Y O U N G L O V E

Let Me In

Steve Harrington X Eddie Munson

Eddie wants so badly to tell Steve the pressing matters on his mind. So much so that he's willing to bike all the way in the rain to show him just how he feels.

⚠️ Warnings: Slight Angst, mentions of scars, kinda sexual wording?⚠️

The rain poured and poured nonstop outside of the Family Video Store. It was dark and dreary, but when it was matched with the most spontaneous bike ride and a Walkman that played Iron Maiden, it was just perfect. The puddles splashed around as the new droplets of water joined the ground, making short tapping noises almost as if the sky was speaking in Morose Code. The night was just starting to fall which meant that the sky was a dark and hazy blue-grey, a calming and pretty sight to passersby. The stars were just starting to peek out as they twinkled onto the dark pavement below. The only thing that lit up the lot was the Family Video Store fluorescent lighting which shone on the cracks and pebbles of the pavement Eddie rode on, bike wheels slightly scuffing up the earth. His curly brown hair was now down to his shoulders since it was wet beyond belief and his clothes were equally soaked. His Hellfire Club shirt stuck to his midsection and his black ripped jeans became ten times heavier with the weight of the water holding him down. Still, he pushed through as he caught a glimpse of the writing on his shoes, urging him to go on. In the whitest parts of the soles Steve had written him little phrases. The little doodles of stars and smiley faces added to the butterflies starting to form in the pit of Eddie's chest as he knew what he was about to do.

The bike made a scraping noise as he came to an immediate halt the moment he made it to the front doors. He couldn't wait until he could exchange it for a motorbike of sorts, once he graduated highschool once and for all that is. Until then, the red chipped paint and the handlebars that locked up with every given chance would have to suffice. Throwing the transportation device onto the sidewalk, Eddie gave himself a slight pep talk before he went into the store. The movie posters that had been printed on the windows added to the feeling of excitement when he noticed one of them was The Evil Dead. Fiddling with the rings on one of his hands, he shook his wrist as the anxiety of the situation finally hit him. Still raining, he knew his slight eyeliner must've run down his face and would most likely cause a scene once he was inside the familiar store. Hopefully, since it was just closing, Eddie would be able to get in undetected via lack of customers.

Pushing open the doors, a bell resounds throughout the entirety of the small building, signifying the presence of someone entering. The carpet looked the same as he remembered, dirty and printed with that horrid triangular design exclusive to the 80's. However, even though the front desk stayed the same, the rest of the displays had been moved around expertly to accommodate all of the vhs tapes that littered the shelves. Eddie pushed on further inside, starting to regret his decision until his eyes made direct contact with Steve "The Hair" Harrington, wearing the most ridiculous green vest.

It felt as though time itself had stopped as if Eddie and Steve were the only beings in the world. Steve's hair was everywhere which told the metalhead that he had been stressed and ripping at his hair again. His light blue polo underneath the horrendous work attire brought out the phenomenal golden color of his skin and his dark brown eyes looked Eddie up and down. From the tips of his toes to the hair on his head, Steve took everything in and drank it into his memory, keeping it there as if he needed to remember every minute detail about Eddie and his physicality. The leather jacket under his patched up denim and his ridiculous perm that seemed to be exclusive to the music nerds of Hawkins High. The bats that were hidden under Eddie's clothing called out to Steve in an odd way, as if his fingers burned from the possibility of being able to graze over that portion of Eddie's skin.

Eddie offered up a slight smile to which the other boy returned, a grin that had melted the hearts of many and offered a sort of solace for the kids Eddie played D&D with. Steve was very handsome, he thought. It made him want to melt into the floor everytime he got to see the smile that showed off his brilliant teeth.

"Ahoy!- er- shit that was my last job, sorry." Steve chuckled and pushed the hair that was falling into his eyes away from his face, tucking a strand of it behind his ear as he leant on the red desk from behind. The telephone on the right of his arm was just as red as the counter and presumably Eddie's cheeks by this point. Thinking about Harrington was one thing, seeing him in the flesh was another.

"Ah it's okay, I didn't come to rent a movie." Eddie put one of his feet in front of the other, gently tapping the sole to the tip of the shoe in an anxious manner. He tried to look at anything but the beautiful boy in front of him, finding it excruciatingly hard for him to think about anything else. The ceiling tiles, the movies, the floor, the telephone, everything was so disinteresting compared to the radiance of Steve Harrington. Eddie was torn from his thoughts the moment he saw the pen lettering on his shoe.

'Never change, Munson.'

Steve had written that with a borrowed pen from Robin at one of Eddie's Corroded Coffin shows. He had played a total of two songs and there were about ten people who showed, but Steve was one of them. Eddie wouldn't have had it any other way; watching the popular boy glance at him over his guitar, tongue slightly escaping his lips as he glanced at Eddie's hands which were put to work on the strings, playing the familiar Metallica tune.

"What can I do for you then, Eddie? ...Did you bike here?" Steve asked, voice laced with slight concern. It never failed to make Eddie's insides twist and turn into something one could only describe as pure and utter admiration for another human being.

"I-I-" He began, but got lost in the words. How would he come clean about his feelings? How would he possibly be able to put into words the exact way he felt whenever Steve drove him to school or when he would smile at him from afar? How would he be able to get Steve to comprehend how he felt when he came to one of his shows? How would Eddie put into words how badly he wanted to touch Steve beyond the friendly handshakes and fist bumps?

"I think I might have a sweater lying around somewhere in the back if you want some dry clothes." Steve started to flip up the corner of the desk so he could walk out to the break room. He was wearing those stupid khakis that were so exclusive to the father community of Hawkins that Eddie would've had to suppress a laugh if he wasn't so invigorated with the current task at hand. Moving towards him, he threw all caution to the wind as he grabbed the other boy's hand, stopping him from moving any further and replacing the comfortable expression on his face with one of confusion. Steve's brows were furrowed but his hands and face were hot unbeknownst to the metalhead. This was the closest they had been in proximity by themselves, without the familiar screaming of the kids or the incessant nagging from Robin and Nancy. Just pure and utter silence and two boys looking for the right words to say.

