bambiswriting

20s, she/her, lgbtq+, audhd. Requests are open! Currently writing: In The Same Orbit

[bambiswriting]

NAVIGATION

she/her, 20s, lgbtq+, audhd

Masterlist & request guidelines

All of my fics are tagged #bambiswriting fics in case you wanted to explore them that way!

Please read my guidelines in full before sending me any requests!

I DO NOT consent to having my writing fed into AI. Fuck AI.

I also don't give permission for my writing to be reposted, translated or remade across platforms.

[kosmogrl]

[fucking-relax]

this is helpful to getting started on anything regardless of what you call it (from this post)

problem solving steps

IMPROVE distress tolerance skill

[bambiswriting]

In The Same Orbit update:

Okay, I am CAUTIOUSLY optimistic that chapter 7 will be finished next week. I got up earlier today (thank you, body that doesn't know how to sleep since coming off of meds) and I'm in a flow. So fingers crossed! It might even be finished this weekend, but I'd rather overshoot my estimations than promise a day and it doesn't come until later. So let's aim for next week!

I'm excited though!

P.S. I'm seeing Djo in two weeks and I feel UTTERLY insane about it

[sturionic]

"Learn the fundamentals first" seems like really sound universal advice, and as a former classical musician, I can vouch for it. You will have a more solid foundation for increasing complexity if you put in the time to study in a structured way. If you don't, you'll have a lot of shit to fix later.

As a former music teacher, I can also say that "learn the fundamentals first" is the death knell for a vast percentage of beginners, especially adult learners.

I've run into this with drawing several times, where some well-meaning artist has lectured me on needing to study anatomy properly or not use shortcuts like CSP brushes. And oh, believe me, I know. I know exactly how to learn an artistic discipline in a structured way. I just...don't want to!

The thing is, I'm not aiming to be a professional artist. I want to draw my gay little anime guys. I would undoubtedly improve at art much faster if I approached every gay little anime guy drawing as a study exercise. But I would also have quit drawing a decade ago if I couldn't just let myself enjoy drawing imperfect fucked-up little guys with whatever shortcuts I needed to body myself across the finish line.

With my adult piano students, my approach was always "What's your goal?" If their goal was to learn exactly one Elton John songbook to play at parties, then...that's what we did. We'd put tape on the keys to label the notes, and just fuckin go for it. Learning exactly one Elton John songbook is a good and noble musical goal, full stop.

Some of my students needed and enjoyed a more structured approach to learning; if they wanted to be able to play classical music, then yes, scales were going to have to enter the equation at some point. And yet others would learn the Elton John songbook, catch their white whale, and realize they wanted to explore more of the ocean. The scales were still there for them to learn!

Often the choice isn't between "learn art well" and "learn art imperfectly" - the choice is between "learn art imperfectly" and "don't do art at all." To which I say, learn imperfectly! Or, what the hell, don't 'learn' art. Just do, and enjoy the doing of it.

You have official permission from your local pretentious classical music snob: fuck the fundamentals. You can always unfuck them later (but only if you want to).

[bambiswriting]

Reciting poetry to my best friend rn (reading @levanswrites' Steve fics to them on the drive home from comic con)

[bambiswriting]

HI HELLO I AM SORRY FOR THE DELAY I've been working on this chapter ever since I finished the last and it is a Process™.

I think it's probably a good idea that I just stop promising that chapters will be coming quicker than the last, because I'm working on it as fast as I can and I don't want to force things to the point where the writing suffers.

I have huge influxes of creative burn out and trying to write through those only delays things more. I love this story so much and I want it to be the best it can be, which means letting my little autistic brain rest and ironing out all the narrative kinks before flinging myself in.

Thank you for your patience! I wanted to post a bigger teaser of the text given how long you guys have been waiting but I couldn't find a good place to do that without giving things away. I hope this suffices!

Taglist: @torntaltos @nosebeers @sophneedsfandoms @siljaravens @leclercdream @aleexishw @stydiaforeverbitchezz @goldenpinexx @mhayes777 @purplerainx1 @dramallama9 @isleofmisfitvoldsoy

[aurorairi]

ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

࿓ Summary: When your car keys go mysteriously missing, you're left desperate for a ride home. And lucky you, Steve Harrington is there to rescue you. What starts as one late night drive home, turns into something way more meaningful.

࿓ CW: Fluff, Steve being a sweetie, mutual pining, silly excuses, no use of y/n, Steve gets attached easily, Dustin and Robin plotting and scheming

࿓ A/N: What I would give to be driven home by Steve Harrington

࿓ WC: 2.4k

࿓ Song Inspo: ↻ ◁ | Drive by The Cars | ▷ ↺

"What the hell??" You muttered to yourself, frantically searching through your bag. "This is ridiculous, I just had them..." You groaned and checked your pockets for the second time.

Robin casually leaned over the counter, pushing aside a stack of movies. "Missing something there?"

"I can't find my keys, which makes no sense because I just got here 20 minutes ago. I swear I put them in my bag, and now they're just gone."

Robin let out a small hum, "Well, you made it here with them, obviously. So let's just look for them."

You nodded, letting out a small sigh as your eyes trailed over the floors of Family Video. Dustin appeared beside you out of thin air, hovering over you as you looked underneath the horror display.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"Jesus-" You jumped slightly, frowning as you stared at the teen. "What the hell does it look like I'm doing? I'm looking for something."

Dustin shrugged, "I don't know you like that, for all I know you could be rigging some sort of evil device."

Your eyes narrowed, "And why would I do that?"

He made a strange noise, "I dunno, feminine rage or something like that?"

Your eye twitched, "Don't you have dice to roll and some made up characters to cry over?"

"It's not just dice rolling. It's critical thinking and collaboration that allows you to experience different lives and stories. And just so you know, we don't play on Tuesdays."

You rolled your eyes, continuing your search as Dustin continued explaining the magic that was Dungeons and Dragons. You finally looked back up at him, "Dustin, if you don't shut up in the next ten seconds, you're going to see some real feminine rage."

He swallowed hard, staring at you for a moment before scurrying off to the break room again.

Robin laughed from the comedy aisle, "I don't think I've seen you that frustrated with someone before."

"He was pushing my buttons." You mumbled, standing up with a defeated sigh. "They're not here." You whined.

"They have to be, we'll find them." Robin's head popped up.

"Find what?" Steve stood in the door frame that led to the back, hand resting on his hip.

"My keys. They're gone." You frowned over at him.

Steve pushed off the door, going over to the counter. "I'm sure we'll find them. What kind of key is it?"

"All of them! My car and house key are on the same keychain. I'm totally screwed without them. My parents are out of town this weekend so if I can't find the house key's I'm fucked. Not that it will matter if I have no way to get home." You sulked over to the counter, dropping your head onto it.

Steve let out a small laugh, "Hey, it's gonna be okay either way. If we can't find your car key I can take you home, and didn't you say your folks keep a spare key under that rock with your hand print on it?"

You blinked, looking up at him, "I- yeah.. I did say that. Like months ago, how did you remember that?"

Steve shrugged, the tips of his ears turning red. "Dunno, maybe I was preparing for this day to come."

You smiled, suddenly not feeling so frustrated about the missing items.

Robin glanced over at Dustin who had peeked out from the breakroom. The two of them smiled triumphantly and nodded at each other.

Despite looking through the whole store, your keys were in fact MIA. It was like they had disappeared into thin air, or rather disappeared into Dustin's backpack.

You waited patiently for Steve's shift to end, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in your chest as you thought about him driving you home. By the time Steve was cleared to leave, the sun had started setting, casting a beautiful glow on Steve's signature beamer.

He opened the door for you, bowing slightly as you slid in, "M'lady."

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the smile pulling at your lips. "Get in the car, ya weirdo."

He shut the door before jogging over to the drivers side and slipping in. The drive was nice, the streets of Hawkins passing by as you and Steve slipped into conversation about whatever came to mind. You felt at ease next to Steve. It seemed like the car had adjusted to the perfect temperature, a warm fuzzy feeling settling in your chest. Or maybe that was because of the way Steve kept glancing over at you each time you laughed at some silly joke.

The ride came to an end way faster than either of you were willing to admit. And before you knew it, he had pulled into the driveway of your house. You reached for the handle, moving to open it before he locked the doors. "Ahhh! What are you doing?!" He looked at you like you were crazy.

You stared at him like he had three heads, "I'm opening the door, Steve."

"Absolutely not." He quickly got out of the car, rushing back around and pulling the door open for you again, repeating his bow from before. "Once again... M'lady."

You smiled and stepped out with a bright laugh, "You're ridiculous."

He shut the door and started walking with you to your door. "No, I'm chivalrous."

As you reached the porch, Steve squatted down and found the key under the rock. "Boom." He held it out towards you.

You took it, fingers gently brushing his. "Thank you, Steve."

"It's no big deal." He shrugged, hands shoved in his pockets.

"No it is, without you I would still be totally freaking out." You smiled sheepishly.

"Well... I'm glad I could help." He smiled.

You carefully unlocked the door, turning slightly and smiling at him, "Night, Steve. Get home safe."

He nodded, "You too- shit- I mean I will. Night." He quickly turned and made his way back to his car.

You laughed and shut the door. Not even 30 seconds later there was a knock at the door. You opened it back up, with a raised eyebrow. Steve stood awkwardly on the porch. "I just realized you've got no way to get around. Well- I knew that- but it just clicked that you might need to go somewhere tomorrow and you don't have your car. So I just wanted to let you know if you need anything or need to go somewhere I don't mind driving you." He took a deep breath.

You smiled shyly. "That's really sweet, Steve. But I'm sure you've got a lot of things to do. I mean you've got work, and you're probably hanging out with people, I'd hate to mess up plans or be in the way."

He shook his head, "You won't! I mean I'm offering. I really don't have any issue with it, and I'd hate for you to be stuck asking around all week. So until you find your keys, I'm your guy- that sounds- I'm your ride."

You bit back a laugh, "Alright, you're my guy, Steve."

Steve smiled proudly, "Yeah, good, good. So just give me a call, I mean it!" He started walking backwards off the porch, tripping slightly over a plant.

You laughed, watching him retreat to his car with a lopsided grin. You yelled out before you could stop yourself, "Hey Steve!?"

He straightened up, leaning against his car. "Yeah!?"

"I just realized! I need to get groceries tomorrow! My fridge is fully empty!"

He nodded, "Alright! I'll pick you up tomorrow at noon, that sound okay!?"

You smiled and nodded, "Yeah! I'll see you tomorrow, don't trip over any more plants on your way home!"

You could see the red tint in his cheeks as he ducked back into his car and peeled out of your driveway.

As promised, Steve was at your house at 12 on the dot the next day. He knocked on the door, his easy smile and messy curls greeting you. You smiled back, "Make it home safe?"

"I'm standing here, aren't I?"

