven mimicked to their amazement.

"That's so freakin' cute!" Amethyst cried.

"He's growing to become quite the talker." Garnet added.

"And he said my name too!" Pearl stated. "You think he might be copying you?"

"I think so." Steven agreed with a shrug.

"Hi Pearl!" Cactus Steven continued. At first it seemed cute, but then the little guy kept talking. "But who am I to decide what's best for everyone anymore?" he began parroting Steven's pensive moment from yesterday. "Everybody's moving on with their lives, and I should be too."

"Uh, this isn't what it sounds like, I swear." Steven said defensively.

"Is it me, or is your cactus real good at self-deprecating?" Amethyst remarked.

"Sorry I had to dump this all o-" Cactus Steven tried to continue before the regular Steven tried to make it shut up by covering his mouth, but that only resulted in more cactus spines on his hand. "Come on Steven, what's wrong with you?!"

"Is something the matter Steven?" Pearl inquired, tilting her head with concern.

Steven refused to answer and instead raced back upstairs while the cactus continued talking. "Why do I need to be needed?! Why do I need to be needed?!"

"See what I told you the other day?" Amethyst said to Garnet and Pearl. "Something's definitely up!"

"Seems like Steven's got some problems he doesn't want our help with." Garnet adjusted her glasses in contemplation. "I suggest we find a way to help him without getting him too wound up."

"Still, it seems like Steven's letting a lot of issues just bottle up inside him." Pearl began worrying. "This is definitely not healthy. I think George Ikari might've said that in one of his books."

--

Back at the conservatory, Steven sat Cactus Steven on the table to give him a firm talking-to. "What was all that for?!" he yelled angrily. "I wanted that stuff to be private, but here you go just spouting out words that'll make everyone freak out about me!"

"What was all that for?!" Cactus Steven copied his master.

"Because I thought you'd be nice to talk to!" Steven complained as he began pacing around the conservatory. "I can't tell Pearl how I feel, cause then she'd get super depressed and start blaming herself like she always does! Meanwhile, Garnet would probably give me advice while sounding all high and mighty, Amethyst would try to look mature, and no one else would understand me!"

"No one else would understand me!" Cactus Steven aped Steven's words.

"I know, right? I mean, get over yourself already." Steven scoffed. "Please don't tell anyone I said that."

"I thought you'd be nice to talk to!" Cactus Steven continued impersonating his fleshy counterpart before Steven covered him up with a box. "What was all that for?!"

"Oh you know what." Steven coldly declared as he exited the conservatory. "I can't let anyone find out about this." He sighed heavily just as he found Amethyst standing nearby.

"Find out about what?" Amethyst asked Steven.

"Oh oh oh, it's nothing Amethyst, honest!" Steven began fibbing while his pupils began shifting around. "I mean, why do you ask?"

"Just wanted to check up on you, brah." Amethyst replied with a comforting hand on Steven's arm. "Look, if you need help, just say the word, and we'll be there."

"Okay then." Steven moaned. "That reminds me, is Peridot doing anything at the moment?"

--

"So, you are saying this cactus has begun to imitate everything you say?" Peridot asked Steven as she examined Cactus Steven under a magnifying glass at her greenhouse.

"Yeah, and it's starting to freak me out a little too." Steven answered.

"Get over yourself already!" Cactus Steven yelled, his voice beginning to sound a little clearer to their pair's alarm.

"Is there anything you can do to stop this?" Steven asked Peridot hopefully.

"I must apologize, Steven, but I don't think I can be of any assistance." Peridot replied morosely.

"No one else would understand me!" Cactus Steven continued imitating, seemingly agreeing with Peridot.

"See what I mean?" the little green Gem remarked with a thumb to Cactus Steven. The Steven she knew just buried his face in his hands and tried his hardest not to yell in frustration.

Outside the greenhouse, a small, black spy camera watched the greenhouse as Steven left with Cactus Steven in hand. But the moment Peridot turned around, it suddenly activated a camouflage feature.

--

That night, Steven had decided to close the conservatory to watch Cactus Steven, posting a sign on the door saying that the little cactus needed rest.

"Now all the Gems are worried about me, and Peridot wasn't any help either." Steven moaned in defeat while sitting near Cactus Steven. Just then, he heard some muffled yelling coming from the box he hid the living succulent in. "Hm?"

Walking over to the box, Steven picked it up to discover that Cactus Steven had grown some more, and had even sprouted an arm from the soil.

"Oh my gosh! Cactus Steven, what's wrong with you?!" Steven began panicking.

"What's wrong with you?" Cactus Steven repeated, earning his bigger self's ire.

"What's wrong is that you keep making me look stupid and helpless in front of everyone!" Steven cried furiously as he picked up the pot.

"Stupid!" Cactus Steven mocked Steven and pointed his newly grown arm at him. "Helpless!"

"I wish you wouldn't talk!" Steven argued before he began to glow pink.

"I wish YOU wouldn't talk!" Cactus Steven replied just as angrily.

"STOP IT!" Steven fully glowed pink, but then abruptly stopped when he heard Pearl's voice.

"Steven, time for dinner!" Pearl called for him from downstairs.

"Coming Pearl, just give me a second!" Steven replied to Pearl, and then turned back to Cactus Steven with an angry glare. "Not. Another. Word."

As Steven left the conservatory, Cactus Steven once again began to grow. "Not. Another. Word."

--

Early the next morning, Steven was asleep in his bed when suddenly, he was awakened by the sound of breaking glass. He raced up to the conservatory, where it was in total disarray, and a large hole was made in the glass wall.

"Uh, Cactus Steven?" Steven called for the living cactus while following a trail of needles leading back to his room. "If you're mad about yesterday, I get it, but I'm just going through some things right now."

Steven looked around with nervousness and curiosity, while a massive lump revealed itself on his bed. Cactus Steven slowly rose from under the blanket, revealing that he was now around Steven's height with a foot still stuck in his pot. "STEEEEVEEEEEN!"

"Whoa!" Steven yelled in terror, causing him to fall down the stairs and onto the table. Cactus Steven tumbled after the boy and was prepared to crush him before Steven rolled out of the way. "Cactus Steven, you need to go back to your home!"

"Go back to your home!" Cactus Steven croaked in reply.

"This is my home!" Steven shrieked while trying to push the cactus beast away from him, only to be covered in cactus needles. "AGH!" he yelled in agony while trying to shake some of the needles off. Cactus Steven did the same, which made more needles fly around the room.

"Just cut it out!" Steven yelled.

"Just get out!" Cactus Steven yelled back, charging at his doppelganger like an angry predator.

"Don't come any closer!" Steven summoned his shield to protect himself from any more needles.

"STEEEEEVEEEEEN!" Cactus Steven roared, just as Steven thrust his shield into his succulent counterpart's torso.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" Steven frantically apologized.

Cactus Steven, however, didn't feel any pain, except for a large gash created by the shield thrown into his shoulder. After dislodging the shield, Cactus Steven threw the weapon back at Steven. "This is my home!"

"He's gone berserk!" Steven yelled fearfully before he found three figures approaching the front door. "The Gems!"

"The Gems don't need me anymore!" Cactus Steven said.

"Those are my private thoughts, and you should know it!" Steven scolded the cactus. "I can't let them hear about this!"

"What an all-nighter, am I right?!" Amethyst quipped as she, Garnet and Pearl returned to the beach house.

"Those Gems did need to get some extra studying in." Garnet replied.

"Plus, there was that strange camera thing that kept following us around." Pearl added. "I could've sworn it's leading up to something bigger, but it shut down before I could question it."

Before Pearl could say anymore, Steven came barging out the front door. "Oh, hey guys!" he laughed nervously. "Uhh, everything's fine and totally normal, nothing to see here! Hey, you think maybe you could wait a couple of hours? I've got things to do, okay, BYE!"

The Gems turned to the window as Steven fought against Cactus Steven with his shield, cluing them in on what was going on.

"Man, someone's been hittin' the photosynthesis!" Amethyst quipped before the Crystal Gems summoned their weapons and headed inside.

"We're here to help Steven!" Pearl declared protectively.

"I can't tell Pearl how I feel, cause then she'd get super depressed and start blaming herself like she always does!" Cactus Steven said in response to Pearl, making her drop her guard.

"What?" Pearl muttered in shock.

"I have no idea what he's talking about!" Steven continued to fib.

"But it's not inaccurate!" Amethyst snarked.

"JUST, GET, OUT!" Cactus Steven bellowed as he charged at the Gems, but Garnet punched his arm off, and it was sent flying at the fridge. However, it soon quickly got back up and grew tendrils from its stump to stand on.

"Whoa, that's kicka-" Amethyst began before she was kicked in the face by Cactus Steven's foot, breaking the pot and making shards fly everywhere. As Cactus Steven started to get up, Garnet punched the rest of him towards the sink, breaking it and dousing him in water.

Meanwhile, the arm launched itself at Pearl and was impaled on her spear, but then it exploded in her face and covered her in needles. "Eugh-ga-hahahaha!" Pearl groaned from the needles covering her.

As for Cactus Steven, he began to absorb the water from the sink and grow even larger, sprouting more limbs along with more Steven faces all over his body, all of them repeating Steven's venting just like the main head.

"The Gems don't need me!" Cactus Steven's heads yelled in unison while causing the house to fall apart by stomping around. "I thought you'd be nice to talk to!"

"Okay, Pinoke, that's even being a puppet!" Amethyst declared while wrapping her whip around the cactus monster's leg. Cactus Steven grabbed onto a rafter to keep himself from falling, but it was no help, and the rafter was split in two.

"Cut it out!" the cactus creature yelled while wrapping Amethyst in his roots and slamming her into the ceiling before Garnet and Pearl tried to rescue her. Unfortunately, Pearl found her spear getting stuck in the monster's thick & fleshy skin.

"Why is this thing so durable?!" Pearl complained while Cactus Steven tried to get her off.

"The cactus is Earth's most durable plant!" Garnet declared before she gave the cactus's leg a strong punch, making more spines fly everywhere and once again pricking Pearl.

"Garnet!" Pearl stuttered for her de-facto leader before her spear was freed from the cactus's body, and she fell down.

"Give up; you can't win this fight, you giant succulent!" Garnet declared.

"Garnet would probably give me advice while sounding all high and mighty!" Cactus Steven complained, catching the fusion by surprise.

"I'm sorry, what?" Garnet asked as she was punched away. Amethyst scaled the ceiling with her whip in her mouth, and she dropped down onto Cactus Steven's back to attack.

"Sneak attack!" Amethyst cried.

"Amethyst would try to look mature!" Cactus Steven babbled, much to the defective Quartz's confusion.

"Why's he so oddly specific in complaining about us?" Amethyst asked before both halves of Cactus Steven clamped shut on her. She was dumped on the ground while covered in cactus spines, followed by all three Crystal Gems being pinned against the temple entrance wall.

"I think I got it!" Steven realized while the Gems screamed in terror. "He's repeating me, he's repeating all my private thoughts!" Then, he got an idea. "Wait, he can copy me! Girls, I got a plan!" Steven bravely marched up to his cactus with shield in hand, ready to put his plan into action. "Hey Cactus Steven, have some of this!"

But instead of attacking, Steven de-summoned his shield. "I'm sorry I mistreated you." Steven apologized to Cactus Steven. "I know you didn't want to hurt anyone, because you're copying the only role model you got: me."

While Steven apologized, Cactus Steven stopped attacking while the Crystal Gems popped out of the wall at last. "I should've given you the love and kindness you deserved." Steven declared, and then spread out his arms. "Now, you want a hug?"

"Huh?" Cactus Steven muttered quizzically as the real Steven began to hug his massive leg. In response to this act of kindness, one more change began to occur.

"Dudes, look!" Amethyst pointed out that pink flowers were now blooming all over Cactus Steven's body as he returned Steven's hug.

"I'm sorry." Cactus Steven apologized back.

"Okay, come on, big guy." Steven broke the hug, now covered in spikes himself. "Let's get you back to the dome."

"No!" Cactus Steven yelled before he began to walk away from the four he had been fighting moments ago.

"Wait, where are you going?!" Steven exclaimed as he raced after Cactus Steven. "I'll fix up the dome real nice, all for you!"

Cactus Steven gave no words. Instead, he plucked one of the flowers off his body and gave it to Steven before he broke through the front wall and began walking away.

"Uh, Steven?" Pearl called while picking spikes off her body.

"Anything you'd like to say to us?" Garnet asked the boy, who just stared down at the flower in his hands, and let out a heavy sigh.

"I think I've said enough." Steven said wearily.

--

Later that day, Cactus Steven continued its sojourn away from the Crystal Temple and eventually Beach City, now making his way into the woods nearby. And he kept mimicking Steven all the way.

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone, so I copied the only role model I got." Cactus Steven muttered to himself. "But Steven still gave me the love and kindness I deser-"

Before Cactus Steven could finish, he felt something stabbing him straight through the torso. "WHAAAT?!" he yelled before he was cut to pieces by a sword with a black grip & guard bearing a white diamond symbol.

Once she had finished reducing Cactus Steven to chunks of cactus, Black Rutile gazed down at one of the flowers that once adorned her victim's body and heartlessly crushed it beneath her foot without a second thought. She then changed her tune into something more relaxed and less sadistic as she began to round up whatever pieces of Cactus Steven remained and collect them all in a bubble.

One of the Cactus Steven remains turned into a little Steven head that let out a tiny roar, prompting Black Rutile to smile and stroke her chin in deep contemplation.

--

Aw jeepers, it's Black Rutile again! What has she got planned for Cactus Steven? Just another question that'll be answered when this part is reaching it's end. But next time, we get to see Peridot take the stage again as we look into Steven's dreams! Keep an eye out folks.

[platypanthewriter]

Strangest Chapter 11

chapter 1/chapter 2/chapter 3/chapter 4/chapter 5/chapter 6/chapter 7/chapter 8/chapter 9/chapter 10/ .../Chapter 12

(But really I’d recommend reading it on Ao3 under peterqpan, scrolling through it on Tumblr sounds crazymaking.  Thanks so much @tbehartoo​ and @perfectfestivalalienfish​!) 

After the accidentally-romantic reveal of Steve’s ceramic monstrosity, Billy was distracted in gym, until Steve leaned in to whisper “Can’t believe you’re ignoring my balls, Hargrove.”

“Believe me, I’m not,” Billy muttered back, his jaw working. He stumbled back into their gym teacher, his eyes fixed on Steve’s mouth, and Steve grinned at him, and licked his lips.

The next time they passed each other, Steve leaned to whisper “What kinda attention am I gonna get for a good present, Hargrove?”

“I dunno, I haven’t seen one yet,” Billy hissed back, and then, “Don’t diss Denise, asshole. I’ll pound your ass into— jesus christ,” he spun on his heel, neck flushed, and stomped off directly through the melee around the basketball hoop, elbowing his way to the locker rooms. By the time Steve got there, Billy was showered and clothed, leaning to talk to Tommy as Steve ducked into the showers.

When he got out, Billy was lying on his back on the bench, eyeing the water running down Steve’s legs, and Steve wanted to kiss him. He firmed his lips and determination, and decided to stay after school to work on a better Valentine’s Day present—Denise had been a joke, he ranted in his head, he could do better if he was trying—

Steve told Eleven this, when she popped up at his elbow in the locker room—right after he shrieked, scrambling for a towel. She surveyed the locker room with narrowed eyes, and more of the highschool boys screamed than would admit to it later, covering their dicks. As most of the class dove behind lockers, she allowed Steve to fling Billy’s towel over her head and shove her back towards the door. “So...if you’re busy, we can borrow Billy, right?” she asked, through the towel.

Billy was laughing his ass off, since he’d had pants on already, and his junk wasn’t vulnerable to the critical eye of a middle-school girl. “No cats,” he called over.

“You can keep him,” Steve muttered, shoving her out the door. When he stalked back in, Billy grinned at him, pointedly rubbing his thumb along his own inner elbow, where the Sharpie heart was, with the messy H+H.

Steve felt his cheeks heat. “Shut up.”

“Be honest about your feeblings, Harrington,” Billy whispered back, staggering as Steve thudded their shoulders together, yanking his jeans up over his briefs.

“Here?! I think we’d get expelled,” Steve whispered back, and Billy licked his lips, snickering.