"Steve."

"Eddie."

Eddie shifted in his spot, moving his jacket up with his shoulders and uncomfortably being awkward. Suddenly the store seemed hot and suffocating, the walls closing in on the two of them in his mind. Yet even with this sense of claustrophobia, he wanted to get even closer to Steve and to feel his hot breath exhaling against his skin and to feel the heat of him flush against his chest. To play with the hair that was always freshly sprayed with Farrah Faucet and the trace over the imperfections on his skin. Every scar, freckle, and mole on his body yearned to be touched by Steve's lips and the thought alone made him shudder in excitement. He knew he had to say this now before he was never able to again.

"I think-"

"Think what?" Steve harmlessly glanced at his face once more, trying to pick out what it was he was feeling.

"I think I feel more towards you than just a friend." Eddie finally let the words roll off his tongue and into the open air, surrounding the two of them as though they were music notes, echoing inside his mind and bouncing off the body of the boy in front of him. For a moment, Eddie felt relieved but quickly composed himself as he awaited a response.

Steve felt very very weird. He had never felt this type of way in his life, being at an indecision of what to do. He didn't know whether to freak out and shun away the thoughts he knew he had about Eddie months prior to his confession, or to accept it and let the boy know he felt the same. This would change everything and yet, it would change nothing. Eddie was so gorgeous. His hair was still dripping onto the floor that Steve was supposed to clean up after his shift, which ended twenty minutes ago. The chains and patches loosely placed onto his jeans and jacket made Steve's insides go wild at the thought of tracing over them with his hands, cautiously wondering what they would feel like under his tongue. But- despite all this- he remained expressionless, glued to his spot and not saying anything.

Eddie felt his heart break. He felt every inch of his chest erupt into fire, killing the butterflies that stemmed from his admiration and longing and anxiousness. It was all too much for him to handle. The worst part was knowing that he would have to go on as though nothing ever happened between him and the King of Hawkins High. As if every aching of his heart wasn't pointed in the direction of the one person on earth he'd wanted to be his lover since day one.

Turning around, he walked out of Family Video. The sky was now fully dark and the rain still beat against the windows, his bike now fully wet with the water that sloshed down from the gutters on the roof and the water that filled the puddles in the pavement. His heart felt similar to that in a way- just an open cavity slowly drowning from the inside out.

"Eddie!" Steve shouted from the door, but Eddie didn't want to hear it. He mounted his bike with tears in his eyes, mixing with the rain that fell from the clouds overhead. He paid no mind to Steve, who was now in the rain with him. It wasn't until he started to ride off that Steve knew he couldn't let him go. He couldn't just allow him to think that he didn't feel the same longing as he did. As if he didn't think about loving him in every extremity. Running faster, Steve managed to stand in Eddie's direction with his arms held out in an attempt to stop him from going any further. The tears threatening to spill from eyes became too much as Steve allowed them to fall, an emotion he didn't portray often.

"Eddie. I think about you that way too!"

The metalhead hopped off the bike. Standing just a few feet apart from the boy he'd grown to love, he felt the water escaping his lungs as the universe allowed him to breathe again. It was as if someone had conducted a surgery on his heart and fixed him and all the spontaneity he held within him before. All because Steve said the three words that he'd thought walking into the video store tonight.

"I love you."

And there it was. Rain still pouring relentlessly and both boys with cheeks so red you'd think they'd gotten a sunburn in the middle of autumn, there it was. The raw and beautiful emotion of two lovers who had been torn apart by society but still found a way back to one another. A couple of hesitant footsteps in front of them and the soft sobs that could be heard from Steve pushed the couple closer and closer until eventually the thoughts of tasting one another became actions. The thoughts of love and emotion became words and the intensity of their attraction became feverish as they allowed themselves to consume each other in their grasp under the harsh rain.

"I wish you hadn't waited so long to tell me that, Harrington. Otherwise, I would've been right here this whole time." Eddie said, wiping a stray tear away from his face once they broke away. A slight chuckle left him as he took in Steve's flustered but beautiful state. His hair was flatter than a pancake against his head and it made Eddie love him even more knowing that he willingly followed him out in the rain even at the expense of his hair.

"May I kiss you again?" Steve asked ever so softly, finally allowing him to voice the emotions he'd been feeling for so long.

"Of course." Eddie said, smiling and leaning in for another one.

The sky crackled above with a beautiful blue and purple lightning, shining down over the lovers who felt just as electric as the weather.

💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

Count the Ways // S.H.

Request: could you do a steve imagine where they’re a couple and they go to a party together but y/n gets really drunk and steve starts to get nervous because of what happened with nancy but then she just starts telling him how much she loves her and he feels better? it would be so cute - anon

A/N: Such a cute request! Thank you so much for sending it in. I hope you like it and that I have done it justice. I wrote this in an hour and it isn’t edited the best, I’m really sorry but I’m so busy this week that I wanted to get something out for you all!

Warnings: alcohol, underage drinking (American laws), drunk reader, drunkenness, fluff, happy, cute.

Word count: 1.6k

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yeonjun ✙ mama 2021 ‘opening performance’ intro

Nothing screams big dick energy like beautiful androgyny

All I Need

NIGEL BANYAI X READER ⚠️ Warnings: None ⚠️

You're wandering the streets of Bucharest at night when you come face-to-face with your "ex" husband, Nigel. There's a rekindling- even if only for a moment- where you realize he might be more intertwined in your life than you'd thought.

Disconcertment washes over your face like a flood when you see him walking forwards, in that haunting but familiar walk you'd grown used to. He was polished, as per usual, adorned with a dog printed button down and a cigarette lax between his teeth. The protruding fold of his shirt would be incomprehensible to passerby who didn't know of his hobbies, but to you, it was the imprint of a gun.