"Hmm, could be. Or maybe I'm dreaming."

"Oh so you dream about me?" He quirked a brow.

"You wish, Harrington." You slipped past him, bumping him out of the way with your hip and locking the door. He smiled as you trailed off to the car, watching you carefully. "You gonna keep staring or get in the car?"

He straightened up, bouncing over to the car. As your finger brushed the handle he let out a startling noise. "Nah-uh! Don't you touch that handle."

You let out a long sigh. "What is it with you and car doors?!"

He opened it for you, "Simply doing my gentlemanly duty."

"Don't say duty."

"Duty." He closed the door swiftly before you could reply.

The week continued like that. Steve had all practically enforced his role as your driver, not that you were complaining. In fact you were doing the opposite of complaining, you couldn't stop talking about how sweet Steve was being. He truly was outdoing himself. He took you to the store, to the laundromat, to the library, anywhere you wanted to go. Steve was mapping out the longest way to get there. And you noticed. You noticed how he would occasionally "miss" a turn, or when he purposely took a longer route.

It would have gotten on your nerves if it was anyone else. But it wasn't just anyone, it was Steve. And you were more than happy to spend a little extra time in his car if it meant more inside jokes and stolen looks.

But the week was nearing to the end, and soon your parents would be home and you would have another available more viable ride.

You sat seated in the beamer, the leather a familiar feeling against your skin. The car was parked in your driveway, had been for almost 30 minutes now while you and Steve gabbed about Robin and Vickie.

"I keep telling her she needs to go for it. It's obvious Vickie likes girls, but she won't listen." He threw his head back against the head rest.

You nodded, "I've told her the same. She's gonna regret it if she never says anything and is always left wondering 'what could have been.' You have to go for that, I feel like life's too short to hide feelings."

Steve sat up more, "So, if there was someone you liked... you would've asked them out by now?" He eyed you carefully.

Your cheeks flushed, "Well... that's a little more complicated. Robin doesn't really know Vickie that well and I-" You quickly cut yourself off.

Steve blinked, "You know the guy well?"

You swallowed hard, pivoting subjects. "So, my parents get back in town tomorrow. So you'll be free of driving me to the store everyday because I always seem to forget something." You laughed lightly.

Steve nodded slowly, staring at the singular bag of chips in the grocery bag. You thought you were slick, saying you forgot to buy your favorite chips, but Steve vividly remembered you getting them on your first trip. "Yeah... But, your parents both work right? So you'll still probably need some rides around town while they're at work."

"Yeah, I will. But I highly doubt my dad is going to just let me do that when I have a perfectly good car of my own. He'll probably go up to the dealership and get another key or something." You frowned.

"Well... maybe your mom can take the car?"

"If I didn't know any better, Harrington, I would say that you're offering to be my personal chauffeur." You teased.

"Something like that..." He scratched his neck. "Can I be honest with you?"

You nodded. "Yeah of course."

He sighed and reached into his back pocket, pulling out your keys with a nervous grin. You blinked at him, reaching over and taking them gently. "I haven't had them the whole time! Dustin gave them to me today. He said he and Robin planned the whole thing. He's had them the whole time..."

"Those little shits." You laughed, turning over the keys in your hands.

"You're not mad?"

"Oh, I'm pissed! Not at you, but those two! Especially Robin!" You shook your head. "Why the hell would they do that?"

"Because, they were trying to help me out." He looked down.

"With what?" Your brows furrowed.

"Cause, I told them I have a.. slight- not slight- big thing for you. And I guess they were just trying to help me get some alone time with you. I'm sorry- if I had known they were going to do all this I would have sto-"

"You've got a thing for me?" You smiled brightly.

He flushed, nodded slowly. "Yeah, big time."

"Y'know when you asked me if I would have asked someone out by now and I said it was different because I know the guy.. I was talking about you. You're my guy, Steve."

He sat up more eyes shining, "Wait seriously!?"

You nodded, "Mhm. And I've really really enjoyed being your passenger princess this week."

"Me too. Y'know it doesn't have to stop. I meant it when I said your mom can take your car and maybe instead of making up excuses to go to the store, we can go on dates?" He watched you nervously.

A big smile broke across your face as you nodded quickly, "Yes! Yeah! I would love that. It was getting pretty obvious that you were taking the wrong turns and longer routes."

"Guilty. But now I don't need an excuse. Now we can just go on rides if you want."

You leaned over the center console, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "And you can stop staring at my thigh and just put your hand there."

Steve pulled you into another quick kiss. "I'm feeling like a late night drive sounds nice right about now."

"I completely agree."

You settled into the seat as he switched on the radio, his hand finding your thigh as the car pulled out of the driveway.

[formallery]

“Can you open your eyes for me honey?” 

Steve’s voice is even sweeter than his words and it makes you wanna lay your head on him and fall asleep right where you’re sitting on the bathroom counter. That unfairly soft and borderline dangerous tone he takes only with you has your stomach in knots. 

You oblige, in a way, half-lidded eyes opening to meet his own, crinkled from the way he’s smiling at you. His thumb comes up to swipe the remnants of mascara clinging to your lower lash line. 

“I’m gonna go over your eyes again, that okay?” he asks, pulling out another makeup wipe from the packaging. 

You can only hum in response with how exhausted you are. Steve could convince you to cut off your own arm as long as he asked pretty enough. 

He rubs your lash with the makeup wipe with such lackluster force that you’re sure you’ll be here another ten minutes before he gets all the mascara off. 

He pauses, pulling his hand back, most likely to examine your eye. Then he goes to your other eye with a huff of laughter escaping his mouth. 

“I wanna laugh too,” you mumble. You can tell he’s flipped the wipe over to the “clean” side to get your other eye. 

“I just think it’s funny how much you like doing your makeup and how much you hate taking it off,” he replies, the smile audible in his voice. 

“It’s very hard and I’m very tired,” you sigh. You’d spent a good few minutes whining in bed about having to complete the task before he carried you to the bathroom and placed you on the counter. 

“Very hard,” he agrees in a tone that suggests he’s mocking you. His thumb comes up to swipe your lower lash line again and you smile into the palm of his hand like an idiot. 

“Now,” he cups your face with both hands and presses a few kisses to your eyelids. “Am I washing your face too when I wipe off the rest of your makeup?” 

“Only if you want to.”

[hellfirehoe]

the trio of joy and whimsy & the trio of doom and despair

[flokiloss]

it is deeply unfortunate how common ai has become in the writing space on here, and truly on any website to do with fan fiction. please for the love of god, if you are going to write something, let it come from the heart. even if it's "shitty," or the grammar isn't the best, or it's not exactly how you want it to be, write it anyway.

i promise you will improve in your technique as time goes on, but using an ai to "clean up" your writing inherently makes whatever work you just put in null and void. i don't post on here, but i am a writer, so this isn't me bashing anyone, it is simply a gentle yet tempered suggestion. i can't stop people from using something that has become grossly accessible in less than two years, but i can implore people to not engage with it.

anyway, that's all. happy reading and happy writing! mwah

[proudtoehaver]

“I was on a strict diet during Episode VIII, and she was like, ‘Kid, get into that fridge and take some chocolate bars. I have many there.’ And I did,” he recalls. “I failed my diet because Carrie Fisher told me to. And it [felt] great.”

-John Boyega on Carrie Fisher

[fuocogo]

This is the Carrie Fisher post of body positivity reblog for a chocolate bar from her fridge

[bambiswriting]

Live footage of Reader from WIP chapter 7 of In The Same Orbit

Taglist: @torntaltos @nosebeers @sophneedsfandoms @raven333greatname @leclercdream @aleexishw @stydiaforeverbitchezz @goldenpinexx @mhayes777 @purplerainx1 @dramallama9 @isleofmisfitvoldsoy

[readyt0djo]

The Key to Going Viral

When you find out your virgin best friend (and secret crush) does OnlyFans, what else are you supposed to do other than offer to help him make content?

CW: 18+, smut, AFAB reader, no Y/N usage, subtle dom/sub dynamics, praise kink, best friends to lovers, porn with plot, unprotected p in v, pet names, creampie, giving head (both), sub!kurt, cum eating, premature ejaculation, loss of virginity, etc.

Word Count: 3.8k.

=========================================

You and Kurt have been close friends for a few months now. You met when you were rushing to an exam at your college across town and he ended up being your Spree driver. He spent the entire drive rambling about the most obscure topics, distracting you from the immense anxiety you were feeling heading into the exam. Sure, he was awkward and fumbled over his words the whole time, but it was endearing that he was trying to calm you down as you sat in the backseat of his car bouncing your leg.

Eventually, you reached your destination and you thanked him with a bright smile, saying your goodbyes and immediately tipping him generously, rating him 5 stars since he had been so kind in his efforts to make you feel better. What you didn’t notice as you were leaving was how pink his cheeks tinged as you spoke to him, a shy smile on his face.

By some miracle, you aced the exam and managed to get Kurt as your driver back to your apartment afterwards. The drive was full of pleasant conversation that left you both wanting more.

“I know it’s kind of weird to ask, but can I maybe get your phone number?” You ask as he pulls up to your apartment building, avoiding his gaze in the rear view mirror.

“Y-yeah. Of course! That’s totally fine. Not weird at all!” He rushes to respond, quickly rattling off the digits as his cheeks darken once again.

“You’ll actually text me, right?” He asks quietly, turning to look back at you with a hint of vulnerability in his gaze.

“Of course, silly!” You giggle, immediately texting him and adding him to your contacts. “We’ll talk more soon, I promise!” You add on, getting out of the car in a hurry and heading into your apartment.

From there, you two started texting regularly, which evolved into hanging out often. You’d watch movies together at his house, brainstorm video ideas for his channel, and sometimes you’d go out to dinner together whenever either of you had money to spare to treat yourselves. Although he was usually the one spoiling you because he wanted to make a good impression.

=========================================

Now you’re at his house while on your phone, relaxing on his bed, which of course lacks a frame and sits directly on the floor, while he’s showering.

“Hey Kurt! Mind if I check something on your PC? I wanna see if a game I like is on sale right now,” you shout, sitting up on his bed before approaching his setup, taking a seat in his gaming chair.

“Yeah, go for it. Password is my birthday!” He responds, forgetting about the browser tab he has open.

To your surprise, after typing in his password, you’re met with an OnlyFans page. It only takes a few seconds for you to realize that it’s his OnlyFans page, which is full of solo content of him jerking off and nude images of him. You quickly close the tab, your cheeks and ears tinged dark pink. You forget your initial task completely, backing away from his desk as he wanders back into the room. His messy hair is dripping water onto his loose black t-shirt, which is paired with some grey sweatpants.

“You alright?” He asks, eyeing your flushed cheeks and flustered state, his head tilting to the side a bit in confusion.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just feeling a bit warm. It’s nothing,” you stutter out, stumbling back and landing on his bed with a small huff.

