#I think it’s soothing to Billy and Steve

[runraerun]

don’t worry, @queenofships06, Eddie’s got his guitar for enrichment!🎸♥️☺️

All my talk of needing to put Billy in a mason jar so I can study him/keep him close/shake the shit out of him on occasion and I finally did it:

Don’t worry guys, he’s happy and healthy. I even put some enrichment in there for him. ☺️❤️

[lighteyed]

it's no big surprise you turned out this way

steve harrington x fem mayfield!reader

[3.7k] steve comes over for family dinner. it is absolutely not your idea.

disclaimer- no mention of blood relation to max, no physical descriptors of reader, they are sisters in any way you want them to be. trigger warning for shitty parents and billy h*rgrove. this is not a billy safe space.

dividers by @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

thanks for reading if you do <3 enjoy teehee

You drop a kiss on Steve’s head in greeting, which he accepts with a thrilled, in-a-new-relationship, glowing smile, before dropping down beside him and subsequently dropping your news, or rather, your request that’s not really your request, on him. “Neil wants you to come over for dinner.” You tense at the utterance of your stepfather’s name, even if it’s your own mouth doing the uttering.

   His smile dissipates. Only a little, but enough for you to wring your hands together. You want to scoop all the words you’d just said back out from his ears and spoon them into your mouth again. Make him forget it’d ever happened. “Like, like family dinner?” He asks. He can’t fathom a world where he sits placid across the table from Billy Hargrove and passes him the salt respectably and doesn’t end the night with his fist colliding with his face (regardless of the outcome).

   “No, it’d just be you and him, he’s dying to take you out on a date,” you deadpan in response, shaking your head. Steve rolls his eyes, no malice intended. “Obviously family dinner, Steve. You, me, Max, my mom, Neil… Billy.” You force out the final name. He swears he hears your teeth grinding as you say it.

   “Don’t get grouchy on me.” He reaches over and smooths out the upset crease between your brows. Your shoulders relax in response. You’re always so wound up he’s made it his mission to give you that ease he knows you crave. He’s quite good at it, on days where he can steal you away and keep your mind occupied with the lovelier things in life. But there are some things he can’t spare you from, as much as he tries.

   Really, he can only keep you out of that house for so long before your family starts demanding their 17-year-old back.

   For the most part you keep away. Max roams the new mall all day with her friends now that June’s here and summer’s entered Hawkins in full swing, and you drive them there with your mom’s car if she doesn’t need it for the day, or Steve drives you all there and then home again if he’s not at work already that morning. If he has work you loiter in Scoops the entire day, lugging a stack of books acquired from the library and settling in a corner booth, popping your head up once in awhile to check on him and his misery in his new position in that ridiculous uniform. You brighten his days just as much as he brightens yours. And he really, really does. (And you like the uniform, as silly as it is, for the record).

   “’M not grumpy,” you deflate, pressing your forehead into his shoulder. He rubs your back in a nice, soothing way when you lean into him. Ever since he asked you out he’s been taking every excuse to touch you and you’re not complaining in the slightest. He has the softest hands you’ve ever held and they’re perpetually gentle and kind. All the love in the world encased in the hands of some boy from Hawkins, Indiana, a place you never expected to find a home in, let alone find a boy. The boy, if you thought about it long enough. Early days to be thinking about it but you did think about it. Often. For hours. You sigh quietly. “I can tell ‘em you’re busy, you don’t have to come.”  

   “Max knows I’m not busy,” he points out.

   “She doesn’t wanna be there, either. Look, I’ll just say you can’t come-“

   “But I can.”

    You lift back up, wary, but hopeful. A new flower poking its petals up from the earth, tilting right toward the sun.  “I don’t wanna make you miserable.”

   “That’s stupid,” he scoffs. He kisses your head this time, the perfumy scent of your shampoo fogging his brain up in a nice, lovey haze. “How could you make me miserable? You’re like, the best thing I’ve ever had, by a mile.”

   You smile in spite of your gloomy mood. “The fuckin’ Hargroves have an innate knack for misery.”

    “It’s a good thing you’re not a Hargrove then, hm, Mayfield?” He brushes your hair away from your face and  takes your chin in his hand, angling your face up properly to meet his, and he kisses you like he well and truly means it, firm and adoring. You can feel his grin seared into your mouth when you pull away, in spite of your reluctance and Steve’s attempts to pull you back in.

   . “You really wanna come? It won’t be fun. It’ll probably be shitty, actually.” You ask him in a tiny, hesitant voice, too overcompensating to someone who do anything you asked of him. Having Steve there sounds better than not having him there, and better than having to explain why he’s chosen not to come, but you know it’ll be weird. Worse than weird. After what happened back in November, him and Billy go out of their way to ignore one another, and it’s so deliberate it sucks the air out of a room. And even with that, Billy still makes it a point to direct snide remarks to you about Steve every chance he gets: alone, in front of Max, in front of your parents, in front of Steve himself while pretending he’s not there. And it’s gotten worse since you admitted to your mother in confidence that you and Steve were together now, and she told Neil, and Neil told Billy. But there’s no running from being at the same dinner table as him. You know you’re asking a lot. You wouldn’t be asking if Neil hadn’t insisted. In a loud, pointed voice, with a stare that unnerved you. You’d agreed to it hurriedly after that.

   “Well,” Steve leans back, playful, “want to is a bit of a stretch but I can make an exception for ya-“

   “Steve-“ you groan, pushing his chest, but he laughs, pushing himself back forward, smacking another loud kiss on your mouth.

   “Kidding, I’m kidding, c’mere,” his fingers grip your waist feather-light, tickling, as he laughs, and you can’t help but laugh too through your head shakes and faux-exasperated sighs.

  “I’m really asking you if you want to, I know it’s a lot asking you to make nice with Billy.” You interlace your fingers with his and he places them on your lap, all big brown eyes blinking up at you affectionately. You’re a sucker for his eyes. You can tell what he’s going to say before he says it.

   “Nothin’s too much for you,” he says in his sweet, low voice, another kiss pressed to your cheek, his stamp of agreeance left blazing there on your cheek.

   Late into the next day he arrives on 4819 Cherry Lane, as he has so many times before, but he parks right in front and gets out this time. He doesn’t sit by the wheel waiting for you to come running out, sometimes with Max in toe, usually by yourself, breathless and beaming, ready for him to whisk you away as fast as he can without breaking a million laws. He knows it’s not the gentlemanly thing to do, having a girl come to the car by herself instead of going up and ringing her bell, and normally he would, but you insisted he didn’t, not wanting to draw attention to yourself or him, and you were already waiting outside on the front steps when he got there most of the time, anyway.

   And this time, too, you get the door before he can ring the bell, almost ripping it off the hinges when you throw it open to greet him.

   “Thank God,” you mutter. You go to take his hand but remembers yours is sweaty and pull back. The sweater you’re wearing is pretty, complements your eyes and complexion and your everything, and your hair is down and soft-looking. He’d run his hands through it in other circumstances. “It’s not too late to make a break for it,” you lead him into the house quietly, throwing your head back and casting a dark look down the hallway. “Just say the words and we can flee, I won’t blame you.” He’s dressed so nicely, and you don’t even have the time to properly admire him. He did his hair all perfect (he always does but you can tell he put a little extra sparkle into it tonight), he’s in his nicest jeans that mold against his legs slim and fit, his sweater is a navy blue and it’s such a good color on him you might cry. You can see effort written in everything he does, tonight especially. His desire to make a good impression rings in your heart. You want to regard him warmly and turn your gaze on him with the utmost veneration but your skin buzzes with anxiety and it feels like one large, domineering fist is clamped around your intestines. 

   “It’ll be fine,” he says, squeezing your hand. He doesn’t even notice that it’s sweaty, though your anxiety is palpable and he amps up his happy exterior to balance you out. He’s probably just as nervous as you are, deep down. “Parents love me.” It’s an insistent sentence. “And I’m gonna turn on my charm.” He makes a clicking sound with his mouth and snaps his fingers around a little. You stare at him, blank. Neil is rumbling around somewhere in the distance and for the time being you are utterly immune to Steve’s banter.

   Not completely, but enough. “I don’t know if that’s the kinda charm we need here,” you pat his shoulder.

   “But it can’t hurt,” he points out with a raised eyebrow, pointing a finger gun at you.

   “Oh, it can hurt alright.” You steer him into the living room anyway. “Steve is here.”

   You announce it to the open air, waiting to see who comes when you call. Your mom, immediately, rushes out of the kitchen to greet him. She’s never met one of your boyfriends before. Her greeting is enthusiastic, to say the least. And she’s a hugger. It’s nice, actually, Steve thinks, no matter how embarrassed and nervous you are, to be embraced kindly by a mother. It’s familiar, like some distant dream from a faraway past. You have your qualms with Susan, he knows that, but he knows you love her hard, and that’s why you take so much issue with the way she lets herself be treated. It’s difficult to watch you grapple with all of this, all of the time.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Steve, or Steven? Whatever you want,” she rubs his back as she takes him into the kitchen alongside you.

   “Steve is great, thank you, Mrs. May-“ he clears his throat, “Mrs. Hargrove, I mean.“ It’s hard to reconcile this woman in front of him with the domineering men bearing that same last name. It’s hard to distinguish her as anything but another piece of you and Max. A good piece.

   “The girls talk about you all the time,” Susan says, still smiling.

   “I do not,” Max huffs as she comes out of her room, abashed. She’s in a nice outfit, too. Not as dressed down as she usually is. She tugs at her tied back hair like it hurts.

   “Ma, how tight did you do her hair?” You ask, beckoning Max over.

   “It pops out of every scrunchie!” Susan says, patting her on the head with such clear affection it makes Steve ache a little.

   “Maxie.” You open your arms for her. She stands in front of you obediently as you loosen the hold her hair ties have on her unruly locks, smoothing them out nicely as you tie it back up again, looser.

    Everything’s so nice and homey that the shift in the atmosphere is almost imperceptible when a door creaks open a bit away from you four. But it’s there. He sees you draw back into yourself, your smile, at him talking to your mom and being so sweet, at Max, at the normalcy of this moment, sliding right off your face as Neil walks into the room. You’d almost forgotten him. You could’ve stayed in a bubble with your mom and sister and beautiful boyfriend forever. But Neil comes out from the hallway, from Billy’s bedroom, and Billy follows behind, fully clothed for once, his shirt buttoned all the way up his chest, his expression dark and cloudy. His jaw is tight as his gaze fixes on Steve.

   But Steve, so gracious, sticks his hand out to shake Neil’s, smiling like Neil’s spawn isn’t the worst person Steve’s ever encountered as he introduces himself. “Nice to meet you, sir. Steve Harrington.” He keeps his mouth upturned sweet and polite even when Billy snorts in the background. He doesn’t even look in his direction.

    “Nice to meet you, too, Steven.” Neil’s handshake is more like a clenched fist. You stare at their clasped hands like you want to commit murder. Steven.

   “Steve, not Steven,” you mutter. Max touches your arm in warning before Steve can. You can’t help it. If there’s anyone you’re defensive over besides her, it’s him.

   “Steven’s fine,” he chimes in, keeping that same old good-natured Steve smile on his face. He’s too appeasing and Neil has never deserved it. He rolls his shoulders back and talks to himself in his head. Just one night. For her, for her, for her.

  “It’s the name your parents gave you, of course it’s fine,” Neil claps him on the back, and you know he doesn’t mean anything by it but you and Steve both flinch. From the words and the tap alike. Neil ignores your remark completely as he continues to talk to Steve in a way that makes your skin crawl. He brings Steve over to the dining room table and the rest of you follow suit, settling in around each other. You make sure you sit next to Steve, but you second-guess it when Billy takes the straight across from him. Neil drones on. “Y’know, it’s interesting how all this time, you’ve been driving the girls around for months now, but this is the first time we’re meeting.”

    Steve checks on you out of the corner of his eye. Your jaw ticks. He squeezes your knee but before he can answer, you do it for him. “He’s been busy, that’s all.”

Neil looks toward you. For once. It is not a pleasant look. “For months?” He tucks his hands under his chin.

   “I know you don’t like having strangers in the house after you work,” you say, placating in a way that turns your stomach.

   “That’s true,” Neil says. “Billy doesn’t seem to get the memo on that, so I’m glad someone in this house is paying attention.” The degradation of Billy at the dinner table is nothing new. And you feel bad about it. You’d feel worse if he wasn’t so nasty and hateful to everyone because of it. Neil had run into Billy’s latest flavor, Miranda Brady from your Calculus class, while she was rummaging through the fridge the other night, and he hadn’t been happy. He was polite to her until she’d been hurried out the door by Billy, and then he’d reamed into him in colorful, awful ways. Max and Susan both hadn’t been home, but it was one of those nights where you had been, and you’d lingered by your bedroom door awkwardly, making sure it didn’t get too out of hand. You weren’t sure either of them even knew you were there. Accepting the praise seems wrong. You nod stiffly.

  Billy, however, turns his gaze on Steve, the first acknowledgement he’s gotten in months. “Say, Harrington, you used to be quite the ladies’ man yourself, yeah?” A sick grin creeps up on his face. Steve sees your hand tighten around your fork. You’ve barely shoveled your pasta into your mouth. Max gapes at her stepbrother, her mouth still full of food.

   Steve clears his throat. “I had a steady girlfriend for about a year, actually. I’m sure you remember that.”

   “Yeah, but I mean,” Billy rocks his chair back. “That’s not what they were calling you King Steve for, is it?”

   You lurch forward. Steve drops his hand over your knee again. “I think it was because of the whole captain of the basketball team thing. Or the captain of the swim team thing, I can’t remember when it started. Youngest captain the Tigers had seen in a decade, actually, when I got it sophomore year.” Steve grins again and the cocky charm he possesses but hardly uses much anymore comes out to play, just for a bit. You settle down again. You eat what’s in front of you, calmly. You hear Max gulp down her own food across the table. It’s almost cartoonish.

  “Max, chew first,” Susan admonishes gently.

   “I am,” she retorts, but she’s inhaling everything in front of her.

    Billy  cuts in. “See, that’s interesting, I thought it was because you hooked up with a lot of girls. Like half the class.”

   Steve doesn’t even blink. He takes a sip of his water. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

  “Are you trying to upset your sister?” Neil asks him with raised eyebrows.

  He goes quiet again, hardened. “No.”

  “It seems like you’re trying to.”

   His jaw ticks this time. “I’m not.”

   “Do you remember what I said to you? About a half hour ago?”

   His jaw ticks again. His eyes meet Steve’s over the table. Steve feels the merest twitch of embarrassment for him. He knows all too well what it’s like to have a dad who takes a weird sort of pleasure in berating his son. “Yes, I remember.”

   You stare down at your plate, pinching the skin of your palm.

   “If you remember so well, then you should stop talking.”

   Billy stops talking. Neil turns to Steve again. “So, captain of two athletic teams, that’s impressive. I’m sure your college plans are impressive as well.”