His eyes shifting up from the road he was walking down and meeting yours held you in a trance. There was something to be studied about the man's eyes; so full of agonizing self-inflicted sorrow that shone through the very core of his being and simmered into the rest of the world through his gaze. He was deeply saddened. But it was all under a mask of his he wore to wind through the mindless crowds so that there wasn't anything about his character to be discovered unless he'd wanted you to. His cheekbones shone under the streetlights with their summery glow making waves of blues and pinks and greens with the lights from overhead in the city. He was a Monet painting come to life, a landscape of colors washing away everyone else and drawing you inwards to where he stood, finally stopping amidst a puddle from rain fallen this morning. He was beautiful. But he was also dangerous.

You had finally stopped running from him long ago. That sadness he contained within himself had become ever so apparent throughout your relationship and spilled over into everything else. He tormented himself so deeply that it was only a matter of time before he tormented you.

Never with his touch, no. His touch had always been careful, predetermined. He would never have laid a hand on you that wasn't accepting or invited by the warmth in your features and your verbal acknowledgement. Even after long arguments where you'd fallen asleep on your side of the bed, turned away from him, he would caress you only with his mind.

Instead, his torment was his love. There was too much of it, too little of a mutual understanding of what was wrong and what was right. He had been too suffocating in his eternal vows to protect you and love you. And with this time period in your life- this new one you'd created for yourself- you couldn't suppress your desires of freedom. You'd allowed him to love you and whisk you away with his promises (which he'd kept, of course), but you'd never been able to experience the world, let alone the streets of Bucharest in the way you'd always wanted to- on your own.

But you had loved him. There was no denying that.

And despite all your efforts to push him away; to ask him to take his love and give it to someone more deserving, someone who'd understand his suffocating requests of social isolation and relationship devotion, he was always finding his way back to you. His heart seemed to have a mind of its own which never coincided with the work he performed or the crimes he'd commit.

And here you were, by the famous Hostel off the side streets of tourist-populated areas, staring at one another. Both of you with the impression that the other was a work of art, staring into one another's souls as if they had painted the landscapes themselves. You heard the faint chatter of those nearby; the drunks walking back home from a night out, stumbling over their feet and laughing with their partners holding them up. The children who'd been playing hopscotch despite their parent's wishes at this hour in the night. The sound of the rain from earlier dripping off the rooftops and onto the parked cars below. And through all the commotion, it was just Nigel and you.

He offered something to you that most people would never see in their lifetime from a man like him. A smile.

You sent one back through slightly teary eyes, hoping for a minute he would look into you the way you were looking into him and that he would understand your internal dismay. You'd never loved like you loved him. Ever. And that would be true for the rest of your life. Your relationship had been an amalgamation of every emotion and he brought out sides of you that you'd never prepared yourself to confront. It was beautiful. It was bittersweet. And it was over.

He knew. He knew you'd wanted nothing more than your freedom, which was the one thing he didn't know how to give you. Not even now. He knew it was at the expense of your own happiness, but he couldn't help himself to follow you around Bucharest even if you hadn't caught him in the act of doing so, such as tonight. He wanted to be in your life anyway you would let him and even though the former was preferred, he was okay with learning how to live on the outskirts of your heart while you lived on the very insides of his.

He'd follow you around Bucharest and he'd follow you around the world.

You shifted in your jacket, despite the summer air. Your eyes had gone from his to the subway opening a couple yards away, where you'd initially been heading. There was your apartment waiting for you, where you'd have your own melancholic isolation. It was a hop skip and a jump away from the man who'd been your husband for all the years prior.

An image came into your head just then. One of a faraway place, tucked into the crevices of your mind so far back you'd almost forgotten its existence entirely. A cool night in your city where he'd gone on a walk with you, wearing the same jacket you had on now. You had chopped your hair and dyed it bright orange following the news of your father's death. It was just a silly coping mechanism to you, but Nigel had smiled when he'd walked into your shared apartment and saw the brightly colored hair littering the floor tiles. He'd suggested a walk to get some fresh air, under the rainbow colored lights you'd grown so fond of.

That night, you were looking at the snowflakes falling from above, threatening them with your tongue to catch them in your mouth and have them melt against your lips. They refracted against the colors in the sky, a light magenta touching the clouds as far as the eyes could see. Shimmery eyeshadow caught in the corners of your eyes, making them appear to be even more wet and filled with sorrow than they were. Nigel was here for you though, admiring the way you turned around in the snow, over and over again as if you were the little dancing figurine hidden in a jewelry box.

He'd held you close to him as you cried the eyeshadow in streaks of black down your face, the orange seeming less bright and the snow feeling more cold. You hadn't felt the totality of his admiration for you until this night, where his hug wasn't more than just that. Before his presence became a prison. He smiled at you, one of those toothy grins only he was capable of managing.

And then, he let go. This was the only time he'd done so on his own accord, almost leaving you fighting to be back in his embrace. He turned to the subway, then to you and back to the subway before leaning in with a kiss,

"urmează-mă și te voi săruta."

And then he went racing off into the night towards the never stopping trains ahead. Smiling, you ran after him. Eyes still wet with the tears for your father and hair still orange from the impulsive chop. The wind whipped through it, leaving you with a coldness on the back of your neck you weren't used to. It felt freeing, though. Your first taste of freedom. Running after him, you saw the water from the other side of town, touching the sky and creating more of the pinky-blue color that Bucharest was full of. The snow crunched under your feet as you placed one in front of the other before the soles of your shoes hit the concrete steps leading underground. Nigel was only a few meters away, sliding down the poles in his dog button down he favorited.

And then suddenly you came to a halt as you crashed into him, stopping the chase almost as soon as you'd started it, in the middle of the busy underground station. You'd lost your balance ever so slightly but he held you upright, not letting you fall.

And suddenly your eyes were on his. There was such a beautiful agony within them. There was far more to this man than you'd ever know and his love would have no bounds. He was soft in the way he stared at you, mouth pressed into a smile as he really took you in with everything you were. Nothing was lost in translation as you looked at him, his soul instantly filling your own. Everything was slowing down but the two of you, seemingly lost in time to the rest of the world with the passing trains and people.

"I will never stop looking for you." He whispered softly. voice suddenly laced with concern.

You were confused, looking up at the man you'd known you'd be with for infinity. "I'm right here?" You questioned, wondering what the significance of his words could mean, if they were laced with an underlying hidden message as concealed as the man's identity himself.