“Is the game on sale? I can get it for you if it is,!” he suggests, a bright smile on his face as he takes a seat at his desk.

“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I don’t need the game,” you say quietly, avoiding making eye contact with him.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind!,” he says quickly, although his smile immediately fades as he notices the minimized tab at the bottom of the screen.

“Oh…,” he says under his breath. “You saw it, didn’t you? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to! I… I just do it for extra cash and attention. It’s not a big deal,” he rushes to say, his own cheeks burning red now.

“No it’s completely okay and valid! Sex work is cool, and I’m glad you have the confidence for that. And like you said, it’s a good source of income and validation,” you say as you finally look up at him. “It really helps with views on your regular streams, huh?,” you ask with a faint smirk, raising an eyebrow.

“I-I mean, yes. But that’s not the only reason I do it! It’s just nice having people call me pretty and whatever…,” he mumbles, his cheeks still tinged pink as he looks down at his hands in his lap.

“I can help you make content, if you want. We could do stuff together,” you suggest quietly, your own cheeks turning pink again.

“Wait really? You’d do that for me? Have sex or whatever for content?,” he asks incredulously, looking up at you with wide eyes.

“Well yeah, why not? We’re best friends. I’m not gonna judge you, and I know you won’t hurt me. Fuck it,” you shrug, a shy smile on your face.

“R-right. Yeah, fuck it,” he nods, taking a deep breath. “So how do we start this?,” he asks, looking at you through his long lashes.

“Set up the camera really quick, and then we can start by kissing, if you’d like,” you shrug, nodding towards his tripod near his desk.

“Shit, yeah. Camera. Got it,” he says shakily, quickly moving to grab the tripod, fumbling as he sets it up so it’s aimed towards where you’re sitting on his bed.

He shuffles over to his bed, taking a seat next to you as he takes another deep breath. “You ready for this?,” he asks, his wide eyes admiringly tracing your facial features.

“Let’s do this,” you say with a soft smile, reaching a hand up to caress his cheek gently, shifting closer to him and leaning in, both of your eyes drifting closed.

When your lips meet, it’s like fireworks are going off in Kurt’s mind. He’s had a crush on you for the longest time, so it’s absolutely mind blowing that you’re in his bed with your lips pressed against his.

He hesitantly places a hand on your waist, unsure of how to really touch you due to his lack of experience. You tilt your head to deepen the kiss, your hand shifting to loosely tangle in his damp hair. He quickly mirrors your actions, your lips slotting together effortlessly as a soft moan escapes his lips. His free hand reaches up to gently hold the base of your neck, his fingers brushing against your hair.

After a few moments, you slowly pull away, resting your forehead against his as you take panting breaths. “Was that okay?,” you ask softly, nuzzling your nose against his with a shy smile.

“Very okay. Amazing,” he nods, his cheeks flushed pink. “What now? I-I mean, I totally know what to do. I’ve definitely had sex before, but y’know,” he says with a nervous laugh, clearly lacking the confidence to back that statement.

“You’re cute,” you giggle, pecking his lips again before trailing kisses along his jawline, slowly working your way down his neck. “It’s okay that you’re a virgin, Kurtie. Thank you for trusting me with this,” you say softly, pulling back to look at him adoringly.

“Y-yeah? You don’t mind?,” he asks with a shy smile, looking into your eyes as you play with his hair soothingly.

“Absolutely not. I think it’s adorable,” you say fondly before leaning in and trailing sloppy kisses along his neck again, your hands trailing down his chest, resting on the hem of his shirt. “Can you be a good boy and take this off for me?,” you ask, gently tugging his shirt up.

He immediately obeys, swiftly pulling his shirt up and over his head, revealing his hairy chest, a subtle happy trail leading down his soft stomach to the waistband of his sweatpants. He looks at you expectantly, awaiting your next command.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” you say as you admire his physique, once again trailing your hands along his torso. His hands hesitantly reach out to settle on your hips again, sliding up to your waist.

You slowly shift to sit on his lap, feeling his growing hardness beneath you. “You’re doing so well,” you whisper in his ear, moving around to settle more firmly over his crotch. “Getting hard for me, hm baby?”.

“Fuck… yeah. You’re just so perfect. How could I not get hard?,” he asks, his voice more breathy than before as his large hands grip your hips gently, holding you in place. “S-stop wiggling. Gonna make me cum already…,” he mumbles, blushing so hard that his ears and neck are tinging red.

“Yeah? You’re that sensitive?,” you ask teasingly, wiggling your hips again before gently shoving him down so he’s on his back. “Just relax, okay? Gonna give you head first. Is that alright?,” you ask, looking down at him.

“F-fuck yeah, that’s alright,” he responds with rapid nods as you climb off of his lap to settle between his legs, your hand reaching up to palm his bulge through his sweatpants.

“You’re pretty big, y’know…,” you say shyly, biting your lip as you look up at him, your own cheeks flushed a light shade of pink. “I’m glad I get to be the first one to touch you like this,” you add on softly.

“And you’re beautiful,” he whispers, sitting up to look down at you, brushing your hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ear. “Thank you for doing this. Seriously. You don’t have to.”.

“I know I don’t have to. But I want to make you feel good, Kurtie. Now be a good boy and let me please you,” you giggle, tugging his sweatpants down. You lean in, sloppily mouthing at the outline of his cock in his boxers.

“S-shit, baby. Please don’t tease me,” Kurt groans, his eyes already half-lidded as he watches you, biting his bottom lip to hold back soft moans.

“Shh. Just relax, pretty boy,” you say soothingly, slowly pulling his boxers down, his thick cock immediately slapping up against his stomach.

You immediately wrap your hand around the base of his length, carefully stroking him up and down before taking his tip between your lips, your gazes meeting as his cock slides deeper into your mouth. He lets out a shaky groan as his eyes roll back, his fingers gently tangling in your hair as you take more of him into the wet heat.

“Oh fuck, that’s good. S-so fucking good. Please don’t stop,” he whines, his hips shallowly thrusting up, forcing his cock further into your mouth.

You moan around him, taking his full length into your mouth, gagging softly as you deepthroat him, your nose meeting a mess of curls at the base of his cock. He lets out a loud groan, gripping your hair slightly tighter as his thrusts grow more desperate.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cum. Do you want me to pull out? I don’t know where you want it,” he pants out between moans, slowly guiding your head up and down on his cock as his eyes roll back.

He hardly gives you time to respond before his orgasm comes crashing over him, desperate whimpers sounding out as he cums down your throat, holding you in place so you swallow it all.

“Shit… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to! I thought I could last longer! I usually don’t cum that fast,” he rushes to say, letting your hair go so you can catch your breath. “You just felt so good. I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry,” he adds on, caressing your cheek gently as a small pout forms on his lips.

“Kurtie, baby. It’s okay, I promise. I’m glad I could make you feel that good,” you giggle, a fond smile on your face as you look up at him. “Wanna return the favor?,” you ask, caressing his thighs.

“God, yes. Please, can I? I’ve always wanted to learn how to give head. Seen lots of videos but never done it,” he says immediately with an eager nod. “Can you sit on my face? Please?”.

“Anything you want, pretty boy,” you nod, a shy smile on your face as you climb back up onto his bed, tugging your shirt over your head, his eyes immediately traveling across the exposed skin.

“Woah…,” he says under his breath, his hands reaching out to settle on your waist but hovering before he touches you. “Can I?,” he asks softly, looking up into your eyes with a hint of nervousness in his gaze.

“Of course, Kurtie,” you nod, his hands slowly settling on your waist, caressing the skin with his thumbs as his cheeks flush pink.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says softly, an adoring look in his eyes as they rove across your body again. “You have no idea how many times I’ve checked you out,” he blurts out.

“Trust me, I do. You’re not exactly subtle,” you giggle, unbuttoning your shorts before kicking them off along with your underwear, leaving you completely bare next to him. “Just do what feels natural, okay?”.

His breath hitches as he sees your fully undressed form, his hands settling on your hips before he lays back and pulls you closer so you’re sitting with your legs on either side of his chest. “Is this okay?,” he asks cautiously, caressing your thighs.

“It’s perfect. You’re doing great. Don’t be scared,” you reassure him, nodding with a soft smile. You take his hands in your own, pinning them down gently above his head before shifting so your body is hovering over his face. “Ready?”.

He nods immediately, his pupils blown wide with lust as you settle above him, his hands squeezing yours softly for support as you slowly sink down onto his face. He moans as soon as he feels your body weight settle on top of him, feeling your slick wetness on his lips. He parts his lips and licks a tentative stripe between your folds, groaning as he savors the taste of you on his tongue.

“F-fuck. There you go, sweetheart. Do whatever feels right and follow my reactions,” you pant out, biting your lip to hold back small gasps.

He untangles his fingers from your own and places his hands on your hips again, holding you more firmly against him as he dives in, lapping at your folds hungrily, his eyes fluttering shut as he gets lost in the sound of your moans. His tongue swirls around your clit, his lips suctioning around it as your head falls back in pleasure.

“Such a good boy, Kurt. You’re d-doing so well. Please don’t stop,” you whimper, your hips subconsciously shifting, slowly grinding against his tongue. Your moans grow more whiny and desperate as you approach your peak, and he becomes more eager to pleasure you and make your orgasm as intense as you made his.

Your thighs begin to tremble as his lips latch around your clit again, his tongue mercilessly flicking at it. A few more moments of this is all it takes before you climax, loud moans sounding out as your eyes roll back.

“Oh fuck, Kurt. Oh my god,” you whine out, quickly growing overstimulated by the pleasure as he continues lapping at your wetness. You reluctantly pull away from him, shifting to lay next to him, panting as you come down from the orgasm.

“Did I do good?,” he asks with a hopeful look in his eyes, his lips and chin coated in your slick as he takes a few shaky breaths.

You nod, leaning in and pressing your lips against his as your fingers tangle in his hair. “More than good. That was perfect.”.

“You know… we don’t have to do more if you don’t want to. I don’t wanna pressure you into anything,” he says softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face before caressing your cheek.

“To be entirely honest, I’ve thought about doing all this plenty of times. I just can’t believe it’s actually happening,” you respond with a faint pink tinge to your cheeks. “So I’d really like it if we did more…”.

“O-oh! We can definitely do more then,” he nods rapidly, shifting to kneel between your legs, spreading them. “Can we do missionary? I wanna look at your pretty face while we do this.”.

You giggle, looking up at him with pure admiration in your gaze. “Anything for you, Kurtie.”.

A bright smile spreads across his face as his gaze travels along your form again. “S-shit. I don’t have any condoms… do you have any on you?,” he asks with a small pout.

“Don’t worry about it. We’re both clean, and I’m on birth control, and I trust you,” you say softly, a reassuring smile on your face.

