Hey Mimi!

i’ve never actually posted original content on here yet so hopefully i don’t mess this up 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 but anyway i’m super proud of this, i havent edited in months so it’s not as good as my edits normally would be so i hope y’all forgive me. but yeah i love my lil bean ani and yeah follow my instagram @/monamourzach 🥺

THE SECOND TO LAST ONE HAS ME IN TEARS

favorite star wars memes

Darth Vader/Sith Anakin x reader where he’s v protective and someone flirts with the reader and he gets really mad

Protecting What’s Mine - Suitless Vader!Anakin Skywalker x Reader *SMUT*

As you can tell, most of you guys wanted more anakin smut! i have 3 other requests and the others were all Anakin smut lmao im sorry this took so long to get to you guys! i decided to combine these all :)

Words: 1.4k

Plot: You and your husband, Darth Vader are the most feared couple in the galaxy. Some jerk has the nerve to hit on you, and Anakin is less than thrilled about it.

Extra Info: smut, jealousy, drinking, death

~*~

Ever since Anakin had become Darth Vader, everything had changed for the both Anakin and Y/n. She had taken his hand at Mustafar, and slowly her attitude towards the dark side had changed.

Both were now Sith - long forgetting the Jedi Order, much to Obi Wan’s dismay. Tried as he might, he doomed himself trying to bring them back to the light.

Now, Darth Vader and Empress Y/n plotted silently to overthrow Palpatine and take his throne - and the two worked solely for each other’s interests. Through it all, they grew closer and were finally able to be public about their marriage.

Anakin was much more clingy with Y/n than he had ever been. She never left his side practically, and whenever she did he was always on high alert to make sure no creeps tried to make their way towards her.

One particular night, Anakin and Y/n were out at a party Palpatine had thrown in celebration of the downfall of the Order. Anakin was talking with some of his newer friends, while Y/n walked over to the bar to get a drink.

She sat down at the bar, resting her chin on her hand as she waited in silence. A few moments passed and the seat to her right was taken up. She flicked her eyes over to look, then turned back towards the bar.

“Hello, gorgeous,” the man smirked, leaning closer to her. Y/n scoffed and turned, “Hello?” she mumbled. “Something you need?”

“You to come home with me.” he winked, taking a swig of his drink.

Y/n fought back a laugh, “As if I’d come home with someone like you. I’m not interested.” she turned back around, wishing to give no more attention to the stranger.

“C’mon, doll. I promise I’ll give you a good time~” he flirted and touched her arm, his words slurred from the alcohol.

She recoiled from his touch and sneered at him, “Dont touch me!” she snapped, inching more towards the left.

“Feisty,” he chuckled lowly, “I love feisty women.”

“I-“

“Stay the fuck away from her,” Anakin’s loud, menacing voice struck the man frozen. He gulped and turned, his eyes widening, “L-Lord Vader-“

Without a second of hesitation, Anakin moved his hand up and started to choke him using the force. His eyes widened and he grabbed his throat, choking, “L-Lord Vader, please I wasn’t-“

Anakin moved him toward him with the force, hoisting him up in the air as the entire bar fell silent to watch. He squeezed his neck tighter and furrowed his eyebrows more, clenching his jaw, “Don’t you ever go near my wife again, do you understand me?”

Y/n tried as hard as she could to pull her mind out of the gutter, but she couldn’t help but feel very turned on by the sight in front of he - her angry husband using his infamous force choke. She pressed her legs together in hopes to alleviate the arousal growing, to no avail.

Anakin quickly moved his hand to the right and the man went flying into the wall, his dead body smacking against the wall leaving a small indent. Anakin huffed angrily and smoothed down his robes, looking back up at the shocked crowd. “Sith business. Go back to your drinks.”

Everyone immediately went back to what they were doing, not wanting to piss off the already livid Sith Lord any more than he already was.

Anakin began to walk over towards Y/n, and she bit her lip in anticipation. He sat where the creeper sat and he rest his hand on her thigh and creeped it up her skirt slowly, “We’re going home right now.” he moved his hand up and flicked his finger across her underwear slowly, looking at her darkly, “understand me?”

Y/n nodded quickly and bit her lip, taking in a sharp breath and feeling very small next to the tall, menacing man she called her husband. “Y-Yes daddy...” she spoke softly. He smirked, knowing she only called him that when she was very, very turned on.

“That’s right baby.” he leaned in, teasing his lips closely to hers and chuckled, moving his finger more firmly against her clit through her underwear, “You belong to me and me only.” he pressed his lips firmly against hers, capturing her in a heated kiss.

She whimpered softly and kissed him back, gripping the seat tightly to keep her composure so she didn’t strip him down right then and there.

“We’re going home right now,” he snapped suddenly, pulling on her arm firmly but not enough to hurt her, making her stand up. She bit her lip and followed him, grabbing onto his arm as he guided them outside. “I’m never leaving you alone again. No one is allowed to go near you.”

“I didn’t do anything-“

“You didn’t, no,” Anakin sighed, walking past one of his troopers, “Trooper, fly us home,” he mumbled and the trooper nodded, “Yes, Lord Vader.”

Anakin turned to Y/n and looked at her darkly, making her heartbeat speed up from just the look alone. “I just want to remind you who you belong to.”

~*~

As soon as Anakin and Y/n got home, he brought her straight to their grand bedroom. He slammed the door shut behind them and instantly pressed her against the wall, pushing his hands against her head, making her gulp from his intimidating stature.

“You are in so much trouble, Angel,” Anakin spoke darkly, stroking her cheek with his hand, smirking. “I-I didn’t-“

“Still. You needed to be reminded as to who owns you,” Anakin captured her lips in a heated kiss, making her whimper softly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged at the ends of his hair, deepening the kiss as Anakin growled.

Swiftly, he moved his hands behind her back and picked her up, not breaking the kiss as he pressed her down on the bed.

She let out a small noise as he moved his hands up to squeeze her breasts as he kissed her harder, moving his hands down to slide her dress off slowly.

“A-Anakin, please just..”

“Patience, sweetheart,” Anakin smirked and got her dress fully off, immediately sucking on her breasts as she let out soft, faint moans as she gripped onto his back tightly.

Anakin pulled away after attacking her breasts with rough kisses and bites to take off his sith robes, throwing them to the floor as he moved his hand down to slide her underwear off; his other gloved hand pressed against her hipbone to keep her down.

“Look at you,” he spoke lowly, sliding her underwear off completely and teasingly swiping his finger inside her. “you’re dripping.”

She whined and squirmed around, trying to get back the feeling of his fingers inside her, “Ani-“

“Stop squirming,” he gripped her hipbone tighter and spread her legs apart further, stroking himself slowly as he chuckled down at his desperate wife. He leaned down and kissed her deeply as he thrust himself inside her slowly, stretching her fully out as she gasped, “Anakin!”

He growled lowly and started to thrust roughly into her, gripping her hips tighter as she moaned louder, “Fuck, just like that!”

He kissed her neck softly in contrast to his rough thrusts, losing himself in the feeling of her tightening around him tighter by the second.

“God, you feel like heaven...” he moaned into her neck, noticing her voice get breathier as she moaned louder.

“A-Ani, p-please, im so close...” she moaned louder, gripping his back tighter as he moved his hand down to rub her quickly, thrusting into her as hard as he could, “Let go... c’mon Angel, let go...”

After a moment, the knot snapped she came undone intensely, squirming and moaning loudly as it washed through her. He found his high and helped them ride them through, slowing his thrusts down until he pulled out and laid beside her.

He wrapped his large, muscular arms around her smaller frame and sighed heavily, kissing her hair, “I love you. I don’t want to ever lose you.”

Y/n hummed softly and hugged him back, pressing a soft kiss to his chest, “I love you. You won’t ever lose me,” she replied.

“All of this... all of this is for you. For us. So wet could be happy,” Anakin sighed, playing with her hair gently.

“I know. And i’m so thankful,” she pecked his lips softly. “I’m so glad I can rule beside you, my love.”

i'll put us back together at heart - s.h.

Summary: It's 1987. You haven't spoken to Steve Harrington in nearly five years. Then Dustin Henderson tells you about a sweet deal he has at Family Video, where he can rent any video he wants.

Pairing: ex-best friend!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings/tags: friends to strangers to lovers. the reader is twenty in 1987 and i technically made steve twenty-one/about to turn twenty-one. s4 happened but eddie's alive and vecna's dead. no earthquakes or anything like that; reader has no idea about what really happened. lots of angst, mentions of billy hargrove (yuck) and steve's s1 asshole friends.

A/N: oh my lord. i don't know where this eighteen-wheeler of a fic came from but here it is. there is a happy ending, not to worry. i'd never do that to y'all <3 feedback and reblogs are always always appreciated!

divider by firefly-graphics

August 1981

"I wish we could stay eighth graders forever."

You lift your head from your orange pool floaty. Steve drifts on the surface of the water. His hair is longer, way longer than you've seen it in the three years you've been friends. He says it's better for styling that way; he's even bought a gel and cream for his hair. You don't understand why he wants to change something that doesn't need changing. 

"Why?" you ask. "I thought you were excited for high school."

He hums. The sound echoes in his backyard. 

"It's bigger than middle school. More kids, more teachers, more work. I like eighth grade."

"I'll help you with your work," you say. 

Steve turns his head and smiles at you. Part of his face is in the water, the image distorted. 

"You'll do great," he replies. "You're so smart."

Steve doesn't say those things to get you to help him like other kids do. Steve means it. 

"You'll do great too," you say. "You're funny and nice and my best friend. People will like you."

"You think?" 

You nod. Steve turns his head and closes his eyes again. 

"We'll stay friends, right?" he asks. 

The floaty squeaks as you move to sit up. You paddle to Steve so you can look at his face. 

"Why wouldn't we?"

"I dunno." His eyes are still closed. "You might make super smart friends. And I'll just be a dumbass holding you back."

You shove Steve's shoulder lightly. 

"You are not dumb, Steve."

One muggy June night had had Steve admit he wasn't thirteen, like you and all the kids in your class, but fourteen. He had been held back in third grade after his parents moved from Illinois. It's why my brain's mush, he'd said. I was born dumb.

He had made you swear not to tell anyone. 

"You're not dumb," you say again. "Say it, Steve. Say you're not dumb."

His frown deepens, but he still won't look at you. 

"Tommy says I am."

"Tommy Hagan is a shithead," you shoot back with so much venom, Steve's eyes fly open. "It's not true, whatever he tells you."