“I’m your favorite,” Billy breathed in his ear, and Steve swiveled to face his locker, eyes wide as he popped a boner. Not now, he told his dick, straining against his pants, later, just wait until after school, I’ll get my fingers in his hair and pull him close, and when his knees start to get noodly with my mouth on his neck, we can fuck on the kitchen floor—

“Harrington,” Billy repeated, elbowing him, and Steve cleared his throat, rubbing his face. His cheeks were hot.

“Yeah, yes, I’m here,” he swallowed, “—here, right here.”

Billy squinted at him, halfway into a sweatshirt, so his biceps flexed against the fabric, and his chest and abs gleamed in the florescent lights of the locker room. He zipped it up. “...you sure?”

“Very very here, at school,” Steve muttered, staring into his locker again. “Very here where I can’t, uh. What?”

“You like me as much as Tommy, right,” Billy cocked his head, leaning in to murmur, “—what if I hit him, you gonna throw me out, or—”

“Wait, what?” Steve kept his eyes on Billy’s face, listening, instead of tracking the trickle of water from his wet hair down his neck and along his collarbone. “What’s going on?”

“He’s, uh,” Billy leaned back against the lockers, surveying the room with a too-wide grin. “—he’s thinking one of us is gonna spread it around I—I let him—we screwed, y’know. Says he’s not like me, he’s—he says he’s gonna tell everyone I’m a fag, that’s why I’m sniffing around Steve Harrington—”

“Christ.”

“I’m gonna feed him his own molars.” Billy rolled his shoulders. “Before he gets me drug behind some redneck meathead’s truck—”

“Holy shit,” Steve breathed, wanting to spin his bat around his hand. He took a deep breath. “Okay, okay,” he whispered. “Okay, we can’t—we can’t kill him, we—we can’t murder him, Hargrove, we can’t. We can’t—we can’t just—just murder him, even if—”

“Jesus,” Billy whispered, glancing around. “Ssh!”

“We—we’d probably get caught,” Steve told Billy, grabbing his hands and squeezing them. “We’d—we’d get caught, mustard, uh, mustard pie, we’d—we’d definitely go to jail, we can’t kill him.”

“I didn’t say murder,” Billy hissed back, wide-eyed. “I said I was gonna punch his face, Harrington—”

“Okay,” Steve nodded, squeezing Billy’s hands so hard he winced. “Okay. Okay, god damn it. Damn, damn, damn damn it—”

“Holy helicopters,” Billy muttered, straight-faced, and Steve choked on a snort, and started coughing.

“Oh my god I love you,” he groaned into his hand, ignoring Billy suddenly closer, warm against his side. “Okay. Okay, wait, no.” Steve yanked his shirt on, got some of it in his mouth, and Billy yanked it down, leaning in.

Billy slid his hand up Steve’s side, hot and callused, and Steve shoved it down and away, trying to refocus his brain on Billy’s words. “I need to do something,” Billy hissed. “He’s gonna tell everybody I’m queer, your majesty.” His eyes were red. “You don’t need to—none of that shit’s gonna get on you—”

“No, jussec.” Steve set his shoulders, did a mental check of his anatomy, and decided he could turn around without everybody knowing he got hard when Billy Hargrove growled in his ear. “It’s—just—just a—just hold off, okay. I’ll—I won’t kill him. I’ll talk to him.”

“Talk to him?! Harrington,” Billy growled, grabbing his wrist, and Steve held still, feeling his bones grind together. They were starting to draw attention, so he asked the guy across the bench about his new shoes, and found out way more about Adidas Micropacers than he’d ever wanted to know, but the conversation kept going when he backed out. Billy let go of his wrist, but leaned close. “Your majesty. Whaddaya mean talk to him, talk to me, come on,” he said under his breath.

“I’ll handle it,” Steve whispered back, nodding and grinning at another kid showing off his sneakers. He watched Tommy fixing his hair, and tried to remember his past friend’s class schedule.

“Just a little worried about getting lynched, probably by the people in this room,” Billy hissed, as Steve started to walk away.

Steve bit his lips, turning back to pretend to check inside his locker. “Look. Dickhead,” he tried, and Billy covered a snort, swallowing. Steve tried to grin confidently. “Trespasser. Wait a sec, just—just wait a minute, let me—let me try something. We can’t kill him,” Steve sighed, and Billy’s jaw clenched.

“I wasn’t trying to kill him,” he hissed back.

“You beat him up, he’ll just get mad! Besides, you start throwing punches, they’ll call your dad—get him down here—”

Billy shrugged. His hands shook, and he clenched them in fists, laughing. “Win some, lose some—at least you won’t go to jail, Jesus H. Christ—”

“No, no—I—I, uh, you won’t, uh, he won’t, okay, babe, Ha-Hargrove, just—just gimme a minute, I—I’m not—if this doesn’t work we—I—I’ll hold him down. We’ll just kill him. You can—you can use my bat.”

Billy snorted, side-eyeing him. “...good use for it.” He rubbed his face, and nodded, tilting backto lean against the lockers. His knuckles were white on his forearms again, his nails digging into the sleeves of Steve’s sweatshirt against the hearts Steve had drawn up his arm. “As you fucking command, my leige. I hope your plan’s better than ‘murder’.”

Steve rolled his eyes, and jogged out of the locker room after Tommy, dropping an arm around his shoulders.

“Hey there,” Tommy grinned at him, his gaze dropping to Steve’s mouth and back up in a way Steve remembered, but hadn’t really registered before.

Steve smiled—it was easier to smile around Tommy than it was to remember what Tommy was like, and always had been—and tried to decide how to start.

“Hargrove get all shook up and remember who your real friends are?” Tommy elbowed Steve, then hailed Carol out of the crowd.

“He’s a friend,” Steve tried.

“Bet he didn’t tell you about the other night,” Tommy glanced up sideways, his jaw clenched, “—when we tried to get you to party.”

“He doesn’t remember most of it,” Steve blurted, and his stomach sank at Tommy’s widening grin. “Look, I know what happened, and, uh—”

“I bet you don’t,” Tommy hissed, glancing around. Carol came out of her class, but saw them and leaned against the wall, disentangling an earring from her hair. Tommy jerked away from Steve to walk backwards towards her. “Bet he didn’t tell you who he wanted to fuck.”

“He—he said—”

“Hate to break it to you,” Tommy’s voice rose, “—Billy Hargrove wants y—”

“I still talk to Carol’s sister,” Steve hissed at him. “Remember? She had a story about a party you guys left. When I was visiting my mom in Boston.”

“What?” Tommy stopped in the middle of the hallway, staring at him.

“Remember finding the keys in a backhoe? And a joyride?” Steve narrowed his eyes, as Tommy snorted a laugh. Steve lowered his voice. “—I know what happened with Billy, okay—”

Tommy’s freckles stood out as he paled. “No, you—you wouldn’t be—he lied,” he laughed shakily. “He must’ve, he’s a fucking liar— ”

“What?! He—he didn’t have to,” Steve raised his eyebrows, “—he called me, I picked him up. I was in there while you assholes were in the shower—”

Tommy’s breath caught, and his eyes got shiny, and Steve knew that look—from Billy smashing a plate in his face at the Byers’, but also from years of knowing Tommy, and he waved his hands, open palmed.

“I don’t care! I don’t care, I don’t care, but don’t—don’t try and—don’t say it was all Hargrove’s fault, it wasn’t—”

“You don’t...care,” Tommy took a deep breath, shoulders relaxing, then punched Steve’s arm. “The fuck do you mean, you don’t care, you moron, you still don’t get what I—why the hell did he call you, didn’t he kick your ass? You his bitch now?” he hissed, and Steve bit his lips.

“Yeah. No, I’m not—” Steve felt his cheeks warming, and cleared his throat. “He—he did that,” Steve kept nodding, running his fingers through his hair, “—he did, he beat me up. Yeah. So did you, asswipe. But. Um, if—if you try and—and tell everyone he—that he’s—”

“He’s a goddamn—”

Steve cut him off, clenching his fists. “If you tell people he did something to— to you, if you—if you say it’s—if you say it was all Billy, I—I won’t keep your secrets. Anymore.”

“...what,” Tommy choked.

“Any of them,” Steve emphasized, flailing his hands. “I know some shit. They try you now, you might get tried as an adult. You could go to actual prison, dude.”

“I will end you,” Tommy hissed, sputtering with rage, “I will end you and your fag friend—you—”

Steve flinched, but held his ground. “Bullshit. I won’t—I won’t say anything unless you...do,” he frowned, thinking through it, “—but...I think—I think between you, and Hargrove, and me,” he swallowed, “—I think—I think I’m who people will listen to here at school. If you—if you try to tell them. That. And—and you know Sheriff Hopper will hear me out, when I tell him who took the backhoe. Took it for a spin when they were putting in the new parking lot. You crashed the backhoe into the sheriff station that night, remember? I can’t—don’t quite remember how many thousands of dollars in damage that was, d’you?”

Tommy stepped closer, laughing. “And what, you’re gonna sell me out for the queer? Shouldn’t you be thinking about what I could do...Pussington?” Tommy growled, and Steve blinked at him, then snorted a laugh.

“I’ve fought scarier shit than you, Tommy Hagen,” he hissed. “I could walk over and use the pay phone right now. Call the police here. Don’t drop the soap when you get sent to prison , right? Because Billy’s the one who’s queer.”

“God, you’re dumb,” Tommy sneered, but he was staring at Steve’s face, wet-eyed. “You don’t even make sense. I can just see you on the witness stand.”

“Oh, you want me to do it?” Steve asked, setting his shoulders to turn away.

Tommy yelled “Fuck you, no!”, and Steve turned back to see him glaring, fists clenched. “I’ll leave your boyfriend alone,” he hissed.

Steve nodded, his jaw hurting as his teeth ground together, and he shoved by, walking as fast as he could back to the locker room.

Billy was still there, lying along a bench, and Steve wished everyone else had left, so he could crawl up between Billy’s knees, and flop on his chest. He kicked out and nudged Billy’s shoulder, instead. “You ready yet?”

“You gonna hold him down for me to punch?” Billy asked, without opening his eyes.

“No, I, uh.” Steve crouched down to whisper, hugging his knees. “I told him I know way too much shit about him for him to go mouthing off.”

“...you blackmailed him?!” Billy turned his head to stare over.

“Noooo,” Steve considered, “—yeah? I guess?”

“Is anybody looking?” Billy whispered back.

Steve frowned around, then shook his head, and Billy grabbed him by the nape of his neck and yanked him into a deep, soft kiss. Steve flailed his hands, teetering on the balls of his feet, then dropped to a kneel, and slid his thumb along Billy’s cheek.

Billy pulled back, licking his lips, and sat up. “Shit,” he rolled his shoulders, “I can’t really owe you more...everything.”

“...you don’t owe me anything,” Steve huffed a laugh, grimacing at a sudden memory of the way the world had wobbled around him, after days awake. How he’d heard Billy’s yelling from outside while he was lying on the floor of the shower, hoping the hot water would bake him to sleep. “My—my brain’s busted too. You…” he laughed, shaking his head.

“I what?” Billy kept his voice low, but they were drowned out anyway by some guys in the other corner having a pushup contest.

Steve cleared his throat, feeling the edges of the tile dig into his knees, and breathing in the stale smell of gym clothes, and towels that never quite dried. “You saved me. Too. I couldn’t—”

“How the hell—”

“I can’t sleep,” Steve snorted, shrugging, and keeping his eyes on the floor. “And then you showed up. Couldn’t—I wasn’t—eating, a lot, just because I couldn’t—I was so goddamn tired. I don’t know, it...”

Billy was quiet for a long few seconds, but when Steve risked a glance up, he had that expressionless face he got when something reminded him of his dad.

“Sorry—sorry, I’m—”

Billy shoved him, and Steve caught himself against a locker, laughing, and a little off-balance. Billy crossed his arms. “You’re not being dumb, if that’s what you’re gonna say.”

“Just making us miss lunch,” Steve tried, feeling something relax between his shoulders. He brushed himself off, getting to his feet, and let Billy drag him down to sit on the bench. Billy mouthed up under Steve’s ear, kissing open-mouthed up his neck. “Hope nobody’s looking,” Steve told him, leaning into it.

“They’re all being morons behind like five rows of lockers,” Billy whispered back, sliding an arm around Steve’s shoulders, and grabbing at Steve’s jeans with the other. “Lemme cheer you up,” he breathed against Steve’s jaw, biting along it, and Steve nearly choked on his own spit as Billy yanked his fly open and reached into his briefs, releasing the pressure on Steve’s suddenly shatteringly hard cock, and sliding a callused thumb over the wet slit in the tip. “They’re going to lunch,” Billy whispered. “No reason they’d come over here.”

“Christ,” Steve muttered, muffling his gasps against Billy’s sweatshirted shoulder, and clenching his fingers in the fabric. “Le-let me get you—” he whispered, sliding his hand down Billy’s stomach.

“Not the one crying in the locker room, Stevie,” Billy laughed, pushing the tight circle of his thumb and forefinger over Steve’s dick. Steve rolled his head against Billy’s shoulder, trying not to make a noise, and squirmed closer, his brain whiting out things like reciprocation, or witnesses, or dignity, as he faintly registered his own voice begging when Billy took his hand away for a second, returning it wetter. “Go ahead, they left,” Billy whispered in his ear, squeezing him closer until Steve was half in his lap.

“Prettiest trespasser,” Steve realized he was mumbling, along with even more nonsensical things like “—pie, sweet—sweet pie, mustard asshole pie—”, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” and, when Billy pulled away to lick his hand again, in an attempt to be more complimentary, “—nighty—knightliest nighty knight—”—but Billy’s hand was firm and a little rough against his hot skin, and Billy’s shoulders were shaking with laughter, so Steve didn’t care. He went still with a grunt, breathing smoke, cologne, and Billy, and just lay there, feeling sweat trickle down the back of his neck.

“There is so much wrong with you,” Billy muttered against his temple. “Knighty-knight? Seriously?”

“My hero,” Steve mumbled, opening one eye to assess the damage. Billy’d caught the mess in a paper towel. “...you planned that,” he realized, laughing.

“Malice aforethought,” Billy said, and Steve blinked muzzily. “Premeditation. First degree handjobbing. That’d just get me expelled, though, probably, your dirty talk’s gonna get you shot.”

“Mmm,” Steve hummed. “He called me ‘Pussington,’ he muttered. “Tommy. Sounds like ‘Puss in Boots’ more than—”

Billy cackled against his neck, then pulled him closer, and Steve felt his face heat. He let himself take a deep breath, curling a little against Billy, and Billy waited, and didn’t mention the time, or their stomachs growling.

After what seemed like hours, but not long enough, Steve pulled away, clenching his fingers on the bench and laughing. “Shit,” he said, looking at the lockers to avoid looking at Billy, after clinging to him like a koala. His breathing was even, which was a relief, even if he felt a little...shaky, threatening his oldest friend with jail. Because I’ve got so many, he thought, laughing again, and Billy leaned forward to frown into his face.

“Harrington,” he whispered. “D’I break you?”

Steve started giggling, and couldn’t stop.

Billy hung around, hunched in Steve’s sweatshirt, for the rest of the day. He was leaning across from Steve’s locker after third period, but vanished when Steve turned around. He was at the drinking fountain outside the open door of geometry, and Steve missed half the lesson, watching him bend over the faucet, and watching the stream of water fill his mouth and run off his chin.

Just when Steve thought he was free, in Typing 1, he glanced out the window and realized Billy Hargrove was sunning himself outside along the top of Steve’s parent’s BMW, sweatshirt unbuttoned, his tanning-bed-tan shining as his hair ruffled in the breeze.

Steve muffled his laughter, squeezing his thighs together as his dick woke up again. “Go back to sleep,” he growled at it, under his breath. Nancy shot him a glance, then looked out the window, and choked on a snort.

“What’s he doing?” she whispered, her elbow brushing his as she clacked away at the electric typewriter.

Being beautiful, Steve didn’t say. “Messing with me,” he muttered, which was equally true. “He hasn’t left me alone since El showed him, uh,” he squinted, trying to remember. “Nadine?”

“Denise!” Nancy muffled another snort, snickering. “Oh, lord, Steve, it’s so hideous.”

“He likes it!” Steve hissed back, feeling his cheeks heat. “He has awful taste!”

“He doesn’t,” she said, shooting a grin over, and his lungs clenched at the fondness in it even as she hissed, “Keep typing, why don’t you.”