   Steve stutters in his answer and you hold your head aloft in your hands, suppressing a groan. Max finishes her food so fast, she’s excused from the table and gone within minutes of that conversation starting. You nearly fall out of your chair in your attempt to kick her shin under the table. She holds her hands up in her retreat while nobody’s looking, mouthing that she’s sorry at you and running away into your shared bedroom. You suppress a groan again.

   Outside, after another grueling hour of Neil dominating the conversation and making dinner unenjoyable for everyone, you walk Steve to his car, fiddling with your hands again. He props himself up against his window and wrestles you out of the knot you’re in.

  “That sucked, I’m sorry,” you say, knocking your foreheads together, your mouth drawn in a thin, perturbed line.

  “It was fine, you’re fine,” he whispers the last bit. That’s what you’re more worried about, after all. You’re worried he’s mad, planning to leave you for someone with a more normal family, people who are warmer, someone capable of being warmer. You’re plenty warm around him, but you suppose you could be better. You start running over all the things you could do better and all the ways he could do better in your head. “Stop thinkin’ so much. Everything’s okay.” He nudges your foot with his.

   “No, I know, it’s just, it’s awkward, it’s not fun, shitty way to spend your night, shitty way for anyone to spend a night.”

   “It’s okay. It was good. I was good, wasn’t I?” He kisses your palm where you’d pinched it earlier.

   “You were great, you’re always great.” You stroke his cheek, lingering on his lips for a second. “You look really nice, by the way.” You’d almost forgotten to tell him. “I like this color on you.” You smooth over and down his arms.

   “Yeah?” He grins, lopsided, tilting his head.

   “Looks good with your hair.” You reach up to tug on the strand that hangs down like an art form over his forehead. You’re the only one he lets play around about his hair.

   “You look beautiful, too, for the record.”

   “I was trying to make this about you.” You poke him.

   “I like when things are about you.” He pokes you back.

   “I hate when things are about me.”

   “Yeah, I’m trying to fix that.”

   You chuckle. “Good luck.”

   He gestures back to your house. “I’m makin’ progress here. I think I get you a little bit better now, after all that.”

  “And what exactly do you get?” You wrap your arms around his waist.

  “Why you’re always so tense and grumpy.” He cups your cheeks like he’s holding the most delicate thing ever to be held.

   “I’m not grumpy-“

   “Just tense, then.”

   You accept that, begrudgingly. “I’m pretty on edge most of the time, I guess.”

   “I try to talk you out of it,” he says softly, stroking your face.

   “You’re the best, I hope you know that.”

   “I try,” he says again, and you nod. “It’s not easy. Night after night.”

   “It’s not.” You bunch up his sweater.

   “I get it, you know? They’re not here as often as yours, but I get it.”

   “Dinner with yours next time?”  

   “Yeah fucking right.” He kisses you for it, though, because you mean it, you’d have dinner with them if he asked just like he did because you asked, a long and languid kiss that he hopes no one’s shifting around the curtains to be privy to. He withdraws first and says, “Your mom is sweet, I’d have dinner with her again.”

  “I’ll let you know when she’s free, take her out, show her a good time,” you tease.

    “If she’s anything like you I’m a goner,” he laments.

    “You’re a flirt, is what you are.”

     You kiss him again, beaming, heart swollen with affection.

    When you go back inside and Susan tells you how wonderful and handsome she thought Steve was, how good he seemed for you, that rush flows through you all over again. You even bring her in for a hug.

thank u for reading ur super hot n sexy n we're kissing rn

[bigdumbbambieyes]

for @thissortofsorcery, who wanted more Billy with a belly button piercing (hehe) and inspired by @robthegoodfellow's amazing tags!!

nsfw

The first time he sees it, it's on accident, and he's not entire sure what he sees.

He's about six beers and two shots deep, so his eyes aren't really focusing as he catches a glimpse of Hargrove's stomach, perfectly toned because he's a fucking asshole, but the peek of silver around his belly button had caught Steve's wandering eye.

They're in Tommy's backyard with a dozen of other people he can't remember the names of, but Billy had invited him so he had gone, and Tommy had glared at him the entire night but also hadn't approached him because the guy clearly doesn't care enough. Which, admittedly, hurts Steve because they had been friends for forever, but not anymore.

But, it's whatever. Hargrove has taken a liking to him and Steve's not about to pass up on someone he can have decent conversations with - even if the guy irritates him to no end.

And, apparently, intrigues him.

Billy had raised his arms in a stretch once he stood up from his chair by the campfire, groaning out a soft sound as Steve had eyed him from above the rim of his cup, the beer catching in his throat as he saw the quick reflection of something shiny on Billy's belly button.

There was no way, right? He's seen plenty of girls with their belly buttons pierced. It was a girl piercing. No guy he's ever known has ever had one.

Until Billy, it seems.

And Steve, as he coughs up a lung and tries to soothe the burn with more beer, thinks back to the times where Billy wore his shirt unbuttoned almost down to his navel, and he'd never seen them before. He's met up with Billy after his shift at the pool, when he wore his cropped Everlast shirt, and there hadn't been anything there except a dark blond happy trail.

It has to be new. Recent.

"You good, princess?" Billy asks him suddenly, his brows furrowed.

His eyes watery from coughing, Steve nods and waves him off, watching the blond roll his eyes and go back inside for another drink.

There's no way, right? 🖤 It's been a week and Steve can't stop thinking about it.

He has to make sure he wasn't just seeing anything or else it'll eat him alive.

So, he calls up Billy that weekend, asking, "You wanna come over for a swim? Maybe some beers, too?"

"I worked at the pool all day, the last thing I want is to fuckin' swim, Harrington. How about we just have some beers? Maybe take them over to Heather's?" Billy offered cooly, like he wasn't ruining Steve's perfectly laid out plans.

Pursing his lips, Steve covered up his indignant huff by palming the bottom of his phone before transferring it to his other ear, saying, "Yeah, I suppose we could."

Because he was a sucker for Billy. He couldn't help it.

"I'll pick you up in twenty, be ready."

The line went dead and Steve huffed again.

🖤

A couple days later, he's finally got Billy at his house, but his parents are home. Not that they're going to ruin his plans or anything, but his parents actually enjoy Billy's company, so they ask him to stay for dinner and who is Billy to decline such a generous offer?

His dad's barbecuing in the back and he and Billy are chatting about something regarding sports while Steve helps his mom prepare the table. He had immediately noticed Billy's new shirt when the guy arrived, a soft light green t-shirt, tightly fitted - and if Steve could only get a damn glance at his stomach, he might be able to see the shape of it through the fabric.

It's almost comical how much stuff gets in the way: Billy's standing behind the barbecue, his dad is in front of him when they come in with food, his mother passes his father the salad bowl just as Billy goes to sit at the table.

He kinda wants to scream.

And again, Billy asks him, "Everything alright, Steve?" Because he's Steve in front of his parents.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he smiles tightly, their eyes locking for a moment, and there's something shining in Billy's blue eyes.

After dinner, when they've had their full and it's time for Billy to go, he watches the blond pat his stomach and keep his hand there as he stands, thanking the Harringtons for the meal.

Steve manages another tight smile as his parents tell Billy to come back soon.

🖤

A couple guys they know from school are playing basketball at the park when he and Billy drive by a couple days later, and Billy glances over at him with a grin, saying, "Wanna join them?"

Steve stares at him for a moment before flicking his gaze over to the guys on the court, noticing that they're shirts vs skins. And knowing Billy, he'll want to take off his shirt.

Oh, yeah. This will work.

"Sure," he hums, playing it cool.

They park and head over, standing on the sidelines until Patrick stops dribbling the ball and asks them, "You two come to join?"

"Yeah, thought maybe you'd want some actual competition, McKinney," Billy smirks, grinning when Jason gives him a glare for his smart mouth.

"Alright," Patrick nods with a smile, "Harrington, you're skins."

Steve feels his shoulders drop, and he glances at Billy, figuring he'd say something like 'nah, let's switch' but Billy just looks at him, quirking an expectant brow.

"You gonna strip or what, Harrington?" Billy asks with a leer.

Sighing, Steve rolls his eyes and pulls the bottom of his shirt over his head.

🖤

It's gotta be on purpose, right? Steve's suffering from some kind of karma that he doesn't deserve. How fucking hard is it to catch Billy Hargrove without a goddamn shirt?

He has Billy's aviators from the other day and he's on his way to Cherry Lane to return them, his thumb tapping his steering wheel as he replays the memory of that simple little lift of Billy's shirt that started all of this. It's honestly infuriating how unlucky he's been.

And he knows he could just ask, but there's no dignity in that. Billy would just tease him about it and never show it.

When he pulls up to the Hargrove house, Billy's outside mowing the lawn, in shorts and a white tank top. He's sweating a bit, his face so unfortunately attractively flushed. His lips go red whenever he's working out too hard and Steve can't help but to stare at them.

He shuts off his car and gets out, calling, "Billy!" over the sound of the mower.

Billy looks up, squinting in the sunlight, and shuts off the mower. He smiles at Steve, in that mean way he does, and shouts back, "Miss me so bad you had to come and track me down, Stevie?"

He's Stevie when Billy's teasing him, when they're alone.

Steve leans against his car and holds up the aviators, "Figured you'd want these back, asshole."

The smile that blooms on Billy's face is beautiful and he actually says, surprisingly without sarcasm, "You're a goddamn lifesaver."

But, it's not what he says that has Steve freezing in place - it's his hand, going down to the bottom of his shirt, like he's going to lift it to wipe away the little beads of sweat on his forehead, and Steve's breath catches in his throat.

Holy shit. Finally.

His stomach clenches in anticipation, his jaw dropping a little, until he hears a sudden familiar voice screech, "Billy!"

It's Max, on the front porch, with anger written across her face, and Billy's immediately turning to face her, his hand falling to his side, sweat forgotten.

Steve lets out a groan and rests his forehead on his car, closing his eyes as he half listens to the step siblings yelling at each other over something petty.

Goddammit.

He's really at his wit's end.

🖤

It's been two weeks and Steve finds himself at a party on a Friday night, at his wit's end about the whole stupid thing. He can't even talk to Robin about it.

Well, he could, but he doesn't really want to see the look on her face and the deadpanned 'you're such a dingus' she'd say to him.

He knows he's being a dingus, but it's not like he can stop.

What he can do, though, is shoot back some vodka with Carol like they used to in freshman year.

"What, no Billy tonight?" She hums, words just a touch slurred, and he gives her a shrug as he reaches for his half-drunk beer.

"Dunno where he's at," he replies, glancing around the busy room, "Assumed he'd be here."

"You two are, like, attached at the hip these days," she smirks, giving him a look, "What's the deal?"

"No deal," he shrugs again, feeling the vodka warm his belly, "He's just...nice to hang out with, I guess."

"Hm," she hums, giving his arm a pat, "Well, if you wanna know where he is, I saw him go down to the basement like, five minutes ago."

Steve's eyes widen and he immediately looks towards the door leading down to the basement of her house, which is cracked open a little.

He eyes it for a moment before asking, "He take a girl down there?"

"Nope," Carol shakes her head, "Probably went to get more beer, or something."

Maybe he should go check on him.

"Maybe you should go check on him."

He turns and looks down at her, eyeing the impish look on her face, and he doesn't know why it's there or why she's saying that, but he nods anyway.

"Yeah, 'kay," he slurs softly, pushing himself off the counter, his beer left behind there as he makes his way to the door.

The basement is cool, and dark, except for the warm glow of a lamp that he can spot at the bottom of the staircase. He pulls the door closed behind him without meaning to, and slowly descends, hearing the rustling of bottles in the fridge that he knows is down here. Carol's dad had the basement fully finished and furnished for his poker nights a couple years ago, and the fridge in the corner is always fully stocked.

He steps down onto the landing and sways, holding onto the railing as he watches Billy compare two bottles of beer, as if he really prefers either. The best beer is a free beer, and the only thing better than a free beer, is a cold one.

Steve breaks the silence first, saying, "You didn't tell me you'd be here."

Billy glances over at him, surprised, before he recognizes him and then he's smirking, "I didn't tell you because I knew you'd be here anyway, pretty boy."

He's pretty boy when they're alone and Billy's flirting.

Steve feels his face flush, from the alcohol (he tries to convince himself), and he quietly watches Billy put one of the bottles back in the fridge before bringing the other one to his mouth, opening it with his molars, and it makes Steve cringe every single time.

"You're gonna wreck your teeth doing that shit," he mutters, like he does every time.

Billy flicks the cap away with that smug smile still on his face, and like every time, he replies, "Haven't yet."

He watches Billy come over to him, to probably go back upstairs now that he's invaded Mr. Perkins' stash, but he can't help the way his eyes flick down Billy's body.

And his eyes stop at the bottom of Billy's Metallica shirt, which might've shrunk in the wash or something, because it's short than Steve remembers and that's when he sees it.

A shiny metal ball, just peeking out from under the dark fabric.

His heart skips a beat and he doesn't even hesitate to step off the landing and push Billy back against the nearest wall, listening to the soft rush of air as the blond's back hits it a little too hard, but he's smiling like the prick he is, staring down his nose at Steve as he tilts his head back.

"Mm, Stevie, that wasn't very nice," he purrs, and that's when Steve smells the alcohol on his breath, but he doesn't care.

He grabs the bottom of Billy's shirt and rucks it up, his jaw dropping as he breathes out a rush of air, like he's just been punched in the gut.

He wasn't seeing things. He was right.

A silver curved barbell, pierced through Billy's navel, sitting so pretty and perfect just above his happy trail.

"You like it?" Billy hums, arrogant, because he already knows Steve does.

His mouth is too dry to answer, and he can't help it when he begins to touch the skin of Billy's stomach, his dark eyes trained on the piercing as his fingers dance around it, his thumb daring to draw closer and closer until he strokes the barbell, giving it a little tug that has Billy making this sound that goes straight to his cock--

"Fuck," Steve breathes, feeling his cock throb in his jeans, so fucking turned on and he hadn't even known it until he heard Billy make that sound, and now he's arching into Steve's touch, seeking it out, and...and...

He flicks his eyes back up to Billy, sees this look on his face, like he kinda wants to eat Steve alive but also wants to be kissed, so Steve does.

He surges forward and Billy meets him halfway, their mouths meeting in a frenzy, like they can't get there fast enough or close enough. He can hear glass break, knowing it's the beer bottle, but it's forgotten because it's dizzying - the way Billy pushes his tongue into his mouth, not wasting a single moment, groaning into his mouth and it goes straight to his cock again.

His hands go to Billy's waist and he pulls himself against him, tilting his head to suck at Billy's lower lip as he grinds his hips into the blond's, revelling in the choke moan he receives for it.

"Knew you'd be into it," Billy breathes, when Steve kisses down his neck and licks at the cologne there, his skin bitter and salty, and he bites down on the junction between neck and shoulder just to hear Billy moan again.