You hate that they've been hanging out more this summer. You can't tell Steve that, because it's not like you own him. He can be friends with whoever he wants. But you can't help that your skin crawls when Tommy and his stupid girlfriend, Carol, drops by and pulls Steve away from you. 

“Promise?” he asks.

“Yes, Steve. I promise.”

“‘Kay.” Steve smiles a little. “Thanks.” 

You nod and lay back on the floaty. 

“Wanna get ice cream after this?” he asks. 

“Just us?” 

“Just us.”

Now. (January, 1987)

You slam the phone back onto the receiver. A girl playing Pac-Man carefully glances at you. 

Whoops. Right. You're still at work. 

You smile and give a thumbs-up. She turns around. You return to your wallowing. 

You’ve called three different video rentals. Jewel Films, which is about to go out of business; More Movies, whose attendant hung up on you before you could say Molly Ringwald; and finally, Blockbuster, which is thirty minutes outside of Hawkins. None of them have a copy of Pretty in Pink. 

And okay. You could just watch another movie. You don't need that specific one. But this year has been shit. You'd thought after starting college, you'd finally break out of the Hawkins forcefield that had limited your social life. You'd thought you'd make friends and not be so terribly lonely. Life is supposed to get better after high school, isn’t it? 

Obviously, whoever said that is a big, fat liar. 

“Dude!” you hear a familiar voice exclaim. “Stop hogging the game!”

Tawny curls peek from under a green and yellow hat. The hat hovers over an older boy who’s glued to the Tempest booth. You go to them. Dustin Henderson lights up when he sees you. You can read his hat now; it says Camp Know Where ‘85.

“Hey, Y/N!” he greets brightly. “This guy has been here for a half hour. I left to get nachos and when I came back, he was still here.”

“I’m this close to beating my score!” the kid insists.

“Come on, guy," you say, one arm on the machine. "You gotta give other people a turn."

The kid, evidently demon incarnate, sneers at you.

“Who’s gonna make me? You?” 

You lean against the side of the game, considering.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” he says.

You snort. 

“Sixteen? And you’re still on Tempest?”

He glances at you. 

“So?”

“Everybody your age is playing Rampage, that’s all.” 

You wink at Dustin. He beams.

“And, uh, I saw a couple girls hanging around Rampage,” you add. 

The kid turns to you. You tilt your head innocently. 

“Seriously?” he asks.

“Seriously. People always flock to the new games.”

Which is true. The girls part is not, but he doesn’t need to know that. With that attitude, he won't be getting many phone numbers anyway. 

You drum your fingers on the game like you have all the time in the world. And sure enough, the kid takes his quarters and heads towards Rampage. Dustin jumps in delight. 

“You’re awesome, Y/N!" 

You grin. “I try. Where are the others?”

Dustin sours.

“They ditched me. To hang out with their girlfriends! Can you believe that shit?” 

“No way!"

He shakes his head.

“I know, right? My friend told me that that’s what happens in high school. People change, y’know? And he’d know, I guess. He’s old like you.”

You scoff. “You make me sound like some kind of ancient. I’m not that old, Henderson.”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” He pats your arm. “In many cultures, the elderly are wise. Now in my experience, this hasn’t been the case. But I think you’re wise.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Dustin smiles like the little shit he is and puts his change in the slot. 

“Well, contrary to what this other friend says, I’m sure it’ll pass,” you say. “You guys will hang out again." 

You swallow your acidic truth. Dustin's a good kid, and so are his friends. You don't want him to turn cynical like you have. He's too young. 

Dustin shrugs, starting the game.

“I guess so. I got a copy of The Lost Boys for us to watch on Friday. They said they’ll be there.”

“Whoa, seriously? That one just came out, how’d you get a copy?”

“My friend,” he says. “The one I mentioned. He works at Family Video and reserves stuff for me.”

“Huh. I thought Family Video was closed."

You'd applied to work there last year and never got a call back. You'd gone by once and it had looked abandoned. Hence why you now work at the arcade across town. 

"It almost did, but Keith took over so now it's barely scraping by."

"Ah. Sweet deal on the movies."

“Yeah,” Dustin agrees, eyes crinkling. “My friend's pretty cool. You'd like him."

"Would I now?"

"Absolutely," he gushes. "He's a total badass too. He won his first fight last year. He used to be a jock but he's recovered." 

"Wow. Impressive."

"Mmhm. I could ask him to hold stuff for you too, if you wanted.”

“You would?”

The game makes a sad game over noise. Dustin sighs and takes a gulp of his slushie.

“Yeah, totally,” he says through a mouthful of blue raspberry ice. “Which one do you want?”

“Pretty in Pink? I missed it in theaters."

“Sure. I’ll tell him to hold it tonight and tomorrow you can pick it up.”

“Cool. Thanks, Dustin.”

Dustin gives you an apple-cheeked grin.

“Gotta stay in good graces with the arcade attendant who lets me play Tempest as long as I want.”

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say, walking away. "Don't get slushie on the game."

"'Kay!"

Dustin only gets a little bit of slushie on the game, but he cleans it up with about a million of the cheap snack bar napkins. When he leaves, he tells you to mention his name at Family. 

"Who do I ask for?" 

"You can talk to either of them," Dustin says. "Doesn't matter. Except Keith. You know Keith, right?"

"Unfortunately.” Keith used to terrorize the arcade before he blessedly moved on. “He works there?"

"Barely." Dustin scoffs. "He's almost never there, so don't worry. And feel free to ask for more movies. They owe me one."

Your sole interactions are with professors and a gaggle of high school freshmen. But now you get to watch any movie you want. Maybe this year won't totally suck. 

The bell rings pleasantly as you step inside. There's a few people on line, so you take your time walking in. There's a movie display with about thirty copies of RoboCop. A cardboard cutout of RoboCop stares back behind his red helmet.

"Can I help who's next?"

You go to the counter. A girl about your age with a choppy haircut smiles at you but it's sort of strained. She has a pin on her green work vest that says Ask me!

"Please don't ask for Adventures in Babysitting," she says. 

"Oh. No, I'm, uh, Dustin's friend?" 

You can't believe you're name-dropping a high schooler. 

She nods in realization. 

"Oh, yeah. God, I keep telling that dweeb not to promise holds."

You wince. 

"Sorry. If it's going to get you in trouble…"

Her brows raise. She smiles a bit. 

"No, it's okay. Usually my coworker deals with it but, well. He's taking an extra long break today. So, what movie was it?"

"Pretty in Pink," you say. 

"Classic," she replies. "John Hughes fan?"

"Somewhat. I didn't get to see it in theaters. I like Molly Ringwald."

She grins.

"Me too. She's pretty."

"Super pretty," you agree. 

The girl considers you, then sticks out her hand. 

"I'm Robin," she says. "Nice to meet you."

You take her hand. "Y/N.”

"Did you go to Hawkins High?"

"I did. Graduated last year."

"Oh, cool. Are you in college?"

You nod. 

"Hawkins State. Twenty minutes from here."

"Sweet! I'm taking a gap year, but afterwards, I’m gonna apply there. It's cheap. College is college, right?"

"College is college," you agree. "But I wish I'd gone away for school."

You don't know why you're telling her this. You've known Robin for all of two minutes. But she seems friendly. And her sense of style is cool. She wears a blue blazer and tie underneath her vest. 

"How come?" she asks. 

"Everybody from Hawkins is there," you say. "And I… I just want a new start."

Robin smiles sympathetically. 

"They're jerks," she says. 

You huff. "Yeah."

You'd turned yourself into a social recluse a million years ago. It's your own damn fault you can't befriend anybody in this town. At least, not anymore. 

Robin types into the computer, then smacks the monitor. She groans. 

"Ugh. Gimme a second," she says. "Stupid technology."

"No problem," you say, smiling. You like her. Maybe you can integrate Family Video into your regular routine, become friends. You can see Robin becoming a good friend. One you wouldn't grow apart from. 

She disappears into the back room. You browse the old releases and stop at Die Hard. This one you saw in theaters. John McClane is a badass. 

You think of Dustin, and his supposedly badass new friend. It's too bad you didn't meet today. Dustin has a good sense about people. If he says so, it's possible you and this friend really would get on. 

The bell rings again. You're slow to look up. The entrance is empty when you do. You keep reading about John McClane's adventures. 

"Have you been waiting long?"

You turn at the new voice. The video slips out of your hand and clatters onto the counter. 

Steve’s hair has grown since you last saw it. He looks different too, though he has yet to break out of his signature church boy polos. There's a smattering of stubble on his jaw. His arms are lean with muscle. He wears a matching work vest like Robin's, name tag printed Steve in blocky font. 

He looks at where you've dropped Die Hard and smiles. 

"This is a good one," he says. "John McClane is a total badass."

You blink.

"Did you want to rent that one?" he continues, meeting your eye. 

"No," you manage. 

"Okay, no problem. Just browsing?" 

He doesn't remember you. 

You stare and stare. Steve leans in, concerned. He's changed, but he hasn't. He's still handsome with his swoopy hair and big, dark eyes, but the Steve you knew wouldn't have been caught dead working at a video store.

And he doesn't remember you. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, sounding genuine.

You take a step back from the counter. The blood roars in your ears. Robin comes back in, Pretty in Pink in hand. She looks at you, then at Steve. 

"Got it!" she tells you. "Computer should work now."

"I have to go," you say. 

You don't look at Steve again, instead focusing on Robin. 

Her brows rise. 

"Oh. Is everything—"

"I forgot my wallet," you blurt. "I can't pay for the movie. Sorry."

"That's okay, we can just—"

You run. The bell chimes over her words. You keep running until you get to the bus stop, three blocks away. 

Only there do you stop to catch your breath. 

And then you cry. 

February 1982

"What do you think about Marie?" 

You look up from your textbook. Steve is doodling in the margins of his notes. You gently prod his arm. He returns to reading but his leg starts to bounce under the table. 

"Marie Iverson?" you ask.

"Yeah." 

Steve glances at you. He pushes his hair back. It had taken him freshman year to get his bearings with all the gels and creams, but now, his hair is a point of pride, always perfectly coiffed. Seniors call him "The Hair" and high-five him in the hallway. You hate it. 

"I don't know. I don't know her that well."

"She's cute." 

"I guess so," you say. 

It's harder to get Steve to focus on homework these days. Last year, he happily made flashcards with you and even bought fancy gel pens to share for your notes. Now, he prefers to talk about girls or—

"I was thinking of asking her out."