He set his jaw, and pounded out All work and no play makes Steve a dull boy, one-fingered. “How’s Jonathan,” he asked petulantly.

“Oh, Steve,” she sighed. “Now you’ve got, uh, Billy, I can’t—listen, this goes no farther,” she angled her body towards him, dropping her voice to nearly inaudible.

“What?!” he whispered back, and she glanced around, holding her finger over her mouth.

“Ssh! Steve, I can’t tell anyone—things. I would have told Barb—”

Steve nodded, wincing.

She covered her mouth, looking around the extremely loud typing class. Her voice was nearly drowned out by the clacking keys, and Steve leaned closer. “Steve, when he’s about to come, he looks like he’s going to sneeze. He makes all these faces, Steve—”

Steve whooped with laughter, tears springing to his eyes, and nearly fell out of his seat as Nancy smacked his arm and shoulder, giggling herself.

“Shut up, shut up!” she hissed. “Don’t tell anyone!”

“I—I won’t,” he gasped, wiping his eyes. “Jesus. Who the hell would I even—”

“Like Tommy?” she hissed, raising her eyebrows, and he cleared his throat.

“Actually,” he said, tearing out the page he’d ruined, and typing away at his assignment with two fingers, “—Tommy, uh, he said he’d. Um, d’you remember when somebody took a joyride on the backhoe at the sheriff’s station?”

She snorted, glancing over. “...everybody remembers that, they had to redo half the road.”

“Yeah, uh, Tommy kinda...found out about Billy, he said he’d tell, just, everyone—”

“Found out Billy what?!” Nancy stared at the side of his head. “That he beat you up, or—?”

“Everybody keeps saying that, I got some hits in—” he grumbled, feeling his face heat.

“Wait, what? He found out about—” she lowered her voice to a hiss, glancing around, “—found out about you and Billy?”

Steve opened his mouth, and just breathed, then bit his lips. He couldn’t...quite...tell Nancy about Billy’s wild King Kong banana orgy, after what had happened in the locker room—and he wasn’t sure whether the sudden urge to hit something was directed at Tommy, for the bruises he’d left, or Billy, for getting bored and supplementing his sex-diet with jungle fruit, or the world at large, for making him keep a secret for somebody as awful as Tommy Hagen. “Uh, about—about, um, Billy. He—I, uh, I think he was kinda...drunk, and he’s—he’s—”

“He’s what, Steve?!” she whispered back, wide-eyed.

“He’s kind of gay,” Steve hissed back, through gritted teeth. “He was kinda gay at Tommy Hagen.”

“Oh my god, Steve,” she dropped her voice even lower, and reached over to squeeze his wrist. “He has to be careful.”

“He said he’d tell everyone—Tommy said,” Steve tried to explain, feeling like he was picking his way across a trapped floor, as he tried to avoid saying what Billy’d actually done. Tiptoing across the temple tiles like Indiana Jones, doing his best to keep the world from falling away around him. Not that Nancy’d say anything, he thought, but he remembered Billy’s shaking hands. I gotta get used to remembering what are my secrets to tell. “I, uh. Told him I’d tell Hopper it was him. Tommy. Joyriding in the backhoe. He spills about Billy, he’ll have to pay for all that. He’s not gonna—I won’t be telling him...things. Tommy.”

“That’s…” Nancy trailed off, and he narrowed his eyes at her, suspecting she was trying not to say “wonderful news”.

“I know, jesus,” he hissed at her, whacking at the typewriter keys with more force. “He’s bullshit, I get it, we were both—”

“No, uh,” she bit her lips, thumping her stack of typed pages to straighten them. “That’s not—it’s just, I mean. Yeah, he probably wasn’t a great friend. But now we both lost our best friends—” she flailed her arms, and he ducked, “—in this whole mess of bullshit. It—it sucks balls.”

He grinned at her, and she set her jaw. “It’s not funny, Steve. And—and don’t—don’t tell Dustin. Or Billy,” she narrowed her eyes. “You better not tell anyone! Jonathan’s never dated before, I’ll—it’s not his fault, Steve, he’s trying— ”

“How could you make me keep this secret,” he leaned his face in his hand, shoulders shaking with snickers.

“I had to tell someone,” she hissed. “He closes one eye, Steve! I can’t—”

Steve nearly fell out of his seat laughing, and she elbowed him over and over until he started to feel bruised.

“Shut up,” she muttered, wiping her own eyes as she tried to stop giggling. “Jesus.”

“Holy crap, what have you told him about me,” Steve hissed back, still laughing, but shuddering a little at the thought.

“Nothing! I’m dating him, I’m not going to compare and contrast, Steve, god. But—but you’ve—you’re—” she narrowed her eyes through the window at Billy, who’d finally huddled against the cold and zipped up the sweatshirt. “—you—”

“We’re—we’re friends. Uh. Just friends, now,” he supplied, the words feeling odd, and a little sad in his mouth. She hummed, frowning at her typewriter, and he glanced at Billy, thinking he might not have ever gotten to know him, if Nancy hadn’t lost her shit at that party. It was a weird thought, and Steve stared out the window, thinking of his house empty of Billy’s shoes, beer cans, lingering cigarette smoke, and the warm weight pressed against his back when he least expected it. No more slow kisses up his neck when he was stuck in his own head.

Nancy nudged him, and he pulled himself back from watching Billy tug at his earring.

“I meant, uh, we—me and you, we get to be friends now,” he tried, and she bit back a smile. “We can talk about boys now,” he pushed further, wrinkling his nose. “If...if you want? I, uh. I think I might be better at picking boyfriends than being one.”

“Maybe you needed the practise run,” Nancy followed his gaze so both of them were watching Billy, who’d given up on pin-up poses, and was trying to keep his textbook, binder, and pile of flashcards from blowing around in the January wind. “I think...I think maybe we both needed the practise run. But—I have to tell someone besides Barb, you know?”

“Yeah. Wait. What?” he turned his frown back to her.

She took a shaky sigh, digging into her backpack. She tossed a sandwich baggie of goldfish crackers on the desk between them, and then pulled out a composition book. She held it, white-knuckled, for a long second, then shoved it at him.

Steve accepted it—after digging for a handful of goldfish crackers—and opened the first page, propping it on his knee. In capital letters, it just said “I MISS YOU”.

“I—I sort of—tell Barb everything,” Nancy bit her lips, taking a slow breath through her nose. Her eyes shone. “It’s—it’s like this huge letter about everything I couldn’t—after she—there’s so much I want to tell her, Steve, so much has happened—”

“Uh,” he stared at it, reluctant to turn the page, and Nancy grabbed it back.

“Shut up,” she muttered. “I know it’s dumb.”

“N-no,” he blurted. “No, it’s not, it’s not dumb.” He wondered whether he should remind her about their assignment, but hers looked finished. I can finish mine later, he promised himself. “Uh, sorry I—it’s not dumb, I just don’t—when you’re sad I just—I don’t know what to—how can I, uh—”

She laughed, swallowing, and closed her eyes. “I—I thought I’d just—fill this. Write until I use all the pages, and the—and the margins, and the inside covers—” she made a soft, horrible gulping sound, and Steve’s nails dug into his palms with the urge to grab her, like he would have if they’d still been dating, and squeeze her thin shoulders. “I—I thought maybe I’d—feel better. Once—Once I say. Everything. Tell her everything. And then bury it. I—we—there wasn’t a body, I couldn’t bring her back to bury— I couldn’t even say what I wanted at her funeral—I can bury my bullshit letter instead— ”

“We can do that,” he said quickly, glad the typewriters were loud enough to drown them out. “We—we can say, uh, we can say—say things, write her letters? Find—find a nice spot? Bury, um, bury things, letters?”

“She didn’t have any other friends,” Nancy stared ahead, her eyes shining.

“I can write her a letter,” were the words that fell out of his mouth, like he could even remember more of Barbra Holland than a vague shape at Nancy’s elbow. “I can—I can thank her for being a good friend, anyway. To, um, you. To my friend Nancy?”

“Sh-she—she really was,” Nancy’s shoulders shook with a sob, and for the first and probably the last time, Steve wished Jonathan Byers was around to do— something, whatever it was he did that made Nancy less sad. Maybe it was worth the awful sex.

In the heat of the moment, Steve felt he’d easily trade his skill at orgasms with whatever made Nancy stop— stop looking so pinched around the eyes, and start teasing him again over Billy Hargrove.

She took a shaky breath, pressing her face to the back of her hand. “I—I was—I was nervous coming to your house, the—that night, the night she—in your—in your pool —to the party, your party, and she wanted to have my back—”

If Jonathan Byers couldn’t show up, Steve wished Billy would, remembering him explaining things to Will and El in IHOP, until Will relaxed, and smiled, and got brave enough to ask questions. “I—I’ll have your back,” Steve tried. “Now. I will. Um, she, uh, we can thank her for having your back. We can—”

He tried to remember what people did at funerals other than wear scratchy suits as Nancy nodded, rubbing her eyes with her fingers, then rubbing her wet face with her wrists. He clenched his fingers harder in his jeans. “Uh, flowers? We can—I’ll get flowers, did she have a favorite song? I have a boombox. I have batteries for it, I can get batteries for it—um, Billy, Billy will have a good idea,” he trailed off, trying to think what it could be, with Billy outside, instead of by Steve’s elbow where he belonged. “He’ll have a good idea, he’ll—he always has a good idea—”

Nancy snorted, smiling at him, but her eyes were red. Her voice was high and shaky. “Ye-yeah. Thank you. Thanks. Y-you’ll be a good best friend, Steve.”

Out the window, Billy was holding his textbook and homework, his pencil poised, but he was staring at them.

He met them in the hall outside typing class, leaning against the bank of lockers. His gaze flicked from Steve’s face, to Nancy’s, then dropped to their hands. Steve scooted away from her, then reached through the press of people and prodded her shoulder with two fingers. He beckoned her to follow him over to Billy.

“Harrington,” Billy crossed his arms, watching them. His cheeks and lips were pink with cold, and Steve wanted to kiss them, brush the melted snowflakes out of Billy’s hair, and rub the muscles of Billy’s arms through the sleeves of Steve’s own borrowed sweatshirt, feeling his boyfriend shiver, and hugging him close. Billy’s voice was flat as he said, “Wheeler,” and Steve jumped, jarred from his fantasy.

Steve opened his mouth to tell Billy that Nancy had practically admitted he was better in bed than Jonathan, and then stopped and thought for once, about how that would hit Billy’s brain. He lowered his voice. “Remember I told you about Barb, uh, Barbra Holland, Nancy’s friend, the monsters got her?”

“...I guess,” Billy had his gaze fixed on Nancy’s face, eyes narrowed.

“She wants to hold a funeral,” Steve started, but Billy’s glare didn’t shift. “Nancy does, uh, and I’m going, because I knew her, and Jonathan didn’t, because he’s not cool, and he makes these faces when—”

“Don’t you dare,” Nancy hissed.

“Wait, what,” Billy glanced at Steve, still keeping a wary eye on Nancy.

“Probably her boyfriend will still be there, because she’ll be sad, but I’m her friend so I’m going too—” Steve babbled, hoping someone else would talk.

“What,” Billy said flatly.

“Help,” Steve hissed, widening his eyes. “Help us, um.”

Nancy started snickering for no reason, and Billy’s frown darkened. “He panicked when I started to cry,” she snorted, rubbing her eyes. “He wants you to fix it.”

“What?!” Billy snorted, coughing.

“What do people do at funerals,” Steve hissed, glancing at Nancy again, and she snorted wetly, covered her nose, and dug in her backpack before yanking out a kleenex and blowing hard.

“Sexy,” Billy muttered, and Steve elbowed him. Billy glanced between them again, raising his eyebrows. “That’s what all that cozy whispering was about?”

Steve made a face. “Also she had goldfish crackers?”

“We were just talking,” Nancy said, laughing and wiping her eyes again “—and then I lost my shit. Sorry.”

“She had a whole cow about how much better I am at picking boyfriends than she is,” Steve waggled his eyebrows. Nancy elbowed him, and Billy’s snorted, his eyes narrowed as he glanced between them.

“Thought you were dumping my ass and leaving me with Denise.”

Steve shook his head, holding his hands up. ���We know she makes weird faces.”

“It’s not her fault she has thirty-nine eyes!” Billy laughed, hugging himself in Steve’s sweatshirt. Steve wished he could hug his boyfriend, right there in the highschool hallway, but had to settle for his sweatshirt doing it. Billy didn’t seem to notice as Steve reached out, then yanked his hands back and stuck them in his pockets. Billy was still grinning about his awful gift. He leaned in, digging his chin into Steve’s shoulder and whispering, “Ask your buddy Dustin why his pockets are full of googly eyes, seems questionable to me—”

“Steve and I were talking about boys,” Nancy snorted, then sniffled, rubbing her nose and rummaging in her purse until she found another kleenex.

“Swapping stories,” Steve grinned, watching Billy’s head cock warily. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “My boy’s always sexy. He just melts against me. Like pizza cheese, y’know, in Little Caesar’s ads, it sort of—it sort of droops—”

Billy went as glowing red as the tail lights on his Camaro, and growled, as Nancy leaned into the lockers in a gale of laughter.

“Shut the hell up, Harrington,” Billy muttered, rubbing his face.

“Sexy Little Caesar’s boyfriend?!” Nancy wheezed. “Steve, that’s not sexy at all—”

“Or on lasagna. Or Velveeta, it’s—it’s all fluid, you know,” said Steve, trying to explain. “Um, ‘hot, fresh, and ready to go?’” he suggested, relying on Pizza Hut for his words, but they both turned away, Nancy pounding her fist on a locker, cackling and wiping tears, and Billy stomping off down the hall. Steve glared at Nancy. “Don’t you tell anyone either.”

“Oh no,” Nancy gasped. “I—I’m telling Barb. Oh my god, she’d have loved that. She kept telling me you were a moron—”

“Hey!” Steve pointed a finger at her. “She—she may be—she shouldn’t have said it!”

“I won’t tell anyone else you described your boyfriend as sexy mozzarella,” she snickered, blowing her nose. “But I am telling her that, aloud, at her funeral. Oh my god, I needed that. You better go find him.”

“Everyone likes pizza!” Steve yelled, stomping away after Billy.

As he walked around the corner, Billy grabbed him around the waist from behind and lifted him. Steve yelled and swore, wriggling and laughing. He tried to squirm enough to make Billy drop him, kicking wildly, then finally made a big show of bending his upper body over Billy’s arms to kick his leg up and retie his shoe, while Billy staggered and swore, leaning away to balance his weight and shaking with laughter. Finally, Billy sat him on his feet in an empty hallway, spun him around, and stuck his thumb in the fly of Steve’s pants, pressing close and panting in his ear.

Steve looked back the way they came and saw a girl from his class: Robin Buckley. She was staring.

Billy felt him freeze, and pulled back, eyes narrowed. “What?” When he started to look around, Steve panicked and grabbed his head, wanting to save some unrelated girl from being fed her own molars. He pressed their lips together, humming as Billy huffed a laugh.

Crisis somewhat averted, Steve told himself sternly to track her down later, before letting himself lean into Billy again. He rubbed his thumb over Billy’s moustache, pressing into its scratchiness, and licking into Billy’s hot mouth, then pushed him back, taking deep breaths through his nose. “Christ, gonna come in my pants,” he whispered, laughing.

“That’s fine,” Billy’s grin widened.

“It’s not! It’s not fine, it’s grody—” Steve panted, pushing back at Billy’s hands and shoulders as his boyfriend tried to wriggle closer, like an octopus.

“Come on my tongue,” Billy whispered.

“There’s no time, I gave you to El!” Steve hissed, holding his forearms up defensively. “She’ll show up again! You agreed! You’re hers and Max’s today!” His shoulderblades thudded against the lockers.

“When do I get my reward for following orders, your majesty,” Billy whispered, pulling Steve’s forearms close, so he could kiss along the soft inner side.

“Sometimes knights have duties,” Steve whispered back. “For the, uh, the kingdom.”

“And I’m your best knight,” Billy snorted, running his hands up Steve’s sides. “Gotta help the civilians. Do my quests, make you proud.”

“Mmmn,” Steve lost his train of thought, leaning into Billy’s chest, and sliding his arms around his neck. “Best knight.”