"Shut up," Steve pants, pouting as he sucks on Billy's neck, and then pauses because--

He pulls back just enough to look at Billy, admires the flush on his face before he says, accusingly, "You knew."

"Of course I knew," Billy chuckles low, his teeth flashing as he grins, "I couldn't help it. It was fun watching you lose your mind over it."

"You're such a fucking brat," Steve growls, fisting a hand in Billy's hair and pulling him into a hard kiss, hearing Billy's chuckling hums turn into soft moans as Steve slides his tongue against Billy's.

He can't help but to imagine a stud there, sliding against his tongue, against his skin, against the tip of his cock--

Billy hooks his leg around Steve's hip and reaches down to grab his ass, pulling their hips together until there's a delicious but restricted friction, the blond growling into his mouth, "Yeah? You gonna do anything about it?"

It's enough of a taunt for Steve to pull them away from the wall and turn them, once again pushing Billy back towards the poker table in the middle of the room, a fire in his blood that Billy notices in his eyes and it has him grinning, flushed and pleased as he crawls back onto the table, letting Steve push him down onto his back.

"You gonna suck my cock like you've been wanting to, princess?" Billy breathes, cocky as always.

"Maybe," Steve hums, pushing Billy's shirt up again to get another look at the piercing there, thumbing over it and giving it a playful little tug that has Billy hissing.

"That hurt?" He asks gently.

"S'fine," Billy hums, licking his lips, "Just got it caught on something this morning, kinda tender..."

"Good," Steve says, pushing the shirt higher with both hands, until he's thumbing at Billy's nipples, feeling them harden under his touch and he watches the pleasure cross Billy's face as he squirms under it, sensitive.

"Wonder how sensitive they'd be if you pierced them, too," he murmurs, feeling his blush spread down to his chest as he images it, silver barbells through each nipple, playing with them until Billy had tears in his eyes, begging him to stop or make him cum.

"Maybe we should find out," Billy sighs, moans when Steve gives them a little pinch, arching into the touch like a girl.

"Maybe we should," he agrees, thumbing over them again as he lowers his mouth, pressing and sucking kisses into Billy's stomach, unable to help himself as his mouth wanders lower, his tongue peeking out to guide the metal ball of the barbell into his mouth, groaning as he closes his mouth around it and gives it a little suck, feeling Billy's hips buck under him as he gasps out, "Steve!"

"Yeah, baby? Feel good?" Steve murmurs as he flicks his tongue over it again, sliding his hands down from Billy's chest and to his jeans, tugging his belt open and kissing lower and lower, nuzzling that happy trail with the tip of his nose as he tugs Billy's jeans down, lower and lower until his cock is out and Steve can feel it bump his chin.

He's like a man starved, opening his mouth wide and taking Billy's cock onto his tongue, moaning at the taste of him, salty and bitter like cologne and he still fucking puts it on his dick, the freak, but it's too good and he doesn't even care at this point, not when Billy's grabbing a fistful of his hair and gasping his name.

It's messy, because he's kinda drunk, but he does his best, sucking and minding his teeth, swirling his tongue over the tip before taking Billy as deep as he can, gagging on it gently because Billy makes the prettiest sounds when he does.

"Fuck, Stevie, so fucking pretty like this," Billy moans, watching Steve bob his head up and down on his cock, and he glances up at the blond, their eyes meeting as he slurps at the tip like a fucking slut, and it makes his cheeks burn red.

"Shit--I'm close," Billy gasps, his face twisting in pleasure, which is honestly a compliment because Steve knows he can blow him better than this if he were totally sober, but it's not exactly the time to drag things out, so he sucks harder and brings his hand down to fondle at Billy's balls, giving them a little tug and pressing his knuckles to his taint, enraptured as he watches Billy's eyes roll back as he cums, gripping Steve's hair hard.

It makes him whimper, feeling a streak of cum in his mouth, and he pulls off Billy's cock with a soft gasp, feeling another streak or two paint his chin and cheek.

"Holy fuck," Billy laughs quietly, going limp on the table, but he's still staring down at Steve, humming, "You got a lil something there, Stevie..."

He doesn't even care, too turned on to fucking think as he straightens and goes for his own jeans, yanking them down and pulling out his cock with one hand while the other goes to his face, spitting Billy's cum out onto his palm while he wipes the mess on his chin and cheek with his fingers, bringing that hand down to wrap around himself with a moan.

It's gross but it's worth it to see the stunned and awed look on Billy's face, his jaw slack and blue eyes wide as he looks down to watch Steve stroke himself, clearly admiring his cock.

"Jesus, Stevie," Billy sighs, "You've been holding out on me."

"You've seen it before," he grunts, stroking over the tip and feeling his balls tighten in response.

"Not like this," Billy hums, licking his lips, and Steve's locked in on his mouth then, imagining it stretched around his cock, knowing that it eventually will be.

He feels his stomach tense and he whimpers out a quiet 'fuck' as he cums, aiming right for Billy's stomach, sighing happily when he watches it cover Billy's piercing.

"Oh, you fucker," Billy chuckles, breathless and almost fucked out, looking up at Steve with annoyed amusement.

"Pay back, for the two weeks you put me through," Steve pants with a grin, triumphant.

But, like he knows, he's a sucker for Billy and he doesn't leave him like that. He goes over to the couch against the wall and grabs the box of tissues there, pulling a few out to clean himself with before taking a few more to Billy, who grabs them from him.

He watches Billy carefully wipe away at his piercing, smirks when he hears the annoyed grumbling as he wipes the cum from his belly button, and he grins when Billy shoots him a look.

"You had it coming," he chuckles, scrunching his nose when Billy throws the crumpled up tissue at his face.

"Asshole," Billy hums, tucking himself back into his jeans, slow and unhurried.

Steve does the same and watches his best friend push himself up with a wince, until they're face to face again, although the table has Steve looking up at Billy a bit.

They stare at each other for a moment, in that warm lamp light, until Steve leans in and presses a sweet, chaste kiss to Billy's mouth. Way too sweet for what they just did.

"So," he hums against Billy's mouth, "About those nipple piercings..."

He feels Billy smile against his mouth, his chest rumbling with a chuckle as he mutters, "I'll think about it."

They both know he's definitely doing it.

[dumbslvtforethan]

✁ THE DINER. #2 ethan landry

inspired by "THE DINER" by billie eilish.

warnings: stalking, obssesion, posessive, smut, spit, use of "good girl", non-con, chocking lmk if i missed anything 1092 words

navigation

THE NEXT MORNING, the sunlight filtered through your curtains, signaling the start of another day. You woke up groggy and disoriented, your mind immediately going to the unsettling events of the previous night. You reached for your phone on the nightstand, hoping for some sense of normalcy. But as you opened your social media feed, a breaking news alert caught your eye.

"College Student Found Dead in Apparent Homicide," the headline read. You clicked on the article, your heart pounding as you read the details. The victim was identified as Steve, the boy who had given you a ride home last night. Your stomach churned, and you felt a wave of nausea wash over you.

Your mind raced as you tried to process the information. Steve was dead. The letter, the call—it was all connected. Panic set in as you realized the danger you were in. You needed to tell someone, but who? Mindy? The campus security? The police?

You dialed Mindy's number with shaking hands. She picked up on the second ring. "Y/N? What's wrong?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

"Mindy, it's Steve. He's dead. I think my stalker did it. He left another note and called me last night. He knew about Steve," you said, your voice trembling.

"Stay where you are. I'm coming over right now,"Mindy replied, her tone urgent.

While you waited for Mindy, you tried to calm yourself, but every little noise in the dorm room made you jump. The silence was oppressive, and you felt like you were being watched. to calm down you decided to make a cup of hot chocolate but in the middle of brewing the milk, your phone rang. "unknown caller". "hey pretty did you like my little surprise?" "now, call mindy and tell her that she doesn't need to come or ill gut her on the way here" the caller said "no don't do that please, ill call her" you responded, voice trembling. mindy didn't quite get why you didn't want her to come but she gave in, after all that trauma you've been trough. the phone dialed again "good girl" the praising voice said "sit on the kitchen counter for me" you sat on top of the kitchen counter as the voice said. "now, turn around" You turned around, the kitchen suddenly feeling cold and unfamiliar. The voice on the phone continued, its tone both soothing and menacing. "Good. Now, stay there and don't move. I'm watching."

A chill ran down your spine as you glanced around, trying to find any sign of where he might be. The feeling of being observed was suffocating. You clutched your phone tightly, desperate for a way out of this nightmare. you felt a gloved hand on your mouth, you tried to scream but there was no hope, whoever this was, they were way stronger than you. "i waited on the corner till i saw mindy leave, it was easy getting over and i landed on my feet" the familiar voice said. he spun you around, as you were trying to fight it off he brought a knife to your gaze "stay still or ill have to butcher that pretty body of yours." he whispered in your ear you froze, tears ran down your cheeks. "spread your legs he commanded, he started to rub his clothed cock against your inner thigh, a million thoughts ran into your mind as more tears fell down. he brought up two fingers to your mouth "open" he said sticking his fingers into your throat "wider" he watched as you engulfed his fingers "good girl" he praised and took his fingers out of your mouth. he took off your pants and shirt in one swiftly motion. he put his cold knife up against your clothed clit you couldn't help but moan, a chuckle came from him. he put your panties to the side and gets a hold of your folds, dry. “spit” he demanded and held up his hand to your mouth, he rubbed your now bare clit with your own spit spreadingit all over "no, please stop, please" you begged "why would we stop if it feels so good?" he sped up his movements, making it harder to contain your moans, as you were about to burst he pulled out of you, you whimpered at the lost of contact. "please, you dont have to do this, i wont tell anyone i promise" you sobbed "thats the problem, i want everyone to find out that ur a slut that is begging for ghostfaces dick" he said as he lowered down, lifted up his mask ever so slightly that his face still couldn't be seen licking your folds "and that you taste so sweet baby" he sucked your clit as you tried to contain yourself  "ple-please im beg-ging you do-nt" you sobbed more and more, you kicked your legs hoping for some hope, he grabbed your throat and put you against the wall "you disobeyed me princess, you shouldn't have" he threw you into the floor, his hand still on your throat, you are gonna pass out. “pl-ease” your able to choke out “what? your going to pass out? poor baby, open your legs” he mocks you are able to get your legs to open when he finally takes his hand away from your throat but you arent even able to breathe when he pounds into you, fitting each bit of his length inside you “see? thats what you get, a hard floor rail by ghostface” he whispers in your ear hitting a new angle making you moan. he starts thrusting back and forth, pulling out and smashing his entire length in one strong motion. you couldn’t handle it anymore, your nails gripping into his back “please, stop please” you begged, eyes soaked in your tears he didn’t do anything but speed up his pace making you tremble you screamed as you milked his dick with fresh and hot cum, he chuckled ag the sight. “im gonna cum inside you” he whispered. panic washed over you. you tried pulling him away but you couldnt, you legs so weak from the abuse its been trough and just like that it was too late. he let out a loud and deep groan, you felt him fill you up as you cried. “i came into the kitchen looking for something to eat, im glad i found it. if you tell anyone about this, your dead.” he whispered before letting you go and storming out.

part three?

[multi-fandomfuckboy]

Stranger Than Fiction

Part 27: Gifts

Billy Hargrove x Reader (Slowburn)

Part 1,... (Masterlist)...Part 27, Part 28 (Coming Soon)...

AN: Sorry about the wait Word Count: 3,816 Warnings: none

The rest of your night is spent tossing and turning in bed. The prickling along the skin of your hand and wrist are your only reminder of what happened in the car, not to mention the memories that flood your mind every time you close your eyes. Billy’s coy smile, how his eyes devoured your every move, the hungry glint in them at the sounds you made. Your stomach writhes, flipping and swirling the more your mind lingers on the interaction. 

It irritates you, the effect he has on you. Every smirk, or touch sends your heart into overdrive. It doesn't help that your experience with relationships up to this point have never gone further than hand holding. But, this electricity that exists between you and Billy seems to be short circuiting all your logic and reason.

You’ve never spent a lot of time thinking about things like this, you’re not a child, Nancy has told you plenty about her relationship with Steve. You just never took any interest in it. Until now it seems. You're plagued by thoughts of Billy pressed against you, his calloused hands holding you tightly, his lips against your skin, the feel of his hot breath mixing with yours. Fuck. 

You turn your head, releasing a pent up scream into your pillow until you're out of breath.

When exhaustion finally wins out, you’re cast into another restless sleep. 

———-

You’ve been here before. It’s dark and cold, familiar. Home. It’s quiet right now, for now. You’re not needed, yet. Fear twists through every tendril of your being, as much a part of you as the darkness. You can feel the shadow in your mind, waiting. Ready to bend, break if needed. You’re tired. But, there is no rest here. No peace. No hope. Forever. 

———

This is different. Not cold, warmth washes over you. The sound of crashing waves is rhythmic, almost like breathing. It soothes the initial panic of being in a new place, so bright and peaceful. It’s so different from the other place. You are able to glance around, there is no one else here. An empty beach. It’s nice. 

———

The sound of your mom trying to sneak out of your room wakes you the next morning. 

“Mom?” You ask, propping yourself up on an elbow, wiping sleep from your eyes. She stops, her hand on the door. She’s still in her scrubs, the only illumination in the room is the light coming in from the hallway. 

“Hey sweetie.” She greets you softly, turning to face you, an apologetic smile already on her lips. “I was just checking on you, go back to sleep.” She tries to reassure you. Your gut twists, you can barely see it in the dim light but it’s definitely there. The ever present worry you inspire in her. You were having some kind of nightmare, you can feel it in the tense in your muscles and the ache in your bones. Feeling the exhaustion that plagues you from the tension your dreams bring into reality. 

“I’m sorry mom.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair feeling the dampness of sweat. Her smile falters, pulling tighter at your apology.

“Don’t be sorry love. It just takes… time.” She reminds you. You know it’s what she needs to believe. That with enough time your mind will heal, that the nightmares will eventually fade. 

“It’s getting better.” The lie tastes bitter. Her shoulders sag slightly, like she can feel the lie physically. She won’t press though, both of you are happy to let it sit between you. It’s easier than facing reality. 

She pads over to your bed, gently stooping to press a kiss on your brow. 

“I love you.” She says softly. You can’t help the small smile that pulls from you. 

“I love you too.” You reply reflexively. You always say it back, just in case. It’s an easy truth, for the both of you. She pulls away, her smile a bit more relaxed than it was. “Go back to sleep.” She says again, patting your head as she steps back towards the door. She gives you a pointed look you know she normally only reserves for unruly patients, leaving no room for argument. 

“Alright. No need to pull out the nurse mom voice.” You joke, lying back down. She laughs lightly at your joke, slipping out the door. 