He smiled once more. "I will never stop looking for your kind of love." He corrected himself and you felt your insides go fuzzy with a warm and loving feeling.

You smiled from across the street, towards the same junction you'd run down the first time he'd proposed a nighttime walk. This could get you into a lot of trouble, to hint at the idea of a potential rekindling with the man known to be a criminal. The man who'd offered you nothing but love, even if there was a side of toxicity it'd been served with.

It was at that moment that you deeply felt the confines of your freedom without him- and it felt suffocating.

You both locked eyes once again, and he had a look on his features as though he'd been reminiscing about the same memory. It was impossible for him to truly still want something with you after all this time, wouldn't it be? You had pushed him away countless times, over and over. Whenever you'd seen him in public since the official ending of everything, you'd never spared him more of a glance.

Fuck it.

"urmează-mă și te voi săruta." You whispered under your breath, figuring the future would be in whether or not he could read your lips, if he would have remembered that time from so long ago, if he still wanted to be with you. A tear fell from your eye and cascaded down your cheek almost as silently as you'd spoken his phrase, "Find me, and I will kiss you."

Not even a second later, you both sprinted towards the subway.

B T S

Jeon Jungkook:

Roses: Jungkook didn't mean to hurt you but now he finds out it's too late to get you back. Just a small oneshot!

(Romance/Angst)

Min Yoongi:

Wandering Eyes: Frat au with all of the guys but your heart seems to belong to one unsuspecting frat boy in particular.

(Romance/Very slight angst?/Fluffy)

Jung Hoseok:

Sunshine: A morning spent with your family.

All Members:

Headcannon #1: In which you must open up to your boyfriend about the hippity dippity and he's not very helpful

(Romance/ABSOLUTE CRACK)

Got Something of Mine, Harrington?

Billy Hargrove X Reader x Steve Harrington

You decide to take Steve up on his offer to hang out in hopes that you can rekindle the part of you that still believed in love. What happens when your ex decides to show up and claim you're his?

⚠️ Warnings: mentions of blood, swearing, possessive behavior, toxic relationships, insecurity, past trauma, sexual innuendos, and angst ⚠️

(This is a choose your own adventure type layout, so whether you're rooting for Steve or Billy, you'll be able to read what joining their side would ensue)

It was only supposed to be a fun night with Steve. He had asked you to hang at his place once he saw that you had finally broken up with that shitty boyfriend of yours, trying to provide you with comfort and a good time. Steve was handsome, sure. But he had made his move a bit too fast after things had gone south with Billy. His charming smile and light touches had drawn you into all that he had to offer and who could say no to how sweet he had been? Exchanged glances from opposite ends of the room and notes passed back and forth, it was only a matter of time before Steve waltzed into your life and tried to sweep you off your feet. You only wished the circumstances could've been different.

Steve lived in the upper end of Hawkins; the richer and snobbier folks in town who listened to baseball games on the radio and held monthly barbeques. The houses were all lined up in a nice row with a patch of grass in between them with white picket fences and gardens that belonged on the front pages of magazines. Steve's house was further down the cul-de-sac and was the only one that had a lawn so big that a fence would look obnoxious around it. A bright blue house with white shudders and a white door to match, it looked picturesque and almost fake as though it were made out of clay. Apparently, the Harringtons had big hair and even bigger egos.

Knocking on his front door, you nervously tap your shoes against each other as you wait for him to open it and let you in. You took a couple glances around the perimeter of his house, still not fully used to being out on your own. Your dress was slightly provocative, but it was one of your favorites. Your ex had refused you the right to show it off to anyone other than him, one of the many bullets on the long list of his red flags chalked up in your mind. You had never been able to wear it out before, so this would be the first time anyone had seen it. The thought of Steve complimenting you on it filled your stomach with butterflies- dating again was going to be fun.

"Hey! There you are!" Steve opened up the door and smiled. The warm yellow light streamed down from the foyer and onto the front steps you were standing on. Almost immediately, the night felt more inviting and friendly as you basked in it, taking note of how wonderfully it shone onto the pavement below. Only when Steve shifted towards the frame to lean against it did you notice how he looked tonight. He was wearing a nice black button up with dark jeans. His hair had been tossed into a perfect spiral and you could smell the fresh products he'd used to style it. He looked really nice. A happy feeling took root in the pit of your stomach and encouraged you to follow him inside.

"Hey!" You said, throwing the enthusiasm back at him. As he led you towards the kitchen, you noticed just how nice the interior of the Harrington household was. It totally matched the modern exterior as there were abstract looking paintings hanging everywhere and the walls were painted grey. His floors were freshly cleaned too, sparkling tiles that refracted the light throughout the room. The entryway connected to the very yellow kitchen that was decorated with floral paraphernalia. Stepping further you noticed a picture of Steve hanging on the wall from middle school and you suppressed a laugh at how ridiculous it looked.

"Oh no! I forgot to take that down." Steve laughed and covered up the picture with his hands, giving you a dorky apologetic look. You laughed too, finding his impulsive embarrassment to be cute.

"It's okay, I think little Steve would be pleased to know that his hair gets better once he hits highschool." You said, earning another laugh from the boy in front of you. He pushed his hands into his pockets and a wave of expensive and good-smelling cologne filled your senses. If you had any doubts about being out tonight, they were gone now as you realized the awkwardness was mutual.

"May I set your jacket down somewhere?" He asked, reaching for the leather that rested upon your shoulders. You smiled, shrugging the heavier fabric off and allowing for him to grab it.

"Woah." He said, taking in the dress you were wearing.

Instant panic filled your vision as you realized you probably went overboard with the outfit. He was dressed so casually yet so elegant that you forgot that you went straight for something a little more formal than what one would wear drinking a couple of beers and sitting by the edge of a backyard pool. "Oh! Sorry, I know it's a lot I just haven't done this in a while and I got excit-"

"-Its perfect." He said, looking at you from top to bottom and then back to your eyes as the corner of his mouth turned up in a suggestive but polite way.