“Now Tommy’s been, what,” Billy laughed against his mouth, hugging him until Steve’s muscles went loose, and his bones felt like they’d creak. “Unshielded?”

“Dis-sworded?” Steve supplied muzzily, into another pause between kissing, his brain narrowing its world to Billy’s tongue. “God, love you, mustard...dipshit...cupcake,” he mumbled, then frowned, coming back to earth as Billy’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Shut up, dickhead. Wait, Tommy wasn’t ever my knight.”

“Thought he beat up Jonathan Byers for you,” Billy whispered, sliding both arms around Steve’s waist again, and lifting him off the ground.

“No,” Steve mumbled, half-listening as he tried to clamp his legs around Billy’s waist, but missed distractedly as he ran his hands up Billy’s neck, cupping the back of his head and licking into his mouth.

Billy pulled back to talk, and Steve huffed. “But he tried to get you over to his house. That time. With Carol,” Billy panted, searching Steve’s face.

Steve kicked, gasping as his lungs got squashed. “Holy shit,” he wheezed, laughing. “You—you’re—are you jealous?”

“No,” Billy whispered, suddenly interested in kissing again.

Steve pulled back from Billy’s mouth after just one more kiss. “Are you jealous of Tommy and Nancy,” he whispered, beaming.

“Fuck you,” Billy mumbled, biting gently up his neck.

Steve let his eyes close, forgetting about Robin, and El, and the extremely public hallway they were standing in. His face was so hot it felt tingly, and Billy’s arms were strong and gentle, holding him up. The world started to spin, a little, and he kicked his feet back, crossing them against his butt to curve his whole body against Billy’s.

“Can’t—can’t breathe, Knight,” he had to admit, finally, and Billy sat him back on his feet.

“As you wish, my King,” he whispered back, stepping back to look Steve over—he grinned as he assessed the tightness of Steve’s pants like an asshole, then leaned in again for one more close-mouthed kiss.

Steve laughed, unable to stop smiling. “You’re jealous. Want me all to yourself.”

“Nah,” Billy rubbed his thumb up Steve’s cheek, and yanked his head around by the earlobe. Steve yelled, flailing. “I can just get another one,” Billy whispered. “King Harringtons. On sale today. K-Mart Special.”

“No you can’t,” Steve grabbed Billy’s shirt, spinning him to smack up against a locker, and leaning close again for a messy kiss. He could feel Billy breathing against his chest. “You’re jealous. You—you’d—” Steve trailed off, watching Billy bare his teeth. “You—what the hell are you pissed for,” he whispered. “You went off and screwed Tommy, don’t be pissed at me —”

“I’m not jealous,” Billy snarled back. “I’m the only one who even pays attention to you, aren’t I, and I could get somebody else in—in a heartbeat—”

Steve took a sharp breath, wondering why he had to go and push things. “Right, yeah,” he said, slamming his hand into the locker next to Billy, who flinched. “Shit,” Steve groaned, stepping back. “Sorry, shit. The hell was I thinking. I’m too goddamn clingy, right? You’re just trying—trying to—” he stepped back a few steps and smacked another locker across the hall—the bang was satisfying—and Billy grabbed his wrist, digging his thumb in bruisingly tight.

“You gonna start hitting?” he asked, smiling his widest. “You don’t get to do that.”

“I hit the locker,” Steve hissed, yanking his arm, and Billy stepped closer.

“You don’t get to hit me,” Billy whispered, and Steve winced at the feel of fingernails. “You—you can’t pull that shit, Harrington.”

“I wasn’t gonna,” Steve tried to yank away again, feeling worse. “Screw you, I hit a locker —”

“After all that shit you said,” Billy said evenly, his smile and his eyes wide the way they went when he might do anything. “I’m a person, remember?”

“I remember,” Steve swallowed again against the burning in his throat and eyes, planting his feet to try and squirm away. “I wasn’t—”

“You change your mind?” Billy asked softly, and Steve did want to hit him, then.

“Let me go,” he hissed. “I wasn’t going to hit you, christ. I was hitting the fucking locker.” Billy let go and stepped back, and Steve spun to slam his fist into the locker again. His little finger was starting to go numb, and he wondered how other people—really awful people, some of them, like Billy’s dad—found people that loved them and trusted them and paid attention. He inhaled, and it made kind of a wet gasping noise. “Jesus,” he whispered. “Just—just g-go home.”

“Screw you,” Billy muttered, and Steve opened his mouth to growl back, when his gaze caught on Billy’s nails digging into his sleeve over where Steve had drawn the hearts.

“Fucking— stop ,” he hissed, grabbing Billy’s fingers, and forcing them to unbend. They were cold. “You’re gonna give yourself bruises. Stop it, dickhead— quit—”

“Quit what,” Billy snarled back, and Steve stared down at the hand he’d grabbed, then let go and stomped across the hall to kick somebody else’s locker.

“Screw you,” Steve muttered. “Fine, go the hell home.” He hunched his shoulders as Billy stepped closer, and banged his fist on the locker he’d just kicked. “Piss off.”

“The hell do you want me to say,” Billy asked, and Steve shut his eyes, and banged the locker again.

“Nothing,” Steve hissed. “I don’t want you to say anything, I—you can—you can go to hell—” Billy came up behind him, and Steve squeezed his eyes shut. They were stinging. He felt a touch on his arm, and flinched into the lockers, swallowing a few times to clear his throat of the bullshit trying to climb out of it. “It’s fine,” he forced out. “Just. Piss off. Go home. I’ll—I’ll get myself—together.” He opened his eyes, parting his lips in a smile, to see Billy standing close, frowning, so Steve was sandwiched between him and the lockers.

“Wha—” Billy started, and Steve smacked a hand over Billy’s mouth, then sidestepped, laughing.

He took a few steps down the hall before he managed to stop himself. “Just go,” he said, realizing he had his hands up between he and Billy, and lowering them. “It’s fine, it’s nothing, jesus—”

“What in the hell—” Billy stepped closer again, and Steve didn’t lunge to cover his mouth, or cover his own ears, or run away.

He kept smiling. “Max and El are probably looking for you.”

“...no,” Billy said, holding his hands out. “Come here, Harrington.”

“What,” Steve laughed, his sinuses burning as his vision went a little blurry. He blinked his eyes clear as Billy’s glare went thunderous.

“I’m not gonna chase you down, get your ass over here.”

“Why?” Steve asked, crossing his arms, uncrossing them, and touching his hair. It was fine. He thought fixedly about the project he was gonna start in ceramics. Probably it was dumb to make Billy something nice. Something with Steve’s feeblings just emblazoned over it. “Just go, jesus.”

“Harrington—” Billy sighed, and Steve’s stomach clenched.

“Sorry,” he grated out. “Sorry, I’ll get it together—” he cut off, raising his arms defensively as Billy walked close enough to grab him by the front of his pants and yank him in for a kiss. His hands were warm and gentle cradling Steve’s face, and Steve let himself be pulled in. “What—” he whispered, but Billy cut him off, tilting Steve’s head to get deeper into his mouth. “Mmf,” Steve tried next, slowly lowering his hands to where his sweatshirt stretched over Billy’s biceps.

“Two for flinching,” Billy told him, kissing him again. “Ssh,” Billy whispered, glancing around, and then pushing them both—slowly, and mostly by kissing Steve—across the hall again and into the bathroom. He stopped to check under the doors, and then grabbed Steve’s hand, and yanked him into the biggest stall. “Okay,” he said, “—go on.”

“...want me to try giving a blow job?” Steve asked, rubbing his eyes. “I mean. You let me jack you off, I wanna—”

Billy opened his mouth, cocked his head, and narrowed his eyes. “Shut up. Shit, that’s not —I’m not supposed to —to try and blow you when you’re pissed —what the fuck, Harrington—”

“I’m just trying to change the subject,” Steve gritted out. “You like blow jobs. Everybody likes blow jobs—”

“I mean,” Billy snorted, slowly nudging Steve against the wall, “—dicks like ‘em—”

“Everybody does, it’s just not called a blow job always,” Steve argued, feeling smart, as Billy kissed him again. It felt like Billy was laughing.

“S’ true—” Steve muttered, and Billy laughed harder, and yanked him closer, so Steve’s head was pressed against Billy’s shoulder, and Steve’s body was squeezed in Billy’s arms.

“Shut up, jesus,” he whispered, his earring tickling Steve’s neck. “What’s your problem.”

The thing was, Steve thought, there wasn’t one. He was freaking out for no reason—he knew his bullshit annoyed people, and everything Billy’d said was true. “Sorry,” he breathed. It was easier, in the heat of Billy squishing him against the wall.

“What do you want me to—”

“Nothing,” Steve cut him off. “Christ. Jesus. I’m gonna do better this time, and shut the hell up before I—”

“What,” Billy whispered, and Steve shook his head, smiling, and didn’t say before I ruin everything.

Billy pulled back, his jaw clenched. “I’ll get it out of you.” Steve choked on a laugh, clenching his fingers on Billy’s arms, and Billy stared into his eyes, thinking. “I could do what you did,” he whispered. “Get you so horny you’re dripping and then make you talk.”

“Oh shit, no,” Steve snickered harder, shaking his head. “No, don’t. I wouldn’t even—I wouldn’t be able to think enough.”

“That’s kind of the point,” Billy said against his mouth, and Steve’s heart started pounding.

“No, no, don’t, I really—I can’t even—” Steve tried to squirm away, every breath of Billy’s resonating with his dick. “I can’t tell you if I can’t make words!”

“Mmm,” Billy hummed thoughtfully, leaning in for another kiss. “You really want to hear I’m jealous of—of Tommy? That what you want me to say?”

“You’re not, though,” Steve shrugged.

“...Nancy, then,” Billy cleared his throat. “I keep waiting to hear you say you’re—that—that I’m not—that you took a better offer.”

“Fuck you,” Steve told him, sighing. “What the hell am I gonna do when you two actually talk and you—you start talking— elves or something and forget all about me.”

“...you’re jealous of me talking to Nancy Wheeler,” Billy said, with the vague tone of someone reading an incomprehensible line in English class.

“You’re both perfect,” Steve told him, grabbing him close, and Billy started laughing so hard he staggered.

“Oh my god, you are so fucking dumb,” he wheezed, and Steve licked his lips, pressed them to Billy’s neck, and blew to make the loudest fart noise he could. Billy yelped, shoving weakly at him, and Steve did it again. Finally, Billy got his hands over Steve’s mouth, and used his body weight to hold them there while he rubbed tears off onto his arms. “If you think I’m perfect you’re blind and stupid. Holy jesus,” he whispered.

It wasn’t that funny, Steve thought indignantly. “You’re perfect. You —you’re—you are. Sometimes. Most of the time! You —you’re better, you don’t—”

Billy kept snickering, like an asshole. “You’d run off with your queen in a second, your majesty,” he whispered, grinning. “She’ll whistle one day. She’ll just — crook her finger, and you’ll go.”

“Would not,” said Steve, automatically, but he considered. “I don’t…” He narrowed his eyes at the wall of the bathroom stall, where someone had written that the principal worshipped Satin. He thought about how his plans had always included Nancy, and how hers never seemed to include him.

What would it be like, he wondered, if she knocked on my door. ‘Follow me to the city,’ she’d say. ‘You can hold down the apartment, I can go to college. Someday I’ll have an important job— which was where it fell apart, because it would be something like war journalism, and she’d always be gone. He sighed, imagining the Dear Steve letter. ‘Dear Steve, I’ve gone to expose nuclear testing on smuggled baby alligators in Belgium, and...found love.’ Steve shook his head. “No. No, it’s —no. ”

“Whaddaya mean no,” Billy laughed. “You just sat there and imagined it.”

“Yeah, imagined it blowing up in my face. I want to —” Steve stopped, looking away from Billy’s eyes and down, until Billy started jerking Steve’s head up and around, trying to meet his eyes again. Steve laughed, and bit his lip.

“What d’you want, Harrington?” Billy asked.

“...wanna wait and see if you send me letters,” Steve told him, shrugging. “I —I guess. Once you leave.”

“Oh, I’m gonna,” Billy’s breath caught, and he pressed his hands to Steve’s cheeks, squishing them. “But you’re lying to both of us if you think you wouldn’t drop me—”

“Billy,” Steve said, muffledly through the fishface Billy was giving him, and grabbing Billy’s hands as he startled. “Billy Hargrove. I—I’d pick you.”

“Don’t bullshit me—”

“Pay attention,” Steve hissed. “Hargrove. Fuckface...trespasser. I’d pick you.” Billy shook his head, smirking, and Steve grabbed it by the curls, pressing their foreheads together to hold Billy’s gaze. “If I have to watch somebody leave, I’d still want you.”

“Shit,” Billy said hoarsely, trying to laugh. “I’ll come back, I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t leave leave, you—you can’t get rid of me if you—if you don’t tell me to go.”

“Like I would,” Steve snorted. “If —if Nancy just—just walked in here, I mean, not here here,” he paused, his eyes focusing on the wall of the men’s bathroom, “—but y’know, if—if she said she’d changed, she—she wanted me back…”

“You’d go,” Billy shrugged.

“No, Nancy can’t—she doesn’t want—this.”

“She’s got shitty taste, then,” Billy growled, and Steve laughed, leaning to bury his face under Billy’s ear.

“No, I mean—she doesn’t want—” he sighed. “She sure doesn’t wanna drag me to the bathroom and grill me on what’s wrong. She’s got—things to do. Important stuff.”

“Her loss,” Billy shrugged, and Steve snorted wetly. Billy’s breaths sounded as catchy and uneven as his did, he realized, and squeezed him closer.

“Promise I wouldn’t go,” he mumbled.

“Promise Denise,” Billy hissed, growling over Steve’s bursting into semi-hysterical giggles. “Denise needs both her dads,” Billy whispered, his eyes brimming as Steve laughed and cried.

“You’re so weird,” he whispered. “So fucking glad you —not the rest of it—but I’m, uh. I’m so goddamn glad you ended up at my house.”

“You brought me home in a trunk,” Billy told him, sniffling, and frowning down to yank at Steve’s belt buckle.

“What if I hadn’t,” Steve asked, watching Billy fumble. “Maybe—maybe something else. Maybe you’d have kissed me in the locker room. Always trying to shove me around in there—why you always trying to jump me in bathrooms, you’re so — ”

“Maybe you’d have kissed me somewhere, fucking...Pussington,” Billy growled, undoing Steve’s belt, and laughing as the denim over Steve’s dick twitched against his hands. He ran his fingers up and down Steve’s fly.

“Jesus,” Steve whispered.

“Fuck me,” Billy whispered back. “I want this monster in me.”

“...you called it fun-size,” Steve hissed back, and Billy started giggling again, burying his face in Steve’s neck. “We’re in a bathroom, the floor is sticky —”

“I don’t wanna wait,” Billy told him, kissing him so enthusiastically Steve’s head thudded back against the wall. “You—you said—want me over Wheeler —”

“I know what I said,” Steve said, trying to sound strict, but he couldn’t help grinning. “ Want me to blow you? You always—”

“No, fuck my ass,” Billy ordered, leaning close, so Steve could feel the hard line of Billy’s cock pressing against his.

“...there’s no—it’ll hurt, knight, it—”

“Who cares,” Billy whispered, yanking the buttons open on Steve’s fly.

“Me!” Steve hissed, grabbing his wrists. “I care! Christ!”

“S’my ass,” Billy argued, looking pouty, and Steve snorted.

“S’my dick, wouldn’t feel good for me either—”

“Coward,” Billy said, frowning down. “Okay, okay—” he yanked at his own pants, hopping on one foot, and Steve started sniggering. He grabbed Billy’s face and pulled him in for a kiss, nearly knocking them both over when Billy tripped over the leg of his pants. “MMPH,” Billy yelped. “Shit. Okay. Just—uh, just—”

His face felt hot against Steve’s hands, and he realized the red was creeping clear down Billy’s chest where the sweatshirt hung open. “What?” Steve asked, his eyes lingering on Billy’s briefs, where a wet stain was spreading where the elastic strained over his cock.

“I’m gonna turn around,” Billy muttered, “—and—”

“No—” Steve repeated, running his hands along the elastic band of Billy’s Fruit of the Looms. “No, seriously, I’m not—”

“I’ll squeeze my legs together,” said Billy, with gritted teeth, his face flaming hot.