“Goodnight kiddo.” She says softly. You roll onto your other side, your back towards the door. You watch the light narrow into a sliver of the wall opposite you as she closes the door, leaving it open only a crack. Then laying still, you focus on slowing your breathing, listening to the sounds of your mom moving around the house getting ready for bed. She’s awake for another half hour, eating leftovers, looking through the mail, showering, and finally you hear the springs of her mattress creak as she gets into bed. 

You listen to the silence for a little bit. You like the quiet. Your life has been chaos for so long, from the moment you woke up in the hospital and every day since it feels like the world has erupted into too many sounds. Everyone talking, a constant low level buzz of activity. It’s sometimes enough to drive you crazy. 

When you're certain your mom is asleep, you quietly slip out of bed and get dressed. Glancing at the clock on your bedside table, you note that it’s only 6AM, still early enough for your morning walk to be peaceful. The house is still dark, but you move through it easily navigating in the dim light of morning. You gather your journal, and fill your water bottle placing both into your bag. When you go to put on your shoes, the dangling remainder of your sole catches your attention. You inspect the dilapidated sneaker for a moment, trying to think of the best way to cobble it back together. You eventually settle on duct taping the pieces back together, wrapping the tape around the shoe a couple of times to make sure it's secured. 

It’s not pretty, but technically it’s a whole shoe again. Satisfied that your solution is functional, you lace up your shoes and grab Steves’ jacket from the coat rack. Slinging your bag over your shoulder you head out the door. The dawn is cold, the sky a dim shade of gray, everything still cast in shadow the morning fog slowly creeping over the earth. 

You pick up a steady pace, heading for your favorite sunrise spot. There is a hill about a mile east that looks out over the currently barren fields and will be the first spot in Hawkins to see the sun. It also happens to have a very comfortable rock that is perfect for sitting and writing. 

By the time you reach it, the sun has just started to peak over the horizon, bathing the top of the hill in golden sunlight. You can feel its warmth on your exposed skin, the cold morning air still clinging to the shadows. You take out your water bottle and notebook, setting the empty bag down on the cold rock. You sit down, positioning yourself to face the sunrise, taking a moment to watch the earth in front of you slowly brighten, the light washing away the remaining shadows. It’s quiet here, as quiet as it can be in nature. There are still the chirps of the birds and the rustling of dead leaves as small animals pass by, but peaceful. 

You know that you can’t stay out too long. You may not notice the cold but your body still has a physical response to it and it's still the middle of December. So you open your notebook and begin.

The story you’ve been working on is not peaceful. It is a terrible story about a young boy raised to fight monsters. He’s known no other life, he was born with the burden of being the only one who can see these monsters, and he can never stop. But the older he gets, and the harder he fights to protect the world from evil, he realizes that a bit of that evil has taken root in him. It starts small, a black spot behind his ear, but it grows. It digs its roots in deep, twisting its way into his soul. 

In the beginning the young man starts off as the hero, but eventually the evil will consume him and he will become what he fought so hard against. You know the ending, but it’s not written yet. There is still hope in the middle of the story. 

When you notice the red tinge in your fingertips brought on by the chilly December air you stop and pack up your things. Taking one last glance around at the now illuminated field, you turn and head back home. 

You arrive at the same time Steve pulls into your driveway. You can see him through the window as you approach and he looks a bit worse for wear. His hair is damp, hanging loosely around his pale face. His eyes are hidden behind sunglasses but are no doubt blood shot with circles under them. He cuts the engine as you approach the drivers’ side, opening the door to haul himself out with a grunt of effort. 

“Alright grandpa, how’s that hangover treating you?” You ask, unable to stop your teasing smirk even for his sake. He sighs heavily, closing the door just to lean back against it, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What kind of friend are you?” He asks, lifting a brow. “How could you let me drink that much?” You come to a stop in front of him, crossing your arms to mirror him. 

“Because according to you, you’re ‘a grown ass man’ who ‘knows how to handle his alcohol’, and because I ‘never let you have any fun’.” You say, throwing air quotes around some of the excuses he gave you when you tried to get him to slow down the night before. A bit of pink brightens his cheeks at the reminder, but he laughs good naturedly at your teasing. 

“Stop holding me accountable for my own actions.” He groans. “I don’t feel good, so I’m just going to blame you to make myself feel better.” He goes on, pressing his finger tips against his temples. His small smile brings a bit of life back to his ashen face.

“Oh of course. Whatever makes your life easier Steve.” You concede, your own smile pulling at your lips. He huffs a laugh, lifting his sunglasses onto his head. There is a beat of silence before he clears his throat, his cheeks flushing a bit more.

“And- uh- thanks. For, you know, babysitting me last night.” He says sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his beck. Your stomach drops at the reminder, you didn’t think Steve was sober enough to remember much but apparently he remembered enough. You wonder if he remembers how he had held you against him, crying quietly in the kitchen while you whipped his tears. How he had gently lowered his forehead to yours and held your palm against his beating heart. You don’t want to press the subject, especially if he doesn’t remember everything. 

“Don’t mention it, I’ll bill your parents later.” You joke, forcing yourself to chuckle. Steve laughs lightly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He looks you up and down, nodding his head towards his jacket you’re still wearing.

“The jacket looks good on you.” He says. You look down at the old bomber jacket, moving to unzip it.

“Yea sorry I just borrowed it to walk home last night. I, uh, couldn’t sleep.” You tell him, the unspoken truth behind your words not lost on him. He’s familiar with your anxious habits that don’t always make sense. That you have a tendency to walk away when your brain won’t settle down. His hand stops yours on the zipper, pulling it away.

“It’s okay, you can keep it.” He tells you. “I don’t wear it anymore anyways.” He explains, looking down at his hand encircling your wrist. 

“Thanks Steve.” You beam up at him. He smiles back , his thumb running over the underside of your wrist. Your heart leaps. In that moment you wonder if he’s somehow feeling where Billy’s lips had been the night before. But that’s ridiculous. 

“It will be a nice reminder of me while I’m gone. Along with this.” He says, pulling something from his pocket. Your eyes widen at the sight of a delicate gold chain, glinting in the sun, a small pendant hanging perfectly in the center. 

“What is that?” You ask in confusion. Steves’ smile only grows as he drapes the shining metal over your wrist, easily clasping it in place.

“It’s your Christmas present. I’m giving it to you early cause I won’t be back until after new years.” He tells you, one hand still gently cupping your wrist. “The lady told me it’s real so it won’t leave a ring or anything.” He tells you as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. 

Heat flushes your cheeks as you inspect the bracelet. You take in the intricate beauty of the simple chain, small links twisting and interlocking into a light strand of glittering gold. A simple pendant hangs from the middle. A brilliant shining sun, catching and reflecting the light, casting off its own rays as it hangs from your wrist. It’s beautiful. More elegant than anything you’ve ever owned. Something twists low in your gut.

“Steve, I can’t take this.” You tell him, moving to unclasp the chain. He instantly pushes your hand away. 

“Of course you can.” He insists. Suddenly his eyes fill with worry. “Do you not like it?” He asks, his smile falling. Your stomach sinks.

“No, I- I like it, it’s really beautiful. It’s just too nice.” You try to explain. Steve sighs with relief, his smile returning in an instant. 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just a bracelet, it’s not like I bought you a car or something.” He laughs at his own joke. You struggle to maintain your smile. You know that money isn’t really an issue with Steve’s allowance but it doesn’t make you feel any better. He should be saving his money for school, not spending it on pretty things for you. Steve’s eyes catch on to your discomfort almost instantly. “Please accept it.” He pleads sincerely. “I saw it and immediately thought of you.” He explains, one of his fingers flicking over the sun pendant. 

Your heart swells at the sentiment. It’s unbearably cheesy, and very Steve. When your eyes glance up to meet his you’re once again met with the big brown puppy eyes, the hangover makes them look especially sad. You have to suppress a groan. 

“Okay.” You finally give in, earning an ear to ear grin from Steve that pulls a smile out of you as well.  “Thank you, Steve.” 

“Merry Christmas, Babysitter.” He says, pulling you into a crushing hug. 

“Merry Christmas.” You reply, wrapping your arms around him. He holds you tightly, pulling you up and into him. “I didn’t get you anything.” You admit, shamefully burying your face in his shoulder. His responding laugh shakes both of you.

“Can I request an official document declaring that I’m your best friend?” He asks. Your cheeks burn at the memory of you and Steve admitting that you are each other's best friends the night before. You laugh, trying to swat at him but he keeps his arms locked around you. “Can I get it notarized as well?” He adds, still laughing.

“Oh shut up.” You groan, earning another laugh. When he finally lets you go, you take a half step back. You’re hyper aware of the bracelet, holding your arm slightly away from your body to keep it from catching on any of your clothes and potentially scuffing it. 

“Aren't you flying out today? When are you supposed to head to the airport? ” You ask, glancing at your watch. 

“I was supposed to leave 10 minutes ago.” He tells you flatly. You gap at him. 

“You what? What are you doing here? You’re going to miss your flight you dork!” You practically yell at him, giving his arm a shot towards his car. 

“I had to come say goodbye.” He says, laughing as he opens the door and allows you to shove him into the driver's seat. 

“You could have just called!” You say, slamming the door closed as soon as his legs are in. You see him laugh again through the window. The engine roars to life as Steve cracks the window, still smiling. 

“No I couldn’t.” He says, like it’s a fact. That gets an eye roll from you.

“Get out of here before I’m stuck with you all winter break.” You tell him, unable to stop the small smile that he always manages to drag out of you. 

“I’ll call you from the resort!” He tells you, putting the car in reverse and pulling out of the drive. “Don’t miss me too much!” He calls from the end of the driveway. “I’ll try!” You call back, waving goodbye as Steve gives you one last smile before pulling into the street. You watch the car speed down your street and disappear around the corner before heading towards the house. 

An uneasy feeling settles over you as you make your way to your door. You and Steve had quickly become inseparable since the night the gate closed, it was a seamless partnership. It made you feel like there was someone there who had your back. You know that Nancy and Jonathan are still close but the knowledge that Steve will be alone for the next two weeks fills your mind with a low level of anxiety. 

A chill snakes down your spine and your hurry into the house. You feel unsettled from the thoughts of Steve being so far away and practically unprotected, your palms itch with the need to do something. Instinctively you begin checking the safety of your own home. Moving quickly and efficiently you check locks on all the doors and windows, then lay hands on all the hidden weapons in the house. When you’ve checked all of them, you settle at the table with your fathers Barretta, pulling out the cleaning kit. It's monotonous work, but cleaning the pistol always seems to ease the itch in your hands when your anxiety picks up. 

Rolling up the sleeves on the jacket your attention catches on the glint of gold around your wrist. You examine it for a moment, looking at how the delicate chain contrasts against your sun damaged skin. How it stands in opposition to your calloused hands, your fingernails chewed down to the quick, cuticles picked to an angry red. Your stomach twists. 

It really is a beautiful piece of jewelry, delicate and perfectly balanced. Traits you can’t see in yourself. It really is too nice for someone like you. 

What if you broke it or scratched it? What if you lost it on a walk? What if you fucked it up?

It’s too good for you. You wish it wasn’t, but it is. 

You carefully unclasp the chain, lying it gently on the table before you start cleaning. You lay out the cleaning supplies, setting the pistol down on a rag in front of you. Then you settle into the process of disassembling and cleaning all the small pieces of the weapon. You remember when Hopper had taught you how to properly clean a gun. He told you that he and your dad would sit in silence for hours just sipping on drinks and cleaning the small harmless parts of the deadly machines. He always stressed that it was vitally important for you to understand the inner workings of a gun before ever picking one up. How all the pieces fit together, and if even one small part was missing or broke it would alter the functionality with devastating results. 

Your fingers slowly darken with the combination of CLP cleaning oil and burnt carbon. You work diligently, rubbing at any blemishes remaining. When you’re satisfied that the gun is clean, and the anxiety in your mind has lessened slightly, you reassemble your gun and pack up your cleaning kit. 

You move to grab the pistol, intending to put it back where it was hidden in your nightstand but pause your eyes catching on how dirty your hands are. You go to the sink and scrub at your hands until they are rubbed raw. When you’re sure that no remnants of carbon or oil cling to your hands, you pick up the gun in one hand and the gold bracelet in the other. You walk to your room, securing the pistol to the underside of your nightstand and placing the glimmering chain on the surface. 

You can’t risk accidentally damaging it. Better to keep it here, safe. Your fingers ghost along the edges of the sun pendant, still managing to catch some of the light, glimmering up at you. 

The sound of a revving engine causes you to jump. 

Billy.

Your eyes dart to the time. 1156. You had lost track of time and nearly forgotten that Billy told you he would pick you up at 12. Not knowing what to expect, you just grab your bag, still packed from your walk, and head out the door before Billy can make enough noise to wake your mom. 

Before you step out the door, you take a deep breath, reminding yourself that you have killed monsters before and faced shady government agencies, you should not let Billy fluster you the way he does. You are going to be so calm, he’s going to get bored and stop teasing you. That’s the plan. 

His eyes are on you from the moment you step out of the house, his gaze follows you all the way to the car. Climbing into the passenger seat you notice he’s playing a cassette, it’s the first time you’ve actually recognized the song. You can’t remember the name, but it’s one of the songs Max showed you that day after school. 

“You didn’t have to drive me.” You tell him, buckling your seatbelt. Billy immediately rolls his eyes, huffing a laugh. 

“Yea, tell that to the duct tape holding your shoes together right now, loca.” He shoots back. 

“It’s only one of them.” You grumble, settling into your seat. Billy just chuckles.

“It’s just a ride crazy, don’t make a big deal about it.” He tells you, putting the car in reverse and pulling out of your driveway.

AN: sorry this took so long 😬

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[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Mean Eddie series. Part one part two

Minors shoo. More angst I'm afraid, jealous Eddie but our boy won't admit it.

💌🫣

How you've managed to avoid Eddie for a full week is anyone's guess but between cheer practice, sleepovers with Chrissy and hanging out with Steve and Robin, it's like a soothing balm for your heartache.

Except at the dead of night when the ache from missing Eddie threatens to overwhelm you. The thing is you're stubborn and you highly doubt Eddie is missing you. Why would he?

Billy Hargrove has also been trying to catch your attention, he's been flirting for the entire week and he's not shy about doing it in front of others either.

It's not like Billy isn't handsome, he is. However you've heard far too many things about him dating multiple girls, being a player. You weren't interested in being another notch on his bedpost.

As your at your locker and attempting not to look Eddie's way, his locker is right across from yours and he's busy chatting to Gareth, discussing the new Hellfire campaign he's planning.

You'd been with Eddie once while he was knee deep in campaign planning, watched as his tongue poked out while he was writing and weaving a new story for the next Hellfire night. He looked so cute and it made you giggle, Eddie smirks amused at your giggles.

"Princess, I said no interruptions if you stayed, I may need to punish you for that" he kissed you then proceeded to tickle you until you were breathless and laughing, Eddie watching you with a soft smile on his face.