The tip of your pencil breaks. You really ought to start using pens, but you don't like being unable to erase. 

"Shit, here. Take mine." 

Steve offers his still perfectly sharpened pencil. You stare at it. 

"Y/N?" 

"Yeah." You take the pencil. "Thanks."

"Sure. So what do you think?" 

"I don't know, Steve. I thought you talked about this stuff with Tommy."

"I would, it's just…" Steve shifts uncomfortably. "He can be rude about it sometimes. He doesn't even get why we're friends, y'know? Doesn't understand why I don't just date you."

Tommy is a moron, but you've said that since last year, and Steve's never listened before. 

"Some people don't get it," you say mildly, because you have an upcoming French test and there's no use in getting upset over Tommy Hagan right now. 

"But you do. And you know about this stuff better than me. Girls and all."

"Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I know what girls are best for you to date, Steve. It's weird to talk about."

Steve deflates. 

"Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Sorry."

You sigh and rub your temple. 

"I thought you knew all about that," you say, extending an olive branch. "Asking girls out and stuff."

"Well, I mean, I've kissed girls but I've never… you're, like, the only girl I really know."

Something like pride swells in your chest. Selfishly, you want to keep Steve. You don't want to help him if it means losing him. Oh, you're so greedy, aren't you? You watch Steve run off with Tommy and Carol and nameless seniors and seethe, because Steve was yours first. Steve is yours.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah." You give him back his pencil and fish for another one in your bag. "Did you ever think about writing how you feel?" 

"Writing?"

"Yeah, like a poem or a letter."

"I'm terrible at writing," Steve laments. "The letters get all jumbled and I never spell a damn thing right."

He'd told his mom once how letters melt into each other, how b's become d's. She'd taken him to get his eyes checked, and when the doctor said Steve was fine, Deborah Harrington had told her son to stop begging for attention. 

"Someone who really likes you won't care about spelling mistakes, Steve," you tell him. "As long as you write from the heart. Don't do that cheesy shit and quote Romeo and Juliet. They're young, impulsive, and they die at the end, and that's not romantic."

Steve laughs, nose scrunched. 

"What!" you demand. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, 's just—of course you'd have something to say about quoting Shakespeare."

"It's overdone," you say, crinkling your nose. "And girls would much rather read your own words." 

"So you think I should write Marie a letter?"

"If you really like her," you say. "Only write letters for girls you really like. Otherwise they lose their meaning."

Steve frowns. "I don't know if I should write her a letter, then."

Don't, you want to say. Don't write any of them letters.

You shuffle your papers into a stack. 

"Can we study now?" you ask.

"Oh, sure, yes. Sorry."

"You don't have to keep apologizing, Steve."

He shifts closer to you. His leg has stopped bouncing.

"Lemme take you out," he says. 

You nearly swallow your tongue. 

"Wh–what?"

"For ice cream," Steve clarifies. "Like we used to. Dairy Queen."

"Oh. Okay, sure. But after we study."

Steve beams. "I'll drive you."

Steve's dad had bought him the BMW as a birthday present this year—not that Richard Harrington actually knows when his own son's birthday is, considering the gift was three months early. Still, it's another point of pride for Steve and about all anybody talks about whenever his name comes up. Steve is the only person in your grade with a car. Junior girls hit him up for rides. You make yourself scarce when they do. 

You don't care. You liked Steve before the car. And the clothes. And the hair. 

Your throat feels tight. You want your best friend back. 

"Just us?" you check. 

You can't tell these days. Steve seems to hang out with everybody but you. You're shocked he'd even asked to study together. 

"Oh, sure," Steve says. "I just have to drop off Tommy and Carol first, okay?" 

You check your watch and close your book. 

"I have class," you lie. "I'll see you later." 

Steve catches your wrist. He looks at you and you're struck by how sweet his face is. It's not like you didn't understand why girls want him but it's Steve. Your Steve, who still sleeps with a nightlight and who framed a picture of a sports car he cut out from a magazine because he'd thought it would make him cooler (it didn't. You still tease him about it.) 

"Please," he says. "For helping me."

Your eyes slit. "I didn't help you to get stuff, Steve. I helped you because you're my friend."

Steve blinks like he's forgotten what it's like to be friends with someone just for the sake of being friends. 

"You're right," he agrees. "You're not like that. I'll tell Tommy and Carol to find another ride. It'll be just us. I promise."

You perk up at that. "Really?"

"Really. You can sit in the front with me and we'll play Bruce Springsteen, like we used to. Please?" 

"Okay, Steve." You ache. You’ve never been very good at telling him no. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."

And maybe… maybe your best friend is still in there after all.

Now

You ask your shift manager if you can work at the snack bar today. It's in the back and you won't have to deal with any game hogs. 

"You didn't put enough syrup in my slushie."

You might have overshot the perks, though. 

Slushie Girl's hair is bleach blonde and hairsprayed to God. You want to tell her that all that hairspray doesn't keep friends. Or brain synapses. 

"I don't make the slushie," you say for the third time. "That's how it comes out of the machine."

She shoots you a mean look. 

"I'm complaining to the manager."

You paste on a smile. 

"You do that. Have a nice day."

She finally walks away, probably on the hunt for your manager, who's definitely smoking a joint outside to avoid this exact situation. 

Dustin comes around the corner and this time, he's with the rest of his party. You smile. 

"Hey, Y/N!" Dustin greets.

Lucas waves at you. Max and Mike are arguing and therefore are in their own world. And there's their newest addition, El, whose story you're still not clear on, as well as Will, quiet as always. 

You lean your elbows on the countertop. 

"What'll it be, gang?"

"Six nachos and six slushies, please. One blue raspberry, three cherry, and two Coke."

You fill up the slushies first. Dustin dances on his toes. 

"So did you pick up the movie?" he asks.

"Oh." You try to smile. "I went there but I couldn't. I forgot my money. Pretty dumb of me."

Dustin accepts this with no argument. 

"Well, you can go back. They'll hold it for a few days."

You're never setting foot in there again, but you don't tell Dustin that. 

He takes his slushie and immediately starts drinking. 

"Slow down, dude. You'll get a brain freeze," you say. 

"You sound like Steve," Dustin informs you. "Doesn't Y/N sound like Steve?" 

Lucas nods. 

"Yup. They're both parents."

You feel queasy. You focus on making the nachos, the cheese pouring out thick and gooey. 

"Did you meet Steve?" Dustin asks. "You probably know him from high school, but he's different now."

"Yes," you say quietly. "I knew him."

"I promise he's different. Even Mike likes him, and Mike hated his guts. Right, Mike?"

Mike pauses in his animated discussion with Max and looks at you. 

"What?"

"I'm telling Y/N about how Steve is cool now," Dustin explains. 

"Oh." Mike shrugs. "He's fine. Much better now that he's not dating my sister."

"He's not?" you ask. "But they were in love. I–I mean, that's what I heard, at least."

"She dumped his ass," El says, and it sounds a little ridiculous in her soft monotone. 

Max scoffs, taking her Coke slushie. 

"Did you live under a rock? It was a huge thing."

"Now Steve is lame," Mike says with a snort. 

"Getting dumped doesn't make somebody lame," you say with an old ferocity you'd thought had disappeared. 

"Okay, jeez." Mike holds up his hands. "Steve's alright. He's different, that's for sure."

"He's our paladin," Lucas says. "A protector." 

Dustin nods eagerly.

You blink. "He protects you guys?"

Max elbows Lucas. You have no idea what that's about. El steps forward and smiles softly. 

"Yes," she says. "He's our babysitter."

"Aren't you guys freshmen? I thought you were too old for babysitters."

"Oh no, Steve doesn't get paid for it or anything," says Mike. "He just does it 'cause he has nothing else to do."

"That's not true!" Dustin argues. Then he shrugs. "Well, it's a little true. But he does like us. He's a good guy. He cares about his friends."

You bite your tongue, not wanting to reply to that. 

"That's great, guys. The girl, Robin? She seems pretty cool too."

"That's Steve's best friend," says Dustin. "She's great."

"Oh." You wince. "Best friend?" 

Dustin huffs. “Yeah. They don’t date. He won’t say why."

"Platonic with a capital P," Max confirms. “It’s obviously because he’s in love with somebody else.”

“Not Nancy!” Lucas protests.

“There are other girls besides Nancy, Sinclair.”

You busy yourself with serving the last set of nachos. The kids pull out crumpled bills and coins in return. You count the money and stack it directly into the register; you know there won't be any change. 

When you turn, they're still there. Dustin has his signature grin on, eyes squinty. 

"Yeees," you drag out. "Can I help you?"

"We need a favor," Lucas says. "Please."

"Hmm." You lean over the counter. "What's up?"

"They're showing Prince of Darkness on Friday," Dustin explains. "But it's rated R."

"So just sneak in. Isn't that what you guys did at Starcourt?" you ask.

"We had an inside man then. They're a lot stricter at the new one," Lucas frowns. "They ask for IDs 'cause some mom complained after her kid snuck in to watch Risky Business." 

"And why can't your babysitter take you?"

You sneer at the thought. Steve spending his Friday nights herding a bunch of adolescent teens into a movie theater. There's a reason you consider Dustin affectionately delusional. 

"He has a stupid date," Dustin groans. "He's a serial dater, Y/N. It's terrible. He gets lucky once and totally ditches us."

Now that sounds like the Steve you knew. 

"I see. I don't really like horror stuff."

"You don't have to stay!" Dustin insists. "You can watch whatever you want after we’re in. I'll pay you back for the ticket."

“This would be so much easier if Steve still worked at Scoops,” Mike grumbles.

You blank for a moment, the image of Steve in a sailor’s hat and those ridiculous shorts whiting your brain.

“Um,” you begin. “You know I don’t have a fancy BMW to cart you guys around in, right?”

“It’s cool. We’ll get there,” Max says.

“So?” Dustin bounces on his toes. “Sooo?”

You sigh. It’d been nice of Dustin to get you the movie, even though you’d chickened out and ran. And it’s not like you have anything better to do.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll get you guys in.”

Dustin pumps his fist. “Thanks, Y/N! You’re my favorite old person.”

You roll your eyes. “Funny. Any funnier, and I might rescind my help, Henderson.”

“Byeeee!”

They all disperse to the arcade. You wonder how on earth Steve got involved with them.

March 1983

“Okay, but if you had to choose.”

“Pass. I would literally rather swallow pennies than kiss Principal Coleman’s bald-ass head, Steve.”

Steve takes a triumphant swig of beer. “So you’re saying you’ve got the hots for Benny the janitor.”