There was an unusual but comfortable silence for a moment before he cleared his throat and motioned his head towards the back. "The pool is behind the house. If you still wanted to go swimming."

You held out your hand for Steve to take and gave him a quick nod. "Absolutely."

He grinned at you and allowed you to lead him outside the kitchen door towards the inground pool. Night had fallen not too long ago and the stars shimmered down on the water below them, the lights from the inside of it reflected the small waves all over the deck. It was pretty and calming and you couldn't help but run your hand through it a couple of times, testing out the temperature. It was fairly warm considering how the night had started to cool down.

"I'm going to grab a couple beers. Would you like one?" Your date asks, smiling down at what you were preoccupied with. You looked back up at him and noticed how pleased he was with your sudden infatuation with the water grazing your fingertips. His eyes were bright and happy and his posture was awkward but confident and you were unsure how those adjectives could exist at the same time for the same human.

"Yes, please." You said, going back to the water and waving your hand around. Once Steve had left, you decided to take off your dress and shoes since your swimsuit was underneath. You had chosen a red bikini for this particular occasion, grinning at the mischievous idea now that Steve had confirmed your dress wasn't too revealing. You decided to wait with your feet in the pool and allowed yourself to take a deep breath and enjoy the silence of Hawkins. The crickets chirping and the cicadas were the only thing to be heard for miles and it was perfect. You could get used to this.

Except you wouldn't be able to. You tried so hard to let things go and to do what's best for you only for that plan to backfire every time you put your mental health first. It was impossible to let yourself go and enjoy just one night free of anxiety and intrusive thoughts. You knew from the moment you heard the Camaro pull up to the front of the house that everything would be ruined; of course you couldn't have started a relationship with anyone new when Billy still believed you belonged to him.

Jumping up and sprinting towards the door, you run inside to see Steve standing with two beers. "Uh is everything okay?" He asked, staring at you with concern. He seemed shocked to see you run in only for him to become somewhat lost when he looked at what it was you were wearing. "Damn...uh...okay we can go there." He said, not taking the cue from you that your rush to the kitchen was because you wanted to warn him what- or rather who- was coming. Your eyes widened in fear and you looked to the front door which was abruptly opened by the devil himself.

Swinging on its hinges and hitting the wall with a forceful hit, the front door was thrown back so harshly that if there was any confusion about who was visiting so late at night it was gone now. Dark red button up with a similar leather jacket to the one you came in with and black jeans, he looked just as terrifying and handsome as you remembered. A cigarette was placed between his lips and an earring shone from his left ear. He smiled that horrible shit-eating grin as he leaned against the doorframe and took a drag of his cigarette before stomping it out on Steve's pretty floor tiles. "Got something of mine, Harrington?" He asked in his gruff and raspy voice that was all too familiar to you.

You looked at Steve in fear and saw that his eyebrows had furrowed and his jaw clenched. He set down the beers on the island before crossing his arms and looking to you and then to Billy. "What the hell's going on here?" He asked, moving to your side; his stance instantly became defensive.

Billy, however, stood calm as ever as if he didn't just barge into a classmate's house at almost midnight. His hair had been slicked back on the sides into the mullet he usually wore it in and his sunglasses were among the mess of golden curly locks as they sat atop his head. He checked you out and whistled before turning to your date with a disgusted look. "Getting naked for another man, baby?" He asked, taking notice of the suimsuit you had on. Your blood boiled. It wasn't fair for him to do this. Not after how he had treated you by forcing you to go to parties of people you hated just so you could sit on his arm and look pretty. Not after he had denied your attempts at trying to love him via physical affection and only wanting you when he felt like it. Not after you had seen just how horribly he treated the kids Steve loved so dearly.

Standing next to Steve, you felt him pull you behind him as he moved to stand in front of you. He rolled up the sleeves to his shirt and looked Billy dead in the eyes. "Got a problem with that Hargrove?" He asked. The minute the words left his mouth you knew he was dead. Not only that, but he had just paid the bill for his coffin and nailed it shut.

Billy laughed and placed his hands in his jeans. "Yeah, I've got a fucking problem with that."

It was as if a switch had been flipped and Billy's confident and fake friendly demeanor changed as he charged towards Steve, pushing his chest forcefully offering to fight over you. Steve pushed back and spit down at the floor.

"Guys. Stop. Billy, you broke up with me a week ago. Fuck off." You said, now becoming more confident and standing in front of Steve to try and save him from your ex.

"So? That was last week. I say you're mine this week." He smiled and shoved you to the ground, pushing you into the picture of Steve. The glass frame shattered and you tried to brace your fall with your hands. This turned into being the worst course of action possible and you were left with deep open gashes along your arms and hands.

"Look what you fucking did to my girl, Harrington." Billy said, walking over to the island and taking a swig of one of the beers. Steve shoved himself into the intruder, punching his face with all of his might and a crack resounded throughout the echoey hallways of the Harrington residence. Billy recoiled slightly, putting his hands up as a trickle of blood ran down from his now broken nose.

"Looks like you've got some fire in you after all, King Steve." Billy said with another fake smile before throwing Steve to the ground and stomping on his hand. You heard his fingers crunch under Billy's boots and he winced in pain, yelling out a curse word before forcing himself back up, clutching his bruised fingers and staring daggers into Billy's eyes.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Steve angrily shouted and grabbed a decorative plate out of one of the cabinets in the kitchen, holding it ready at his side to chuck at Billy's head if he needed to.

"What's wrong with me is the fact that you're trying to fuck my girlfriend." He said, moving in towards Steve and wiping his blood on the back of his arm. He put on his tough guy persona with a stance that would instantly turn away even the best of fighters.

"I. Am. Not. Your. Girlfriend." You said, standing up. In the time that Steve and Billy had been arguing, you had enough time to evaluate that your wounds weren't horrible. You had a couple cuts on your feet to match the ones on your hands and arms but other than that, you were fine. You would tell Billy off even with detrimental wounds if it meant saving Steve.

"What was that?" Billy asked, putting a hand behind his ear and pretending as though he couldn't hear what it was you were trying to tell him. So, you told him again.

"I said that I'm not your fucking girlfriend."