It was one of the moments with him where you thought the two of you could be more. Obviously you were wrong.

Billy brings you out of your reverie and you realise he's been standing talking to you for a full minute. Shit. What did he say?

"We could go to the party then somewhere more private babe?" He winks at you and you jump as you hear a locker slam. Eddie's.

Gareth is watching him confused as he gathers up his notes. "Dude, what's up with you?" you tear your eyes away from Eddie and back to an expectancy Billy.

"Sorry, I have other plans with Chrissy" Billy frowns but spots Eddie before he can say anything else.

"Hey man, you got any weed for me? Need some tonight" Eddie's gaze briefly drifts over to you and your heart skips a beat, then he looks away and disappointment curdles in your stomach.

"No, I don't have any for you and your girlfriend" he spits out the word and you freeze. What was up with him? Evidently Billy must be thinking the same thing.

"What's crawled up your ass Munson?" Billy snaps and Eddie's brown eyes meet his, they flash dangerously. He's never been intimidated by Billy and he isn't going to start now.

"Next time you two want to flirt can you do it out of the way of us peasants. You're bringing my lunch up dude" you freeze at Eddie's tone. Seriously what the fuck was up with him?

Before Billy can reply you do. "You're insufferable Eddie. Billy's not my boyfriend. Not that is any of your business" you can feel the anger clawing inside of you and just dare Eddie to say something stupid.

He shrugs and avoids your gaze. "Your love life isn't my concern" he murmurs and you swear you're this close to losing it. You take a deep breath and shake your head.

"Whatever Munson" you're tired of crying about someone who just doesn't care. You walk away but Eddie calls out to you.

"Wait" you wait with baited breath for him to say something, anything. Come on Eddie. But he doesn't, he just stays quiet and you feel another crack in your heart.

"Never mind" whatever he was about to say it's gone now and you curse yourself for daring to hope.

Fuck you Eddie.

...

Stop, you're losin' me

I can't find a pulse

Stop, you're losin' me

Stop, you're losin' me

My heart won't start anymore

For you

'Cause you're losin' me

Taylor swift- You're losing me.

...

I don't want you to lose me, you think through your anger but nothing will ever change so what was the point of hoping.

💌❤️

[grimoireofhayley]

Of Friends and Horror

Stu Macher x Fem!Reader x Billy Loomis

WARNINGS: Graphic content, Smut (MINORS DNI), Language, Talks of SA, Cheating, Obsessiveness, Gore, 18+ Content, Stalking, Possessiveness, Dirty talk, Religion talk, Suppressed Mental Health problems (I.e., reader has some issues that she isn’t aware of)

Word Count: 1.2k

Tag List: @ev3ningrain @nerdytif @fanfic-enjoyer123 @darkenwolfie

A/N: I hope you all are enjoying this series so far, it’s going to be a long one! Let me know in the comments what you think about it thus far, what your favourite chapter is, or even part of a chapter. It makes my day reading your guys’ comments (: and it motivates me more to do more chapters! Also, I’m almost at 100 followers and I couldn’t be any more grateful 🥹 I’m thinking that once I hit the 100 mark, I’ll write a short story for said 100th follower of their choice! Or you guys can request any character for me to write about and a prompt on my page, it’ll make it a lot easier lol. Thank you ☺️ I hope you like this chapter!

All chapter links! 👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻

OF&H Masterlist

Chapter 6

The atmosphere was quickly illuminated by red, white and blue hues as the now-new crime scene unfolded in front and inside of your house.

“Jesus, (Y/n), what happened?” Tatum sprinted to your side, maneuvering under the caution tape and into your living room.

You sighed, rubbing your temples in slow-soothing circles, stress appearing in dark patches under your eyes.

“He was here…” You whispered, traumatized as the image of Steve’s heart flickered in your memories.

“Tatum, you shouldn’t be here. This is official police business, now.” Dewey scolded his younger sister, walking up beside her.

“Ugh, as if…” She rolled her eyes, “She’s staying with Sidney and I tonight. I was coming to pick her up…”

“That was still happening… even after the fight Sidney and I had?” You looked up at Tatum, momentarily forgetting about all the fuss that was going on around you.

“Yep, it’s a good thing too.” Tatum chuckled, sitting next to you. “I don’t care what happened between you and Sid earlier, you were my friend first and I’ll be damned if I let a bitch-fit between the two of you get in the way.” She nudged your shoulder, playfully. You smiled, but it quickly faded, hearing the staticky-voice over Dewey’s walkie-talkie.

“Dewey, you might want to come see this.” Sheriff Burke spoke, concern coaxing his words.

Your stomach twisted in all sorts of directions, squeezing tightly at the acid that was forming in it, causing it to travel up to your esophagus. You were ready to vomit, but you swallowed it, fighting the feeling, not wanting to go anywhere by yourself.

You wondered what Sheriff Burke meant.

“Right away, Sir.” Dewey spoke into his device, walking into the direction of where his boss was.

“So, what exactly happened, ( N/n)?”

“I got a phone call, then it quickly escalated from there…” You placed your hands over your face, futilely attempting to suffocate yourself with the pressure. “I thought nothing of it at first, but I-I was already getting the heebie-jeebies from the call, but he sounded genuine, so I ignored the feeling and kept talking to him…” You brought your hands to your lap, looking at Tatum, “Then the ph-phone went silent and at that exact moment, my doorbell r-rang…” You stumbled your sentence, struggling to find the proper words to continue explaining. “I was hesitant, so I peeped through the eyehole, trying to see if anyone was lurking about, but there was no one.” You sighed, “I decided I’d open the door, and you know, maybe get a better look, again, there was no one.” A tear rolled down your cheek.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, take it easy..” Tatum tried to comfort you and brought you into a hug, you were quick to wrap your arms around her, squeezing her, as you whimpered.

“Th-There was this box, and I didn’t think twice before I brought it into my home… oh, god.” You sobbed, “His heart was in it, Tatum, his fuckin’ heart!” Your voice broke.

“Hold on, whose heart?” She asked, baffled by what she was hearing.

“Steve’s.” You let out a quiet mewl, hugging Tatum tighter.

“How do you know?”

“Because he said it in the note and I-I believe it.” You sobbed yet again, “That’s not e-even the worst part…”

As bad as that may sound, it was true, the heart in the box wasn’t your main concern, but the fact that he was watching you, that he admitted it over the note that he had sloppily written, that he stated it over the phone; he was there, he could have been in your house the entire time, waiting for a moment to strike.

You could have been his next victim, the next book Gale Weathers would’ve written about. However, what’s even more concerning is that you thought it was sweet that he’d given you one of your biggest heartbreaks in a box. Pun intended.

The killer gave you Steve Orth’s heart; the guy that gave you both hell and pure bliss behind closed doors. The guy who seen you at your most vulnerable, the one who continued to defile you even when he was in a relationship.

You had his heart, officially. That’s all you ever wanted, but that was months ago.

This was karma doing what she did best, revenge…

Did the killer know about the affair? The humiliation? Did he kill Steve just for you? No, he couldn’t have, but did he? Was he someone you knew? Probably not, but he could be. You’ll never know and it’s eating you up inside. Why make a grand gesture and not show who he is, or even give you a subtle hint of who it may be.

As much as it scared you, it also humbled you. It was romantic, but completely unnecessary, yet, you wanted to thank him. Thank the stranger; the killer, for doing God’s dirty work, or in this case, Karma’s.

What is wrong with you? For fuck’s sake, he killed two people, and probably will kill again. Why would you want to thank him for that, are you that depraved? Maybe.

“Earth to (Y/n)?” Tatum snapped her fingers in front of your face, startling you from the never ending thoughts that corroded your mind.

“S-Sorry, what?” You stuttered, wiping a single tear from your cheek.

“I thought I lost you there for a moment, Hun. Dewey wants to speak with you…” She smiled, lightly, nodding towards her brother who appeared out of nowhere.

“Okay.. yeah, y-yeah, for sure..” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

You pushed yourself off the couch, making your way to the kitchen with Dewey.

“We’re sending the heart and the box away for DNA testing to see if it actually is Steve’s heart, alright?” Dewey explained, “We also want to take the note…” He stopped, turning around, picking up some other object, “And this to see if the suspect had left any fingerprints.” He showed it to you, and you paled, but the colour soon came back to your face as you felt yourself blush.

You were met with a paper-white face with two hollowed eyes and a gaping mouth, it was a mask, a mask that looked utterly horrifying, yet, disturbingly attractive at the same time.

Was it wrong that you were starting to get wet from the sheer thought of a possible tall and muscular man killing for you, wearing this mask?

Probably, but you didn’t care.

You squeezed your thighs together, putting pressure on your heat, trying to not let it slide that the mask was getting you off.

“We found this outside in the bushes by your house.” Dewey said, “Have you seen it before?”

You shook your head, biting your lip, you’ve never seen that before in your life, you’d be sure to remember it if you did. Though, now that you did see it, it wasn’t going to leave your mind, especially with how it was making you feel.

‘It almost looks like a Ghost Fac—‘ You cut yourself off mid thought.

“G.F…” You mumbled at no one in particular, “That’s what it stands for, Ghost Face, the killer dubbed himself as Ghost Face…”

<- Previous Next ->

[apomaro-mellow]

Hot for Teacher(s) 18

Part 17

“You want my bite, I’ll give it to you!”, Billy shouted.

“I don’t want it anymore! I DON’T WANT YOU ANYMORE!”, Steve screamed back.

That was when Billy grabbed him and pulled at his shirt. Steve fought back, trying to push his head away but Billy’s teeth sunk into his skin. Steve’s fist met his head and knocked him back, but Steve lost his own footing and fell to the floor. That was the sight Eddie came to. The bite was on his shoulder, nowhere close to his mating gland actually, but he knew Billy wouldn’t miss his mark again if he got a chance.

Steve wasn’t able to calm Eddie before he was winding up, punching Billy square in the jaw. Billy stumbled and spit out some blood, but was grinning.

“I finally get to see the alpha that wants to take my place.”

“Put em up, douchebag, I’ve been waiting for a reason”, Eddie said, fists already up.

“You think you can take me?”, Billy taunted. 

“I’m gonna rip out your fucking throat.”

Steve was frozen, not sure if he should interrupt or not. If he left himself vulnerable, Billy would try and bite him again. And if they caused too much of a ruckus then Shawn would…His phone. It had been knocked out of his hand during the fight but if he got it, he could finish calling 911.

“COME ON!!”, Billy roared, prompting Eddie to finally lunge at him.

Steve looked around for his phone. He didn’t know how well Eddie did in a fight but he knew almost too well how Billy could hold his own. When Billy took Eddie down, Steve abandoned his search for his phone and pulled Billy off by the shoulders, then brought Eddie back to his feet.

“What kind of alpha are you that you need an omega to fight for you?”, Billy smirked.

“You fuckin’ piece of shit”, Eddie growled.

“Eddie”, Steve rubbed his back as Billy stood up, still ready for a fight, wanting for it. But all Steve did was open the door. “Just leave us alone. You’re lucky I’m not calling the cops on you.”

Just as he said that, they could hear a siren coming down the street. Steve walked out first, followed by Eddie as a cop car parked outside the house. They both looked to each other, confused, before getting eyes on Billy, standing by the open door.

“Who the fuck-”, then he turned at the barely audible sound of someone coming down the stairs.

Shawn had the house phone in his hand.

Billy’s shoulders began to shake with rage. “Tell me you didn’t call the goddamn cops on your own dad.”

“Billy don’t you touch him!”, Steve shrieked, running back for the door as Billy stalked towards the stairs.

But Billy was already there, grabbing Shawn by the arm and making him cry out in pain from the harsh grip. Steve tried to reach but Billy held him back with the other arm. Desperate, Steve spit in his face, shocking the alpha enough to get him to loosen his hold. Not wasting a moment, Steve took Shawn in his arms and sped over to the living room.

“My pup, my baby, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay, you did great”, Steve soothed, rubbing his back.

Billy glared and that was when Eddie appeared, standing between his mate, pup and the intruder.

“Go outside”, he said firmly. He had been with the officer, stalling him long enough to convince him not to come into the house. He was glad Shawn had called the authorities, but that didn’t mean he trusted them fully. 

“Like hell I will-”

“That cop’s gonna come in here in about thirty seconds and he looks pretty trigger happy. Don’t test him”, Eddie warned.

Another car came down the street and within ten minutes, Billy was cuffed and stuffed into the back of one. Between the teeth marks on Steve, and the bruises forming on all three of them, the story was pretty obvious. Eddie did most of the talking, Steve interjecting when he needed to, but kept most of his focus on Shawn, who was still shaken. 

Putting his hands on their pup had been the one thing Billy had never done before. Steve wouldn’t forgive him for as long as he lived. Even when the failed bite on him healed and the bruise on his pup’s skin faded, Steve would never forgive him.

Eventually Billy was driven off and the house was quiet again. Steve texted Robin to let her know that Billy had come over but got arrested and she replied that she was coming over right away. 

“Are you mad at me?”, Shawn asked, voice quiet and quivering.

Steve kissed the top of his head. “Baby, you did the right thing.”

“We’re proud of you”, Eddie added. 

Shawn wiped his eyes. “Even though he’s going to jail?”

“He hurt you”, Steve said. “And he needs to be punished for it. I’m sorry I let it get this far.” He kissed Shawn’s head again and scented him, needing the comfort that his pup was safe just as much as Shawn needed it.

Robin arrived and her presence instantly brightened the mood around them. She prompted Shawn to go up and change for the day so that they could make smoothie bowls, giving Steve and Eddie time for themselves. They went up to their bedroom where Eddie tended to the bite marks so that they wouldn’t scar too badly.

There weren’t many words shared between them, letting their scents and touches do most of the talking. Knowing that whatever happened next, they’d face it as a family.

“You know this isn’t your fault, right? None of it”, Eddie said.

Steve shook his head. “I’m the one who made Billy feel like he could keep coming back. If I had been more-”

“It’s not your fault”, Eddie said. “Billy’s been an asshole since before that. And you can’t tell me otherwise, I was literally there.” Not for the first time he wondered how different their lives would have been if he had lingered that day in the hospital. “He’s never gonna hurt you again. Neither of you.”

Steve kissed him softly, then rubbed our cheeks together. “Or you.”

Eddie played it off with a gentle laugh. “Please, he barely nicked me.”

Steve rolled his eyes but played along. “My big, strong alpha.” He kissed him again, deeper this time.

“Mmm, tell me more.”

“Well, macho man, enjoy the next two days, because come Monday you’ll have to explain that shiner on your face.”

“Ooooor, I I take the day off and make a great dinner for you and Shawn when you get home~”

“Hmm”, Steve pretended to think about it.

Eddie grabbed his hand and kissed up his arm, describing the menu with each touch of his lips. “Fresh bread”, kiss, “with garlic confit”, kiss, “a fresh baked pie…” He kissed up Steve’s shoulder and met his lips.