“Holy shit. Really? I can creampie you?,” he asks, failing to hide his excitement as his hands slide up your thighs to hook them around his waist.

You giggle again, nodding as you let him readjust your position, biting your lip as you feel the blunt tip of his cock nudge against your entrance.

“Fuck… thank you,” he says with a shy smile, looking down at you with a loving gaze. “Ready?”.

“I’m ready,” you say softly, your cheeks flushing pink as you notice his adoration for you, your arms reaching up to drape over his shoulders.

He grips your hip gently with one large hand, his other hand guiding his cock, his tip gliding against the slickness of your hole before slowly pressing inside of you, a guttural groan escaping his lips as your breath hitches.

“Oh fuck, you’re so tight…,” he says breathily, staying still for a moment before carefully plunging deeper into your wetness, his eyes rolling back as he grips your hips tightly. “Feels so fucking good.”.

“You’re doing so well, baby. So big… stretching me out so much,” you pant out, whining as he bottoms out inside of you with a low moan.

He takes a second to let you adjust to his size before experimentally rolling his hips, smiling as he hears the soft mewl that it produces from you. He builds up a steady pace, thrusting deep inside as he lets out breathy moans.

He leans down, burying his face in your neck, covering it in sloppy kisses as he pins you beneath him. “You’re so wet for me. So tight. God, you feel amazing, baby,” he mumbles against your neck.

Your eyes roll back as his thrusts grow more desperate, his hips slamming against yours, the sound echoing throughout his bedroom. “Kurtie, you’re doing so well. Such a good boy for me. Making me feel so good, sweetheart,” you whimper between needy moans.

The moment his cock brushes against your gspot, you let out a loud whine, your nails clawing down his back leaving red marks as you clench tightly around him. He adjusts his position slightly, pinning you down beneath him in a mating press, ensuring that he rams against your gspot with every thrust, relishing in the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him. 

He thrusts desperately a few more times before shooting ropes of cum deep inside of you, filling you up entirely as his movements slow down. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t hold back… I needed this,” he says breathlessly, his damp hair sticking to his forehead as he looks down at you. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”.

Before you can even respond, he pulls out with a groan, watching as his cum pours out of your hole. “Fuck, that’s hot…,” he mumbles under his breath, a shy smile on his face.

He then kneels between your spread thighs, diving in and devouring your pussy, cleaning up his mess as he pins your thighs down against the mattress. What he lacks in experience, he certainly makes up for in enthusiasm. He’s desperate to make you cum again, swirling his tongue around your clit, sucking it between his lips as he looks up at you, eagerly awaiting your praise.

“G-god, Kurt. Just like that. I’m gonna cum again. Please don’t stop,” you moan out, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close against you. He groans at the feeling of you tugging his hair, sending vibrations throughout your core.

Hesitantly, he shifts one of his hands closer to your hole, pulling his mouth away for a split second before sliding two of his long fingers inside of you, curling and scissoring them just right to massage your gspot, making you moan desperately. All it takes is a few more minutes of his dedication before you’re trembling beneath him, needy moans sounding out as your orgasm comes crashing over you, your gaze glued to his before you’re blinded by pleasure.

He works you through your orgasm before slowly pulling away, his chin once again coated in your release. He licks his lips and pulls his fingers out, sucking them clean. “How was that?,” he asks with a faint smirk.

“You did perfect, Kurtie. You are perfect,” you smile, dragging him up the bed to give you a kiss, your lips slotting together passionately as you taste yourself on his tongue once again before he pulls away reluctantly, looking into your eyes.

“Thank you for this. It means a lot to me, genuinely. I never thought I’d have someone as gorgeous as you in bed with me. Honestly, I never thought I’d have you in bed with me. I’ve liked you for a long time and I’d really like it if we could do this again… maybe I could be your boyfriend next time?,” he asks shyly, caressing your cheek.

“I’d love for you to be my boyfriend, and for this to happen again,” you respond with a fond smile, kissing the tip of his nose. “Now go end that recording so we can cuddle.”.

He quickly gets up, stumbling over to the tripod and his eyes widen. “Well… turns out I forgot to record… I guess we’ll have to recreate that again for the camera in the future,” he says with a small chuckle before biting his lip, looking back over at you.

“God, I love you, Kurt,” you giggle. “Deal. We’ll make plenty of content for your page.”.

“I love you more,” he says with a dreamy sigh, climbing back into bed with you and attacking you with kisses, claiming your neck with faint hickeys.

=========================================

Thank you so much for reading! I’m so sorry it’s been so long since my last post. I’ve been struggling a lot to find motivation to write lately. But feel free to leave feedback in the comments, or dm me on Twitter (READYT0DJO)! I would love to know what you think!

[levanswrites]

hi Lev… this morning I am thinking about Steve Harrington and his new freckles… he did yard work yesterday and there are four new ones on his jaw… I want to call him Stevie and kiss on him and make him blush…. that is all!!!! 🫡

sorry this is soo late but ily for this lulu... what started as a smutty drabble abt scent/sweat kink evolved into something very soft... still, 18+ mdni!

.   *　✦　　.　 ˚　✦　 .

You find him in the kitchen, chest heaving where he's bent over the sink. One hand braced against the countertop, the other gripping the edge as cold water streams straight into his mouth.

It spills faster than he can keep up, dripping over the curve of his lips, tracing shiny rivulets down the column of his throat. His neck works with each swallow—slow, heavy gulps that make his Adam’s apple bob.

You watch, mesmerized, as the water escapes his mouth in scattered drops, sliding down his chest and into the damp fabric of his tank top.

The shirt clings to him the way summer clings to skin, thin white cotton turned sheer in places, stuck to the soft swell of his stomach as he breathes through the exhaustion.

Still flushed from being outside all day, the gold-burned tone of someone who overcommitted to the idea of a backyard garden because you mentioned—casually, just once—that homegrown tomatoes would be nice this summer.

Steve Harrington heard that and thought, I should build an entire garden from scratch.

He notices you staring and emerges from the basin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What?” he huffs, chest still heaving.

“There’s new ones.”

“Hm? New what?”

“Freckles, Stevie.”

The nickname alone turns the tips of his ears pink.

You grin, slowly closing in on him until he’s cornered between your body and the cool marble countertop he insisted on installing himself last year, because trust me, baby, it’ll look classy.

Now, he’s very much trapped.

Pinned against it while you slide between his knees, fingers hooking into the sweat-damp collar of his tank top.

Steve stumbles forward, laughing breathless, both hands landing on your waist to steady himself.

“Baby,” he pants, “I’m so gross right now.”

You shush him softly, fingers threading into the damp strands of his hair, curling at the nape of his neck. His face is hot beneath your touch, flushed with exertion and sunlight.

When you tuck your fingers under his chin, tilting his head toward the late afternoon light spilling across the kitchen, he goes easy for you.

Four new freckles bloom along his jaw.

Tiny, perfect sunspots on golden skin.

“Baby...”

You kiss the first one before he can keep talking.

Just a small press of your lips at the edge of his jaw, his skin hot under your mouth—salt from sweat and the faint sweetness of coconut sunscreen, baked in from the July sun.

Sweat and sun and Steve.

You could drown in it.

The next kiss lands on the second freckle.

Then the third.

By the fourth, he’s laughing, helpless, shoulders shaking under your hands while his whole face turns steadily pinker.

“Okay, okay,” he huffs, ducking his head, grin wide and embarrassed. “Jesus.”

You smile against his jaw. “No, hold still. I’m inspecting.”

You love him like this.

Your confident, smooth-talking boy caught off-guard, flushed and vulnerable. Blushing so hard you can’t tell if it’s the sun baking him pink from hauling lumber all afternoon, or the way your lips won’t stop chasing his freckles, dragging across sweat-slicked skin.

Your nose drifts to the side of his neck, the first deep inhale rushing to your head.

Like the first burn of a shot on an empty stomach. The dizzying high of a drag held too long in your lungs.

Warm and earthy—that sharp tang of sweat and the musk of a body that's been working hard all day so you wouldn't have to lift a single finger—all mixed with that clean citrus of his shampoo in a way that’s entirely, uniquely Steve.

Your fingers slip beneath the hem of his tank top, pressing into the feverish heat of him. His muscles tense under your palm as your nails drag light, teasing patterns over the sensitive skin around his happy trail.

You feel the steady rise and fall of his ribs, the faint shiver that runs through him when your fingers inch toward the waistband of his jeans.

He tries to pull back.

“Baby, wait—” he laughs weakly, flushed everywhere now. “Let me shower first, I—”

“Nope.”

“I’m all sweaty.”

“I know.”

“Sweetheart.”

“You smell so good, Stevie.”

He makes this helpless sound—somewhere between a laugh and a groan—a slow, burning smile spreading across his sun-kissed face. His forehead drops against your shoulder while you keep trailing kisses down the side of his neck.

You inhale again, deep, practically tasting him, and he shivers right through you.

“Wanna suck you off right here,” you murmur against his throat.

Steve chokes on air.

“Jesus—”

The soft thud of your knees on the tile cuts him off entirely.

His head snaps down toward his chest, one hand flying back against the counter, the other threading into your hair without thought.

“Hah—baby, you…” His laugh is weak, dazed already.

He genuinely doesn’t know what to do with you sometimes.

Whatever thought he had dissolving completely at the sight of you there, on your knees, lashes lowered, hands gliding slowly over his thighs.

His head tips back against the cabinet with a soft thunk, lashes pressing together for a moment as sweat beads at the corners.

You rest your chin against his stomach, watching as his eyes slowly flutter open.

And there’s always a moment—every time you love him like this—when he gets this look on his face.

Soft and open, clearly a little overwhelmed by how fiercely he's adored.

The freckles you find before he even notices.

The faint lines gathering at the corners of his eyes, earned from a lifetime spent laughing.

The way his old shirts fit a little snugger now, molding to his chest and stomach in ways that make your hands itch to explore.

Even the faint silver strand at his temple you discovered last month, one he tried to laugh off until you kissed it so softly he forgot how to make it a joke at all.

You love all of it. Every changing, ordinary, beautiful piece of him.

And what seems to undo him most is the wordless certainty that none of it ever makes you look away. That every freckle and every line is held, treasured.

It's the certainty that you'll still be here years from now, counting the freckles that shift and multiply, tracing smile lines as they deepen, pressing gentle kisses to every new silver strand, learning the changing map of his face the way someone memorizes the way home.

And Steve recognizes something in that.

Because it lives in him, too.

The same instinct to memorize you as time carries you both forward—to notice the smallest changes in your expression, the subtle shifts in your voice, the way your laugh sounds different depending on the day, the hour, or the light spilling through the window.

To love you, not just as you are, but as you are becoming.