“Holy shit,” Steve whispered, his hips bucking against Billy’s hip as he turned around. “What—is—is that any good for you—”

“Just fuck me,” Billy hissed, bracing his hands against the wall, and Steve stepped close behind him, reaching down to yank his skivvies down, and then push Billy’s down over the warm muscley roundness of his ass. Billy yanked until his dick was freed, then braced himself again, and Steve buried his face in Billy’s shoulder, taking a deep breath.

“Can’t see how this is good for you,” he whispered against Billy’s neck, feeling him shiver.

“It’s not unless you get moving,” Billy snarled, then choked out a gasp as Steve slid his hand around to grab him by the cock.

“Just...between your thighs, then,” Steve whispered, rubbing some pre-come around the top of his dick, then frowning down, and licking his hand just in case.

“Come on,” Billy whispered. “Come on, come on, do me.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Steve nodded pointlessly, aimed, and pressed into the tight space between Billy’s muscled thighs. “Oh god, that’s good,” he mumbled against Billy’s shoulder, and he laughed.

“Shut up and move,” Billy muttered, since Steve was mostly clinging and muttering bullshit endearments.

“God,” Steve whispered, reaching around again. “Don’t fall, b-babe, uh, cookie.”

“Billy whe-when we’re fucking,” Billy told him, groaning as Steve tried to steady himself between his hips smacking Billy’s butt, his dick sandwiched in the heat of Billy’s thighs—it was slippery enough, he thought, flushing almost as red as Billy was—and dragging his fist up and down Billy’s dick.

“Billy,” Steve said against his ear, and Billy swallowed a moan, letting his head fall forward to thunk against the wall. “Billy Hargrove.”

“Nng,” Billy grunted.

“L-love you, Billy Hargrove,” Steve told him, and he whined, his shoulders flinching forward. Steve kissed the place where his shoulder joined his neck, feeling him shudder. “Love you, Billy.”

Billy came all over his fingers, and Steve started laughing, because of course Billy’s legs bent, and of course they collapsed to the floor of the highschool bathroom.

Steve let them tip sideways, pulling Billy close to slow their fall and ignoring the weird chemical smell as his jaw smushed against the tiles. Billy was swearing under his breath, squirming around, and Steve summoned enough brain to scoot back. “Ssh,” he whispered, snickering, with tears in his eyes. “Don’t break my dick.”

“Where you going, asshole,” Billy hissed, rolling over to lay half on top of Steve’s chest. He grabbed Steve’s cock, stroking it, and Steve bucked up against him, muttering just...noises, really.

He came to himself panting against Billy’s shoulder. “Mmnm,” he said, wondering whether they could just sleep on the floor, and wash their faces for class the next morning.

“...you really jealous?” Billy asked, at the ceiling, like he’d been thinking a while.

Steve groaned, tucking hair out of his eyes.

“Y’know I’d...fucking kill them—anyone—and step on their corpses to get to you,” Billy told the ceiling, and Steve started laughing again.

“S’not a bit creepy,” he said, his voice weirdly deep in his ears.

“Not sure wanting to kill Tommy Hagen is creepy at all,” Billy commented, rolling his head for a kiss. “I mean, that’s normal, right, anybody would—”

“Think I’ve got toilet paper stuck to my leg,” Steve whispered.

“I guess you wouldn’t know normal if it bit you on the ass,” Billy told him, and Steve hefted himself up the couple of inches for another kiss.

“Means I get you, though,” he mumbled, dropping to rest his face on Billy’s chest again. It went from warm to hot, and Steve grinned, rubbing his face in chest hair and muscle.

“Shut up, you’re such a freak,” Billy muttered, and pressed more kisses to Steve’s hair. “Tommy Hagen, seriously? You’re jealous of Tommy Hagen? That’s you being a moron.”

“Mmn,” Steve was sort of listening, so he politely made a noise.

“Just went over to Carol’s ‘cause I broke your door,” Billy said. “Thought you’d be pissed. Thought you’d—” he took a slow breath, swallowing. “An-anyway, I didn’t think you’d just...pick me up. Carry me on your back. Thought I’d have to, uh, bribe my way back in.”

“...you saying you got me a present?” Steve asked, waking up a little, and Billy squeezed him.

“I’m saying I didn’t care where I went, jesus. Could have been the gas station. Not running around on you with Exxon, either.”

You might, Steve thought, snorting, but he scooted closer. His shoes squeaked against the wet tile by the toilet. “We’re gonna stink,” he sighed.

“You saying you wanna go shower together?” Billy breathed against Steve’s temple, and Steve started sniggering.

“I mean, yeah,” he whispered back, grinning so hard his cheeks felt tired. “But probably we should like...go. You’re making your sister wait. And El.”

“And they’re important to my liege,” Billy groaned.

“They’re kinda violent when they’re pissed off,” Steve whispered back, and Billy started snickering into Steve’s hair. Steve grinned up at the dripping cracks in the ceiling, letting his eyes fall shut. “ I’ll—just—just take the car. Take it. Get the girls, whatever they want. I need to—better present. Than Denise.”

“No present’s better than Denise,” Billy’s grin went smirky, but he saluted Steve’s eyeroll, and once they managed to get upright, sauntered off with his hands in the pockets of Steve’s stolen sweatshirt.

Steve adjusted himself in his jeans, wishing he wasn’t quite so...sticky, and walked a bit awkwardly off to his locker, when he was grabbed for the second time that day.

“What?!” Robin flailed her arms, hissing. “What was that?!”

“There you are,” Steve hissed, then stopped dead, realizing he hadn’t thought up any kind of plan. “...nothing?” he answered, like a genius, smoothing his hair where Billy’d run his fingers through it. “Uh, what? What was...what.”

She stared at him. “I saw you, dingus.”

“No, you didn’t. Saw what?”

“How are you alive, you are so dumb,” she muttered, spinning away, then back. “That was—you were—” she clasped her hands together, taking a deep breath through her nose, and started to snicker. “You—that’s your cover? ‘What was what?’ You—that’s what you’re gonna say?”

Steve’s high from Billy’s kisses was gone, and he was trying not to imagine Billy’s reaction to someone seeing them. His stomach clenched. “Look, don’t, nothing—nothing was—your—it’s none of your business, jesus.”

“What?!” she cackled, her eyes widening. “Christ. You’re just gonna make out at school and ignore it when—what if—what if your pal Tommy sees you? He’s gonna—”

“I blackmailed him,” Steve folded his arms, leaning back against the locker. “I have dirt on him, he’s not gonna squeal—”

“You what?!” she squealed herself, leaning one arm to steady herself against the locker as she sniggered so hard she shook. “Have you been watching gangster movies?”

“Shut up! You didn’t see anything—”

“I sure did,” she made a face, shuddering. “Believe me, I would not have imagined you and Hargrove playing tonsil hockey, but it’s a nightmare I’ll take to the grave—”

“Shut up,” he hissed, swallowing. His throat felt dry. “I—you can’t tell anyone. I’ll say you’re lying. You’ll be that liar girl, I’ll—”

“God, I don’t want to remember it, let alone describe it,” she pretended to gag, melodramatically doubling over with her fingers in her throat. “Gag me, Steve. Gag me with a spoon.”

Steve wrinkled his nose. “Great. Don’t tell anyone, and we’ll stay the hell away from each other.” He remembered wondering how people in his classes would react to finding out he was maybe-sort-of-gay, and he kind of wanted to punch her in the face. “Or I—I’ll get gay cooties on you.”

She turned to stare. “I don’t care about that, dipshit, I care I almost saw two entire penises when I was just trying to leave class. Here I thought I’d go to my grave without getting close to one of those—” she stuck her tongue out, flapping her hand at the wrist, her voice distorted by the face she was making, “—gross floppy baby injectors, and there they were—”

“What,” he stopped, arms up in a flail, but still. “Wait. What?”

“I’m not going to tell anyone, Steve Harrington,” she told him, rolling her eyes. “Besides, somebody else is going to figure you out, like, instantly, nothing to do with me.” She turned to stalk away, then spun on her heel to face him again. “But what the hell is wrong with you?! You don’t even—can’t you make some excuse and get the keys to the gym equipment room?! You can’t make out during class, when people aren’t wandering around?! Instead you’re sucking face right after the bell rings? I had to tell two different people there was a sewage leak down that hall, dumbass.”

Steve blinked at her. “Th—that’s a good idea. I didn’t—thanks, man.”

“I didn’t want them to have to see the gross sight I had to,” she narrowed her eyes at him. “Can’t you tell people you’re study buddies or something? Before I have to see more of Billy Hargrove’s hard-on in his jeans,” she shuddered, and Steve laughed.

“Somebody doesn’t think he’s hot?”

She took a deep breath, her eyes flicking to his face. “Yeah...no. Why would I.”

“I mean, he is,” he shrugged. “Anyway, thanks. Really. I got, uh, threatened today, kind of. I thought—thanks.”

She stilled. “You what,” she asked, her voice weirdly raspy.

“Uh, somebody figured us out, said he’d, y’know, tell everyone. I know.” Steve rolled his shoulders uncomfortably.

“What the shit,” she whispered. “And you—you’re—the same day?! You just—”

“Look, shut up, I’m not used to it yet,” he hissed back. “I forget he’s a secret, okay?!”

“You moron,” she whispered. “What’d you—are you—”

“I blackmailed him, uh, the guy, Tommy,” Steve whispered back, weirdly proud. “He won’t tell anyone.”

“Jesus, what a prick.” She took a deep breath, and blew through her cheeks. “Tommy Goddamn Hagen, huh. Good thing I wasn’t gonna tell anybody anyway.”

“Phew,” he laughed, grinning at her. “I wasn’t—I can’t even—was just, y’know, going to ask you not to, like, tell. Everyone.” He shrugged. Robin narrowed her eyes at him, watching as he kicked at the linoleum. His shoe squeaked. “Thanks for being cool,” he told her, feeling a little bit warm knowing there were people at school that wouldn’t treat him like he had leprosy. “I guess not everybody’s going to hate me.”

“Jesus,” she whispered, rubbing her face. “I—shut up, okay, I wasn’t—I’m not that—”

“It’s just nice,” Steve shrugged. “Bil—I, uh, I didn’t know how, um, I guess it can get pretty bad, it’s nice to—”

“Yes!” Robin hissed. “Yes, it can! Oh my god, shut up. Why are you—you don’t know me!”

“I do now,” Steve told her, grinning, but he watched her clench her hands in frustration, and recognized someone who wished he’d leave. “Sorry. Thanks. Sorry,” he smiled automatically, and turned away.

“Ugh,” she groaned.

“Thanks,” he called over his shoulder again. “I’m glad it was you!”

“Auuuugh,” she yelled after him. “Stop talking about it, you moron! Somebody could hear you!”

He couldn’t resist turning to face her, walking backwards down the hall and stage-whispering, “Now I know it’s safe to tell you, we can talk about boys.”

“I don’t want to talk about boys!” Robin screamed, soft and wheezily in the back of her throat.

“You know you want to,” Steve whisper-shouted back, waggling his eyebrows, and she smacked her own face. “Nancy and I are friends now,” he told her, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Gonna have all the gossip, right here, don’t change that channel!”

“Nancy Wheeler doesn’t have gossip,” she hissed back, “Nancy Wheeler has—she has flashcards, shut up, dipshit—”

“We’re gonna do all those—those things that—makeovers,” he said, unable to think of anything else. “Sleepovers. Talking about boyfriends.”

“Kill me first,” Robin replied, through gritted teeth. “I will puke, I swear to god.”

“I have all the locker room dirt on everybody,” Steve said, clapping his hands together as he realized. “I know how big—”

“Eugh!” she actually shouted over him. “Gross! I do not want to know! I don’t want to know what Tommy Hagen’s dick is like, holy shit!”

“Yeah, I kinda wish I didn’t either,” Steve said, reflecting, but Robin was on a tear.

“I don’t want to—I don’t even—I wouldn’t think Billy Hargrove was hot unless his name was spelled with an -ie,” she said through clenched teeth, and he mouthed the letters, frowning into space. “Like. If he was named Wilhelmina, Steve.”

“That’s an awful name,” he turned to frown at her doubtfully. “And—and it’s for girls, I think.”

“The penny drops,” she said crisply, which made no sense, but he ignored that, turning her disgust in his head against her insistence she didn’t have a problem with his gay cooties.

“You’re a lesbian,” he whispered, pointing, and she clapped her hand to her face. Steve thought. “I thought I was the only one at school! We were. The only queer people, at school. There’s, uh, there’s a kid, but he’s a middle-schooler. And Barbra Holland, maybe? She and Nancy watched some weird movies.”

“How do you know what kind of...ugh, y’know what, I’m going home,” Robin sighed. “Try not to get expelled, I guess?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said quickly, feeling the urge to lift his hand to pinky-swear. He snickered. “We should have a secret handshake.”

“You better not tell anyone,” she hissed back, but she looked relieved too, and they stood there for long awkward seconds before she spun and stomped off. “I still don’t like you!” she shouted back, and he bit back a grin.

Once he’d talked to the ceramics teacher, he sat down with his headphones and the potter’s wheel, trying to dig his fingers into the heavy wetness of the clay enough to bring up a thin edge, but not so much they went through. About the point it started to look like a deep cat dish instead of an ashtray, he realized there were knees facing his, and he shook his head to knock his headphones down to his shoulders, instead of getting clay on them.

The lovely and intelligent Nancy Wheeler had her chin on her hands, and her elbows on her knees, watching him spin the clay.

“Hi,” he said, suddenly wanting to fix his hair, and clenching his hands so he didn’t put streaks of clay in it.

“What’s that gonna be?”

“...I dunno,” he said, which was a lie, probably. “I might screw it up.” Which was true.

“I think I see it,” she cocked her head as he used his fingertips to draw it up taller, “—with Billy. I thought you might—need help, y’know. Sorry.”

“What?!” He blinked at her, letting the wheel slow to a stop.

“I see it now. He was freaking out, when you just—ran out of the library, that time. Mike said he’s been really good to Will, and Eleven. I mean, if he pulls any shit with you we should absolutely tie him to train tracks. But.”

“That’s very...evil of you.” Steve stared at her, wide-eyed.

She rolled her eyes, and waved a hand. “His dad too, obviously.”

Steve snorted, choking. “Obviously.” He pulled his clay cylinder up a little taller and thinner, his face warm. The clay had lines where he’d pressed too hard, almost giving it segments. “...argh, this is my third try, and it’s still not straight.”

“...neither are you,” she replied, levelly, and he nearly smashed it, flailing.

“Nancy,” he growled at her, and she shrugged, watching him wet his hands and try to even it out.

She followed him around as he sliced it off the wheel with wire, took it to a table, and sculpted a handle. When he got to rolling more clay out, and cutting a little plaque to press letters into, she came and leaned over his shoulder, and he flushed as he inhaled her shampoo. “...that looks good, actually,” she murmured in his ear, and he winced away. She wandered back around the table to drop onto the stool across from him.

“‘Actually’?!” he muttered, and she snorted. “Sorry I was a shitty boyfriend,” he told the little letters he was painstakingly carving.

“Mm.” She shrugged. “I mean, I was kinda shitty, too, there at the end.”

He opened his mouth, automatically, to tell her she was perfect and amazing, then shut it again. He bit his lips, frowning down, then blew air through his cheeks, and carefully peeled up the little clay plaque shape to press on the crosshatched side of his cylinder.

“We’re getting better at it,” she said, looking it over, and then reached across and prodded his shoulder. “That’s sweet, Steve.”

“Eugh,” he sighed, leaning his face on the table. “Hope he thinks so.”

She groaned. “He liked Denise, Steve.”

“How come everybody knows my dumb vase’s name,” he mumbled into his arms, and she laughed.

“I hear everything. Little bird told me you might need a ride.”

Steve lifted his head, frowning at her. “...what?”

“He took your car, right?”

“I think Eleven took him,” Steve defended Billy, and Nancy grinned at him, nudging his elbow.

“Yeah, in your car.”

“Who knows where they’ll end up,” Steve sighed. He tried not to think about kissing Billy Hargrove in the bathroom at the IHOP. “Uh, she keeps making him take her for waffles.” Billy’d flinched back when he walked in the IHOP bathroom, he thought, leaning his face in his arms again. How did I not stop and think about that.