“You drive a hard bargain, but alright. You definitely shouldn’t go into work looking like that anyway.”

Wounds began to heal and days turned into weeks as the weather began to warm. Steve had his phone facing Eddie as he came to the stage to speak. He started with welcoming the families for coming and then opened up the folder in his hands.

He remembered just two nights before, when Eddie agonized over who to give what award. Some were apparently very easy, while others hadn’t made quite the kind of splash to stand out. Thankfully there were plenty of ways to say ‘they were a good student’ without getting specific. There were quite a few going home with simply a citizenship award.

“I would like to award Shawn Harrington with excellence in math, reading, spelling, science, as well as outstanding citizenship.”

Steve shouted out for Shawn and he may be biased but Eddie looked a little more personally proud while watching their pup walk up and accept his awards. Eddie read the rest of the names and the ceremony continued with second, third, and fourth grade. When it ended, parents moved around the auditorium, congratulating their children and getting pictures of the occasion. 

Eddie was posing for one such photo with a group of boys and once it was taken, he made a beeline for Steve, kissing him squarely on the lips in the crowd, as if daring anyone to say anything. 

“Where’s Shawn?”, Eddie asked, looking around.

“Why Mr. Munson, are you saying you’ve lost my child?”, Steve gasped, bringing his hand to his mouth.

“Nope! Found him!”, Eddie pointed to Shawn posing for a picture with a classmate.

After the flash, he grabbed his friend’s hand and pulled him over. “Dad! Dad! Brian and I are planning a sleepover!”

“Oh are you?”, Steve grinned.

“What’s that?”, Brian asked, poking the small bulge of Steve’s stomach, causing him to jump a little at the random poke.

“Hey!”, Shawn exclaimed. “Careful, my baby sister’s in there.” He hugged Steve around the waist.

“Oh, you’re having a girl?”, Brian’s mother appeared.

“We’re not sure yet”, Steve said as Eddie’s arm came around him. “But Shawn’s pretty sure of it.” He had been saying that he was getting a little sister ever since they confirmed Steve’s pregnancy. Shawn had already started throwing out girl’s names, he was that confident. And Steve was tempted to at least give him middle name privilege. 

The only thing he was unsure of was the gender of their pup, they were keeping it a surprise for now. But everything else in his life, his alpha, his love, his son, his whole life - he was entirely certain. 

Eddie had been happy back at the beginning of the school year. His life had been going fine. But now he was literally walking on clouds and it was all thanks to the two angels (soon to be three) that came into his classroom.

END (Epilogue)

Whew! Thank yall for joining me on this one! Hopefully I'll see you on the next!

Taglist

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @aol19 @lololol-1234 @gregre369 @attic-cat-blog

@hippieg1rl420 @spectrum-spectre @a-lovely-craziness @sharingisntkaren

[supermarketbae]

Can you please write something emotional and soft and sweet with Billy for a sensitive female reader girlfriend who needs reassurance and validation that she's loved and wanted and they're okay?

Ofc bby!! Oml I can’t with sweet Billy hes so baby girl 😍(sorry if this isn’t exactly what u envisioned I literally suck at writing sensitive/emotional ppl 😭) enjoy! warnings:Harrington!reader (does that even need a warning??)

Moonlit hallways

You tiptoe through your hallway, your only source of light is that of the moon’s that is pooling through the window. Without making a sound you push open the door to the room at the end of the hall, your safe haven. “Billy…” you whisper into the darkness, inching closer to your boyfriend’s sleeping form. You shake him gently, nestling yourself in the crook of his arms as he groans “you’re not supposed to be here darlin’” he chuckles eyes alight as you snake yourself around him.

“Would you rather me leave?” You ask quizzically tilting your chin up, eager to receive the kiss he plants on your lips. “Gonna get me in trouble with your brother.” Billy smirks looking down at you, he grabs your waist pulling you easily into him. The causal display of strength has you swooning as you rest your head on his chest. “Steve’s wrath is worth this, don’t you think?” You whisper out into the moonlit room as Billy sighs in agreement.

It’s intoxicating to be this close to him really, his strong arms wrapped around your waist possessively, his blonde, sun washed curls tickling your neck as he buries his face into your shoulder, and the dull smell of his cologne, smoky and caramel, sandalwood and cedar, all things comforting to you, is messing with your brain. You let out a small intelligible noise of contentment. Billy grins at you kissing your cheek as you cuddle, even closer, to him. Your brain feels like honey when his smooth, soothing voice coos out your name in the darkened room. You tighten your hands around his frame “Love you Billy.” You whisper

You don’t even need the moonlight to see the smile that spreads across his face at your words.

“Love you too darlin’”

you both were positively intoxicated on each other. And you wouldn’t dare have it any other way.

————

a/n:part 2? I’ll gladly add some supperrr fluffy soft smut to this ack 🙃

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One

“Hi, Eddie.”

Eddie gives a lopsided smile, digging the ends of his fingers as far as they will go into the too small pockets of his too skinny jeans. It’s kind of endearing, the way he rocks back and forth on his heels like that. He can’t stay still for even a second.

“Harrington.”

Steve’s...he doesn’t like that, “I think you can call me Steve, you know, after...everything.”

“After you pretty much saved my life, you mean.”

Steve rubs at the back of his neck, “yeah, well, I just wanted to make sure, you know, everything is good with you now?” Steve hasn't really had the chance to check; and Eddie might not be his Omega, or anything, but he still kind of feels responsible. Eddie was in a bad way when Billy brought the guy over, and Steve hasn't exactly stopped worrying about the whole thing just yet. Checking in with Eddie will hopefully sooth his overprotective Alpha.

“Am I in need of your penis, you mean?”

“What? No! No, that’s not what I-”

But Eddie’s laughing, “cool your jets stud, I’m just messing with you,” Eddie gives him a soft smile. One that he seems to actually put the effort in with, making sure Steve knows it’s a sincere one. No hard feelings. All of that stuff. “I’m fine. Everything is fine. Thank you for what you did it was...cool of you.”

Steve scuffs his shoe on the floor, “was hardly a chore,” he mumbles. Knotting an Omega is always good, knotting an Omega in heat is always fucking fantastic...and Eddie Munson? With Billy Hargrove’s scent mixed in? Both of them under him, in his bed? Well...Steve’s not even twenty one, and he’s pretty sure his sexual experience just hit it’s peak.

Bit of a depressing thought really, knowing he’s never going to top that.

“Oh ohhhh,” Eddie hums under his breath, like they’re in trouble. Steve finally looks up to see what Eddie means and...Billy’s there. Watching them. A spectacular scowl on his face. Eddie sighs, “better go deal with that,” he says, as Billy turns and stalks away.

“Is he...what’s he mad about? Are you guys...okay?” Steve’s probably prying, but he can’t help it. As spectacular as his memories of that night are, they’re all tinged with a little guilt; he fucked another dudes boyfriend, and not under what he would call the best circumstances. He can imagine how stung Billy is by the whole thing.

“Don’t worry, I’m very familiar with the many scowls of Billy Hargrove. That, my liege, was scowl number four hundred and seventy two; I saved my boyfriends life by getting him stuck on an Alphas knot, and now that my boyfriend has finally experienced the aforementioned knot, he’s going to leave me for the next convenient knot.”

Steve flounders for a second trying to follow what Eddie just said and finally sticks on a couple of key factors, “first time...and leaving him? That was the first time? What? Ever? Are you guys breaking up-”

Eddie rolls his eyes, “if only you were half as smart as you are pretty.”

“I...what?” Steve’s lost now. Was that Eddie’s first time...ever? With an Alpha? Are they breaking up? Eddie thinks Steve is pretty?

“Look, though, on a more serious note, I’ve no intention of breaking up with Billy...I do love him, you know. But that means...this is probably going to happen again, at some point. And congratulations Steve, because you have just become the Alpha I trust the most in the world by a factor of like, a billion, so...would you be up for doing it again?”

“Again?” Steve asks weakly, feeling like he’s lost all sense and direction with this conversation.

“Look, just think about it, okay, no pressure. I need to go and wrangle my grumpy Omega, and we’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve just about manages, as he watches Eddie walk away.

Part Three

[runraerun]

Billy with hanahaki disease ?🌸?

Pain!:’)

I love it! Here ya go🌸🩸

Fic prompts are: OPEN if anyone else is interested 💌 -> 📬

Tw; blood, slight body horror.

—

It started shortly after Billy moved to this shitty little town in the middle of assfuck nowhere. He chalked it up to the air quality being dogshit compared to California, or maybe he was allergic to that pungent smell of manure that the locals seemed totally nose blind to. The absolute last thing he would have considered was a goddamn plant had started growing inside of him–a love plant.

It was rare. You were only susceptible to it if you had a certain gene that you inherited from your maternal line. Lucky him.

Guess he can’t say his mom left him with nothing when she packed her shit up and skipped town. No, instead of a forwarding address, Billy’s mom left him her shitty, fairy genes. Thanks, Mom. Real swell of you.

“Has there been anyone you’ve had your eye on?” The school nurse asks, voice pitched low, gentle, like she was trying to soothe some kind of volatile beast.

Billy spits another mouthful of blood into the pan he’s holding, the crumpled up flower petals that he’d just finished hacking up look like chunks of his lung rather than a part of a plant. Runs his tongue along his teeth to try and fish anything out that may have gotten left behind in the carnage.

“No.” He says, stubbornly. He doesn’t look up from the pan.

“Well, Hanahaki disease can only take root under very specific circumstances. It feeds off a pheromone our bodies release when we experience a certain emotion; the stress of a love that’s unrequited. It’s the only–”

“I said no, alright?” Billy barks, voice still a little ragged from his coughing fit. Like he’d swallowed with a mouthful of gravel. “Get off my back.”

The nurse sighs, but she doesn’t move to stop him when he puts the pan down beside him and gets to his feet.

“It’ll only get worse if you ignore it, Mr. Hargrove.” She warns.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” Billy mutters, but he doesn’t have the energy to put any heat behind his words, so it doesn’t do much to wipe that stupid sympathetic look from her face. He grabs his jean jacket and leaves, shoving the door open with enough force that it slams back against the wall.

Despite his repeated denial, Billy knew who was responsible for this fucking mess.

Steve Harrington.

With his perfect hair and his stupid fucking Bambi eyes, lighting up every goddamn room he strode into with those long legs of his. Jesus… How could Billy ever have stood a chance?

Just thinking of him brought a tickle to the back of Billy’s throat. He suppresses a cough into his fist as he stomps down the hallway, now empty due to everyone else having gone home for the day. Except Billy, who of course couldn’t fucking breathe after gym class today after getting a little too rough with Steve.

It hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary, but something about the way Steve elbowed Billy away, how he barked at him to give him some breathing space, yelled at Billy to fuck off already—it had Billy’s chest acting up.

He held out for most of the class, fighting against the fucking petals that were pushing their way up through his fucking esophagus by beating at his chest, shouting to clear his airways, but then in the showers, Steve had avoided him completely. Had somehow managed to slip and out of the stalls without Billy noticing, depriving him of their usual naked back and forth banter that Billy had come to look forward to.

It was one thing for Steve to hate him, but it was another thing entirely for Steve to be indifferent toward him. That was way fucking worse.

The sting of rejection quickly turned to a coughing fit, worse than any he had experienced before. Like he’s hacking up a fucking lung. A few of the other boys had asked him, ‘you okay man?’ or, ‘should we get the coach?’, and worst of all, ‘oh shit is that blood?’

Billy was barely able to shove his legs back into his jeans and shoulder one of his classmates out of his way before he stumbled into the nurse’s office.

Fat lot of good that did him…

He’s gotta pick up Max. He can’t afford to hang around and talk about his pathetic, one-sided love with a complete stranger anyway. Billy leaves the school, gets into his car, puts the windows down and cranks the music as loud as he can stand it, and he tries very hard not to think about Steve and this ever growing thing that’s taken root inside of his chest, steadily consuming him from the inside out.

Christ, who knew he was such a fucking romantic…

[fizzigigsimmer]

I am in a moody place, and as usual writing soothes me. I have no idea if there will be more of this, but have some broody post apocalyptic King!Steve.

The King Unbroken.

Jonathan was right. They must have crossed the border into what used to be California some time ago. Steve stared down at the old sign, half lodged in the dirt against a pile of twisted tree limbs. An old sign, more rust now than interstate green, nearly unreadable with vine cover. He could still just make out the faded off white letters that read: Little Valley. Five miles.

Sneering, Steve nudged aside the sign with the toe of his boot, revealing the dark opening of a small narrow room hallowed out in the stump of a once great tree - now dead, like so much else. He took one final sniff, spine tensing as he caught that faint whiff of salt that had followed him since they’d veered off route eighty. Maybe it was just sea air, carried in by the rain they had earlier that week. Or maybe it was something worse - like Hargrove.

He saw again, sharp blue eyes peering at him from behind the holes of a wooden mask - no doubt lifted from some museum - white paint highlighting the strange swirls and embellishments carved across the smooth surface of the wood, with brightly colored plumes of feathers jutting out from the top, more frightening than beautiful. It should have been cheesy - a jumped up kid with blood colored handprints staining his skin, trying to invoke fear by wearing the relics of some tribe long gone.

It wasn’t.

Hargrove’s reputation for brutality spoke for itself. And those eyes, that had been so focused in their hunger and unapologetic in Hargrove’s base desire to watch something weaker than himself squirm, had said the rest. Billy Hargrove had scared the piss out of Steve and that was saying something, given that between a choice of being handed over to a savage alpha in exchange for safe trade passages, or facing the flesh eating faceless monsters that roamed freely outside of the compound; Steve had chosen the monsters.

Fuck Billy Hargrove. Fuck his dad too. If the apocalypse had taught Steve anything, it was his value. He wasn’t good for much, but he could be a damn good shield for others. Funny it took the world ending for that to sink in. Because it didn’t matter anymore what his grades were or that he’d never been ‘the best’ at anything besides making others feel small while he stumbled down the path laid for him by his family status and his father’s money. None of it mattered because life was now a brutal game of survival, may the biggest asshole win, and even before the monsters gave him a reason everyone said that Steve Harrington was king asshole.

It wasn’t like Steve had gone through any great big revaluation or soul change. Turning over a new leaf had been literally as simple as turning over in his bunk the first night in the compound and accepting that none of the petty shit he used to care about mattered. Only, in the morning he’d still be alive while better people were dead, so either it was swallow the gun still resting on his nightstand or try and find a little good to do. That’s it. All he was living for. The chance to save a few better people and protect them for as long as he could. Maybe if humanity was lucky, one of those people might be the one to figure out how to deal with the monsters for good.