Nodding and pursing his lips, he grabs Steve by the collar and throws a punch to his stomach which sends him hurtling to the floor. He grabbed at his abdomen in pain before picking up the plate and chucking it at your ex. It hit him square in the head and you saw a gash starting to form above his eye. Blood dripped down from said gash, travelling down his temple and working its way towards his neck.

"Whoo!" He said, feeling the rush of adrenaline that came with fighting for you. When he had broken up with you -although he would never admit it- it was because he felt as though he wasn't good enough for you. Every word his father had told him had started to take root in his mind and swayed his decisions over whom he felt he was worthy of. But oh, he loved you so much. He wanted the best for you but he never knew how to express it. He wanted more nights like the one where he first opened up to you while the two of you were in his bed, staring up at the posters on the ceiling. He wanted to hold your hands again and remind you of all the reasons he saw you to be the most beautiful human being. It wasn't fair that you had to put up with him, he knew. But there was no way on earth he would ever let you end up with a guy like Harrington.

"Billy, Stop!" You yelled, trying to grab onto his arm only to be shoved out of the way once more. Steve had gotten another plate and threw it, this time missing Billy and sending it hurtling towards the wall behind the two of you. The ceramic shattered and joined the mess of the picture frame.

"I'll stop if you agree to come with me." Billy said, holding Steve by the shirt again with his head facing towards you. He couldn't lose you again. Not this time. Even with all of the thoughts that had driven him away from continuing to be with you, he knew that you were his only solace. And he knew he needed that back more than anything else.

...

(At this point in the story, there are two alternate endings, one where you side with Steve and one where you side with Billy.)

...

Choice one: Billy

You glanced towards Steve with the best apologetic look you could muster. It wasn't his fault that he had ended up in this situation and he had tried his best to defend you. It wasn't fair to him for this fight to continue so you did the best thing you could do to avoid the situation from getting more out of hand. Even if it meant Steve would hate you.

"Okay." You said, agreeing to your now boyfriend again.

"That's what I like to hear." He said, removing his hands from Steve and sauntering towards you, harshly grabbed your arms so he could see how badly you were hurt. He did a once-over before he took off his shirt and wrapped it around the arm that was bleeding heavier than the other one. Then, without a word he snaked his arm around your waist and led you out the front door towards his car that was parked haphazardly out front.

You turned your head slightly to see if Steve would follow you but he didn't. Part of you was thankful that he didn't since it would only lead to another unnecessary fight. The other part of you wished he would.

"Don't look back at him." Billy said, tone firm but less harsh as before. "You're mine."

Everything felt like it was crumbling around you. The night you spent with Steve and the relationship you were thrown back into was enough to get your heart racing even faster than before. You could feel some sort of anxiety attack take over every other emotion of yours as you tried your best to push it down and not to show Billy. His shirt was still wrapped around your cut and you could feel some of the blood start to soak through the fabric, trying to keep your mind on the sensation and not the events of tonight.

Getting into the car, you take your usual place in the passenger seat, eyes downwards. You let everything play through your head over and over until it was just too much and you could feel tears threatening to spill out over your cheeks.

"Hey." You heard your boyfriend say, placing his hand on your thigh when he saw that you were crying. His entire demeanor changed once again and it was starting to play tricks on your mind as you didn't know what side of him was real and what was for show. He was always like this.

"Hm?" Was all you were able to respond with, shoulders slumped.

"I love you. You know that, right? I wouldn't let you end up with some shitty playboy like him." He said, running his hand alongside your face and collecting your tears as he went. He was being so gentle now, you wondered if you had made up the entirety of your date.

"He-He's not like that."

Revving his engine, Billy puts one hand on the wheel and places the other around the back of your seat.

"Sure." Is all he says as he pulls out of the driveway and down the road to his house where he knows he'll be able to watch you. Just as you were about to turn the corner to leave the cul-de-sac, you caught a glimpse of Steve Harrington- former King of Hawkins High -standing outside on his front doorstep with a beer in one hand and an ice pack in the other.

Oh how you wished you could've stayed with him.

...

Choice Two: Steve

"In your fucking dreams, Hargrove." You said confidently, grabbing a knife off the counter and pointing it towards him in a threatening manner. "I'll slit your throat if you touch him again."

Billy grinned and let Steve fall to the floor as the boy clutched his stomach in pain. Walking towards you, he smiled with an antagonizing gaze. "Oh yeah? Is that a promise, girly?"

"Call me that one more time and I'll run you over in that shitty Camaro of yours." Not knowing where this spunk was hidden within you all this time, you held up the blade to your ex boyfriend in a menacing way, looking towards Steve who was still wounded on the floor. 

"Damn!" Billy said, leaning against the wall and watching your date on the ground taking his deep breaths to alleviate some of the pain. "You're feisty today."

"You fucking ruined my date. What did you expect? A kiss on the lips and full compliance?"

He glared down at you with such intensity you thought he was going to kill you. You'd only ever seen that look once and that was when he had the fight with his dad in front of you. That day you had seen what Billy truly lived through and that memory alone was what allowed you to keep persevering through your relationship, convincing yourself that anything he did to wrong you was because he didn't know any better. Because he had gone through so much pain. Crawling over to Steve, you lift him up off the ground ever so slightly as you pull him into your lap to assess the damage. He wasn’t in horrible shape, but he definitely couldn’t take another hit to the abdomen and still feel well enough to attend classes the next day. 

“(Y/N). Move away from him please. You’re only making things more difficult.” Billy said, leaning down to your level and staring you directly in the eyes. Things were different this time. His usual puppy dog gaze wasn’t enough to get you to fold and bend under his will, giving into whatever he so desired. The times when you would hold his face in between your hands and whisper sweet nothings into his ear even after he had treated you with a disrespect you didn’t think to be possible. The last time you would ever see this side of him again would be tonight. 

In a firm but stern voice you glare at him with the same unshakable intensity. 

“No.”

And with that, Billy nodded and placed his hands in his jean pockets, getting up and straightening himself out. He looked sad in a way, seeing you on the floor with Harrington whom he’d hated so much until this moment. Billy didn’t lose easily, but he trusted you. If you decided this guy was enough to satisfy you in the ways he never could, he would finally leave you be.