“No!” you insist through giggles. “I don’t. God, you’re gross. Can’t believe I’m being treated like this on your birthday.”

“Exactly! My birthday.”

He rolls onto his side in his deck chair and nearly faceplants on the cement. You reach out, reaction time delayed.

“Steve!” you yell. “Careful.”

“I am, I am,” he mumbles, and rights himself on the chair. “Jus’ wanna see you better.”

“I keep telling you you need glasses.”

“I do not,” he whines. “My vision’s ten outta ten. Could a guy who needs glasses do this?”

He crumples up a Twinkies wrapper and throws it towards the garbage. The wind picks up and sends the wrapped into the pool. 

“Shit,” he says.

You belly laugh in delight.

“Wait, wait, redo. Go fish it outta there.”

“Oh, as if. I’m not going in there. I told you you need glasses. Even Mother Nature agrees.”

"She does not. Mother Nature thinks I'm a doll."

You hum and close your eyes. Alcohol always makes you sleepy. 

The chair scrapes against the concrete. You hear a crinkle of a chip bag. Those are your only warning before you’re crushed by two hundred pounds of drunk boy. 

“Steve!” You wheeze, squirming as his hair tickles your face. “Get off!”

"’M sleepy,” he mumbles.

“Well, don't sleep on me, weirdo.”

“‘S cold.”

“You run, like, a hundred degrees, don’t lie.”

He lifts his head. “So you’re saying I’m hot?”

“I’m saying all that booze cooked your brain,” you reply sweetly.

“I’ve been wounded,” he moans and plops onto your shoulder.

“Ugh.” You resign to your fate and lean back. Steve’s not actually that heavy; even drunk, he has a lot of control over his weight and he’s situated himself so he isn’t crushing anything important. No, you squirm underneath him for a very different reason. 

“Steeeeve,” you whine. “You’re gonna squish me into a pancake.”

“Can’t believe no one else came.”

You still. Steve’s face remains buried in your shoulder. His body is beside yours, and he has an arm slung over your belly.

“I didn’t—didn’t want a party,” he continues. “I always throw parties. I thought I’d do somethin’ different. An’ none of them even wished me a happy birthday. ‘Cept you.”

You rest your hand on the back of his hair. It’s wind-blown and messy from the drinks, free of his heady hair gel. You’ve never loved it more.

“Did you tell them your birthday is today?” you ask gently, even though you know he did.

“Yeah,” he says. “Told all of ‘em. Guess they weren’t listening.”

“I listen.”

Steve looks up at you. His eyes are glassy.

“God, I miss you,” he says.

You feel the wall you’ve built this year crumble, just a little. 

“I’m right here, Steve.”

“I know but—been a jerk lately. I know I have. You’re my best friend, okay? Nothing’ll change that. I–I love you so much.”

Your breath hitches. Steve barrels on, not noticing.

“And I’ll be better. We’ll hang out more. Not–not here, drunk. But for real. We’ll go to the movies. Y’wanna see a movie?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I wanna see a movie.”

“‘Kay, what movie? Anything you want. We’ll get popcorn and Raisinets.”

“You hate Raisinets,” you choke through a watery laugh.

“I’d eat Raisinets anytime with you.”

You lay there, in the dark, the only sound being the pool filter.

“Let’s watch the new James Bond.”

“Hmm, okay. But you’ll have to say the name eventually.”

Your nose crinkles. “I am not calling it by its name.”

His laugh is warm in your neck. 

You don’t tell Steve to get up again. He snuggles into you, leg over yours. You fall asleep like that, curled underneath him.

Now

“Wait.” Max stops. “Shouldn’t we have, like, a game plan?”

“Game plan?” El asks quietly.

“Yeah. Some of us aren’t so great at playing it cool.”

She stares at Lucas.

“I play it cool!” he squawks. “I am so cool!”

“Right.”

“Just let Y/N do the talking,” Will says. “She’s technically the adult so she should act like this is a conscious choice.”

You shrug. “Makes sense to me.”

Dustin beams. “This is gonna be great!”

“Or a total disaster,” Max says.

You go to the counter, the kids trailing behind like ducklings.

“Six tickets for Prince of Darkness, please,” you say. “And uh, one for Dirty Dancing.”

The attendant looks at you, then at the kids.

“Don’t you mean seven tickets for Prince of Darkness?” she asks. “It’s rated R.”

Shit. “Right, yes. Sorry. Seven tickets. And one for Dirty Dancing. We have another friend who’s late.”

“Uh-huh.” 

The attendant, whose bored expression you’ve recognized on your own face after long days in the arcade, hands you your tickets without any questioning. 

“I think we’re in the clear,” Lucas whispers when you enter the concession area. 

You wait for them to buy their snacks. Max persuades Lucas to let her mix M&Ms into their bucket of popcorn. He agrees and shuffles closer so they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder while they share. 

“Okay, last stretch,” Mike says, shoveling a frighteningly large handful of sour worms into his mouth. “We just have to get past the ticket guy.”

Said ticket guy is a kid who can’t be much older than you. You think you might’ve gone to school together, but you’ve made it a point to eviscerate everything about high school from your mind.

“Hey,” you say, trying to act cool. Maybe you’re the one Max should’ve been worried about, instead of Lucas. “Uh, here are our tickets.”

He takes the tickets, then looks behind you.

“Prince of Darkness is only for people seventeen and older,” he says.

“I’m an adult, so I’m with them,” you explain. “I’m, like, their guardian?”

“Yeah, uh—” He hands you your tickets. “No can do. There needs to be an adult for each person under seventeen.”

“Come on,” you cajole. “They’re high schoolers. It’s not like they’re gonna be scarred for life watching some zombies, or whatever.”

He shrugs. “Rules are rules.”

“She’s an adult!” Dustin argues.

“Look, if you’re gonna hold up the line, I’m gonna have to—”

“Yo, Gillespie! That you?”

Dustin turns and lights up. The seven of you part for Steve Harrington and his date, a pretty strawberry blonde you think you had biology with.

“Harrington, man, what’s up!” 

Ticket Prick gets up to slam Steve into a bear hug. You barely resist an eye roll.

“Shit, I haven’t seen you in a year! Where’ve you been all this time? Hey, did you hear about that shit with Munson?”

Steve flinches. It’s a tiny movement, indiscernible to the trained eye. But it’s there all the same.

“Gillespie, c’mon. Don’t bring the party down with that,” Steve says, all sweet charm. 

“Sorry, sorry. Daisy,” he greets the girl attached to Steve’s arm.

“Gil,” she replies with a giggle. “You smell like popcorn butter.”

America’s future taxpayers. Terrifying. 

“Are you gonna let us in or not?” Max interrupts, arms folded. 

You feel a burst of pride.

Gil shoots her a dirty glare and puffs up, ready to fight a fourteen year old. Steve cuts in smoothly.

“Gillespie, listen. I know her.” He points to you. You bristle. “I can personally vouch that she’s just trying to do right by these kids. They wanted to see Prince of Darkness, y’know? Get away from the parents.”

“It’s a sick film,” Gil agrees. “You seen it?”

No, of course Steve hadn’t seen it. He hates horror. 

“Planning on it,” Steve says, the ultimate image of playing it cool. “Look, you remember sneaking into the movies. Fast Times? Ring any bells?”

Max rolls her eyes. You’re inclined to do the same.

Gil laughs dopily, and nudges Steve. “Hell yeah, I do. That was a crazy night, Harrington.”

Steve smiles thinly. “Sure was. So whaddya say? For old times’ sake?”

Gil considers your little troupe. Then he shrugs.

“Why not. Manager’s not here anyway.”

He takes the tickets and tears them to stubs, then gives them back.

“Theater six. On your left. Enjoy.”

The kids stampede into the left theater wing. You hang back with your own ticket. 

“Appreciate it, man,” Steve says, all smiles. “Take care, alright?”

“Hey, you too, Harrington! We gotta catch up!”

Steve and Daisy go in. You expect them to walk right past you, and Daisy does, predictably. But Steve stops.

“I’ll catch up, okay?” he tells her. “Find us some good seats?”

She paws at him a little, then goes, sodas in hand. You stiffen as Steve walks and stops three feet away from you. 

“Hey,” he says. “Sorry about that. Gil’s an asshole.”

“I know. He yawned during my poetry reading sophomore year. And then you guys went to the movies together.”

Steve shrinks. “Your poems were great.”

You’re suddenly exhausted.

“What do you want, Steve?”

“I just… I wanted to see you. Say hi.”

“Okay.” You cross your arms. “Hi.”

“You forgot your movie,” he says. “The other day.”

“I didn’t want it that much.”

“Dustin said you looked everywhere for it.”

“Well, in the end, it didn’t really matter,” you say. “Not enough to stay.”

“Y/N—”

“I think your date’s waiting for you,” you interrupt. “Better get back to her. Wouldn’t want to taint your reputation.”

Steve makes a noise like he’s been wounded. You turn on your heel before you can think better of it. 

“Wait.” He catches your wrist. Steve’s grip is light, like you’re something precious to hold. You wrench your arm away. “Y/N, I want to apologize. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you ask. “For forgetting me? I didn’t expect you to remember, Steve.”

“I didn’t forget you,” he insists. “I could never forget you. I wasn’t—please, can I just explain?”

“I don’t need your explanations,” you snap. The hurt corrodes your tongue like acid. “I know what happened. We were both there. You left.”

Steve’s eyes are huge and dark. He looks like you just stabbed him in the heart, and that makes you feel worse. You’d thought telling him how much it hurts would put you back together, but all it did was break you more.

So you run. Again. 

You slam through a back exit and rip your ticket into a million pieces. The wind is cold and unforgiving. Your eyes sting. 

You call out sick for two days in a row. You kind of expect to get fired, but then again, people have been leaving Hawkins and if you’re not here to serve the masses their slushies, who will be?

So, after lying in bed not thinking about movies and strawberry blonde girls and how sick you are of this town, you get up and put on your arcade vest.

Now it is two in the afternoon. You’d heard it was supposed to snow today.

Robin eyes the snack counter like it holds the next plague outbreak. You don't blame her; you make it a point to wash up to your elbows after work.

"Slushie?"

She looks at you like she’d forgotten you were there. "What?"

You point a thumb at the machine. "Are you here for a slushie?"

"Oh. No, sorry. Red dye makes me insane in the brain. Steve actually—"

Robin stops, grimaces. So he's told her. Probably everything, if the kids had been telling the truth. 