[bambiswriting]

If he laid on the floor in autumn you'd mistake him for a pinecone

[bambiswriting]

Just got a really sick and twisted image in my head of post Starcourt Mall fire/talk with Robin Steve Harrington sitting with his yearbook open in his lap in the middle of the night, crying because he can't remember the faces of all the people he terrorised with Tommy and Carol.

He's exhausted and in agony from his swollen eye pulsing in his skull and he thinks it's probably bad enough to get it looked at, but he feels that someone else deserves priority for that hospital bed.

x reader thoughts: Waking up to his side of the bed being cold. When you sit up you see him in the one strip of moonlit filtering in between the curtains and he's just sat, hunched over, wailing like a kid. And you try to pull him back to bed and console him but he just keeps saying "I can't fix it" and "I don't remember everything I did"

Yes I WILL be adding this to In The Same Orbit, that is a threat 😀

[bambiswriting]

IN THE SAME ORBIT

CHAPTER SIX - THE SPY

Summary: Steve Harrington, in his seventeen years, had been shown one lesson that was paramount above all others: he didn't warrant care. Meanwhile, caring was all you'd ever known to do. When a fateful monster attack draws your worlds together, you would find yourselves in a place so different from where you started.

Chapter summary: Dustin hates the distance he's put between the two of you. He doesn't realise what damning consequences it has until it's too late.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Female Henderson!Reader

Word count: 8.2k

Warnings: Violence, mentions and descriptions of deceased/missing pet, parentification of a child, absent parent. Please read the fic masterlist for a full list of warnings!

<- Prev

This is the worst week of Dustin Henderson’s life. 

Well… not exactly. He might be pushing it a little on the dramatics. 

He would be remiss to fail to mention last year, where one of his best friends went missing in the woods for a week. Except unlike your standard missing child story, these woods flipped. They became an alternate woods where roots squirm and the sky flashes crimson, with monsters and spores and crazy government assholes and interdimensional doorways, and an amazing girl who could move things with her mind. 

He misses El. 

He doesn’t miss that time. 

Though it looks like it might be returning with a vengeance once more, with that same friend stepping across one world to the other like something right out of a campaign and being hunted by a supposed shadow monster hanging in the sky. 

To make matters worse, the party have been out on a mission to find and eliminate his new friend, Dart. Rifling through trash and armed with their blunt force weapons of flash lights and walkie talkies to bludgeon the little guy. Led by the raving lunatic, Mike Wheeler, who is unreachable with any semblance of logic. Because he’s convinced that Dart is an agent of evil…? Honestly, who the hell cares if he’s from the Upside Down? He’s not doing any harm. Nature versus nurture is a long-standing scientific debate for a reason, Michael.

And for the cherry on top of the shit birthday cake—

“Dustin!” 

He straightens, removing his chin lax from where it’s pressed into the curve of his palm. His eyelids shutter a morse code of alarm, restoring abruptly to the present moment.

“Are you with us?” Asks his favourite teacher, Mr Clarke.

Dustin nods after a moment, attempting to rouse himself from his melancholy. “Yes. Yes, of course.” He tucks a rogue sheet of paper on the desk beneath his textbook, enforcing a sense of order upon his faltering mind. “I’m sorry, Mr Clarke. Please continue.”

Mr Clarke seems to consider this for a moment. So unlike his star student. But appearing to land on no conclusive theories to explain the out of character behaviour, he slides right back into the topic at hand.

“As I was saying… All creatures in our animal kingdom have a survival instinct. Even us. We are all born with internal signals that ward us against threats.”

The middle school class is dead in their seats. Eyes are everywhere but on Mr Clarke, engaging in passing notes and daydreaming. One student chews gum loudly to the left, and a couple desks over to the right, another burrows a pencil into their nose. In the centre sits Dustin, Lucas and Mike, backs melting into grey plastic chairs. Enduring a chill along their spines knowing that their friend isn’t sitting with them.

Mr Clarke continues, delighted by the material and blissfully unaware of the lack of enthusiasm. “Have you ever noticed birds flying in a flock? They’re headed somewhere new. Some animals do this to search for food, others to hibernate during the change in season, and some want somewhere safe to breed or lay their eggs. It’s all in the name of survival.”

He slides the textbook page up, framing the image of a flock of Arctic Tern under the projector light. The boys follow the sight, battling the shaky jittering of the page in their teacher’s hand.

“And they don’t need to be taught to do these things, either. Birds can fly right back at the end of winter.” There’s a hand gesture to accompany the image, palm gliding through the air. “They don’t need a map to know the way. And fish are born knowing how to swim. Neat, right?”

The boys are more than familiar with the concepts, operating at levels of scientific understanding far above what is expected from an eighth grade class. 

In an attempt to atone, Dustin raises his hand.

“Dustin,” Mr Clarke addresses agreeably, gesturing with his palm up in invitation.

Dustin taps his fingers against the front of the desk. “It’s the same with nests. Birds know they have to make them. And beavers know they have to build dams.” 

His teacher’s mustache lifts in a proud beam. “Right you are, Dustin! These kinds of intrinsic skills are passed down from their ancestors as part of their evolutionary history. They’re so important because they keep the species from extinction.” 

He points his pen out to the class, waving from one side to the other. “Without you all being born with the ability to swallow, you wouldn’t have been able to eat. And as Earth’s climates become more volatile, it’s incredibly important that an animal species develops with it.”

There’s a thud at the back of the room, marking the moment that a child is lost to sleep.

“But,” he proclaims, raising his hands, eyes wide to relay a message of doom. “Don’t be fooled, young voyagers, for that’s not all. While environmental dangers and predators still prove to be the biggest threat, some animal species have to worry about their own kind. Some animals,” he starts, turning the page and adjusting the focus on the projector to be an image of the subsequent animal. “Like marmosets, have hierarchies within their tribes. They allocate their own leaders, who will carry and protect their young. To them, it is most important that they have strong offspring to make sure their tribe’s future is secured.”

Mr Clarke downturns his face, solemn. “In the event that this does not happen, well… they have no problem wiping out the offspring and their parents, and starting over.”

Lucas raises his eyebrows. 

“It’s an incredible, but brutal… world out there.”

—

He was wrong. This is officially, sure as shit, his worst week ever. 

As it turns out, the small, adorable pollywog he’s been sheltering in his bedroom from the Hawkins Middle kill squad is a demogorgon. That’s a pretty hard fact to defend. Returning home to find a new pal chewing on the family pet is bound to put a damper on anyone’s week. 

And you know, for a group of ten or so people whose lives were changed forever by the aforementioned traumatic events of ‘83, none of them seem to give a shit that his life is now spiralling rapidly out of control faster than he can handle.

Nancy is off having slumber parties, Lucas is busy fawning over Max, Mike and Will have disappeared and Mr Wheeler is still a lazy son of a bitch who takes a nap after lifting a single finger. 

But the part he hates the most?

Is that in his time of need it’s Steve Harrington helping him instead of you. 

He hates this.

Hates the lies. 

Hates sitting in Steve’s car, bumping over the train tracks with a constant juddering that is just begging to blend up his brain and leave it pouring out of his ears. 

“Alright, so let me get this straight,” Steve starts, bucket propped in his lap with the windows rolled down, staring ahead at the trail. “You kept something you knew was probably dangerous in order to impress… a girl… who— who you just met?”

Dustin chucks a chunk of meat out of the window. “Alright, that’s grossly oversimplifying things.”

“I mean, why would a girl like some nasty slug, anyway?”

“An interdimensional slug? Because it’s awesome.”

“Well, even if she thought it was cool, which she didn’t… I don’t know, I just feel like you’re trying way too hard, man.” Steve picks up a piece of the meat and braves a sniff. Big mistake. He recoils hard, offended, head knocking into the back of the headrest before launching it a considerable distance from the car.

“Well, not everyone can have your perfect hair, alright?”

“It’s not about the hair, man.”

Dustin scoffs. “Look, if you’re gonna tell me it’s what you smell like, or how you walk, or the car…” There’s an active effort taking place to pull back the fraying string of his patience, but at the end of the day, he’s still a teenage boy. “I’m sure this probably works on the girls where you’re from, but all it’s doing right now is slowing us down. This would’ve been way easier on foot.” 

“Alright, crabby pants,” Steve mutters. He reaches around and pats the exterior of the door. It clangs dully. “Hear that? Safer. Reinforced. Fast. On foot, we’re monster bait.”

Dustin rolls his eyes as the car continues rattling over the sleepers, testing the strength of their teeth.

“Look, the key with girls is just acting like you don’t care.” Steve shrugs lopsidedly. 

Dustin yields, looking to him with lips puffed and round eyes. “Even if you do?”

“Yeah, exactly, it drives them nuts.”

“Then what?”

Steve looks back at Dustin, dimples twitching at the line of questioning. “You just wait, until, uh… until you feel it.”

“Feel what?”

He drops a piece of meat. “It’s like before it’s gonna storm, y’know? You can’t see it, but you can feel it, like this, uh… electricity, you know?”

“Oh, like in the electromagnetic field when the clouds, in the atmosphere—”

Steve’s lost immediately, shaking his head emphatically. “No, no, no, like a— a sexual electricity.”

“Oh.”

“You feel that…” He dunks his hand in a non-existent basketball net. “And then you make your move.”

A beat. 

“I’m not so sure.” 

Steve is clearly personally offended. He scoffs. “Why? I think the results speak for themselves.”

Well now it’s just funny. Dustin shrugs as casually as he’s able to with a smirk hankering to break out on one side of his face. “Doubt my sister would agree.”

“I know you’re not talking about the sister back there.”

“(Y/N) says it’s better to be honest with girls. Sensitive, gentle, that kind of thing.“

Steve stills, pupils darting incrementally in thought. “Yeah, well, what the hell does she know, she’s not exactly a ray of sunshine.” 

The mischievous smile burns off. Dustin’s tongue lodges to the bottom of his mouth while he turns with a new attitude to stare out of the window, daring Dart to appear and to take the first swing. 

It falls quiet, long enough for the fragile shell that has encased him since the scene at your home to breach. He numbly lets more meat fall beside the car to be ground up in the tires, presence dwindling into a deeper kind of thought. 

His mind is with you. 

His sister, who tries to help with homework despite knowing he can handle it. Just so he knows you’re there. Who has perfected your mom’s signature to fake it on the field trip notes when he’s forgotten to ask about it the night before and she’s staying late at work. Who takes very seriously his goal to collect the entire line of Star Wars cereal box toys, and happily trades him when he gets another dupe of Han Solo. 

There are days long gone that he aches for, even if he can recall them as travesties. The day the two of you were particularly tetchy with one another and you pushed him so hard he went right off the path and into a pine tree. You’d spent an hour pulling needles out of his shins and elbows and slathering him in too much antiseptic while urging it’s okay, please don’t cry so loud.