“I loved you, (Y/N).” 

You felt frozen in time, not able to say anything else to the man before you. He was just a stranger who held a lot of memories, someone whom you would always share stories with but someone whom you would forget as the days dragged on. You wanted so badly to reach out for his arm and to urge him to stay, to allow him to come waltzing back into your life. But you knew you deserved better. You knew he deserved better. 

“Thank you.” You said, as you heard Steve’s door slam shut for the last time that night. Then, you attended to Steve’s wounds as you wondered what would’ve happened had you rekindled the relationship you had with Billy. 

And you knew deep down that you made the right choice. 

*moan*

BTS of Spiderman: no way home

This just made my day omg it's so cute 💛🦐

Dog Days (TASM!Peter Parker x Reader)

Summary: You might have been ever so slightly perturbed about Peter seeing you in your underwear if he wasn’t sporting a large cut along his jawline; one that looked achingly fresh.

“Did you shave with a machete this morning?” You asked, stepping out of the doorway and making room for him to enter.

“A scythe, actually,” Peter deadpanned.

Words: 2.4k

A/N: Andrew Garfield!Spiderman; friends to lovers; heated make-out; cursing; minor injury; mutual pining; possible part 1 of 2? characters are in college & of age.

It was hot. That sticky kind of hot that clung to you and made you feel like tearing your skin off. That makes the sweat pool at the nape of your neck until it slides in a cold streak down the curve of your spine. The New York air was shimmering, alive with exhaust fumes and the output of overworked air conditioning units of every apartment on your block—except for yours. The dumbass thing had broken overnight and when you woke up at five a.m., damp and uncomfortable, you’d called your best friend knowing he’d make a quick fix of it.

But you’d gotten his voicemail, unsurprising given that he’d never been a morning person. Since you’d met him three years ago at freshman orientation, Peter Parker had perfectly offset you in every way. Where he could stay in bed until noon, you were decidedly not a night owl, often cosy in your pyjamas by ten p.m. Peter had a sharp wit and loved to tease, and though his wit brought out a sharp tongue you’d never known you had, you were infinitely shyer than he was. He was perpetually late to everything from the Christmas dinner you’d invited him to at your parents’ home to your final exam for Organic Chemistry—which he’d passed with flying colours—whereas you were punctual to a fault. And perhaps most significantly, you’d never known heartbreak in your life, never had the opportunity because you’d never given anyone your heart to begin with. Peter’s heart, you knew, had endured the worst kind of break. Though he only spoke of her sometimes, you knew his high school girlfriend had died tragically and each year you went with him to visit her resting place, holding his hand and running your thumb over his knuckles as gently as you could. The depths of that pain, written on his face and in his body language whenever he spoke of Gwen, made you steel yourself against love, afraid to give yourself to anyone in case you left them broken and alone.

There was a flaw in your plan to avoid love forever though, and that was Peter himself. As much as you’d tried to swallow them, shut them up in the deepest pits of your soul, bury them where they’d never see the light of day, your feelings for him had only grown in the last three years. At first it was a little thrill each time his eyes met yours, a tingle on your skin when his fingers grazed your own while you shared a carton of fries at a Yankees game. That had grown, exploded really, into a brilliant whirl of colours every time you heard his voice—a sort of love-induced synesthesia that turned Peter’s laughter yellow and his whispers soft purple and his calling your name the deepest, richest scarlet.

You’d fallen desperately in love with your best friend and you were resolutely not going to do anything about it, thank you very much.

“Y/N!” There was a knock at the door of your cramped apartment that drew you out of your crossword puzzle—stuck, as you were, on 18-Down. “It’s Peter!”

You’d barely heard the knock over the sound of Eminem in your headphones, but there was no mistaking Peter’s voice. You were at the door, earbuds abandoned on the coffee table, pulling it open before you remembered that you’d traded in your baggy David Bowie tee and jean shorts for a barely-there camisole and blue panties of the lightest cotton. You might have been ever so slightly perturbed about Peter seeing you in your underwear if he wasn’t sporting a large cut along his jawline; one that looked achingly fresh.

“Did you shave with a machete this morning?” You asked, stepping out of the doorway and making room for him to enter.

“A scythe, actually,” Peter deadpanned. If only you’d known he was being entirely serious—his neck having had a near miss with some villain’s techno-reproduction of a classic medieval weapon only hours ago. “It’s hot as hell in here, Y/N. Are you trying to get me naked?”

Your cheeks flushed and you made quick work of rolling your eyes as dramatically as possible, trying to distract Peter from the change of colour in your face. He was an expert at changing the subject, so much so that you’d long since given up trying to get him to talk about anything he didn’t want to, such as why he was chronically late or where he’d disappeared to that night you had tickets for the Rangers playoff game, or how he managed to find time to workout with his ridiculous school schedule and familial duties because god damn, his arms—you stopped yourself from letting that thought full form, knowing it would send you down a rabbit hole.

“Don’t think I’m not keeping a tally of every time you dodge my questions,” you muttered, moving to the refrigerator and opening it briefly to let some cool air out on your heated chest. The emptiness of the shelves reminded you that you really needed to get groceries because ramen noodles, eggs, and the rapidly decaying bananas on the counter would not keep you alive forever. “And didn’t you get my voicemail?”

“No,” Peter shrugged, “I saw you left me one but thought I’d just swing by.” A small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, though you couldn’t for the life of you figure out what the joke was.

“Well, the AC is broken,” you informed him, straightened up and facing him where he stood in your living room, his tall and lean frame a familiar sight there alongside the stacks of textbooks and novels, the record player, and the pile of throw pillows you couldn’t stop collecting. For a long moment, Peter stared at you, his head tilted slightly to the side as if he was just now seeing you since coming in. You felt much more naked than you actually were under his stare and shifted your weight from one leg to the other, your hand coming to tug down at the hem of your camisole. Peter had seen you nearly nude before, but this felt—different. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was the unfamiliar expression that flashed across his eyes. Either way, it had you squeezing your legs together as subtly as possible. If Peter noticed, he didn’t let on.