You're honestly surprised she's here. Unless it’s to, like, swirlie you in the vat of artificial cheese. 

"Are you here to drown me in nacho cheese?" you ask.

Robin's eyes go wide as dinner plates. "What? No!"

"Just checking." You lean against the counter. "What can I do for you, Robin?" 

Robin suddenly looks like she's never interacted with a human being before. You like her a lot. Steve probably does too. 

"I came to drop off your movie." She holds the tape over the counter like it's a pool of lava. 

"But I didn't pay for it." You shove your hand in your jean pocket; you only have a couple dollars on you. "I guess I can get you the money tom—"

"It's on the house. For a fellow Molly fan."

Robin wiggles the tape with two fingers. You take it and wait for a catch. There is none. 

"Thank you," you say. "You didn't have to do that."

"Actually, it wasn't me," she confesses. "I'm just the mailman."

You prepare to hand it back but Robin shakes her head. 

"He's not going to pop out of the slushie machine, okay? He's just trying to make it up to you."

"He doesn't need to make it up to me," you bite, except those aren’t the words you mean. "Why does he even care? We're not in high school anymore."

Robin smiles a sad smile. 

"I know," she says. "We’re not. I know he should've known to fix things earlier. He's received a lot of blows to the head, though, so he's still catching up."

The thought turns your stomach. More? More you weren’t there to protect him from?

"He doesn't owe me anything," you say and wave the tape again. "You can take it back and leave it for somebody else."

"Y/N, I know we don't know each other, like, at all. But it's important to me you know that Steve cares about you, because you’re important to him. And you knew him way before I did, and you probably know a lot of stuff I don't, and that's good because he has a friend like me, but he should also have a friend like you too, Y/N."

"I don't want to be his friend," you mumble. 

"Yeah," Robin says. "I figured. But I don't think that's a confession he should hear secondhand."

You look at her, stunned. She's such a clever girl. You hope she treats Steve well.

"If you two are—"

"We're not," she says, like this is a regular explanation she goes through. "Steve and I are friends. Steve has crashed and burned with every single date since his fall from regency. Steve is the best person I've ever met." 

"Yeah, I’ve heard. You and Dustin are his biggest fans."

Robin snorts. "Trust me, I'm not proud of it."

You shake your head. Your eyes feel hot. 

"This town is so shit," you say. 

"Yeah," Robin agrees. "It really fucking is. But I'm not asking you to give this town a second chance. Just him."

"Why are you trying so much?" you ask. "You don't even know me."

Robin shrugs. "No, but you're the one person Steve used to be friends with who's not an asshole, and I think us non-assholes need to band together."

"I can sometimes be an asshole."

"Me too. So are those little dweebs. How about calling ourselves the Semi-Assholes Club?" 

You laugh. "We'll get jackets."

"With partially drawn butts on the backs," Robin says with a giggle. 

You look at the tape in your hand. 

"Does Steve like John Hughes?" 

"He does. He's a total sap for those. He thinks he's in his own coming-of-age movie because he's delusional."

He sounds perfect. He sounds like the friend you loved. 

"I did want to watch this one," you say. 

"It won't hurt you to," Robin promises. 

You suppose not.

December 1984

You don't believe the whispers. All week, the rumor mill spins tales of Billy Hargrove finally pushing the King off his throne. There's no way he'll show his face, a girl at the adjacent lunch table astutes. I sure as fuck wouldn't.

Steve Harrington is a loser. Steve Harrington got dumped for Jonathan Byers. Steve Harrington may as well be dead, and on and on. 

Every line gets you angrier. A boy who sits behind you in chemistry taps his pencil like he always does. Tap, tap, tap. 

Halfway through class, you snap at him to quit it. He does, but not without a tinge of embarrassment. You’re so angry this year. Angry at your loneliness, angry at the unfairness of said loneliness. You might’ve done this to yourself, and that fact only gets you angrier.

You see Nancy Wheeler in the hallways with Jonathan Byers, and the confirmation of that rumor should make you happy. It doesn't. 

A week later, most of the excitement has died down. Everybody’s moved onto the next big thing, which is to deduce who fucked in Vice Principal White's office. One look at V.P. White, and it had been decided that it can't have been White himself. 

You can't care less. Once upon a time you might’ve laughed about it with a friend, but you don't have any more of those, and high school is bullshit with or without them. So.

Steve walks in twenty five minutes into the period. Mrs. Kaplan gives him a downright beastly glare and demands to know where he had been. 

"I'm sorry," is all he says. "If you give me detention, I understand."

There are a few snickers that rub at an old hurt, one that had flared up whenever somebody dared to make fun of your best friend. It doesn't bother me, he'd said, and you'd known it was a lie. 

It bothers me, you’d replied, and Steve had hugged you tight.

Mrs. Kaplan seems more stunned Steve hadn't swaggered past her like a peacock escaped from the zoo and lets him go sit down without a fight. He takes the only empty desk, two rows across from you. You stare. You can't not. 

Half of his face looks like it was mashed in a garbage disposal. It's purple and a sickly yellow. His eye and lip are still swollen. You stare and stare. You feel queasy. 

Billy had done that. You're so angry. You think you might never get past this grief, this loss of a once permanent fixture in your life. 

No one wished Steve a happy birthday this year, you realize out of nowhere.

You stare and stare and stare until Steve looks right back. You're blindsided by thick guilt, like blinking through a milkshake. And then the familiar curl of anger returns because why the fuck should you feel guilty? You aren't the one who fucked everything up, who mascerated this good thing. Steve did this to himself. Steve deserves to walk the halls alone. It's Steve's fault. 

But when you look at him, at his raw wounds, at his bruised knuckles, you know that he already believes he deserves every punch Billy Hargrove gave him. 

You hate Steve Harrington. But you really wish you'd been there to drive him to the hospital. 

Now (And Forever)

The tape sits buried in your drawer for three days. You don’t know what Family Video’s return policy is, but you hope you’re not racking up late fees. You doubt name dropping Dustin will work again.

It’s Saturday when you decide to watch Pretty in Pink. You remove the video from its sleeve. An envelope falls out.

The front has your name printed in squished, loopy script. You remember January at Steve’s house, a stack of thank-you cards courtesy of his mother awaiting the Harringtons’ sign-off. Steve’s hand would cramp and you’d take over while he made grilled cheese for the both of you. Love, The Harringtons, and there was no love in that house, but you think maybe Steve loved enough to make up for it. 

Hi, the letter begins. I hope you’re good. Robin told me you’re going to Hawkins State.

That’s fucking amazing. I’m so proud of you. Are you still writing poetry? I liked that one you wrote about the birds who shared a branch and kept each other warm. I still have it in my notebook in my room.

I’m sorry for the other night. I’m sorry for every night since freshman year, honestly. I’m kind of a dumbass, but you know that, so it doesn’t really excuse anything. I think I’ve actually lost brain cells since we drifted apart.

You crumple the corner, suddenly hot with anger. Who keeps telling him he’s dumb? You want names.

I didn’t forget you, you know. I got scared and I thought maybe I could ease into it, but then you recognized me and… well. I don’t blame you for running.

Anyway. I’m talking too much about myself, when there’s nothing to say. I’m really sorry about what I did, or, actually, what I didn’t do. Somebody told me I was living on autopilot, and that it wasn’t really living at all. I think it was you. 

I’m not living on autopilot anymore. I woke up. And I realized that you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. I love Robin and the kids and this little family that has apparently invayd invaded your life too. Sorry about that. They never leave and they eat all your food. Good luck. 

But I miss you. I always have.

Shit happened these last few years that I’ll tell you about one day, if you want. I’d rather not, though, because you’ve always been the paranoiac (like that one? Robin said it’s an SAT word) of the two of us and I feel like this would just make you even more of one. But I will tell you, if you want to hear it. I want to tell you everything. I want you to tell me everything too. Like we used to.

I want you to tell me how college is going. Who the annoying jerks in your classes are so I can go beat them up (kidding). I want you to stop by to rent movies so I can lend them for free and you’ll yell at me about taking advantage of fre friendships. 

Fuck, I miss you. It’s always been there, bubbling below the surface. I never stopped missing you. I never stopped loving you. I’m sorry I didn’t write this sooner. I know you said writing is how we express things we can’t say. You were right. You always are. Can’t believe I forgot that. 

It’s okay if you don’t want to be friends. I mean, it hurts, but I respect it. I understand. Most days, I can’t believe people can bear to be around me. But then I hear your voice in my head, telling me that most people are shitheads and that I’m golden and. Well, I don’t know if I believe that, but you were right that most of the people I surrounded myself with were shitheads. Except you, of course. And then I went ahead and fucked that up.

I’ve been working on finding the non-shitheads of the world. I think I’m doing pretty well. And I wrote this because I realized that while I will probably end up buried in this fucking town, you’re going to do something incredible. And nothing incredible ever happens in Hawkins, so I figure you’ll be far away when you do it. 

I didn’t want to miss this chance to write things I never said. So here they are. And you can do whatever you want with them. You’ve always been the best of the two of us. I trust you.

You should watch Dirty Dancing. You’ll like it. I did. I’ll see it again if you want. I’ll watch anything with you.

Did you know there’s another Bond movie coming out in the summer? We could watch that one together too. If you wanted more time to decide.

Sincer

Lo

Your friend,

Steve

You don’t bother ejecting the tape. You run all the way to the bus stop, Steve’s letter in hand. 

You have to see him. No other thoughts register except that one. You have to know if Steve wrote these words because he can’t say them or because you won’t listen.

It isn’t too late when you get to Loch Nora. The neighborhood is dead, which is weird. Steve’s house looks frozen in time: his parents’ car isn’t in the driveway. You wonder if they’ve ever come back since you’ve been gone. You wouldn't be surprised if the answer is no.

There’s a tarp over the pool. The gate is locked with a chain. You can’t sneak in through the fence like you used to. Not that you would. You don’t think strangers can sneak through pool gates.

You knock on the door three times. And wait.

Steve’s car is in the driveway, a duller burgundy than when he first got it. There are a few scratches in the paint. No longer a prized possession. Maybe well-loved instead.

The door swings open. 

Steve says your name like a prayer. You swallow and steel your spine. 

“I got your letter,” you say.

“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck. His hair is damp like he’s just showered. It curls around his ears. Waves of want hit you. 

“I don’t want to be friends,” you continue before he can speak. “I don’t—I can’t do that again.”

Steve’s mouth draws into the saddest frown you’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Thank you for telling me.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, that’s not—I don’t mean it like that.”