Time used to flow naturally. Easily. Without a haemorrhaging of the feeling of safety. The two of you watching your favourite sci-fi films on tapes that skip. Laughing at the way the iconic lines ping and frazzle with rainbows scattering across the television screen. Playing it so loud because your parents were preoccupied. There were plentiful conversations, and unburdened by constant checking for his own lies. It’s become so tiresome, sifting through the conflicting information he’s provided as to where he’s going, is Will okay, why is he being like that.

And shit, has he lied to you. But he had no choice! There are eyes in the walls and ears in the phone, put there by the NDA he was forced to sign.

He doesn’t expect the harsh nudge that comes, between his shoulder and armpit. It rips him from his stupor. He twists at the waist to evade Steve’s wiggling finger coming at him a second time and glares questionably.

Steve’s face shrivels at the reaction but almost instantly resets. “What’s the deal with her, anyway?”

“What do you mean?” Dustin responds languidly, turning slightly but looking at the dash.

“She’s pretty high strung. Kind of intense.”

“You got all that from back there?” Dustin murmurs. 

“We go to school together, knucklehead. I got that from a whole load of things.”

“She’s not like that.”

Steve shrugs. “News to me.”

“She’s not!”

Harsh eyes meet softening ones.

Dustin surrenders. “I mean… yeah, she yells at me sometimes, but only when I really mess up. Missing the toilet, forgetting to feed the cat…”

“The cat that just got…”

“Yes. It’s always been like this. Our dad isn’t around, so she helps my mom out.”

Steve’s yellow gloved hands twist, parting around the steering wheel. The leather cries under the friction. His eyes wilt against the numbers on the speedometer. “That’s tough,” he says. Low and brittle. 

“Yeah. It's better without him, though. He was an asshole.”

Steve nods, mind elsewhere, hunching slightly in his seat. 

“She’s always looked out for me. I hate lying to her, especially about something this significant.”

“Woah, wait.” The situation blazes back to the forefront. “You’re not thinking of telling her, are you?”

“What— Of course not!”

Steve babbles over a jumbled series of syllables that sound defensive and appeasing all at once. 

The threat fizzles around them again. Waiting. Imperceptible. Like that storm. Sharp and then nothing. Testing to see if they’re still on alert. 

“I'm not an idiot, Steve!”

“Good!” Steve’s eyebrows wave and spike. “Just… good. It’s not worth it. Not with those lab creeps breathing down all our necks.”

Steve frowns, voice dropping low. As if at a wake. “What are you gonna tell them about the cat?” 

“No idea.” 

Dustin knocks the bucket against the freshly cleaned car window frame several times, shaking the contents out. Ungainly enough that Steve clenches. “I’m sorry, man.” 

Dustin’s voice is blank. “Might have to just let her vanish — left one night and didn't come back. Probably a roadside accident.”

Jesus. 

How have things gotten so bleak? Concealing the death of a family member in his bedroom. Burying her body. Now setting out to kill what killed her.

“Do you think she saw something?” Steve asks suddenly. 

Dustin’s face crinkles. “What? Who?”

“Your sister, dude.”

“Why would you—”

“She told me to keep you away from Skull Rock.” 

“I don’t know— I don’t know, she just…” He huffs and the car stops. The bucket slides sideways as he swings around in Dustin’s direction. “You’re telling me she’s usually creeped like that?

“Well… no, but–”

Dustin scowls. “What? Why would she—?”

Steve shrugs, then agitates his hair. “I don’t know, maybe she saw Bullseye.”

“Dart.”

“Whatever.”

“Wait, then why are we here? If she saw something, why aren’t we looking for him there?”

“You think I’m going back to your house and telling her that her squirt brother was made into little lizard bite-sized patties? What do you think the car’s for?” He turns to grasp the wheel again. “Besides, Nance said those things can smell for miles, like sharks. Blood, and all that kinda stuff. If that’s true, he’ll smell what we’re doing and come running.”

“Hair.” 

“And if you’re wrong?”

He shrugs. “Then nothing happens. You don’t die and I keep my head.”

Steve glances at him, eyes softening. “Hair.”

The car rocks into propulsion once more.

They move down the tracks several more feet, dispersing more bait as they go, into a rhythm now, joined with the odd clear of the throat from Steve to break up the quiet. His eyes flitting every so often to your brother.

“Fabergé.” 

—

Dustin frowns. “What?”

Steve points undignified at the height of his head. “It’s Fabergé Organics.”

Dusk is barreling towards the junkyard when they arrive, the sky a murky yellow that rots dark around the edges the way that film burns. The wind has settled with a hefty silence, ready for the chill to force its way in. A severity of cold that is sure to make noses burn.

Steve takes off his sunglasses to survey the bones of their operation. Seriously, why he’s still wearing them and how he can see anything is anyone’s guess. Dustin curdles under the examination of his choice spot, until after a moment, Steve nods. 

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, this’ll do.” He nods again, gears already turning up a plot. “This’ll do just fine. Good call, dude.” 

Your brother elicits a toothy grin, warmth pooling in his cheeks. Proud. Already putting so much weight behind Steve’s words.

The two fast friends walk a meager remaining steps to the centre of the yard. Dustin glances briefly Steve’s way and sees him checking further, eyeline upon the trees, beyond the immediate ground where they stand. Careful glances in all directions. Dustin’s stomach flips, sensing the danger that will soon be upon them like the dark.

They dump the remainder of the buckets in a pile at their feet, singing with a strong metallic odour.

“I said medium-well!” Lucas’ voice projects from the opposite end of the junkyard. He waves avidly with his bike against his side.

“Who’s that?” Steve asks. 

On the other side stands Max, weight dispersed to one leg and hand stuck in the pocket of her green hoodie. She swaggers forward with a smirk that looks natural.

She’s so cool. 

But Lucas brought her. And he did so joyously. The sight of a battle lost. His heart sinks and his face joins it. But no sooner had the expression been there than it was gone again, replaced with familiar displeasure. Another person involved. Another friend in danger. One more step away from you. Feeling his allegiance dying a bit more. 

He pounces when they’ve cut the distance. “What are you doing here?” 

Max adjusts her stance for hostility. “‘Hi’ to you, too.”

“You told her?” Dustin accuses.

“Oh. Oh, I’m not here,” Max points fingers between the two of them.

Lucas shrugs his bag strap higher in challenge. “So what?” 

“‘So what’,” Dustin echoes back drily. 

“You wanted to tell her, too!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t, alright? We all agreed not to tell her and to look for Dart.”

Max’s face adjusts, awed by his nerve. Dustin notices immediately, because of course he does. He juts his chin at her, daring. “What?” 

She recovers, snapping her mouth closed and crossing her arms, smirking. “Nothing. I just think that’s very funny.”

“What is?”

A loud bang cuts the chattering in half. 

The culprit is Steve, standing beside a now reverberating trash can, bat primed for another hit if they so dare. “Hey!” He barks, pushing them to straighten up and stand to attention. Dustin falls in beside Lucas, who elbows him. He shoves him back. 

Steve slings his bat across one shoulder with a flourish and starts a walk down the stretch of them. “We’re all here for a reason, and we’re burning daylight. So let’s just get this shitshow on the road so we can all go home where it’s warm and dry and never think about any of this ever again.”

The three of them maintain a synchronised gawk at him.

“Do you hear me, dickheads? Now!” 

—

Dustin jumps into action, snatching Lucas’ walkie as if it’ll do anything to convey that he’s not above orchestrating a rebellion. “Alright, asshole!”

“Stupid.”

The junkyard is transformed. Impressive, all things considered. Achieving this makeshift militarised zone with nothing more than three kids and their attitude problems? Perhaps Steve has a place in a leadership role after all. Take that, Dad.

A school bus is the hub of their safety perimeter, reinforced with scrap and tucked with barrels so that Dart can’t reach their final line of defence. Lines of gasoline are drawn from a primary attack zone at the centre to where they reside, ready to be lit ablaze, and they have enough weapons of varying combat ranges to have a solid chance against the little bastard.

He turns his wrist, chasing a prism of light that has broken through between the rows of corrugated metal fastened against the bus, illuminating his watch face a pale blue in the moonlight. Calming, given what they’re about to undertake. It also helps to prevent the claustrophobia that might have set in otherwise. 

Claustrophobia that he’s definitely not affected by. No, siree. 

He flicks his lighter again, cap opening and engaging a flame. He snaps it shut, again. 

Dustin’s elbows swing constantly and sharply beside him, each time his whole body turns to glare at various points in the structure. Like the rusted nails are about to betray him. “Are you gonna do that all night?” 

Steve stares at him. Follows the line where he’s casting his frustration. He glances at the lighter, then back at Dustin, and flicks it open again. Dustin huffs, all limbs arguing back at him. 

Lucas descends the ladder perched against the entrance to the roof. “All clear,” he announces, stepping out of the way in order for the new girl, Max, to come down after him. She takes his hand when near the bottom, and looks once at the kid. They awkwardly retract away from each other, and while she’s not looking, (busy rubbing at her eyes?) he hastily corrects the placement of his bandana against his forehead and brushes down his jacket.

Oh, these kids are mush.

“For now,” Dustin adds belatedly with a mutter. Very helpfully, Steve might add, and perhaps also with an air of chagrin at the very obvious relationship development between the other two. 

The pair glance tiredly at Dustin. 

Steve is just about willing to let him off, on account of having several good reasons to be acting like this. What he can’t tolerate is his watch loudly ticking on without his permission, inducing an angry puff of air that ruffles a curl drooping down over his forehead. “Your sister is gonna murder me. I mean, I hope you realise that.”

The three of them fix him with equally incredulous looks. 

“I told her six-thirty. It’s seven-fifteen.”

Dustin’s arms flop hopelessly at his side. “We’re luring a monster from another dimension to our position so we can kill it and you’re worried about my sister?” 

“She’s scary, dude.”

Max snorts. “Seriously?”

Steve stares. “Uh… yeah. You won’t get done for child endangerment.”

Lucas does the maths on that. “Neither will you!”

“That is, if we don’t all die.” Max says it as a joke, with a dry little smile. Still under the sway of scepticism, from what Steve can gather.

Dustin reacts instantly, fists balling as he proclaims, “Nobody’s dying!”

If the atmosphere wasn’t already torched, it most certainly is now. Steve sees the way Max’s lips falter. His eyes slide to Lucas as his spine curls over. Even Dustin’s blinding confidence seems to take a hit. 

Doesn’t he know the fatal law of jinxing? You don’t speak things into existence! 

Way to doom us before we’ve even started, dude. 

And he was feeling fine about it, too, but hindsight is one hell of a thing. 

Because when he came face to face with one of these things last year, he might not have been expecting it, but Nancy and Jonathan were. Hell, Nancy had a gun. A gun she aimed at his big head. What does he have now? A few eight year olds and sports equipment? 

But it’s too late now.

They’re barricaded. There’s no going back. 