Everyone in the pack was in awe of the omega who carried a bat full of metal teeth and led raids against grey-dog hives, enemy packs and everything in between, like death couldn’t touch him and his heart was made of stone. There were plenty of people who would swear that Steve was heartless - even some of the ones he’d saved from the outside and brought into the pack himself - but he wasn’t. Not really. He kind of thought that if there ever was a moment that he felt safe enough to really think about everything he had been through since Day One, and everything he had done in between to survive, he’d probably lose it. It might break him, and then he truly would have been just a waste of space.

Which was precisely why he shoved it all down and never thought about it for too long. What was the point? Crying about the dead wasn’t going to bring them back. Neither would feeling guilty over the lives he’d taken. The kind of use the pack had for a soft sentimental omega, one who couldn’t or wouldn’t kill to survive was the stuff of nightmares. He’d seen it happen to most of the other omegas in his life. To his own mother. Only the strong survived here. Nothing was given for free. Anything of value on the other hand could always be taken, or traded.

Steve had proven that he could be more useful than just as a source of amusement and slick. That he could soldier with the best of them. He could get hit, kicked, knocked down, clawed full of holes, and drag himself back up every time. Since their first raid together his team had lost the fewest members and they still had the highest success rate of any party in the pack. Steve had carefully selected each member, because he’d always been good at surrounding himself with people stronger and smarter than himself, and convincing them somehow to care for him.

It was his one skill, besides hitting things. But by god he’d earned the right to say he’d proven he could make good use of what he had. He hadn’t survived watching those beasts tear apart his friends, seeing his mother passed around like a party favor for oil, just to end up sharing her fate. Traded off to a savage alpha to be bred and brutalized in an endless circle of hell until he died.

Fuck that!

Pushing the memory of the alpha aside, Steve knelt down onto his hands and knees and crawled inside, backward, tugging the heavy sign back into place after himself, and plummeting the den into darkness.

Breathing deep, the scent of dirt and rot filled his nose, and Steve Harrington breathed his first sigh of relief in days. It was stupid to think he would - no matter how much his dad complained about having to negotiate with a kid, it wasn’t Hargrove that needed them - but if there were any chance that Billy was following him, he wouldn’t be able to find Steve now.

Dead or not, the walls of the oak were thick. The natural scents of decay overpowered those of an unwashed human body. Even one of an omega flushed with heat and damp from exertion. Feeling around in the dark Steve’s fingers found the strap of the backpack with supplies that Robin had stashed there for him. It wasn’t much: a ratty old blanket (cheap in this warm climate). A water bottle (expensive anywhere). And a little plastic packet of Advil (worth more than gold these days).

But it’s more than most people have. Steve had always had more than what most people have. Even before the monsters came and civilization as he knew it crumbled around him. It wasn’t fair maybe, but life wasn’t fair. If it was, shitheads like him would have been the first to go in the apocalypse; the base of their power destroyed and unable to adapt to whatever new society emerged from the rubble. But that wasn’t what happened when the world as he knew it ended.

What happened was rich guys like his dad who survived long enough after the first appearance of the monsters, bought up resources while they fled to whatever approximation of safety money could buy them. They threw even more money at stocks and whatever else they hoped would make them richer once the danger was passed, and the smart ones stockpiled what they knew would become better than money in the event that the danger never did.

It hadn’t. Steve’s highschool, the stock market, and just about everything else from his old life was gone.

A few pockets of civilization still clung to life in a sea of monsters. Each colony ruled by whatever alphas had proven themselves better survivors than the rest, followed by those who hoped to be protected from a worse fate. Billy Hargrove was said to be one of the strongest alphas in the west.

He’d slaughtered the pack and taken over the territory that once had been their primary source of trade with the east. Steve’s father had offered him a king's ransom in goods for the promise to reopen trade. But Hargrove had only seemed to want one thing. The heartless omega he’d apparently heard so much about.

Curling up tighter in the small space, Steve brought the blanket over himself and shivered, despite the temperature he could feel climbing with each passing minute. His heat could not have come at a worse time but mercifully he’d made it to the den. With Jonathan and the others keeping a watch on the area he could be relatively confident that nothing would disturb him for a few days while he rode it out.

And when his heat was over, Steve had a new mission. Another chance to prove to his father that he had made a mistake, trading him to Hargrove.

Steve closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, trying to drift off to sleep to conserve his energy before the worst of the heat arrived. The faintest whisper of the sea tickled in the back of his nose, more memory than real. Haunting him. Steve gritted his teeth and silently renewed his vow.

He was going to bring his father back Billy’s head, along with the territory that came with it. And when he did no one would ever question again why he’d survived this long, unchained and unbroken.

[bigdumbbambieyes]

“What the fuck is this?”

Steve glances back over his shoulder with a furrowed brow, spotting Billy halfway into the bed with the blanket pulled back, revealed his very old and very matted childhood stuffed Garfield plushie.

He feels his face heat in embarrassment, but he shuts his drawer in favour of going over to the bed and swiping Garfield up from the bed and into his arms, cradling him against his chest as he tells Billy with a small pout, “It’s my Garf.”

“Your Garf?” Billy lifts both of his brows, his eyes shining with mirth and his lips are twitching to hold back a smile.

Or worse, maybe a laugh.

Which makes Steve feel worse because goddammit, he forgot to hide Garfield away in his closet before Billy came over. He was usually better about it, but the new shiner under Billy’s eye had distracted him the entire drive here.

This thing between them was still new, still kinda fragile, because Billy’s just started sleeping over instead of rushing to put his pants back on after they fuck and running away like a bat out of hell.

And now Billy’s gone and seen Garf and Steve kinda wants to die.

“You sleep with a stuffed Garfield, pretty boy?” Billy taunts him quietly, that amusement still in his face.

He has since he was a kid, when he picked him off the shelf in a store he can’t remember during one of the dozens of vacations they’ve taken and showed it to his mother, who had nodded in approval.

He’s slept with Garf every night since he was six, when his parents were gone and his babysitter was in the guest room. Or when his parents would leave him alone, in this big house, for a weekend or more.

Or even when his parents were home and he still felt alone.

He finds himself rubbing Garfield’s ear, soothing himself as he stares at Billy and nods quietly.

And Billy probably sees his embarrassment now, in his big brown eyes, because the teasing look is gone and Billy’s kneeling on the bed now, shuffling over to the other side where Steve’s standing, and looking down at the weathered Garfield in his arms.

Billy flicks his gaze up again, meeting Steve’s eyes, and mutters, “I have my baby blanket under my pillow at home. It’s fucking scraps now, but I still have it.”

When I need it, goes unsaid, but it makes Steve smile a little.

“Can I see him?” Billy asks softly, probably the softest Steve’s ever heard him.

It’s enough to make him pass Garfield over to Billy, who looks him over quietly. Petting his ears and face, thumbing over his eyes and smile.

“I know it’s stupid,” Steve mumbles.

Billy smirks softly, probably thinking ‘yeah, it is’, but he doesn’t say it, instead he hands Garfield back and mumbles, “Whatever gives you comfort.”

Steve nods and watches Billy slip under the covers, making him comfortable, and he turns to put Garfield away in his spot in the closet when Billy asks, “He’s not sleeping with us?”

It makes Steve pause, caught a little off guard at the question, but he turns on his heel and sees Billy laying there against the pillows, his hands behind his head and quirking a brow.

Steve licks his lips, a nervous habit, and shrugs. He asks, “Is that okay?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t.”

Steve smiles, a small thing on his face, but Billy mirrors it and reaches over to pull back the blanket on Steve’s side of the bed.

-

In the morning, Steve wakes up to the sight of Billy holding a stolen Garfield to his chest, sound asleep.

The sight fills his chest with something warm, something affectionate, something hopeful.

[ihni]

Of fathers

For @harringrovesummerbingo, square B3, prompt "Gardening" (VERY loosely interpreted, also I never state it in writing that it takes place in summer but it does)

3K, mentions of child abuse, mentions of spousal abuse, mentions of infidelity.