Nancy got up and leaned against the table. “And it’s snowing again, so you need a ride. Thanks, Nancy. You’re such a good friend, Nancy.”

He looked up, and quailed under the weight of her raised eyebrows. “Thanks. Who’s the little bird?”

“Billy,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Or rather, he was asking how long Max and Eleven needed, and Eleven asked what I was doing after school.”

“Sorry,” Steve snickered, imagining Billy’s expression. “I could’ve walked.”

She shrugged. “I’m still here.”

Once he finished, and put his Valentine’s Day present to Billy on a rack to dry, they wandered out to Nancy’s mom’s car. As she checked the mirrors, and put on her seatbelt, Steve took a deep breath, couldn’t decide what to say, and sat there with his cheeks inflated like a chipmunk’s, squinting at the dashboard.

“...what are you doing,” she laughed.

“I, um. You know Robin Buckley?”

Nancy frowned at him, then at the rearview mirror to back out of the parking spot. “Yeeeah?”

“She, uh, she saw me and Billy. Earlier.”

“So?”

“Uh, we were, uh, she knows.” He leaned around to shove his bag in the back seat.

“...need me to go —talk to her?” Nancy asked, in a low voice, and Steve scrambled back up, wondering why he knew so many people willing to commit murder in his name.

“No! No! It’s, uh, it’s fine. She doesn’t like dick. I mean, she likes tits, you know. I mean, she’s like us. Billy and me. She’s queer. She, uh, she won’t tell anybody. Shit! I can’t tell you that, the whole point was—auuuugh,” he groaned, leaning his seat back to add some drama to it. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that, don’t tell her I told you—”

“Oh!” Nancy blinked. “Is she?! I thought…” She frowned, pulling around a gaggle of freshmen in jerseys wandering through the parking lot.

“What?” Steve tried to get the seat to click back upright, and fell backwards again, his leg kicking up in the air.

“I thought she had a thing for you. She used to glare at us all the time.” Nancy rolled her eyes and groaned, slowing to a top again, and Steve wondered who else was blocking traffic out of the highschool parking lot.

“Did she? Weird.” Steve squinted at the roof of the car, and then remembered something. “Anyway, she won’t say anything. And I need advice. On blow jobs.”

The brakes squawked as Nancy stared over, Nancy opening her mouth to answer, but something banged at the window, and he sat up to see Lucas’ little sister glaring at them.

“Holy shit,” Nancy muttered, groaning. “Just don’t bite it off, you’ll get the hang of it, oh my god—” she hissed, leaning across his legs to roll the window down.

“There’s got to be more to it than that,” Steve muttered back, as Erica Sinclair stuck her face in the car.

“I fell asleep first period and got detention,” she yawned. “Marcenia Lyle Alberga snuck out again last night. Tomika and me were out until four this morning. And I missed the bus, and then I fell asleep in detention again...”

“You...what?” Nancy asked, looking lost. “Who?”

“Her friend’s cat sneaks out,” Steve translated.

“She doesn’t like the old Shireman house,” Erica told them, yanking the handle of Nancy’s car door and yawning again. “Lemme in. I missed the bus, I need a ride.”

“Sorry,” Steve said to Nancy, unable to stop his beaming grin. “She’s, uh, Billy’s kid now, I guess? Can we give her a ride?”

“Billy’s,” Nancy repeated, squinting at him, then Erica, and leaning behind Steve’s seat to unlock the door. Once they were all inside, she asked, “Isn’t the old Shireman place haunted, or something?”

“Yeah, Tommy and Carol and I used to…” Steve trailed off, his brain wandering back to being friends with Tommy Hagen, and getting high to run around screaming and giggling in the “haunted house”. “We used to...go there,” he finished, folding his arms.

“It’s creepy out there,” Erica said, leaning between their seats. “We’re not supposed to go, the floor’s falling in, but Marcenia’s just a kitten.”

“A mean one,” Steve snorted, and Erica snorted.

“She’s a killer. She can’t fight snow, though. I mean, she’d try. ”

Steve snickered, and they ended up explaining the afternoon Billy’d played Great White Hunter to Marcenia the Jungle Cat. He was dying to tell Nancy about El’s confusion over Hopper’s lousy sex talk, and trailed off, thinking it wouldn’t be so bad, really, life with Nancy as a friend.

As Nancy obeyed every traffic law, exactly at the speed limit, Steve saw Robin Buckley under the overhang of the gas station, hopping around as she knocked snow out of one of her shoes. She sighed, pulled it back on with a disgusted expression, hunched her shoulders, and walked on, just as some melting snow toppled off the edge and smacked into the back of her head and down the back of her collar. She yelled and flailed, dropping her bag, and fell on her butt in the snow, then threw her head back and yelled at the sky.

“Wait!” Steve yelled at Nancy, rolling his window down to stick his head out. “Hey! Oy! Robin Barclay!”

“Buckley,” Nancy corrected.

“Buckley!” Steve called, and Robin squinted over out of the pile of snow she’d landed in, her eyes flat with despair.

“What,” she glared over. “Qu-uh. Uh,” she glanced at Nancy, turning red, and her glower darkened. “Steve Harrington?” Ice dripped from the slush on her head down along her ear, and he heard both Nancy and Erica shudder.

“Can we give her a ride?” he asked Nancy, who was shaking her head slowly in bewilderment, eyes wide. “Please?”

“Sure, of course,” she said, turning up the heat and scrambling behind her to unlock the door. Erica scooted to one side.

“This is your fault,” was Robin’s first shivering line after she climbed in. “I missed the bus after, uh, running into you.”

“You’re another one of Steve’s friends?” Erica asked, eyes narrowed consideringly, and Steve yelled “Stop kidnapping my friends! No kidnapping!” back at her as Nancy hit the gas.

“I’m very resistant to being kidnapped,” Robin said, sniffling and shivering.

“Unstoppable force, immovable object,” Erica whispered, studying Robin as they drove.

“No,” Steve told her emphatically.

Robin studied Steve and Nancy. “I thought you two broke up,” she said, exaggeratedly innocent, and glared meaningfully at Steve when he turned around to stare at her.

“We did,” Nancy told her, checking her side mirror. “Steve’s my best friend now. He got a battlefield promotion.”

Robin sat back, nodding, and Steve laughed so hard he choked.

Billy’s car was out of the garage and blocking the drive, for some reason, with Steve’s behind it. Steve frowned at it, then raised his eyebrows at Nancy, who narrowed her eyes at him, then got out of the car and walked around as he disentangled his bag from the seatbelt and slammed the door.

“What,” she hissed. “You were making faces.”

“There’s gotta be more than “don’t bite it off,” he hissed back. “Come on!”

She made an offended gaspy noise, her mouth dropping open. “You’ve had blow jobs!” she squeaked back, flailing her arms. “You know more than me! I don’t even have a dick!”

“How do you not choke?” he asked, thinking hard.

“You just do!” she growled back, her face flaming red. “You’re putting a—a big—a thing down your—where you breathe, Steve, how do you think lungs work—oh my god—”

“Ohhhh,” Steve nodded, and she screamed into her hands.

“If you keep asking me for sex advice I’m gonna suggest you pull your mouth off real loud and sing ‘Pop Goes The Weasel,’” she snarled, and Steve started laughing, blushing nearly as hard as she was at the awkwardness of grilling his ex-girlfriend on blow jobs.

“I know it’s weird,” he laughed, wiping his eyes. “I know, I know, I got nobody else to ask, though, Nance, come on!”

She bit her lips together, glaring, then sighed. “...try, uh. Try, um, humming,” she squeaked.

“Humming,” he stared.

“Shut up, never mind!” she groaned, hiding her face.

“No, no, no no no!” he ran around to block her as she turned back to the car. “No, go on, tell me! Tell me, tell me!”

She sighed, smiling tensely at him. “God, Steve. You’re so—argh.”

“I am, I am,” he agreed, “—tell me your secrets, teach me, like, cock karate—”

“Oh my god,” she moaned.

“Do I need to wash cars,” he asked, miming circular hand movements, and she shoved him, laughing.

“We were, y’know, listening to music,” she mumbled, flushing even redder, “—and uh, I was um, y’know, kind of—kind of singing, humming—”

“Ew,” Steve said, waving her onward as he tried not to imagine the soundtrack of Jonathan’s approaching penis. “Yeah, go on—”

“It’s-nice-try-it!” she squeaked, all one noise, and ducked by him to dive into the car. He waved, but she bent close around the steering wheel as Erica ran around to take shotgun.

Steve crept in the front door to the caterwauling sounds of a circular saw.

The door to the garage from the kitchen was open, and his parent’s stuff—the stacks of boxed seventies clothes and albums he’d called and asked about, that they’d told him to throw out, that he felt weird throwing out, like there wouldn’t be anything of theirs left in the house if he threw the boxes out—had been pushed off to the side. Billy and Eleven were leaning over a long thin piece of wood trim balanced across the seats of two of the kitchen chairs. Billy had a foot on it, holding it secure across the seats, and Eleven had the saw, which she turned off, and carefully lowered to the floor.

“Angle’s perfect,” Billy told her, thumbing the edge, and she beamed at him. He bent over some more wood, but Steve’s brain was less aware of the wood, and more aware of his boyfriend’s ass in tight jeans.

Steve nearly stepped on Max, watching Billy, then blinked down to realize she was sitting in the doorway with her butt on the kitchen floor and her feet on the stair into the garage, glaring up at him and holding a plastic binder with shiny pages.

“Hey, moron, stop drooling,” she whispered. “It’s nasty.”

“What’re they doing?” he crouched to ask, watching El steeple her fingers thoughtfully at her nose, listening to Billy’s explanation of the different grits of sandpaper.

“He says he broke your door,” Max raised her eyebrows with all the judgement of Steve’s second-grade teacher, and he ducked his head.

“Wasn’t on purpose, he thought I was—I don’t know,” he muttered back at her. “He didn’t mean it.”

“That’s creepy, Steve,” she hissed back, flipping a page, and studying it intently. “He knows what he’s doing.” Through the reflection of the florescent lights of the garage, Steve couldn’t see what she was looking at, but he thought he and Max weren’t quite to the point where he could lean into her space.

“I mean,” Steve squinted, considering, and dropped to sit more comfortably next to her in the doorway, his legs sprawled into the garage. He remembered Billy drunk, throwing beer bottles at his house, and crying over his mom. “I mean, not—not always, not really. He, uh—”

“Don’t give me that shit,” she sighed. “Don’t let him get all, y’know, ‘Sorry, honey, you know I’ve got a temper,’ Steve, jesus. Bet he never breaks his own stuff.”

“Wait, what?” Steve drew his eyes away from Billy, who was smiling down at El marking length on a shorter piece of trim with a steel square. “He doesn’t break my stuff. Except the door. Did he break your stuff?”

She tensed, flipping another page, and holding both sides of the binder with white knuckles. “Maybe. Maybe I’m good at pattern recognition, Steve. He tell you not to make him mad? You being careful?”

Steve stared at the side of her head, then swung to face her, unable to focus while his eyes were full of Billy’s ass. “Max, you okay? Is—is everything okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” she snorted a laugh, rubbing her eyes with her wrist, and flipping another page. She studied it carefully.

“Max, did—did Billy say that to you? Did he—”

“No, he never—he— he says it. To my mom.”

Steve processed for a second, feeling like he was a dysfunctional blender. There were big things floating around out there he was fairly sure he didn’t understand, but he could manage the little pieces, sometimes, blend them into a whole that made sense. “Neil told your mom,” he translated, and Max swallowed, biting her lips together. “Neil...told your mom not to make him mad. Right?”

She shook her head. “He—he didn’t mean—like he gets with Billy. She wouldn’t—he wouldn’t get mad like that— just at Billy, he wouldn’t—he wouldn’t—”

“Billy told you what his mom said,” Steve felt like his engine was grinding, but he kept guessing, since Max kept pausing after each line. Maybe she doesn’t like what she put together, he thought. She’s seeing whether I get the same thing. “That Neil was...that he scared her.”

“Billy said he hit his mom,” Max grated out, and Steve cocked his head, trying to parse the language of the Hargrove siblings.

“Billy said his dad hit his mom,” he suggested, his eyes narrowed in thought, and Max made a weird hiccup noise, muffling it in the cuff of her sweatshirt. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Steve bit his lips together, and tried again. “...and his dad told your mom not to make him angry.” Like the Hulk, he thought, imagining Neil Hargrove tearing the house apart.

Max flipped another page, and bent to frown at it from inches away as Steve waited.

“What have you got there?” he finally asked, since apparently the conversation was over, and El and Billy were still busy. Max tipped the binder towards him with a tense smile.

Steve crouched. “...is that...is that Billy’s photo album? That’s Billy, oh jesus. Oh my god.” He muffled his wide-eyed mumbling with his hands, staring at child-Billy’s round cheeks.

“Shut up, he looks like a moron,” Max hissed back, flipping the page, as Billy and Eleven laid out more pieces of wood. “Look at their hair! And he definitely doesn’t want you seeing him in that sweater vest.”

Steve flipped it back and eyed the brown, orange, red, and off-white sweater vest—it was definitely ugly, and his time spent winding yarn for Ms. Williams meant he could accurately peg it as basically a sandwich of two enormous crocheted potholders, one front, one back, with straps sewn on. “Oh, god,” he mumbled through his hand. “Did he, like...make that himself?” He tried not to think about Neil’s fingers digging into Billy’s shoulder in the posed picture, or the way Billy was leaning away, into his mom.

“I think there was an aunt...or a grandma...Maybe we should blow up that picture and stick it on the bulletin board at school,” Max grinned, laughing shakily.

“Look at his fat little cheeks,” Steve whispered. “Oh no, look, he was surfing and he fell in the water.”

“Look how many pictures there are of him dragging his board out of the water,” Max snickered. “Like, one of him actually surfing. He looks like a drowned rat.”

From listening to Billy’s mom, Steve didn’t doubt either that she was as delighted by photos of him falling off surfboards as staying on, or that she ever let him live it down. “His mom calls him her Land Turtle,” he told her, and Max clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling a snicker. “Oh no,” Steve hissed, elbowing her. “Look, Santa photos.”

Max stared at them for a long moment, then looked up at Steve, biting back a huge grin. Her eyes still shone wet, but she looked gleeful. “Steve. Steve,” she whispered in a high voice, drowned out by Billy showing El a box of finishing nails. “Steve,” she wheezed. “He was afraid of Santa. Look. Every picture. Oh my god.”

Billy’s mom looked thin, and paler than she had, and Steve tried to focus on her broad grin. “Those are amazing sweaters,” he whispered back, between his fingers, trying not to crack up aloud over toddler-Billy’s horrified eyes on Santa in every picture. In one, he was tilted sideways, wailing in his red-and-white striped sweater with the knitted green bowtie and matching mustard-yellow knitted overalls.

Suddenly Max yanked the album back to squint close, and Steve waited, then leaned his head down to try and see her face. “Huh,” she said, lifting her head, and pushing the album back toward him. “Leia there on the Halloween page,” she pointed. “His mom—does that—there on her arms, and her neck, do those look like bruises to you?”

Steve, staring at what had to be tiny Billy wedged in an awful R2-D2 costume made mostly of tinfoil, beaming up at the Leia from under—for some reason—a superhero-type mask, had to blink a few times to register Max’s voice. “Wha?”

“Do those look like bruises,” Max hissed. “Billy says he used to hit his mom—”

“Billy hit his mom?” Steve stared at her, then Billy, still stuck in their second conversation about family photos, where four-year-old Billy Hargrove was wearing potholders like they were clothes.

Max shook her head. “No, stupid, he hit Billy’s mom, Neil did. Billy says. Billy says—Billy says she was scared, she thought—there was an insurance thing—” she swallowed, the shine to her eyes no longer delighted. “I’m—I just—he doesn’t deserve him, nobody does, but just ‘cause he hits Billy doesn’t mean he’d hurt—”

Steve listened, really noticing for the first time that Max and Billy never called Neil Hargrove anything—not ‘dad’, or his name, just ‘he’. It was confusing for onlookers, who weren’t always thinking about the man, but Max and Billy always seemed to understand each other.

“I thought I’d check his pictures,” Max closed her eyes, taking a deep breath through her nose, and when she looked back down at the photos, her eyes were drier. “See if—if he was right, and she—she looks—she’s really scared, Steve.”