The cicadas take the floor for conversation. Lucas falls beside his crush in the driver’s seat while Dustin sluggishly collapses against the door. Steve’s wondering how the kid is still standing after this whole ordeal. And the crux of it hasn’t even started yet. He flicks his lighter once more. 

He can feel it. The quiet unease that’s permeating all of them. Even Max doesn’t appear to know what to do with the tonal whiplash taking place.  

She’s the first to speak again. “So, you really fought one of these things before?”

She’s looking at him. He nods, sheepishly. 

“And you’re, like, totally, one hundred percent sure it wasn’t a bear?”

It doesn’t even sound judgemental. More than anything she sounds curious, which makes a change from the limited information he’s come to possess about her. It still doesn’t stop Dustin from firing off another round, though. 

“Shit, don’t be an idiot, okay? It wasn’t a bear.” 

Her eyebrows shoot halfway up her head. 

Oof. Coming in way too hot, man.

“Why are you even here if you don’t believe us? Just go home.” 

Dustin fizzles out, but Max doesn't look done. Steve is watching it like a standoff, waiting, hoping that this will settle down again and give him a rest before the headache that he’s sure will come by the end of the night. He knows from experience that nothing good comes from a group divided right before a big event. Something he could have told Brian McCormick before the playoffs. 

After a second, Max smiles, and that can't possibly mean anything good. 

“I know your secret.”

Oh, boy. 

Dustin glowers. “What the hell are you talking about? Lucas, what’s she talking about?”

His friend shrugs, looking partly terrified.

Max tucks her hands further into her sides, a bemused twinkle in her eyes. “I know… and so does your sister.”

Dustin is learning how to speak all over again. “My sister? What the hell do you know about my sister?”

“She’s totally onto you.” She actually chuckles. It spurs a puzzled look that gets passed around the three of them.

“When are you hanging out with my sister?” 

“Relax.” Max settles in, posture loosening casually in the musty seat. “She bought me a burger last night.”

That clearly does nothing to calm Dustin. “Why are you hanging out with her?” He insists.

Steve catches the momentary freeze of her face, before she expertly recovers. “She picked me up. I hadn’t eaten, so we went to get food.” With a shrug that he knows as one you give a parent. An irate one. “But she knows you’re not telling her the truth! She’s not stupid, she’s figuring it out. She knows there’s something weird with Will and she knows you’re lying about where Dart has been.”

That gets Lucas’ attention. He leaves the seat, hands bracing the tense air. “Wait… what?”

Max joins him. “All this time, when we’ve been looking for him? Yeah. Dustin has been hiding him in his bedroom.”

“I knew it!” Shrieks Lucas. “You’ve had a creepy little bond with him from the beginning! He’s lured you to the dark side!”

This is all spiralling faster than Steve can keep up. He stands too, frazzled but ready to break it up. “What… dark side—?” 

“No!” Dustin wavers. “No—”

“You lied to the party! You kept him when you knew he was dangerous!”

“I didn’t know he was a demogorgon!”

“You knew he was from the Upside Down!”

“That’s not enough to judge him on!”

“So what, you just had to wait until he showed you his five hundred teeth before you realised we were right?”

Steve realises it’s probably not the best time to mention that Bullseye ate Mews. He steps into their periphery, trying to interject. “Okay, lock it down!” But it bounces right off. 

Steve and Max collectively roll their eyes. Thank god he still has one alongside. 

“You broke the rule of law!”

“So did you!”

“What?” Lucas exclaims.

“You told a stranger the truth!” Dustin pokes his walkie right in the direction of Max. The antenna narrowly misses her face. 

Her entire being locks up. She scoffs, stomping forward. “A stranger?”

Oh, cool! Now he’s lost the third one!

He sighs and scratches his eyebrow, taking a couple steps down the bus so that he can hear himself think. Perhaps his only option is to let them ride this out. 

But it’s at this moment that Steve’s gut shifts. Not a hunger pang or the late stage of an adrenaline spike from scoring a basket, but that initial feeling of something maybe being wrong. The kids’ bickering floats away on the wind, which has grown somehow even more still around them. He knows this, even if he hasn’t been able to hear it for the last half an hour. 

He moves to the corner of the bus, right by the door, where the panels they had secured couldn’t quite reach, presses his cheek right against the surface and pinches one eye shut, squeezing for a look. But his visibility from this angle is severely limited. Now would be the time to call upon Lucas with his binoculars, but he’s stuck in a confrontation with his best friend that is so totally stupid and ill-timed and that feels harder to navigate than pulling teeth right now. Somewhere out of view, he hears something land on one of the scrap cars. 

“Hey, guys?” He treads. 

They keep going. 

“You wanted to tell her, too!” 

“Yeah, but I didn’t, Lucas, okay? I didn’t tell her!”

Another clang. 

This volume is too risky. He can’t chance it. He ambles across the dilapidated floor and cups his massive hand around the lower portion of Dustin’s face. The kid’s reaction would be funny if he knew for sure that what was waiting for them on the other side of the doors wasn’t a threat. He directs a stare in warning between the three of them. Fortunately he doesn’t need to take it further, because Lucas and Max get the message and silence immediately. 

“There’s something outside,” he whispers, pressing a finger to his lips. He eases away from Dustin, and is relieved when the group doesn't explode again. The four of them move to the windows, taking on the same cautious stance as Steve before. 

There are no big reactions to be had, which he supposes is maybe a good thing? Maybe it was a bird. Better than a massive stomping monster or for them to erupt into screams. 

“There’s definitely something,” Dustin confirms, in dreaded anticipation. 

Great.

Steve moves past Max to Lucas and pats his shoulder, then points at the binoculars at his side, the ladder and up. Lucas nods and moves into position, climbing to the roof. Max follows him.

Steve pulls back one of the looser panels — Dustin’s handiwork, no doubt, and peers out through the grated section of metal amongst the soupy fog. 

“I’ve got eyes! Ten o’clock!”

He and Dustin magnetise to that section of the junkyard, framed by a blue truck and collapsed shack. He’s looking, waiting, for a shift. For the moonlight to reflect off of that familiar sickly shine. 

He spots it immediately. “There,” he points. 

From the thick air emerges a crouched figure, with long limbs and a muted complexion, the space where a face should be folded into itself. 

It doesn’t move further into the yard. Merely shifts its head around methodically. He wouldn’t have thought that those monsters have a brain. 

“What’s he doing?” 

“I don’t know.”

Thanks, Henderson. Still talking about it like it’s a domesticated family pet and not an all consuming, blood thirsty monster that’s favourite pastime is swiping at humans.

The pile of meat… he can see it. In the middle between them. Just ripe for the pickings. “He’s not taking the bait. Why is he not taking the bait?”

“Maybe he’s not hungry.”

Oh. 

Steve gets an incredibly stupid idea. 

The trepidation burns away, making way for something new, that tinges him blue in the depth of the unknown. Because while he’s positive that Dustin would rather have been doing this with literally anyone else, he still trusted him enough to get in his car. Or perhaps he was just a means to an end. Either way, the kids are looking to him for guidance. Safety. 

Maybe this was a lifeline thrown his way. Albeit, the kind where he probably dies at the end of the story, but some karmic intervention nonetheless. Steve doesn’t necessarily surrender to any such idea, but hey, he’s lured a monster from another world to a shitty junkyard with his girlfriend’s brother’s friends. Question mark around the girlfriend part. This is probably the best time to be betting on things like that. An opportunity for trust that he hasn’t known before. Shaped differently. External to any prior understanding of loyalty that he’s subscribed to, in boyfriend or son. Not that he’s been the best at either. These younger kids, counting on him. 

He knows that his public reputation is the resident royal dickhead, and maybe he’ll never be able to convince you otherwise, but right now, he can do one thing right.

He exhales. Straightens. “Oh, shit.”

Dustin looks back at him, already attuned to his intentions, and the two exchange a glance. Dustin’s face is constructed upon heavy caution that Steve is sure he should listen to. His own face has steeled impressively well, despite the pit in his stomach. He moves to the door without a moment to lose. 

“Steve? Steve, what are you doing?” 

A promise isn’t a flimsy thing to him. He’s seen too many broken ones to go that same path. He promised to keep your brother safe. 

He can do this. He can learn to do this. He’s done enough of the tearing down. He’s ready to step up to the task of building someone up. Making sure they’re okay, before his own first.

He casts his lighter at Dustin, who remarkably catches it in his cupped hands.

“Just be ready.”

And then the door is dragging against the wonky floor, folding into itself. 

Steve steps out of the bus with his bat, stance already primed to hit a home run. His eyes flicker frantically between every shadow on the ground.

It’s just like an away game. 

He takes two careful steps forward. Breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. The fog swallows his ankles. 

He reaches the mound of meat they had left, finding it swarming with flies. 

Okay, so maybe the thing has some standards.

Picky asshole. 

Steve beckons closer, shins becoming lost in the dark haze in the air now. And that’s when the chittering starts. 

At first he’s not sure what he’s hearing, so he whistles. The thing likes its home comforts — maybe it likes a whistle.  

“Come on, buddy,” he coos, edging around the bumper of a car. Another whistle, longer and more drawn out this time. He can hear the kids starting a commotion in the bus again, and puts a pin in it to kill them later. 

“Come oooon, buddy,” he says, louder this time. “Dinner time! Human tastes better than cat, I promise.”

If this is it for him… God, what a terrible choice of last words. 

It’s a kitty. A big, cuddly kitty. A kitty who has razor sharp teeth and could dice him like a pepper.

Kitties like toys, right? 

He swings the bat from side to side, the motion creating a whooshing sound. Doing the last part he needs to lure the creature.

Ten feet, right ahead of him. He stops, shifting back so that the bat is drawn at his side. 

This thing is way bigger than he was expecting. He’ll add dramatically downplaying the state of things to the list of what he knows about Dustin Henderson. 

“Steve! Watch out!”

For crying out loud. 

“A little busy here!”

“Three o’clock! Three o’clock!”

Three… what? 

He lurches, and wow, he really wishes he hadn't. Another demogorgon springs atop a pile of trash. 

And oh look, there’s another. 

The two new arrivals press on their front legs, stretching forwards towards him.

“Steve!” Comes Dustin’s voice, and the next time he speaks, it’s louder. “Abort! Abort!”

That increment of time between is all the first demogorgon needs to cry its piercing roar and make a bolt straight for him, petal face wide open. 

He always has been more of a dog person.

In a split second decision marred by the sound of more movement from his back, he dives from the monster’s path and hits the hood of one of the cars. He doesn’t have time to recover from the spike of pain through his back because when he stops rolling the monsters are still on him. The fastest meets him. He swings. His bat cracks in the air. 

The uproar that follows is the frantic cries of the kids, screaming his name and waving frantically at him to gun it. 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. 