His brows knit. “What?”

“I…” You pull out the letter and wave it. “Did you mean it? Do you love me?”

“Yes,” Steve whispers. It’s like a shout in the quiet street. “I meant it.”

“Like a friend?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Will you love me like a friend forever?” you ask. 

“Always.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I love you as something more,” you blurt, watery. “I have for a long time.”

You hear the door shut. This is it: your heart on the line, all for nothing—

“Then I’ll love you as something more back,” Steve says. “I’ll love you any way you want me to.”

And he holds you the way you’d held him so many times. You inhale and wrap your arms around his neck. You’ve got an iron grip around the letter. Tears slip down your cheeks.

“I missed you,” you confess.

Steve nods against your shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, and it sounds a little wet. “I missed you too.”

“You were wrong,” you say into his neck.

“Hmm?”

You pull back to look at Steve.

“Incredible things do happen in Hawkins.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve smiles, cheeks blotchy. “Like what?”

“We found each other again.”

Dating Billy Hargrove HC's

pairing: Billy Hargrove x female!reader

show: stranger things

will be writing a separate headcanon about Billy being angry.

warnings: cursing, abusive parents, dysfunctional relationships, toxic lovers, romanticism of toxic character. borderline NSFW because sex is a part of relationships (and this is Billy we're talking about, so...) so please proceed maturely.

🔞 none of the following content is appropriate for minors 🔞

• strap in - let's fucking GOOOOOOOOO

• this boy is something else, okay? he's like nobody you've ever met, anyone you've ever dated - he's unlike anybody in this small town that you've grown up in your whole life.

• he's a Cali boy - he even smells like trouble!

• oh, but Billy Boy isn't all that meets the eye. he's complex, he's damaged, he's confused, he's harboring a lot of anger and resentment.

• his mom's been gone and out of the picture for so long, one might worry he's taken on a harmful view towards women. however, that's not the case at all.

• you meet on his first day of school - i know, i know, how cliche, right? only it was completely unavoidable. you were a star student, all right? your grades weren't stellar but they weren't bad; you tested decently well; maybe you played a sport and had a club or two you attended.

• it makes you the perfect student for the guidance counselor to select "randomly" to help show the new kid around.

• he's not very warm when you first meet. he's got this look in his eye and they way he totally shmoozed Miss McKenna (the principals own middle aged assistant) was enough to make your mind throw up multiple red flags.

• so you show him around. answer a few questions but when he tries to get personal, maybe asking what you were doing after school, you insist the tour's over and he could find his way from there.

• you don't give him a second glance as you leave him alone in the hallway and Billy's lips are pulling in a smirk.

• he was unlike anyone you knew - but you were the exact breath of fresh air Billy needed.

• so, he pines. poor baby doesn't know what to do when a girl isn't melting on the spot when he looks at her. in fact, he's not seen you or spoken to you since you showed him around.

• drives him a little crazy but he's fine. because eventually, he finds you one day, after school, looking distraught. it's obvious you want to be alone based on your location and Billy's never been the comforting type, all right?

• doesn't stop him from approaching you and silently taking the seat on the pavement beside you. he doesn't speak. just lights a cigarette and hands it to you before lighting one for himself. the silence prolongs until you break it.

• "what're you doing here?" you sniffled, trying to hide the emotion you felt.

• and Billy would shrug, "just hangin'. looked like you could've used some company."

• you're vulnerable, so, you admit you're waiting for your father and when you mention you don't have the best relationship, he goes rigid with understanding and empathy.

• an emotion he's NOT accustomed to.

• he learns your father and mother divorced years ago and he's been in and out of your life since. however, he called that morning and begged to pick you up from school so you could have some 'father-daughter time'... yet here you were, tears in your eyes, waiting on a man who wouldn't show.

• Billy offers you a ride home and finds he enjoys your banter so much, he offers to drive you home the next day.

• you're a little suspicious but he doesn't make a single move. he just drives you home after school, both of you lost in some ridiculous conversation that you're not even sure how it started.

• it then turns into him picking you up before school, too. just for a little extra time together.

• oh, and then, he was coming to your house on the weekends.

• he didn't mind you fussing in his hair if it meant he could light a joint and relax without the fear of his father.

• in fact, Billy becomes so dependent on you and the escape your presence provides him that he keeps a small duffel bag full of clothes in your closet. for emergencies, you know?

• and there are a few emergencies, sure. you're pretty used to him crashing a night there. you'll wash the dirty clothes he leaves and put them in the duffel after for next time.

• again, he's a Cali boy so he smokes. and he'll be really critical of the weed in Hawkins 'cause he's used to 'good shit'.

• but considering the small town, he takes what he can get.

• you have a lot of open, honest, vulnerable conversations when smoking because both of your filters will go down.

• he doesn't realize it until later but those are the moments he's opening himself up to you most in. while scary, he feels something akin to relief and gratitude to have someone to share parts of himself with.

• your friendship starts off innocent; just two people hanging out, cracking jokes, complaining about their home life. but it changes around December.

• you become close to Max - it's almost impossible not to. you're fond of Billy and would do what you could to help take him away from the pain of his father, but Max didn't really have anyone.

• until the party adopted her, but outside that, she got used to seeing you around a lot. and no, you never minded when she'd ask for your help on something; be it boys, school, friends, or her skateboard.

• you and Max bond by her teaching you to skate. and Billy won't admit it, but his heart felt ten times lighter the day he looked out the window and saw your hands clasped in Max's, rolling on her board, both of you laughing so hysterically, it made you fall to the grass.

• the laughter didn't end for the rest of the day, and Max wondered if this was what a sister felt like.

• in December, you accept to help her get ready for the Snowball Dance! precious babies!

• you bring a whole suitcase full of clothes, a tote bag of shoes, make-up, and hair accessories. and of course, a few magazines for references.

• when Billy opens the door, he smirks as he takes in your baggage, "movin' in, princess?"

• he reaches to take the tote bag off your shoulder so you wouldn't carry the weight.

• but Max is there, nudging him out of the way, "she's here for me."

• when Billy's puppy-eyes turn to you, you can't help but sigh lightly and hand Max the wheeling suitcase. she dashes back for her room and you stand in front of Billy, hands flattened against his waist as you tease lightly, "you're gonna have to share me, you know."

• his eyes would roll lightly, "says who?"

• "behave," you chuckled, moving to help Susan get Max ready. and by the end of the night, you're waving the redhead off with Billy's arm slung around your shoulders. "see what happens when you're patient?"

• Susan and Neil dropped Max off before going on their own date, meaning you and Billy were home alone.

• you might've felt nervous but he never pressured you. instead, he seemed a little more tender as the holidays drew on and you had a sneaking suspicion he was mourning the life, and family, he knew before.

• so, what do you do? you're pulling ingredients out in his kitchen and insisting he helps you make a batch of cookies. the radio is flicked on and Christmas carols ring around the room.

• he's not good at baking but he laughs more in those two hours than he had in a full week. his eyes get soft and he might even act on the way his heart feels vulnerable, pulling you in for a slow dance around the kitchen.

• snow MIGHT even start to fall outside, marking this as your very own Snowball Dance.

• Billy kisses you that night, your lips tasting like the batter your finger had taken a dollop of. it's a searing kind of kiss, the one that feels like a long time coming - finally arriving and making your body explode with pinpricks of hormones.

• needless to say, you two were joined at the hip from that day on. Neil wasn't the biggest fan of you because you were just so fucking nice - it confused him what you saw in Billy.

• but you saw all the best parts of him, despite Neil's conditioning to showcase the worst.

• so, you're dating now, right? beautiful. doesn't mean it's perfect, okay? Billy's still a little bent outta shape that he requires time and understanding.

• he's doing his best, okay?

• he curses, like, a lot. at you, near you, in reference to you. but he’ll never resort to cheap ploys and will always comes to your defense if someone’s out of line.

• big fan of the whole ‘total dickhead to everyone except so-and-so’. cause that’s you and Billy.

• but when Billy's your boyfriend, oh, lord! get ready for the PDA 'cause he's chomping at the bit to touch you every moment.

• it shocks you to learn physical touch is his love language, what with the way Neil abuses him; you'd assumed touch might trigger him.

• but Billy explains to you that your touch could never hurt him and he relishes in the warmth your hands provide. instead of the fear Neil instilled, your touch gave comfort. warmth. hope, and peace.

• so, you run with that information. walking around the mall? your hands are conjoined or an arm is around someone's waist. at school? your hand might stray to run through his curls in the cafeteria, earning his attention. grocery store? boy's got his hands around your waist, or somewhere near your neck, while you push the cart lazily up and down the aisles.

• yes, yes, yes, Billy comes to you when anything goes wrong. he's never been like that, he doesn't understand why now, all of a sudden when he's overwhelmed, he's sneaking out and running to your house. but you're a safety net for him, and you wipe his tears; how can he not feel safe with you?

• your mom don't like him 'cause she's heard all the rumors. she even once belonged to Karen Wheeler's bookclub but left it because all the middle aged ladies were talking about her daughter's boyfriend hyper-sexually.

• she had a hard time looking Billy in the eye after that.

• it makes your mom a bit uneasy. but she respects your wishes and your want to be in a relationship. so, life carries on with a few back handed or passive aggressive comments.

• you don't like the smell of cigarettes so he won't smoke around you. you know it's a hard habit to kick and sometimes he'll ask if it's okay, but he'll definitely refrain from smoking cigarettes around you.

• he might even start to feel a little insecure and leaves an extra shirt in the trunk of his car to change into so that your nose isn't pressed right against the smoke-filled fabric.

• Billy's a big ass baby, man. look, he's a total sucker for not doing shit; throwing a movie on and literally laying on top of you. one of your hands would run through his hair as the other caressed the skin of his neck and cheek. one leg laid flat along his as the other bends to lean against his hip and keep him cocooned in your love.

• he'll often fall asleep like that. big ass baby. God, i love him.

• loves when you play with his hair. you're the only one he allows - no, i'm serious! others have tried, others really want to, but Billy never let them. until you and then it felt like your hands belonged in his silky tresses.

• don't get me started on Billy being protective. cause that's his whole thing, okay?

• shit, got me started. look, so, Billy gives a WHOLE new meaning to being protective. he's defending you against anyone - even his own father - because nobody talks shit about you.

• he's been handed a few beatings by Neil for raising his voice in defense of you.

• but he says he'd do it again and again. nobody got to say a single word he didn't like about you. girls in the locker rooms? yeah, all that gossip stopped after Billy confronted the cheer captain before Chrissy.