“I was there when she told Billy,” Steve told Max, who pressed her knuckles to her mouth, making a muffled gulping noise.

“He’s gonna hurt my mom,” she whispered, taking a shaky breath. “Shit, Steve, he’s gonna—he’s gonna hurt my mom, it was true, those are bruises, he’s gonna—”

Steve realized the tools had gone silent, and looked up to see Billy, thin-lipped and pink-cheeked, glancing from the album, to Steve, to Max.

El followed his gaze, frowned hard, and sat the saw down. She walked over, and wedged herself between Max and Steve on the stair into the garage. “What happened?” El asked, sounding like she was doing the psychic equivalent of cracking her knuckles to ready herself for a fight.

Max shook her head, pressing her knuckles to her mouth.

Steve let himself be pushed aside, walking over to put an arm around Billy and kiss his ear. “Just found a picture of my new favorite robot,” he whispered, and Billy snorted, tense against him. “Why was R2-D2 wearing a mask,” Steve asked, and Billy rolled his eyes.

“Shut up, I was like seven, I didn’t know how to make a costume. Why the hell is Max showing you my fatass baby pictures?”

“She, um,” Steve stumbled, divided between wanting to answer, not wanting to admit Max didn’t believe Billy’s warnings, and mostly wanting a time-travel car to go back and pick up the chubby little curly-haired R2-D2 in his terrible tinfoil costume, give him hot chocolate, and keep him the hell away from Neil Hargrove. “You seriously calling R2-D2 fat?”

“What is going on,” asked El, narrowing her eyes at Steve’s arm around Billy, and tucking her own around Max.

“He hurt Billy’s mom, and he hurt Billy, and he’s gonna hurt my mom,” Max said, her voice gravelly with suppressed tears. “He hurts people, and he’s—” she took a few rapid breaths, and bit her lips together until they went white.

Eleven took Max’s hand, turning to face her. “We won’t let him.”

Billy swallowed, his jaw working.

“Hopper,” Steve said, squeezing Billy’s shoulders. “Hopper can—talk to Hopper, El, take Max to tell him—”

“He—he could be doing something—I need to get home,” Max stood, and nearly fell, trying to spin without watching the stair. She staggered, swearing in a high, broken voice.

Eleven caught her by the elbows. “Max,” she said slowly clearly, and Max’s head jerked up to frown at her, as Eleven waved a hand at the milk crates of old records and exploded them. Billy and Steve both yelled, diving for the floor as vinyl shrapnel rained down, and it snowed bits of cardboard. “We won’t let him,” Eleven said, bringing her hand back to squeeze Max’s, then lifting it to wipe a dribble of blood from her nose.

“Holy shit,” Max whispered, wiping her eyes. “Okay. Yeah. We can—we can threaten him, or something.”

“Or something,” El repeated darkly. “I saw a movie where they dropped a house on somebody.”

“C-can you do that?” Max snorted wetly, snickering probably half with stress, and half imagining Neil’s shoes sticking out from under a foundation like he was the Wicked Witch of the East.

El narrowed her eyes. “Do you want me to?”

“Holy shit,” Max started cackling through her tears, stumbling to sit down on the stair to the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” Billy echoed, staring at the mess, as Steve sighed and grabbed the broom. “What the fuck,” he whispered. “Luke fucking Skywalker.”

Steve had mostly forgotten Billy didn’t know about El. Of course that’s how he’d find out about Eleven, he thought, rubbing his face, and scrabbling at his hair. Billy knew every other detail of his stupid life. Of course he couldn’t find out when she lifted a toy spaceship. No, my boyfriend, that I promised to—to tell things—finds out El can move stuff with her mind when she explodes something four feet away and threatens to drop a house on his dad. “Babe,” he tried, turning to Billy. “Hey, dickhead, cupcake.”

Billy was staring at El—or past her, it was hard to tell. His hands were shaking. “You knew about this,” he whispered. “You—you said you wanted me safe, and then you sent me out with a—a fucking dark jedi. Lucky she didn’t explode my skull when I kicked Max under the table. Holy crap.”

“Shit, no, she—she wouldn’t hurt you,” Steve stared at him, then Eleven, who was watching Max take deep, shaky breaths.

“No wonder you wanted to check me over,” Billy whispered, sitting down on one of the chairs he’d been using as a sawhorse. “After you made me take them for waffles. How’d Billy do? She explode my brain?”

“No, no—” Steve argued, his stomach clenching as he remembered fearing exactly that, when Eleven climbed into Billy’s car while Dustin and Max drug him into a classroom for their intervention. He reached out, and Billy flinched, then laughed, baring his teeth.

“Any other big secrets, Steve?”

“No,” Steve shook his head frantically, hoping there weren’t. He couldn’t think of any, but then he’d never even thought to pull Eleven aside, and ask whether he could tell Billy. Some of the vinyl was melted to the floor, and Steve kicked at it.

“Do you want me to come home with you?” Eleven asked Max, and Steve tried to put Billy on hold with his hand and derail that situation.

“Wait, no, Eleven,” he called over. “Remember, I mean, you can’t—nobody can see your powers,” he said, wincing as Billy scrambled away. “They could take you away from Hopper, nobody can—”

She nodded. “It would look like an accident.”

Billy staggered over to sit down against the racks holding Steve’s backstock of marshmallows. “Holy hell fucking balls shit,” he mumbled, taking deep breaths in his steepled hands.

“I still need a ride home,” Max said grimly, and El nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Wait, wait, wait, no,” Steve dropped the broom, waving his hands. “Do you—do you really think you need to do anything, like, tonight?”

“He’s gonna hurt my mom, Steve,” Max hissed, and El nodded, crossing her arms.

“Whoa, whoa,” Steve waved his hands, glancing at Billy. “I mean, hell with Neil Hargrove, but come up with a plan. What if he tells someone about El? Talk to Hopper, think up—come up with a way that doesn’t—I mean, save Max’s mom, but make sure everybody’s safe, okay.”

“Everybody except him,” Max growled.

El considered Steve for a long moment, then nodded. “I will help you,” she told Max, nodding firmly.

“Jesus fucking christ hell,” Billy muttered, shoving past Max and out of the garage. His feet pounded up the stairs.

“I need to go home,” Max told Steve. “I need to tell her.”

“She’s still at work, isn’t she?! Don’t do anything,” Steve ordered the two girls. “Anything, I mean it. I have to—Billy didn’t know, I need to go and—”

“He didn’t know?” El asked, blinking from Steve, to Max, to the ceiling. “Why? You didn’t want Billy to know?”

“I didn’t know if you’d want him to know!” Steve told her, trying not to yell. “Now he’s pissed as hell, I have to go talk to him, just—El. Tell me you’d never hurt Billy. You wouldn’t hurt him.”

Eleven cocked her head, turning to Max. “...what did Billy do?” she asked, and Max gulped a laugh, shaking her head.

“Shit,” Steve rubbed his face. “I have to go talk to him, don’t do anything—”

Max sniffled, rubbing her nose. “You better gimme a ride by five, okay. I—I’ll just have El sh-show me how to use all the power tools. Practice for cutting his head off . Unsupervised with the power tools,” she emphasized casually, like a jackass, and Steve yelled incoherently and ran upstairs. As he turned onto the landing, he heard the slide lock on Billy's door catch, and stopped, one foot still in the air. Gravity happened, and he flailed his arms, put both feet on the ground, and turned to lean over the railing, leaning his face in his hands.

“The hell are you doing, Harrington,” Billy’s voice came through the door.

“What?!” Steve yelped, spinning in place. “Nothing! I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“I could hear you chasing me,” Billy said through the door, sounding amused, in the way he did before he set something on fire. “And the floor is creaking. What now, Harrington?”

“Uh,” Steve mumbled, grimacing. “You want me to fuck off?”

He could hear Billy take a long breath, and blow air out through his cheeks. “...what do you want?”

“I just—” Steve swallowed, dropping to sit on the floor. He took a deep breath to continue. “I just—I’m—shit. I’m so sorry, jesus. I’m—I can’t—I can’t believe I didn’t ask Eleven if I could tell you. I got...I forgot I didn’t tell you everything.”

“All your little shitheads got superpowers?” Billy asked, laughing. “Yeah. That actually snaps a lot of shit into place, Steve.” Steve flinched at his name, and wondered why, swallowing again.

“No,” he answered. “No, it’s, um, it’s just El. She’s, uh. Eleven’s what the lab was making,” Steve told him, dropping to press his cheek to the floor, and sigh under the door at Billy’s bare toes clenched in in the carpet. “I didn’t—I mean, it wasn’t my secret. We got talked to by the FBI, she—she could get taken away from Hopper, they—”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Billy said, dropping to sit crosslegged. His fingers drummed against the carpet. “Who the hell would I tell. You told me about the—about the goddamn blue bodybuilder bananas. I can—I can still smell the burning records, Steve.”

“El hurting you wasn’t—it wasn’t a plan,” Steve growled, trying not to yell. “You think—you think I’d get you away from your dad and just—just throw you—why would I want you to scare a little kid until she killed you, Hargrove, hon—honey mustard. Jesus.”

Through the gap in the door, Steve could see Billy picking at the carpet, and twitching his toes. “...just might blow up my head if I, like, took her by surprise.”

“She wouldn’t kill you for startling her,” Steve said, rolling his eyes, then bit his lips as he remembered Dustin talking about El straight-up murdering the people with guns. “She, uh, she’s never hurt anyone...accidentally, um, I don’t think.”

“You don’t think,” Billy laughed. “I’m filled with confidence.”

“I’m sorry, christ,” Steve whispered. “I didn’t even—”

“Don’t get pissed at me—” Billy’s voice cracked, and he kicked the door.

“No, I’m not—” Steve rolled onto his back staring at the ceiling. “Christ. I didn’t...I’m not—I did, I thought about it, I—I should’ve warned you. Kept you away from her. Sorry I—sorry I didn’t—sorry I suck,” he groaned into his hands. “Damn it.”

The floor creaked, and Billy’s voice got louder. “God, I’m such a moron,” Billy told Steve, the floor creaking by his door. “All this time, I thought—you didn’t trust me at all, did you. Never forgot I was Billy Fucking Hargrove for a second. You just knew little Ellie Hopper didn’t have to tell her sheriff dad I needed putting down. She didn’t need help from anybody, she could twist my head off my goddamn neck, right? I step out of line, she’d take care of it, right, Steve?”

“Sorry,” Steve said again. “I, um.”

“That’s why you’d let me take Max and her for waffles, right, but the second Will shows up you start acting like I’m—I’m the Zodiac killer, christ. Screw you.”

“I didn’t—you’re nice to El, there was no—”

“Why the fuck have you been pretending to give a shit about me,” Billy yelled through the door. It shuddered with a loud THUD on the other side, then creaked in its frame as Billy’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “You knew—you knew she could do that. You knew she’d—do that—for Max, you—you knew—” Steve was silent, grimacing, and wondering what he could say. He jumped as the door thumped again in its frame, and Billy snarled, “Did you fucking leave.”

“No! I’m—I’m sorry,” Steve told him, scooting closer. “I-I’m here, I didn’t—you just, uh, you locked the door.”

“Like you couldn’t bust this shitty lock off in a second. Like Eleven couldn’t rip it off its hinges, right? Make me fucking bleed from—from the eyes probably,” his voice shook with anger, fear, or a combination of both, and Steve didn’t point out the door wouldn’t protect him.

“What? No, you—you locked the door,” Steve flailed at it. “If you want me in there, you gotta open it up, I—I’m not gonna break your door down, I’m not—I’m not the fucking trespasser here—I didn’t mean that to—shit, forget I said that, don’t leave, I’m talking bullshit, tell—tell me what to do, Hargrove. Kings have—they have advisors, or something, right, tell me—”

“Advisors get all the goddamn information,” Billy hissed back.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said again, groaning. “I’m so fucking sorry, I should—I should have known you—”

“Known I’d what, fly off the fucking handle?” The door thudded in its frame again, and Steve flinched back. “Right,” Billy whispered, “—I’m crazy, aren’t I, I’m acting insane right now, my brain doesn’t fucking work, I’m stupid, I’m losing my shit over nothing—” Billy’s laugh was wetter than Max’s.

“No!” Steve squirmed across the floor, closer to Billy’s locked door. “No, not—no, you’re—”

“Am I nuts?” Billy asked, his voice shaking. “Your royal majesty,” he laughed. “G-go on. Tell me to shut up and open the door. Wasn’t to lock you out, right? It’s not for that, that’s not—that’s not what you said to do—”

The lock clicked, like he had his hand on it, and Steve scrabbled at his hair. “N-no, wait, wait. Hargrove. Wait, I don’t—it’s—it’s your room, you can lock the door, you can lock it, it’s—it’s okay, you can lock the door—”

“Yell at me some more,” Billy said, laughing unsteadily. “I’ll open it. I’m opening it, jesus. Tell me I’m fucking nuts. Tell me to open up, King Harrington. I know I’m the asshole, I’m wrong, right? I’m—I’m wrong, somehow. Harrington,” he whispered, “—you—you keep—you go through so much shit for me, this is—this is my fault, right, you wouldn’t—”

“No, no, wait, Hargrove, listen—” Steve caught his breath as he recognized the metallic scrape of the lock sliding open. “Stop—”

A loud thump rattled the door in its frame. “It wasn’t even a big deal, right, I am, I’m acting insane. Jesus, I’m so dumb sometimes, I’m fucking crazy— I don’t know what to—let’s forget it,” Billy said thickly, turning the doorknob enough to click it unlocked. “Sorry,” he gritted out. “Y-you can come in if you want. We can—”

“No! No, no, no,” Steve yelped, scrambling to lie on his stomach on the floor, and slide his fingers under the door. He held it shut. He stared under the gap at Billy’s feet. “No! Be—don’t try and—babe—shit—you’re mad, you should be mad! You should be pissed, okay, be pissed, be—be fucking pissed as hell—okay—”

Billy was quiet for several seconds. “...okay,” he repeated softly, sniffling. “Whatcha doing, Harrington...you trying to fit under the door?”

“Fuck you, just—just—lock the door,” Steve told him. “Lock the door, babe. Don’t unlock the door until you wanna let me in, okay. Knight. Remember you’re pissed at me. I’m bullshit sometimes, okay. You’re pissed off.”

“Royal command,” Billy whispered, dropping so he was lying on the floor, one eye facing Steve through the gap underneath.

“You’re supposed to be mad,” Steve said again, and Billy laughed, a tear running out the side of his eye and dropping into the carpet. Steve scrambled for words. “I didn’t mean—I didn’t think—”

“I mean. You usually don’t,” Billy laughed hoarsely, and Steve wedged more of himself under the door, ignoring it scraping what felt like half the skin off his wrists, to brush the tips of his fingers against Billy’s toes. Billy jerked away, then grabbed Steve’s fingers in his cold, sweaty ones.

“No, I mean it, I’m a moron,” Steve hissed, pissed at himself, even if Billy wasn’t. “I know—with my bat,” Steve pointed at Billy under the door, and Billy laughed again. Steve squinted with concentration. “You had to—you had to know all about the bat, so you could figure out whether you were safe. I couldn’t just say you were safe. I had to tell you everything about the bat, so—so you could—decide.”

“Except about El,” Billy said, and Steve swallowed.

“Except about El,” he agreed, sighing. “I—I almost did, I—you asked if I was gonna lie, she’s—it’s a big secret—I-I’m sor—I’m so sorry. Honey-mustard. Hargrove. I’m—I’m so fucking sorry. I just—there was a lot happening, and—I should have made sure you were okay. First. First before anything.”

After what felt like a long silence, when Steve was starting to tense up again, Billy whispered, “You—you said you fucking forgot.” He rolled onto his back, shaking with laughter. “Did you seriously just— completely forget to tell me. Harrington. You did, didn’t you.”

“No! No, kind of,” Steve groaned again, into his arms, catching Billy’s half-hysterical snickering. “I thought—I mean, I freaked out that first time, when Dustin drug me off and you drove off with El in your car, but then—I mean, you were okay, nothing happened! I’m a fucking moron—”

“You’re so dumb,” Billy whispered, grinning under the door. “Holy shit. How could you—okay, I-I’ll open the door. I’m opening the door.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve told him, grimacing.

“Can’t lock you out in your own house,” Billy said, sounding weirdly flat. “S’not what that lock’s for, is it. It’s not—it’s not to st—” he took a shaky breath, swallowing. “It’s not to stop you,” he whispered, his fingers shaking in Steve’s.