He floors it to the bus, shin burning from the pull of trying to beat the wind. He doesn’t know how many are behind him and that knowledge couldn’t possibly make him run any faster than he already is. 

He flies through the gap in the bus, and Sinclair is on it, slamming back the door. Steve falls back against the others, all cast against the furthest wall, and is immediately kicking out his legs to stop the claws from breaking the door down.  

“Shit!” Dustin yells.

The night has gone from somewhere between a massive inconvenience, maybe a cut on the knees, to a full on life-or-death, certain-nightmare-shitshow scenario.

He rips down a sheet of metal and wedges it against the door, and holds that with his striking feet again. 

“Are they rabid or something?” Asks Max, finally frantic.

Steve cries out in pain when the entire bus veers sideways, then back again. Rocking away from its very foundations. He remains desperately trying to keep the door blocked. 

“They can’t get in! They can’t!”

Tell that to my legs against this door, Sinclair!

A huge boney arm comes swiping through the crack, bearing claws that would cut through his arm like butter.

The cat imagery is so not funny anymore!

The kids howl and flee to the back while he fishes his bat and bludgeons the demogorgon with all his might. The pained outcry nearly pierces his eardrums. 

He can’t find the time to imagine just how many of them are outside that they’re able to lift a goddamn school bus. 

But Dustin definitely has an inkling judging by the SOS that is now battering down his headset. “Is anyone there? Mike? Will? God, anyone! We’re at the old junkyard and we are going to die!”

The bus rocks again, booming and crashing against the cinderblocks beneath it. The kids cry in fright again. 

The demogorgon is silent now. Steve isn’t taking any chances though and beats it until the only sounds it makes are the wet, squelching ones of its guts along his bat and decorating the nails. 

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. 

He drags himself up off the floor, and just in the nick of time, too. Max moves along the bus, following a succession of dents padding out the roof, until she’s staring up into the hole. Right as the source appears at the opening, and its face opens up. 

She screams. 

Like hell.

Steve picks her up and shoves her right behind him, filling the spot she just cleared. “You want some? Come get this!”  

The monster is unphased. Its jaw opens wider, every row of teeth inflicting maximum terror. Huge paws step onto the ladder, traversing ever closer. And staring right down the face of it, Steve is positive that it could pluck his bat from his grasp and break it in half like a toothpick. And it will. Just like it will break them.

Until it doesn’t. 

Its face relaxes, musculature turning flaccid, and turns away from them. 

It disarms them. For just a fraction of a moment. 

No, that doesn’t mean shit. He betters his stance, either hand strangling the bat and eyes locked on that square of night sky above him blistered by horror. 

But it leaves the ladder. Settles back onto the bus. 

Another demogorgon wails, further away. Their primary aggressor responds, somehow with a lilt ever more hostile than what they’ve been receptive to. It leaps out of sight, followed by a final shake of the bus. As if they’ve all cleared away. 

What? 

The four of them stand deathly still, reeling. After a second of distant noise, he turns from the entry point and checks for the kids. 

Shaking. Frigid with fright. But still standing. Still alive. 

Harrowing sounds prevail outside, but not on top of them anymore. Steve reverses, keeping the kids positioned directly behind him, just in case. If his arm were long enough, he would snake it around the three. He risks an approach to the window where the panelling has been shaken free and stares out in the direction of the noise. 

The demogorgons gather in a circle. Still prowling, but not hungering for them anymore.

Across the way comes another group. More demogorgons.

Fuck. 

They stampede in the direction of the initial attackers. Still undeniably demogorgons, but of a subtly different pallor. 

The groups begin a steady spin in a circle, assessing the other. Snaking and weaving in a spiral. The odd creature from each tribe snaps at an opponent. They rise on hind legs and jerk forwards, testing for weaknesses. Goading. Challenging. It builds, and builds, like a nuclear bomb growing helplessly bigger. 

And then the clash happens. The biggest from each side skulk forward and move into a threatening dance. They chirp at one another, hostility climbing. As if talking. And then the biggest of all swipes at the other, massive claw coming down and wiping them away. Clobbers it with its teeth.  

The rest follow. 

Steve, Dustin, Lucas and Max watch helplessly as the two groups ravage each other. Piranhas to flesh. Tearing and pulling and separating and so much blood, blood and blood. Steve has to force himself to look away, at his car. It’s on the other side of the massacre. They can’t make a run for it. They would never get there in time. 

He wants to pull the kids away. This is too much, even for him. But they’re not out of the woods yet. They need to be vigilant. So against every impulse to protect, Steve waits. 

In time, the fight stops. Few survivors. All of the same cluster. The biggest demogorgon releases its jaw, and its adversary falls lifelessly to the dust. Drowned in the rest of the mist. 

It roars. In victory or further mercilessness, he doesn’t know. 

And to meet it comes a smaller voice. Higher. Further away, beyond this hellscape. Dustin presses in, ever closer to the windows. Steve tries to lunge for him to create distance, but he stops him. 

A small cry chitters. Beyond the woods, far away. Sounds like… another demogorgon. Dustin is unmoving. It encourages Steve to stay fixed, too. 

He would never claim that these creatures are respectful, or anything above wild animals, but he could swear the largest one barks commands to the other two at its side. And without a moment to rest, the three are fleeing from the junkyard, paws thundering along the grass, leaving a river of remains in their wake. 

Steve waits. A minute. He counts it. Until he opens back up the door to the bus. He takes two very precarious steps, holding out a hand to tell the others to stay put. And then finally, when he’s sure he can hear nothing but the now dead space, he drops it, and the others follow suit. 

Max is the first to speak, breath stolen like she’s run a marathon. “Where are they going?”

“I don’t know,” Steve responds.

A beat. 

They let them go. 

Why? 

Max rubs her palms down her pants, scuffed. “They kill each other?”

Lucas trails her away from the bus that they thought would be their coffin, doing a quick sweep to check nowhere is bleeding. “I guess. We’ve never really seen them interacting before.” 

“It was like lions. They have their groups, right?” 

“ Or hyenas.”

Steve can’t help but notice how suspiciously quiet Dustin is. “Henderson?”

“Oh.”

The three lock onto Dustin. 

“‘Oh’?” 

Dustin tilts his head up to the sky, dread washing over him. But he doesn’t allow it to drown him. He rushes forward in pursuit of clear ground. 

“What? What?” Steve persists, watching the kid fall to his knees, dragging his backpack with him. The zips are caught up in the fabric where he pulls them thoughtlessly apart, making the space to shove his arm in up to its elbow, rooting around in there. 

He drags a book out and onto the ground like it’s scorching, and slams it open. 

“Dude, this is not the time for book club.”

He points a warning finger back at Steve. “No— shut up a minute!” He continues wordlessly, flipping through the pages.

“What are you looking for?” Lucas asks, risking a step towards him. 

“This.” He stops on a spread. He’s on pages 103 and 104, from their biology lesson with Mr Clarke earlier this week. “That wasn’t Dart before. None of them were. Dart has a distinctive yellow mark along his butt.”

“Okay, so?” 

“So, one did. Had a yellow mark.” 

Lucas frowns. “So what? Dart probably moulted again. The marks evolved.” 

“So it was Dart?” Steve has never felt stupider.

“No, did you not hear me? One had yellow markings, but they were different from Dart’s.”

“Except with his body mass through each growth stage and the frequency of his growth stages, I don’t think Dart would’ve been that big.” He shakes his head worriedly. “I don’t think it was Dart who attacked us.”

Steve crouches beside him, brandishing a flashlight and aiming it at the book to take a peek himself. “So what, you’re saying Dart’s mommy and daddy showed up looking for him?”

Dustin ignores him. “Lucas, do you remember what Mr Clarke said about marmosets?”

Lucas throws up his arm, and then focuses, closing his eyes for a fraction of a moment. “They have tribes.” 

“This isn’t the time, man!”

“Just answer me!” He’s desperate, still terrified, and that sets Steve on edge almost as much as when he came face to face with the demogorgon. Both times. 

“He said they kill their own kind.” Dustin finds the specific section they covered in class, finger following each word. “‘If they don’t feel that their new litter will be well enough looked after, they may commit infanticide in the hope of finding better brood-rearing circumstances in the future.’”

The information needs a moment to drop.

“I think that demogorgon we heard calling out before they left was Dart, and the one that left here…”

“Was his parent.”

“And that,” he points at the lead demogorgon from the other pack. “Is his other parent. Meaning…”

“They’re going to kill Dart.”

“No— Wait, wait,” Steve stammers, right as Dustin wastes no time in picking up his shit and sprinting to the beamer. “I don’t get it! Isn’t that what we wanted?”

Sure, on the bad side, it means there are still three more out there, but they’ll kill Dart. And he might get a good swipe in first. Isn’t it better like this? It gives them a chance to regroup!

“Where are you going?” Yells Max.

“We need to go!”

Steve doesn’t move. Only frowns at him.

“Steve, please!” And the cry in his voice wakes him up. He delves into his pockets while he picks up into a run, finding the key. Lucas and Max jog swiftly behind. 

They slam into the seats and buckle up, all but Dustin who is repetitively reading over the book. “Oh, god.”

“Dude, you need to explain so we’re all on the same page here.” Steve checks his reverse as he backs out of the tight space encompassed by scrap, and then the car wobbles back down the muddy path and onto the line that leads to the main streets.

“If it’s trying to kill Dart then it’s decided he isn’t a strong enough descendant.”

“You’ve been feeding him like a kitty.”

“I’ve domesticated him.” 

The penny is starting to drop. 

“There’s one question I’ve been asking since the beginning: How did he end up in my trash?”

Steve follows the conversation in the rearview mirror, unable to contribute much. He observes the second that realisation dawns on Max’s face. 

“He was put there.”

“By his mom.”

“Like a nest.”

“Then we know where they're going,” Steve finishes, finally understanding.

He pulls back the gearshift and slams the accelerator. The tires beg for mercy, spinning for longer than they have, flicking dirt, until eventually gripping into the sopping road and surging away.

The kids hang onto the handles for dear life when the car hits past a speed they’ve never experienced before. Suddenly the mirrors are useless, because checking them suggests care, and they can’t afford that right now. 

Because he’s sure from Dustin’s words that whether Dart is at Dustin’s house or not, someone else might be. And that person is in horrible danger.

And he would take a solid guess that it’s you.

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Author's note: DUN DUN DUNNNNNNN. Aaaaaand we're OFF!!! I have been DYING to write this chapter since the beginning. I realise I'm taking a bit of a risk bringing in new demogorgon lore and shifting some stuff about but I came up with this idea weeks ago and I've been buzzing with how it leads into next chapter. I hope it was worth the wait! 80% of my big events for the year are done with now with my holiday to Disneyland behind me so I'm really hoping I can get the next chapter out faster. As per, thank you so much for reading lovies! Let me know what you think! <3333333

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