• few boys at a party looking at you like you're a piece of meat? oh, look! a heavy arm is slinging around your shoulders to turn you; a hand gripping you cheeks to pull you in for a bruising kiss. due to the intensity, you know he's staking his claim; sliding your tongue into his mouth as distraction.

• does the trick because he's groaning when you pull back. his hand's on your ass, telling anyone watching who you belonged to.

• he'll approach those dudes later and growl, "i catch you lookin' at my girl again, it'll be the last time you have eyes."

• is it aggressive? yes, but so is Billy, and so is his determination to protect you. he doesn't always know the best way to do that but he's figuring it out as he goes.

• you often have talks about his protectiveness but you understand he's very unsure how to go about all of this, so, you both take it in stride. if he catches your glare when he's acting up, he'll begrudgingly back down but that's okay. why? 'cause you're taking his hand and pulling you both away from whatever situation set him off.

• and he's a sweetheart when he wants to be. baby boy can't stand to see your tears, so, if you start to cry, every defense he has is dropping.

• he's been the reason for your tears a few times and he's gutted by the idea. so, you see the progress he makes in avoiding previous issues to avoid your tears.

• communication's difficult for Billy but he tries, only for you. he knows you can't read his mind and he needs to verbalize his needs; maybe doing it a little roughly but he was doing it at least. and practice makes perfect, so, it's fine.

• because your relationship is a partnership that you both have equal stake in. your job isn't to judge, but to encourage.

• but you also get him to open up communication with Max and Susan - since Neil is a lost cause.

• you've never seen Neil physically strike Billy but you've heard the yelling and you've heard the impact of a few slaps from your place in Billy's bedroom and theirs from the kitchen.

• on those days, Billy's darting back into his room and closing the door before leaning against it. his cheek's red and swelling slightly, making you stand in worry. but your movement shakes him from his thoughts and he's sniffling, "get your things, sweet girl, we're heading out."

• "where?"

• "anywhere that isn't here. i can't have you here when he's riled up like that, we gotta go."

• always protecting you.

• ayo, y’all know that medallion he wears? well guess what? he placed it around your neck and claims it’ll protect you when he can’t. he wants to see it on you. my fucking HEART.

• Billy comes to you for any academic help. he doesn't give a single fuck about school, didn't even bring a pencil his first week. but he doesn't want to flunk out and repeat so he puts in just enough effort.

• sometimes, it's not enough and he's coming to you to help proofread his essay to ensure he got at least a 75% to weigh his grade to passing.

• he gets an 88% and fucks you into the mattress.

• you're a lot more inclined to help him with homework after that.

• he's a private person. so, even if you're left in his room while he showers or goes to handle whatever Neil's yelling about, you're not able to see many personal things. everything's hidden and you're not about to snoop through his shit.

• eventually, after a particularly hard day, he's holding you in his arms, on his bed, and then reaching for a wooden box under it. inside are pictures and memorabilia, explaining he hid it so Neil couldn't weaponize it against him.

• and in front of your eyes, he takes a polaroid photo of you two and places it in the box for safekeeping. "because i treasure you, my sweet girl," he'd whisper. "don't want anyone taking this from me."

• heart melts.

• Billy dominates you. like clockwork.

but y'all ever see Game of Thrones and Khaleesi rides Khal Drogo for the first time? he comes in ready to dominate her and she's like nah, l got this and rides him to oblivion?

• think THAT but with Billy.

• he'll want you to be a plaything one day, but the next, he's mewling like a bitch in heat while you ride him. he'll even let your hand wrap around his throat when you're on top.

• he won't admit he likes it but you can tell.

• Billy likes telling you how pretty you are. you get all flustered and he adores it, finding it funny that he'll be balls deep in you, telling you all kinds of profane things he wanted to do to your pussy and you'll just eat it up - but the moment he tells you you're beautiful, you're all embarrassed like a school girl.

• spurs the nickname "pretty girl". he'll call you other pet names, too, but he'll always resort back to "pretty" or "sweet girl".

• big sucker for the troupe, 'never calling you your government name unless angry' cause that's Billy. like 100%. he won't call you your name unless angry (at you) or trying to be serious. meaning it's always a pet name rolling off his tongue.

• HA! good luck trying to leave Billy without a kiss goodbye. it does NOT matter if you literally run up to him because you forgot your chapstick in his jacket pocket and have to get back to practice - he's pulling you in for a kiss before you leave. going to work? where's his kiss, huh? oh, you thought you were getting out of this car without a kiss? that's illegal. the toll tax is now three kisses.

• the boy melts when you kiss him and your hand will hold his cheek. so simple but so intimate for him.

• and when cuddling, he's a big fan of feeling your nails against his skin and scalp. he even likes it when you trace over his face with a fingertip, leaning in to peck his lips quickly before huddling back under his chin.

• Billy often wonders what he did to deserve you - often comes up with jackshit.

• he says he loves you first but it starts as a fight. probably over something stupid, like Tommy H. hitting on you in calculus, but it'll snowball out of control because he's scared of what he's feeling, and over the very idea that someone could take you from him.

• when Billy's scared, fight or flight kicks in and his natural instinct is to fight then flee. so, he'll pick at scabs and old wounds to make them bleed so you won't try to stop him when he leaves.

• but you've been around long enough to know how he ticks.

• the conversation will be instigated by you, begging him to tell you the fucking truth, and he's shouting, "because I'm in love with you, for fuck's sake!"

• mmmmh, yeah, you get fucked on the couch that night because you can't make it to his room. thankfully, nobody was home because y'all are like frantic rabbits going at it. and when you're on top that night, you tell him, "i love you too," against his lips; that fucking hand holding against his cheek.

• he goes a little feral and will wrap his arms around your waist to hold you in position before jackhammering his hips up into yours. growling, sweating, just desperate to be as physically close to one another as possible.

• he wants to hear you say you love him all the time now. Billy needs a lot of reassurance and you've plenty to give. he'll make it a point to remind you he loves you even when in a fight - the very idea of you thinking he didn't anymore enough to make him want to tug his hair out.

• baby boy feels like his mother didn't know / hear how much he loved her, and that's why she easily left him behind. so, he'll be damned if he lets you think the same thing.

• don't try the whole words of affirmation shit because it'll literally always end in a fight. some abusive conditioning can't be changed.

• doesn't mean you let Billy forget his value. and oh, fuck, is he grateful for you. he's insecure under all that bravado and telling him you see his value is almost as good as hearing you loved him.

• in public, he's usually whispering in your ear some shitty joke. arm around your neck and shoulders. just happy to be near each other and never once giving a fuck about PDA.

• you never touch a door, you hear me? never. Billy opens all doors, even if he's pissed off.

speaking of -

• nobody angers him like you, because you're so close.

• but also, nobody can bring Billy back to reality like you can.

• he stops beating people up because he worries about your opinion of him; and he never wants to give you reason to be afraid of him.

• but when angry, he's loud. he throws shit. he'll curse and when overwhelmed, he'll cry and break down in earnest confusion.

• his anger takes over and makes his heart feel heavy; but after the initial storm cloud, he's vulnerable and stripped bare of his defenses as you're cuddling him close.

• Billy tells you he doesn't like to be so angry and he's trying to find other outlets.

• and you assure him that it's okay to feel overwhelmed and like he's gonna blow his top off. it's okay to have emotion, and it's okay to not know what to do with it.

• fuck and that smile? man, he's got you like putty in his hands when he flashes that blinding smile.

• it's cool though 'cause he's totally whipped and if you pout, he's going to get whatever you asked him for. baby boy's a sucker for your puppy dog eyes, making it your secret weapon. you don't use it often but when you do, Billy swears his heart beat stops and speeds up all at the same time.

• he really likes kissing you. if you're not in the mood to fuck, you're tired, stressed, whatever, he's fine with it as long as you're game for a little make out session. honestly? you're never not game.

• Billy's a big cuddler but never in front of people, only ever in private.

• but he's very proud to be your man so he looks for any reason to touch you. it's a sense of both protectiveness and possession; daring anyone to come and relinquish his claim so he might have reason to beat the shit outta one of these punks looking at his girl.

• or so his brain tells him. he's much more even tempered with you but every now and then, old habits flare up, and it's up to you to safely defuse the time bomb that is Billy's anger.

• Billy often doesn't feel worthy of you, so, he'll start fights. you're quick to shut it down.

• and when it's good, it's really good.

• boy will bring you flowers because it makes him feel like he's doing at least something right. and the way your lips will spread in a beaming smile has him making a mental note to pick up another bouquet sometime soon.

• picnics. i know, he doesn't seem the type, you thought so as well. but it's solitary for you both; peaceful and away from the crazy shit going on in town. besides, when he's with you, he's not looking at anyone or wondering about their opinion - his focus is 110% on you.

• which means he can read your body language like he's fluent. nervous ticks? he knows 'em. gotta pee? he can tell. feeling some pent up sexual frustration? he's not sure how it's possible but he knows what's going on, and he's taking action.

• he knows your birthday and anniversary too, so, he's always prepared. never before had he cared about ANY of that - but then you happened, and it all changed.

• ugh - changing Billy's attitude around. he's not so much of a dickhead once he starts dating you. everyone at school notices it.

• he's stupid sweet and gentle with you. he'll stand at your locker and curl your hair behind both ears as you talk; completely focused on all that you are.

• rejects other girls (harshly) because he's enamored with you. and he doesn't like people hitting on him when they know he's with you, it feels like blatant disrespect.

• forehead kisses like a motherfucker.

• Billy telling you you're the calm he needs in life.

• he's adores you, kinda thing. you can do no wrong, kinda thing.

• he pulls you into his lap a lot. again, PDA ain't no worry to him. just no cuddling... but hanging on his lap with an arm around his shoulders is A-OK.

• in fact, he takes it a few steps farther and sees where the most public place you two can have sex is.

• so far, the movie theater was it but that was complicated and not a whole lot of fun considering you were freaked out the whole time.

• but you made it up to him by taking him up the water tower and going three rounds.

• sex is a staple in any relationship, okay? but Billy's never pressured you and always lets you drive the situation. he honestly likes spending time with you, so, if you don't fuck, he doesn't care.

• only your boyfriend is stupid hot and you look for reasons to jump his bones. mmh...

• and when he's feeling randy and wanting to dominate - LORD! the way that boy makes you feel should be borderline illegal. his touches like hot rocks against your skin; kisses from pillowy lips that tasted suspiciously like your chapstick; tongue sweeping over your neck and making your mind go a little fuzzy.