“That explains the outfit,” he grinned, tone light, though you noticed the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed hard.

“It was hardly my first choice,” you shot back, “But anyways, now that you’re here do you think you could fix it?”

“This feels like the start of a por—”

“Don’t say it, Parker,” you cut him off with a warning glare, eyes wide. Peter only laughed, though stopped almost immediately, favouring his jaw. Already it looked like the gash was healing and you wondered where he’d gotten it from—it reminded you, oddly, of the ankle he’d “sprained” while showing you a skateboarding trick last summer. You would swear up and down, on every holy text that existed, that you’d seen his bone popping out of his skin. But the next day he’d been absolutely fine and you were certain that the limp he’d had for a week was half-faked.

“Y/N? Are you alive in there?” Peter’s amused voice drew you from your reverie and you nodded, running your fingers through your hair to get it out of your face.

“Alive and well,” you reported, “So you think you can fix it?”

***

As it turned out, Peter could fix the AC unit, but he’d need to pick up a part at the hardware store down the street. While he examined the ancient device mounted on your bedroom wall, you sat perched on your bed, silky pink blankets long since tossed to the floor, watching him with interest, noticing everything about the way his hands moved carefully over the shabby metal, the way his brow furrowed when he peeked inside the unit, and the way his eyes crinkled when he announced that it wouldn’t be an issue to repair.

For his part, Peter knew your eyes were on him—he wouldn’t go so far as to call it Spidey-sense, he just knew you and he’d had an inkling of the feelings you harboured for him for quite some time, though that part probably was Spidey-sense. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the same way, because god knows he did, but he was terrified to let himself fall in love again; beyond hesitant to ever let anyone get hurt again because of him. But then there was the way you looked at him, your eyes sparkling with delight when he made a stupid joke. And the way you said his name, like it was a magic spell wrapping itself up inside him and making him forget everything other than your voice. Yes, he loved you—more deeply than he’d thought he’d ever love again—but he was afraid to be in love with you.

When he delivered the happy news that he’d be able to get cool air back into your apartment, he felt his heart swell at the look of relief on your face.

“You’re my hero, Pete,” you said earnestly, “Really and truly.”

You had no idea.

“Yeah,” he said lightly, “I’m the best.” He saw the pillow coming at him even before it fully left your hands and dodged it in a swift, graceful motion.

“That’s not very nice,” Peter grinned wolfishly at you and your heart fluttered, “Here I am helping you out like a dear old gentleman and you throw things at me.” With another two quick, almost instantaneous steps, he was at your bedside, his hands coming down to your ribcage, fingers curling in as he began to tickle you mercilessly. You couldn’t do much more than squeal, kicking gently to get him off of you, whining his name as you begged him to stop.

“Peter!” you cried out, “It’s too hot for this!” There were tears in your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks and your bottom lip was swollen from where you were biting it to try to keep control of your laughter. Looking down at you, Peter knew he was finished, absolutely doomed, to fall into the warm and beautiful void that was loving you.

His fingers paused their attack and you both seemed to take stock of the position you found yourself in; you, flat on your back in bed, hair a dishevelled mess haloed out over your head; him, legs spread so that they were straddling your hips, his arms on either side of your body, lean muscles holding him up.

“Pete—” you whispered, eyes fluttering down to where your bodies met, lashes wet with unshed tears.

He blinked once, twice, three times, a pregnant pause in the hot air before his brain supplied the two words he’d been wanting to hear, giving him permission to plunge forward. Fuck it.

“Y/N,” he licked his lips, “You—” his fingers moved from your ribs to the edge of your camisole, thumbing across its stitching, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your breath hitched in your throat and your eyes shot up to his, pupils dilated. Your lips twitched, uncertain. “Don’t do this,” you sighed, all the while your own hands moved as if of their own accord, coming to rub up and down his arms, caressing lightly over the rippling muscle.

“Do what?” he asked, hand pausing in its movement to slip under your shirt. He withdrew it immediately, hoping he’d not grossly misread the situation.

“Don’t start something with me that you won’t finish,” your voice was barely there, “I—” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it, couldn’t utter those little words out loud, but you knew Peter understood. You could tell from the way he settled down closer to you, his lips running feather-light kisses along your collarbone, the way he brushed the lightly calloused pad of his thumb over your eyes.

“Y/N, I feel like I was finished the moment I met you,” he said, “And now I’d really like to give you a proper kiss, if you don’t mind.”

“Hopefully you’re as good at kissing as you are at running that mouth, Par—”

The words couldn’t finish leaving your lips because Peter’s shut them right back into your mouth. He kissed you gently at first, then ran his tongue along your lips, asking entrance which you granted easily enough. Your kiss went on for what felt like years, each of you learning the other with care and attention. His hands explored your body freely, eliciting small moans of approval that led him along a path he was memorizing and then his lips were navigating that same path, kissing and nipping at your shoulders, your clavicle, your navel, between your breasts at the edge of your shirt.

You were on fire as your hands tangled into his soft brown hair, nails gently massaging into his scalp. You knew, from the vibrations on his lips, that he liked the sensation and filed that information away for a later date.

Once he’d kissed all the way down to your ankles, Peter flopped onto the mattress beside you, watching as your chest heaved with pleasure.

“It feels even hotter in here than before,” he smirked, “I should go grab that part, yeah?”

You swatted at him, laughter on your lips. “You’re the worst, Peter Parker.”

He caught your hand in mid-air, wrapping his fingers around yours and gently squeezing your palm—once, twice, three times. Three squeezes for three little words that neither of you were ready to say yet, but that you would willingly show each other.

“I’m serious,” Peter said, “I’ll grab the part and a pizza and we can hang out, even though I’m the worst.”

You rolled your eyes again, still trying to steady your heart rate. “Like I said, my hero. How can I ever repay you?” For good measure, you placed the back of your hand against your forehead, faking a swoon.

Peter only looked at you with fire in his eyes. “I can think of a few ways.”

He was out of the room before you could throw another pillow at him. Shame.