“It’ll work!” Steve yelped. “It’ll stop me, it’s a sturdy door, right? The lock’s little but um, it’s uh, it’s latched! You’re safe from me in there!”

“Harrington, what are you gonna do when I open this door,” Billy asked, and Steve had the horrifying suspicion he was crying. “I won’t lock it again, I swear, jesus, please,” he mumbled, his words hitching, and Steve squeezed his hands harder.

“I—” Steve fumbled his words, trying to think of a way to prove he wasn’t angry, while also wanting to burn Neil Hargrove at the stake. “I’m not mad,” he said, trying to keep his voice soft. “I’m not mad, baby, you can lock the door, you can lock me out anytime—” He’d lost Billy for a while again, he realized, listening to the nonsensical mumbles and apologies on the other side of the door, and running his thumbs over Billy’s clenched fingers, so he just kept saying it was okay, and he wasn’t mad.

After what felt like the longest eleven minutes of Steve’s life—as he talked, he was staring at the watch on his wrist, wedged half under the door—Billy took a long shuddering breath.

“You back with me, Hargrove?” Steve whispered, his throat raw.

“...think so,” Billy whispered back. “I was...I was gonna open the door,” he said. “I won’t lock it again,” he promised, and Steve gave his now well-practiced speech.

“You can lock that door anytime,” he told Billy. “You can lock it for no reason, okay. I won’t be mad, you can lock your door.”

“I’m allowed to be crazy,” Billy laughed uncertainly.

“I don’t know if it’s crazy,” Steve told him, frowning under the door, but deciding not to bring up Neil Hargrove. “But you can lock the door, people lock doors, that’s what locks are for, dick—honey,” he said, changing his insult at the last minute, and ignoring Billy’s snickers and whispers of “Dick honey! I’m your dick honey.” “Billy Hargrove,” Steve whispered. “You can lock me out, I still love you—”

Billy choked, curling up on the floor around Steve’s fingers. “...okay.”

“Love you so much,” Steve told him, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. “Love works through doors, okay, I can wait ‘til you come out, jesus. It’s fine.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Billy laughed, crying. “Fuck you, stop making me—bawl, okay, jesus, you prick, christ. Fucking... hate how much I love you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve laughed, his eyes tearing up with relief, and the pain of his scraped knuckles wedged under the door.

“You’re really not pissed I locked you out,” Billy asked again, trying to sound casual.

“I showed you that lock,” Steve told him, trying not to sound pissed.

“Yeah, because—for if—if he comes, you wanna rescue me,” Billy laughed. “Protect what’s yours. Not supposed to lock you out.”

Feeling the exhaustion of another trip around the monopoly board, without passing Go, and without collecting $200, Steve closed his eyes and tried not to groan. “You can lock this door whenever you want,” he said for what sounded like the ninetieth time.

“Yeah,” Billy breathed, and they lay there, on opposite sides of the door, for nearly another five minutes. “...you pretending not to be pissed,” Billy hissed finally. “You—are you—I’ll open up and you’ll be mad as hell, you—you’ll—” he trailed off into sharp breaths, and Steve tried to squirm closer.

“Not gonna lie to you,” he said, and felt Billy’s fingers twitch. “I’m not, honey-mustard, I’ll tell you if I’m mad.” Billy took another long shaky breath, and Steve screwed his face up in thought, kicking his feet so they thudded lightly against the railing of the stairs. “...look, I could open the door,” he whispered, and Billy was silent. “You already unlocked it,” Steve reminded him. “All I’d have to do is turn the knob. But—”

“But what?” Billy asked.

“I don’t think you’re ready yet,” Steve told him. “I’m gonna let you open your door, okay?”

“God, I’m so crazy,” Billy sighed, muffled by the carpet.

“I think you’re just, y’know,” Steve flunked talking as usual, “—you think, um, you think stuff will happen that maybe...happened before. That’s, uh, that’s smart, actually. That’s smart.”

“I should trust you,” Billy groaned. “Shit.”

“I mean, I guess,” Steve made a face. “I just kind of...fucked up. Big. I didn’t—you have to be careful, I mean, you—” he groaned too, trying to fit the words together.

“Not with you,” Billy argued.

“No, with—with me, too, you have to be careful, you’re really important,” Steve huffed, his hackles rising as Billy started laughing again on the other side of the door. “You are! Steve hissed. “You’re so important, you’re the most important, and I’m really—I’m so shitty at this, you have to—you have to help me—”

“Oh my god,” Billy wheezed, and Steve opened his mouth to keep arguing, then blinked as Billy reached out to push Steve’s pointer finger back under the door.

“This lil’ piggy’s gonna get stomped, Harrington,” Billy whispered through the gap, and Steve snickered as Billy’s fingers lifted each of his and prodded them under the door, then stuck his own middle fingers under at Steve.

Steve laughed and rubbed his wrists, rolling onto his back.

Billy’s face disappeared from the gap, replaced by his hand, then his foot, and the sound of a door opening across carpet.

Steve pushed himself to his feet, and then got an armful of Billy Hargrove, breathing unsteadily against his shoulder, and yanking at the fly of his pants.

“Fucking moron,” Bily whispered, trying to unbutton Steve’s jeans as Steve tried to push his hands away.

“Max—Max and El,” he gasped. “They’re right downstairs, we can’t—”

“Sure we can,” Billy whispered against his mouth, and Steve grabbed his hands.

“Okay, but I’m the one apologizing, right,” Steve changed tactics, trying not to grin. “You didn’t screw up. I screwed up.” Billy’s eyes narrowed, then widened as Steve grabbed him by the fly, whispering. “Lemme choke on your dick.” As he’d expected, Billy froze, frowning at him, and Steve seized the opportunity to squeeze him until his bones creaked.

“Not sure how much you’re gonna like that when you’re sober,” Billy hissed in his ear, rocking their hips together.

With the hot pressure on his dick, Steve couldn’t think of an argument other than the truth. “I was,” he whispered, sliding a hand under Billy’s sweatshirt and up his warm side, feeling his muscles work. “I was—I was sober, cake, um, cake pie. I dumped the whiskey out. Didn’t drink it.”

“What,” Billy asked hoarsely.

“Sorry I lied,” Steve buried his face in Billy’s neck, dragging messy kisses over his collarbones. “Shouldn’t lie to you, I mean it, I—I’ll stop, but—but I knew you were freaked, didn’t wanna—didn’t wanna do some dumb drunk thing—” he bit gently under Billy’s jaw, and felt him shudder.

“You goddamn liar,” Billy breathed, grabbing the ass of Steve’s jeans with both hands.

“Sorry for that too,” Steve whispered, and Billy groaned melodramatically in his ear. “Am I out of the doghouse?” Steve asked, and Billy snorted.

“No, you are not,” Billy said, his gaze flicking uncertainly over Steve’s face. “I’m gonna make you work for it—”

“Oh, I can work for it,” Steve told him, his grin way too wide, he suspected, to look seductive at all.

“What the hell are you two doing up there?!” Max yelled, and they both started.

“Okay,” Steve said, tucking his laugh against Billy’s neck. “I’m gonna suck your dick. With feeblings.”

“Jesus christ,” Billy muttered back, relaxing against him. “Just a minute,” he shouted downstairs, and Max stomped away. “...El might actually come up and ask what we’re doing in a minute,” he groaned, sliding his arms around Steve’s waist to sway together, and muttering a string of profanity into his shoulder.

Steve rubbed his back, trying to remember the intense cold-shower effect El had had on his half-chub earlier, when she’d stomped into the locker room wanting Billy to teach Max to use tools. The idea of her throwing the bedroom door open as Steve tried to negotiate his first real blowjob didn’t sound appealing.

After standing there a while, Steve’s adrenaline bubble started merging with the relief of Billy choosing to trust him after he’d fucked up again, and he wanted to move— run, or dance Billy around, or carry him somewhere, listening to him yell, and kissing his hot blushing face. “Later tonight. I got blowjob tips from Nancy. But we should probably go back downstairs,” he whispered, rubbing his thumb across Billy’s tear-sticky cheek.

“Holy jesus. Is that—is that what you were talking about? Giving blowjobs?” Billy asked, his laugh warming Steve’s neck.

“Sort of,” Steve hedged, wishing Nancy hadn’t wanted him to keep secrets. “She decided to start telling me all the weird shit she used to tell Barb, and I’m not supposed to tell anybody, and—” he remembered Nancy shaking with laughter over Jonathan’s sex habits, and tried to smother his vindictive glee, “—I really, really want to tell you Nancy’s secrets, I swear.”

“Why the hell would I want to know any of that,” Billy slumped against him with a contented sigh.

“It’s hilarious,” Steve hissed. “Being friends with a girl is annoying.”

“You poor baby,” Billy snorted.

“She wants to check in all the time! She likes you,” Steve said, remembering abruptly, and Billy burst into a fit of snickering against his neck.

“She does, huh.”

“She does! She said you were all freaked out when I ran out of the library.”

“...Harrington,” Billy said, pulling back to narrow his eyes at Steve’s face. “I—”

“We should probably go downstairs,” Steve interrupted, his face heating as he remembered Billy knew he’d run off to cry. Like the five-year-old birthday boy, he thought, with a self-directed smirk, when he realizes everybody in the class just came because he’s got a pool. “Sorry I was acting like—an idiot. More of an idiot,” Steve shrugged. “We should go down.”

Billy opened his mouth, closed it, then pulled Steve’s face into a kiss that was warm and salty with tears. After a few seconds of hot breath and slick tongue that left Steve harder in his pants than ever, his sweaty hands clutching at Billy’s biceps, Billy pulled back. “You saying I should stop hiding from a little girl,” he asked, grinning, and Steve swallowed a couple times, gathering himself to speak.

“El’s pretty scary,” Steve rasped, “—they’re gonna start using the chainsaw or something, though—”

“You have a chainsaw?” Billy interrupted.

“Maybe?!” Steve stepped back to throw his hands in the air. “I didn’t know we had a circular saw!”

“We need a ride,” El’s voice carried up the stairs.

“Are your—” parents? Steve thought, and stalled out, “—are your uh, your adults even off work yet? Thought you were helping Billy fix my door,” Steve called back, leaning over the railing to look downstairs, and reaching back to squeeze Billy’s hand.

“...we should finish that first,” El said, after a second, and Billy turned him around and leaned in for one more kiss before squeezing his hand back and pulling away to jog down the stairs after Eleven.

Max was waiting at the foot of the stairs when Steve came down. She looked him up and down, then rolled her eyes, her shoulders lowering a little from their angry hunch.

“Hey, Max, uh,” Steve said, then stopped, thinking.

“What, did you run out of batteries?” she asked dryly.

“No, shut up. You know—you can still bring your mom here, if you need to, ever. Or call us, if you need help. We can—we can come pick you up, you and her. Anytime.”

“...Billy gonna second that?” she asked, and Steve considered.

“Yeah. Yeah, he said he’d help me out if my kids needed it. He offered. I mean, he might not stand between you and his dad—”

“No, he’s—he’s done that. Done something just as—just as I was—got himself hit.”

“...that’s…” Steve trailed off, unable to say it was good, Billy getting himself hurt.

“Weird is what that was, because usually he’s a total shithead,” Max hissed. “Which I didn’t tell El. And I won’t—” She stopped.

Because he’s your brother, Steve thought, then wondered whether it was just basic decency in Max, not wanting to hurt anyone if she could help it. Anyone but monsters, like Neil Hargrove.

“...El wants you both to come to the Byers’ for waffles,” she reported, sighing. “Soon. Every damn time anybody’s upset she wants waffles.”

“D’you want him there?” Steve asked, suspecting she didn’t.

“I don’t care,” Max sighed, setting her jaw, and frowning towards the garage. “If he keeps acting like a goddamn human being instead of an asshole. I think El wants to ask him about his mom.”

That will go great, Steve thought, wincing.

“Guess I better help them fix the door,” Max said, unmoving.

“You didn’t break it,” Steve told her, wandering over to the hot chocolate cupboard.

“I wanted to see his photo albums. Check his story, you know, so I lied,” she said, “...kind of.”

“You...lied,” he glanced back, eyebrows raised, before realizing he needed to get more marshmallows out of the garage, which would mean walking out on Max wanting to talk, which...didn’t seem like the right thing to do. He sighed.

“He won’t let me take shop. I signed up for shop and now I’m in home economics,” Max groaned, and Steve rewound the sentence in his head and substituted Neil in for he . “I told El, and said I wanted to talk to Billy, and she said Billy takes shop, since he’s a boy— and next thing I know, he’s waiting for us in your car after school. Trying to tell me how to use a saw. Billy fucking Hargrove, Shop Teacher—and of course Eleven’s having fun.” She squinted towards the garage. “I just wanted to see that photo album.”

“...want some hot chocolate?” Steve asked, feeling a keen empathy for El, and her urge to stuff waffles in the face of anyone having a problem.

“No,” Max said, burying her face in her arms. “Yeah. Damn it. Do I have to—I have to stop hating him now?! Just like that?” She snapped in the air, growling. “Because that asshole’s been beating his face in since he was like—” she held her hand flat a couple feet from the floor, glaring at Steve. “—that high? How come my mom had to fall for him. How come he can’t die of a heart attack. HEY MISTER GOD, THIS IS MAX,” she yelled suddenly, at the ceiling. “FIX YOUR SHIT.”

Steve was cracking up, leaning against the cupboard. “You tell him,” he held up a mug in a toast, and Max snorted.

“Listen to him in there,” she said, glaring at the table, and Steve leaned to listen to Billy laughing, and explaining something about the latch. “Being some rad older brother. You know, that’s what I thought I was getting. Will Byers loves him, musta asked me to invite him like twelve times. He got a cat out of a fucking tree, Steve, did he get brain trauma on your watch?!”

Steve thought about how tense Billy’d been, the afternoon Max had come over to learn to bake bread. Neil hadn’t helped, that morning, or calling that night, but Billy’d been a mass of barbed wire all afternoon.

“You finding the meaning of life in that cocoa mix?” Max asked, and Steve jumped, realizing he was staring into the jar.

“Yeah, kinda,” he leaned to look deeper, humming exaggerated noises like a Muppet, and she snorted, watching him spoon mix into mugs. “Nah. I, uh, I think he...I think maybe you make him nervous.”

“I make him nervous?!” Max smacked her hands on the table. “I make him nervous?! What in the hell kind of—”

“No, shush, I just mean—like I remember the floaty thingies, in the tunnels, you know,” he told her, waggling his fingers to indicate the wispy substance that had clogged their lungs, and ignoring Max biting back a grin. “In the snow, I—I can freak out a little. It’s not—it’s not the snow’s fault, snow never ate my friends—” Max snorted another laugh, but she was listening. “You haven’t...done anything, but you were—you were there, while things were happening, I think—”

“I remind him of home,” she said, chewing her lip. “Maybe. Gross.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, but when he glanced over again, she looked like she was thinking hard.

“He could still not be a dipshit,” she muttered at her mug, and Steve nodded, sighing.

“You—you can bring him for waffles,” she decided. “Will can just have him, I don’t care. He can be Will and Eleven’s brother, I don’t give a shit.”

Steve opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “I’m, uh, I’m pretty good at. Things.”

“Not English, apparently,” Max narrowed her eyes. “The hell does that mean?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged, turning back to turn off the kettle, and add the hot water to their mugs.

“You really want to be my brother?” she asked, sounding amused, and he turned to glare, but her eyes were kinda wider than her usual wary glower. “I mean, you—you said that, when you—when you wanted me to get him out of the house, but—”

“I’d be better at it than Billy,” he pointed out, and she tried to talk and laugh at the same time, and choked.

“Yeah,” she laughed, wiping her eyes. “Yeah, uh, you—you really would. Uh. I dunno. Do I really need a brother, right, I mean. I, um. I have some—friends. Now.”

“If you need one,” he said, keeping his tone cheerful, and ignoring her red face as she groaned into her sleeves. “Or just, y’know, want one. I can put Dustin down as a reference.” He turned back to the hot chocolate.

He gave Max the rest of the marshmallows, and sat her mug in front of her, watching her eyes well up as she looked at the little Garfield cartoon about spiders on the mug.

“Thanks, Steve,” she rasped, and he clinked their mugs together.

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