• you go with him on his 18th to get his skull tattoo. you make a joke about getting a matching one but he's really turned on by the idea. you consider it for a few months.

• maybe you do it, maybe not. but you do get a tattoo and Billy's almost humping the air when he sees it.

• nope, he's not letting you paint his nails but he'll give you his opinion on colors. in fact, he'll catch a little bit of an attitude when he notices the once cherry red color of your fingernails has turned into a midnight blue, asking, "your other boyfriend like this color?"

• "baby, i can pick out my nail color."

• "just usually ask me my opinion," he'd huffed.

• you ask him before you change it now.

• matching his and her sunglasses.

• listen to me: nobody touches a fucking thing in Billy's Camaro. okay? but for you... yeah, okay, he's actually okay with you changing the radio station. and adjusting the temperature in the car. and sure, he'd probably kick anyone else out if they tried this, but he actually smiles when your feet escape your shoes to curl under you in his passenger seat.

• you're the only person he trusts to drive his car, too. doesn't happen often but twice now, he'd gotten shitfaced at a party and it was your responsibility to get you both home.

• clingy drunk Billy. might even fuck around and pout at you. Definitely just wants you to lay with him, touch him, be close to him.

• he's not used to being loved so it's a learning experience for you both. but when his head is nestled between your shoulder and neck, breathing in your scent while a hand lazily traces along your belly, there's nothing he'd rather do than this life with you.

• you're the calm, he's the fury. you're the eye, he's the storm. you're the soft and smooth, he's the rough and jagged. but i'll be damned if this relationship isn't exactly what he needs.

• you're unyielding in your love and affection, and he's silently thanking God as you lay in his arms. his eyes might even well with unshed tears as he thinks over in his head every reason he doesn't deserve you, but every reason he'll selfishly keep you.

• oof, but Billy operates on a short fuse so when he's feeling touchy, you have to tread carefully. due to how close you guys are, you're usually the first line of defense he takes his irritation out on and that results in you ignoring him for days.

• but Billy's full of remorse; knowing Neil made him feel like shit and it wasn't fair to in turn take it out on you, just so you'd feel the same. so, he's going to Max for advice.

• i know, holy shit, right? it's just, he's not used to fucking shit up and then wanting to fix it - he usually just runs. but he's tired of running, so, he asks Max to help.

• and Max loves you and thinks Billy's a different person since meeting and dating you, so, she agrees. and the Hargrove / Mayfield siblings are concocting some plan.

• turns out, he doesn't need a big plan - he just needs honesty. he'll get you your favorite flowers and crawl up the oak tree in your yard, balance himself, and knock on your window.

• '80s parents and guardians are oblivious, so, nobody hears him sneaking in and out almost every other night. call that child safety.

• but it's been 3 WHOLE days since he's seen or kissed you, and poor baby is going a little crazy. he'll present the flowers and crawl into your bed, the pair of you dedicating that moment to talk about what happened and how to avoid it in the future.

• and Billy might let a tear or two fall, asking, "why do you forgive me so easily?"

• "because i can see you're genuinely upset by this, baby," you'd sighed, pushing a few curls from his forehead. "but that doesn't mean this can continue. you've gotta do better, baby, please."

• "for you? anything."

• "do it for the both of us, hmm?"

• it's not all sunshine and rainbows when loving a complicated man, and i can't even say it'll be worth the inevitable uphill battle. but it's definitely a love for the ages and you wouldn't want anyone else.

• only guy who's ever made you squirt and he's very proud of that. it's now a personal mission of his to see how many orgasms he can coax from you in a single night. current record: seven. yeah, that boy wants to be soaked, wow. absolutely mesmerized by you when he gets this kind of physical reaction.

• he's always proud of you, too.

• if you're a cheerleader, he's picking you up in his arms and telling you how flawless your routine was (even if you know there was a few missteps).

• if you're an athlete, best believe he's at every single game just to cheer you on. he might even keep record of your stats.

• you passed that stupid hard final in your AP History class? you're literally rushing down the hall, spying Billy, and when he sees you coming with a grin and that fucking packet clutched in your hands, he's stooping low to catch you in his embrace and spin you around, "aha! my smart girl! i knew you'd do fine. you were worrying for nothin', huh? that's my girl."

• and when he calls you 'his girl', your stomach's in a flurry of butterflies no matter how often you hear it.

• you have a deal that you can't call him this in public but he doesn't all the way hate when you call him 'baby boy'.

hmmm, maybe i'm projecting...

• Billy talks about taking you to Cali with him. and you go visit his grandparents during spring break.

• when i say they adore you, i'm talking they fucking adore you to the point they're asking 18 year-old Billy when he's gonna pop the question.

• makes him choke a little out of surprise but recovers, "soon. you'll be the first to know when it happens."

• you can't help but joke, "wouldn't i know first?"

• "nah, i'd tell them before asking you," Billy smirked, nodding at his grandparents across the table.

• he's just so fucking different when in a good, loving, healthy relationship. he's toxic as fuck - we know - but he can recognize his wrongdoings and attempt to rectify them.

• he's constantly offering you compliments about anything.

• "God, you look adorable in that skirt - c'mere."

• "damn, baby, i didn't know Playboy was lookin' for new models."

• "you forreal wrote this essay? baby, this is really well done."

• "hey, superstar."

• mmh, breakfast dates are his favorite. breakfast foods are his favorite, so, you've gotten in a rhythm to cook for him on the weekend mornings.

• oof, wait! the dates! he's broke as shit, cool. but he can make anything an interesting time by just being there.

• so, you go to a lot of parties together but usually duck out with a handle of vodka to head for the quarry overlook. he likes to hang out there, laid back on the hood of his car, looking up into the vast nothingness of the universe while contemplating life.

• Billy's a deeper than we give him credit for. again, it's all hidden under a mask of indifference and dickheadedness, but it's there!

• nature hikes 'cause ain't sit else to do in this small town!

• he'll take you to concerts out of town; diners; long drives; fairs in the summer; he might've even arranged with his neighbor to let you guys in their backyard to hang out with the litter of puppies their dog just had.

• honestly, anything he can think of to make you smile, Billy's finding some way to make it happen.

• trust and believe you can handle his anger and outbursts. you don't shut down, you stand strong while rationally, logically trying to navigate his feelings. when he crosses a line, you'll end the conversation and walk away because he needs time to cool off.

• you're usually very forgiving but not always with Billy - who needs to learn there's often consequences to actions and words.

• hard lesson to learn but he's an avid student.

• Billy offering massages. his hands are Godly and you never refuse.

• might sound really out of character, but he's a fucking professional at handling your period. know how he keeps a duffel at your place? he's got one for you, too, at his. but it's period supplies so you never got a moment worrying about it.

• he'll pour some rice in a sock, tie it up, heat it for a minute or so, and lay it against your lower stomach before crawling into bed with you. sometimes, cramps might make you curl up a little in pain, but Billy's there to get you pain killers, water, snacks if you want them, but especially just to hold you.

• and he'll tell you he read some article in a magazine about how sex is supposed to help with period pains and cramps. what a horndog, you know? don't tell him, but it helps.

• Billy's an ass man. i wish i could explain it but if you get it, you get it. if you don't, that's okay. 'cause he's been known to be titty guy but it's your ass, man. Billy Boy loses rational thought when his hands are all over you.

• he gets you new earrings because you often accessorize your outfits with them. it was a fun yet subtle way to show off originality and Billy finds himself looking through a few jewelry kiosks at the mall.

• you cannot convince me otherwise that Billy doesn't get you a necklace with his name on it. i won't hear it 'cause he's definitely the type to, okay?

• his leather jacket is your favorite because it's oversized and has a musky undertone to the usual smell of his cologne. he knows this and will drop it over your shoulders without needing to ask if you're cold.

• but hey - you're a big fan of wearing your man's clothes, okay?

• he'll come pick you up for school and see you walking out in one of his shirts and have to swallow from the way his mouth salivates.

• finding empty classrooms during lunch or study hall to fuck in.

• Billy doesn't understand 'aftercare' until you. he'll stand from the bed to light a cigarette and tug his boxers on, peaking over at you and noting the way your legs trembled. he'd realize and grab his shirt to clean you up before laying right back beside you.

• "did i hurt you?"

• "no, i'm okay," you'd assure; the feeling of his bare skin on yours something close to Heaven on earth. and the way his finger tips would drag over your bare body, unsure of the patterns he's drawing; but sinking further into his embrace? yeah - God sent.

• while you don't often fight, if you piss him off, he's a loose canon. you remind yourself he's feeling defensive and like he has to lash out, trying not to take things to heart. but he's still Billy, still a dickhead, and he's still going for the jugular.

• he won't look at you for days. won't pick you up, drop you home, give your flowers, kiss you, won't even fucking acknowledge you.

• fuck, it hurts.

• but he's the one then showing up one morning outside your house as you get your shoes on to catch the bus.

• knowing he was over his initial irritation, you'll cautiously approach the car as he gets out.

• "here to insult me a bit more?"

• and his hand is running through his hair, eyes sad and downcast, ringed with red to indicate unrest and emotional turmoil.

• "i'm so fucking sorry, baby, i really am."

• here's the thing - Billy doesn't know how to apologize. he doesn't do it often to anyone, so, the words never really formed naturally on his tongue.

• but with you, he's on the verge of panicked tears as he's word vomiting to you how sorry he is. he'd never stutters over his apology to you because you're the only person he considers worthy of his genuine remorse.

• and you definitely punish him by making him hang out with you, Max, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley and the other party members.

• no, you don't get him to play D&D with them - mostly because Max warned them not even to mention it.

• but he's a good sport and will let the kids get in his car, the others in Steve's, and might take them to the pool despite being off for the day. only because he knows he has to make it up to you.

• look, he's got some flaws, okay? but Billy definitely tries his best when it involves something he's genuinely interested in. you're the first person in X number of years to warrant this kind of feeling in him, so, he's adamant on keeping this love.

• i can fix him, your honor! give me a chance!

ANAKIN SKYWALKER ANAKIN SKYWALKER ANAKIN MOTHER FUCKING SKYWALKER

a modern The Mummy au where archeologist Ben Solo and tomb-raider Rey Johnson accidentally awaken the mummified corpse of the cursed high priest Palpatine of the ancient Sith Empire. In between high adventure, scorching sand, and fighting for their lives, sparks of romance begin to fly. 🏜️ insp. by @galacticidiots