(On AO3 here)

~~~

“She said I’m just like him.”

The words are quiet, muffled by the way Billy is hugging his knees and burying his face in the sleeves of his arms. The angry tears have stopped, but his eyes are still puffy and red where Steve can see them behind the curls hanging over his face. The redness matches the blue that is darkening under his left eye.

Steve, who has spent almost an hour – the whole time since his boyfriend showed up at his door, face bruised and tense – just holding him and pretending he didn’t see the tears or notice the hitched breathing, almost doesn’t catch the words. “What did you say?”

For a second, he thinks that Billy won’t repeat it. That he’ll be stubbornly quiet, or say that it was nothing and brush it off. It’s a relief when Billy unfolds a little where he’s sitting on Steve’s bed, before saying, more clearly, “She said I’m just like him.”

Steve frowns. “Who said that? And just like who?”

Billy sniffs and wipes at his nose with the back of his hand. “Max. And Neil.”

That has Steve moving. He sits down next to Billy on the bed and reaches out to stroke the hair out of his eyes – carefully, as to not cause any additional pain. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”

Billy lets out a laugh that sounds closer to being a sob than anything else. “Oh she meant it. She was really mad.” Before Steve can speak, he continues, “And I don’t blame her. I was mad too. After Neil did this –“ He gestures at his face, “– I needed an excuse to get out. Told her I’d give her a ride to Sinclair’s house if she wanted. And then I did, but … I was so angry. And I just can’t keep my mouth fucking shut when I’m angry. I’m the kind of asshole who just have to take it out on someone.” He lowers his voice so it’s almost a whisper as he states, “She’s right. I am just like him.”

Steve bites his lip. Puts his hand on the back of Billy’s neck while he thinks of how to ask, rubbing his thumb in what he hopes is soothing circles on the skin he can reach. He decides that the best way is to ask outright. “Did you … hurt her?”

Billy flinches. Pulls out of Steve’s grip. “No! Not … not like that.” He deflates. “I didn’t hit her or anything.”

“What happened, then?” Steve asks, instead of What did you do? Because that would sound like an accusation, and Billy doesn’t need that right now.

“I yelled at her. She yelled back. I yelled more. Then I hit the dashboard. I … I scared her.”

“But you didn’t hurt her. You didn’t lay a hand on her.”

“One doesn’t have to lay a hand on someone to hurt them,” Billy protests, and well. He knows that from experience, Steve supposes.

Still. “You didn’t hurt her like that,” Steve insists. “You’re nothing like your dad, Billy.”

Surprisingly, that makes Billy bark out a laugh. He squeezes his eyes shut and new tears roll down his cheek. “You’re actually right about that one, pretty boy!”

As much as Steve wishes that this is just Billy taking his words to heart and accepting them as truth, he doubts that’s what’s happening. Billy looks too devastated for that. So he asks, “What do you mean?”

Again, he expects silence, or to be brushed off. And again – albeit after a long while – Billy surprises him by speaking.

“I mean that … Did you know that Neil isn’t my real dad?”

Steve’s eyebrows flies up on his forehead and his mouth opens, but he doesn’t know what to say to that kind of revelation. He doesn’t know what one is supposed to say in a situation like this.

“Are you … are you sure?” is what he goes with, and he immediately makes a face and wishes he could take the words back, because what kind of question is that? Luckily it seems that Billy finds his transgression funny rather than offensive, because he lets out a snort.

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

“But you …” Steve starts. Stops. Figures, fuck it, and continues, “You kind of … look like him?” It comes out as a question, and Billy makes a face. Like he knows, and doesn’t like it. “Sorry,” Steve adds.

Billy shakes his head. “No, that’s … I do, that’s the thing.” His voice breaks, and Steve’s heart twinges. “I do look like him. Or, well …” He trails off.

He looks so small, hunched over on Steve’s bed, arms around his torso like he’s holding himself together. Like he had to learn to hold himself, because no one else would. Well fuck that, Steve is here now – Steve will gladly hold him.

He reaches out, slowly and carefully in case Billy reacts badly. When there is no reaction, he puts his arm around Billy’s shoulders and pulls him closer. With his free hand, he reaches for Billy’s hand. Billy not only allows it, but melts into it. Relaxes into the almost-hug, and lets out a breath as if he’s been holding it for a while.

There is silence for a while. Steve doesn’t mind it. He waits for Billy to speak, and is rewarded when, after some time, Billy takes a breath.

“My mom kept a garden in our first house, when I was little. Just a small one, like a couple of flowerbeds and some bushes, but she liked it.” A pause. “She liked watching things grow.” Another pause, and when he continues, his voice is strained. “Too bad that only applied to plants, and not her son.”

Squeezing Billy’s shoulders, Steve wordlessly offers his support. He knows that it takes a lot out of Billy to speak of his mother.

“She wasn’t very good at it, though. Which … yeah. Figures.”

Again, Steve says nothing. After a while, Billy starts again, with something that sounds like a non sequitur.

“You know how Neil was in the war?”

Steve nods, even though Billy can’t see it. Tries to keep up. “Yeah, Vietnam. You’ve mentioned it.”

“Right. Uh, well. Neil has a brother. Had a brother. Or, no, has, I don’t know, I guess he’s still alive. Probably.” Billy shakes his head as if to clear it. His voice is raspy. “Anyway, his brother – Roger – he wasn’t in the war. He’d hurt his leg in his youth and he walked with a limp, so he didn’t have to go. Or so my mom told me, anyway.” He swallows and throws a quick glance at Steve before looking away again. “He did many odd jobs, but one of them was apparently gardening. So he helped mom plant that garden at that first house. She went to him for tips, asked advice. That kind of thing.” He licks his lips. “When Neil was overseas, Roger … helped her tend to it.”

Steve sits quiet and still next to him, carefully not interrupting when Billy huffs out a breath and continues, “He … helped her with other things too, while Neil was away.” A significant look in Steve’s direction. “He wasn’t just there for the garden, if you know what I mean.”

It’s Steve’s turn to swallow. “Oh,” he says as realization dawns. “So … he and your mom, they …” He trails off, as if not wanting to say it out loud.

“Bumped uglies?” Billy snorts. “Yeah. Or … they must have, because when Neil got home … I mean. I was born seven months after Neil got back. Not nine. And like, I’ve seen my baby pictures.” He smiles, a little more real this time. “I was a fat baby. Way too big to have been born two months early, if you catch my drift.”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve says, and entwines his fingers with Billy. “I get it.” Billy relaxes marginally; softens under his touch.

“Neil and Robert, they were close when they grew up. It was just two years between them – Neil was the oldest. And they … they looked a lot alike.” He shrugs. “Which is probably why Neil caught on, eventually. Because he’d always known that mom had had an affair when he was away. But he didn’t know with whom, she wouldn’t tell him, no matter how much he … how much he hurt her. And then I got older, and I started looking like him. But … he knew I couldn’t be his.” He takes a deep breath, bites his lip. Steels himself to continue. “And Robert, he was still around, yeah? To me, he was just Uncle Rob. He used to come around the house all the time, have dinner with us and watch the game with Neil just like usual … And he’d play with me. Bring presents for my birthday and Christmas, spend the holidays with us, and ....” He laughs, but the laugh breaks and he clamps his teeth together. Forces a smile. “And help mom with her garden.”

He quiets, but it’s not the kind of quiet where he regrets speaking; it’s not him snapping his mouth shut and going on the defensive, it’s not him getting up and leaving. It’s more like, he doesn’t know how to continue.

So, gently, Steve prompts, “I take it your dad … I mean, Neil … knows?”

A beat, then, “Oh yeah.”

“How did he find out?”

Billy leans his head on Steve’s shoulder. “I don’t know. Him and my mom, they were fighting a lot when I was a kid. You know.” Steve hums in agreement. Billy has let a few things slip. “But … there were a lot of fights, and they got worse. From one day to another, Uncle Rob stopped coming over. Neil was angry all the time, and he’d look at me like …” He trails off, but he doesn’t have to continue. Steve has heard about the way Neil treats Billy – he can imagine. “Anyway. He dug up mom’s garden. I remember that, because she cried about it. And then we moved to another house. Smaller. No place for flowers.”

He puts a leg up on the bed and pulls it closer by the knee; making himself smaller. Steve doesn’t think he realizes that that’s what he’s doing.

“The fights got worse, Neil got worse. Mom stayed with him for a couple of years after that, but … But then she had enough. She told me the truth before she left, about Rob and that he was my real dad, and said that she’d come back for me and that we’d go live with him –“ His voice breaks, but he clears it and follows through; “She said that she’d come back for me.”

Steve can’t do anything but hug him, and feels like crying himself.

“But she didn’t,” Billy finishes. Wipes at his eyes uselessly. “And Neil … He went mental when she left. Destroyed all her things, threw out everything that she hadn’t brought with her, anything that reminded him of her.” He shrugs. “Unfortunately I reminded him of her, too. And of … Uncle Rob, I guess. I never saw either one of them again.”

The question is burning on Steve’s tongue; Why didn’t they come back for you? But he holds back, because he imagines that Billy must have asked himself that same question a thousand times.

As if Billy hears the unasked question though, he adds, “Neil’s name is on my birth certificate. By everything that counts, he’s my father. So it was his right to move us, again. To another city. I don’t think he told my mom that he was going to do it.”

It sounds like he’s grasping for straws, but Steve will never say it out loud. If Billy prefers to believe that his mother looked for him but couldn’t find him, over the fact that his mom gave him up and left him with her abusive asshole of an ex-husband, then that’s his right. Whatever helps. Steve is not so cruel as to pop that particular bubble.

“He doesn’t know that I know.”

“He … What?”

“Neil. He doesn’t know that mom told me. No one is supposed to know.” And yet here Billy is, telling Steve. “If people found out, Neil would be disgraced. Having his wife cheat on him, with his brother nonetheless, and then for him to knowingly raise another man’s child? He’d rather kill …” Himself, Steve’s mind supplies. But what follows is, “… me.”

There are a lot of things that Steve wants to say to that, and to everything else he has just learned, but he doesn’t know where to start. And besides, it doesn’t seem like Billy needs to be prompted into speaking, this time. The words are running out of him like he’s been waiting to tell someone.

“He hates me. I know he does. He looks at me and he sees my mom, and he sees my real dad, and … I’m just this walking, talking reminder of that betrayal, and I know he wants me gone, but he can’t throw me out because everyone thinks I’m his son and no one can find out the truth. And I know that he hates me.” He keens and turns his face into Steve’s sleeve, wetting his sweater with his tears. “Max too. And she’s right to hate me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Steve says and turns so that he can pull Billy into a proper hug. “She’s young, and she’s quick to anger, just like you, but she doesn’t hate you.”

“Yeah she does. She said I’m just like Neil, and she’s right.” He lets out a sob. “I don’t want to be, Steve. I don’t want to be like him.”

“You’re not,” Steve says, shushing him gently. “You’re not, baby.” Billy’s crying speaks of heartbreak, of a hurt that goes way back and Steve is desperate with the need to soothe it; make it better, somehow. “Listen to me, Billy, you’re nothing like him. You’re feeling bad about yelling at Max, right? Well, do you think your da–“ He catches himself in time, “– Neil has ever felt bad about hurting you?”

“I don’t … I don’t know.”

“You apologized to me for hurting me in November, remember? And then you apologized to the kids, too, and you can apologize to Max for yelling at her today. Has Neil ever apologized to you?”

“No.”

“Do you think Neil has ever sat on a bed with his boyfriend, all messed up because he doesn’t want to be the kind of guy who hurts another person?”

It’s a bad attempt at a joke, but it works. Billy huffs out a wet laugh and sniffles. “Definitely not.”

“Well then there you go,” Steve says. He releases Billy from his embrace only so he can put his hands on either side of his face and turn him so they’re facing each other. He looks into Billy’s puffy eyes, and gives what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “You’re not your dad, Billy.” When Billy opens his mouth to speak, Steve speaks over him; “Either one of them. You are yourself.” He combs his fingers through Billy’s hair, watching him closely. “You’ve been dealt a shit hand in life. But you’ve made it this far, and you’re trying to be better every day and …” His eyes are burning. “I’m so proud of you for that.” Billy swallows and blinks, another tear running down his cheek. Steve can’t help but lean in and press a kiss to it, tasting the salt on his lips. “And I love you, okay? You’re not alone anymore. You’ve got me.”

Billy lets out a sound that is half-laugh and half-sob, and closes his eyes as Steve rests his forehead against Billy’s. They sit like that for a while, eyes closed, touching and breathing the same air, until there are no more sobs; no more tears.

“I love you too.” Billy’s voice, when it comes, is low; barely a whisper. But they’re close enough that Steve hears it, close enough that he feels Billy’s breath on his skin as he speaks. “Thank you.”

Instead of saying that Billy doesn’t have to say thank you, or that Steve didn’t really do anything, Steve gives him another quick kiss – on his lips, this time – and leans back. He puts his hands on Billy’s shoulders and rights them both, and then gives a little smile.

“When are you picking Max up at Lucas’ place?”

Billy takes a deep breath and licks his lips, trying to put himself back together. “Quarter to seven. She has to be home for dinner.”

“Then how about you,” Steve says and points his index finger to Billy’s chest, “drive her home and use that time to … talk to her,” Apologize, he doesn’t say, “while I,” he points the finger back to his own chest, “order some pizza. And then you come back here and we’ll have dinner and watch some TV and you can spend the night.” Because Steve knows enough to know that Neil doesn’t really care if Billy’s home or not, after a fight that leave marks. Seems to prefer it when he’s not, actually. “How does that sound?”

It’s a testament to how far they’ve come, and to how much Billy has changed, when Billy just responds to that with a nod and a barely-there smile. Where he would once have refused to do what someone told him just because someone told him, and where he would have hated to be talked to as if he was a child, and probably would have acted out after his bout of vulnerability, now he just accepts it.

He accepts it because he’s grown. And because it’s Steve. And because they love each other.

“Sounds good.”

[magniloquent-raven]

its midnight and im sleeby but i finished this thing i started scribbling out this afternoon based on @harringroveera 's post that i couldnt get outta my brain

i think i might have angsted it up a little cuz i can't help myself but its still cute so. pls enjoy

--

Billy's not super clear on where he is right now.

There are people everywhere. Yelling. Laughing. Music plays over a big fancy sound system. There's a blurry blue light glowing through glass sliding doors that he's been staring at for a little while 'cause it's…pretty. Twinkly and stuff. 

He's too many drinks past a good buzz, that much he's sure of. His head feels. Floaty. And heavy. And if he tries to move the room starts to spin. 

Whatever he's sitting on is comfy though. Soft. Softer than his damn mattress with that broken spring that's always stabbing him in the ribs. 

He's tired. Really tired.

Feels like he hasn't slept in months.

To his left a girl starts squealing as her boyfriend grabs her around the waist, to his right a speaker vibrates against the wall, buzzing to the beat of a deep bassline. Everything sounds far away, though. White noise blending together while the edges of his vision go fuzzy and faded.

He feels his head tip, just a little, and then—

With a sharp inhale he jolts, blinks, glancing around blearily at a silent, empty room.

It's still dark out. The blue glow still shimmers at him through glass. A lamp lights the room he's in. Everything's…shapes. Colours. His brain is still mushy.

He blinks a couple more times. His eyes are dry. Wobbly. All the shapes are wobbly.

"Hey, man, party's over." A voice startles him. He tries to look around, but it fucking hurts, and moving his head is so much work. Whatever, it's a nice voice. Way nicer than the jarring silence. 

Wait, why's the party over. He doesn't want the party to be over.

He wrinkles his nose. "Nooo…" 

"...Yeessss." There's a pause. "Everyone is gone, dude."

"No." Billy rubs his eyes. The chair is still so comfy. He sinks further into it, unwilling to move. "You're here."

"It's my house. I'm allowed to stay." The voice sounds amused. There's some rustling behind Billy. Plastic crinkling. Maybe. Something being moved around. "Why are you even here, anyways?" 

Hazy memories jumble together. A flask of vodka in his pocket, slipped under itchy robes. Sitting two heads away from Steve Harrington, sneaking glances between barely concealed shots. A droning speech. Another droning speech. Neil's solemn face in a crowd, watching him walk across the stage to shake hands with…the guy. The. Whatever.  

Some girl digging her talons into his arm after he slipped away from Neil's attempts to maintain a public image by acting like he gave a shit about his son's accomplishments. Beer and cheap tequila and shitty music blurring into each other as he gets dragged around like a trophy dangling off the elbow of whichever nameless girl claimed him for the night.

"Graduated," he says, picking at a sticky spot on the thigh of his jeans. Pinching the fabric isn't doing anything but he can't stop prodding. 

"Yeah, I know, with honors. Congrats." There's a huff. A silence. "Doesn't explain why you're here though." Footsteps, sneakers on linoleum, tap tap tap, meandering around whatever room is at his back. Glass bottles getting moved around. It's sort of soothing to listen to someone move around their house without any reason to be keeping track of their movements.

Well, unless…

Billy's stomach flips, and his chest goes tight. "You're not gonna kick me out are you?" he asks, his voice small. He feels sick, saying it. Thinking about it. He doesn't want to be anywhere else. This house smells sweet under the stink of spilled beer and leftover perfume. And he likes this chair.

The movement behind him stops for a second. "...Nnno?"

He breathes. Relaxing into velvety upholstery. "'Kay." 

"You sure you don't have anywhere to be? Family waiting up? Girlfriend expecting a midnight rendezvous?" 

Billy snorts. "No one gives a shit where I am." 

Neil will care tomorrow when Billy makes him look bad by pulling up hungover and in yesterday's clothes, but that's a problem for tomorrow. He won't be waiting up for him, worrying about Billy's safety or whatever.

A glass bottle clinks against something. "What about your sister?"

"Pfff…" He snickers, and gives his head a tiny shake. The movement makes everything spinny for a second and he has to pause to swallow bile. The sour taste on his tongue feels appropriate. And gross. "I fucked up. Everything. Beat the shit outta her friend. She's prolly hoping I don' come home at all. Ever."

Another glass bottle gets set down, slower this time. Carefully. "...This friend of hers…"

"Steve," Billy sighs. His eyes fall shut and he leans back into a cushioned headrest. His insides do the stupid fluttery thing they always do when he thinks about Steve. Steve and his stupid kissable face. 

"It was pretty dumb of him to pick a fight with you, huh," the voice says wryly. 

"Mnh…I guess." There's a soft snort behind him. But something prickles at Billy. Guilt, maybe. It's uncomfortable. He chews his lip as his eyes start to burn. "Nah. No. Whole thing was my fault. All my fault. S'always my fault." 

Saying it doesn't make it feel better.

"What do you mean?" There's sounds anymore. Just the voice, and Billy's heartbeat in his ears.

"It's…" Billy swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's a secret."

"I'm good at keeping those."

"You can't tell him."

"...I definitely will not tell him."

Billy hums. "He's real pretty, y'know."

"So I've been told, but what—"

"No, he's…he's so pretty. Like, I can't believe it sometimes, and I just wanna. Do something about it. All the time. But it hurts. Hurts so bad, and it's not supposed to, so I had to—I had to…I just got so mad. And I had to prove I didn't wanna kiss him, but I do. 'Cause I like him so much. Too much."

The silence is back. Ringing in Billy's ears. He sniffles quietly. 

"Oh…" 

"Please don't tell him. Or anyone."

"Billy…"

"Promise."

There's a strained pause. Billy fidgets, his insides twisting into knots. 

"I promise." The voice is so gentle, and it makes Billy's eyes sting again. He blinks away tears and listens to more bottles being moved. Plastic cups hitting plastic bags. Sneakers against linoleum, and hardwood, and carpet. And after a while, "You're not gonna spend all night in the chair, are you?"

"You said—"

"I'm not kicking you out, I just meant. There's a guest bed, man," 

"Oh."

**

Sunlight hits Billy directly in the face and he rolls over, groaning. 

The motion makes his stomach lurch, but he buries his face in…pillowcase. Unfamiliar pillowcase. Smells like honeysuckle and clean air and it's softer than any bedding he's ever touched. 

His legs are tangled in sheets just as sweet-smelling and finely woven, and his guts give another heave as he realizes he's only wearing briefs. 

Did…did he fuck someone last night?

He was definitely drunk enough to do something that stupid, if the cottonmouth and pounding headache are any indication, but he doesn't fucking remember. Which would normally be a blessing, except he usually doesn't stay the goddamn night. 

Is he going to have some girl hanging all over him for the first couple weeks of summer? Until he can figure out how to ditch her without making it look like he's too eager to.

Or maybe he'll stick around for a little while, this bed is actually ridiculous. He might be able to fake his way through one shitty summer fling if it means sleeping like a goddamn king. There are like, five pillows, and it feels like he's laying on a cloud. 

He nuzzles deeper into the pillowcase. Smells nice too.

His memories of the previous day mostly stop around Tammy Whatsherface dragging him away for a graduation afterparty. Maybe he shouldn't have started drinking at noon. 

Christ, he's not even sure how he got here, or where his car is. 

Or where here is.

It's one of the Loch Nora houses, probably. Nowhere else would have sheets like this.

Eventually he drags himself, reluctantly, out of bed. And immediately tastes bile.

Which is. Bad. 

Being upright is bad. 

And he doesn't know where the nearest toilet is. Which could be extremely bad. Girls whose carpets you puke on don't invite you back to sleep in their nice guest rooms.

So, he's very slow and careful about pulling his jeans on. And he makes sure to pause when he starts to feel clammy, sitting on the floor to stop his head spinning. 

It takes him forever to get mostly dressed, jeans and an undershirt are enough. He can't find his button-up and socks require too much bending down, which his dehydrated brain does not appreciate. 

Peeking out into the nondescript hall doesn't provide any more answers about whose house this is. It's all shiny boring expensive decor and not a single person in sight.

Oh, looks like there's a bathroom at the end of the hallway though, good. 

He beelines for the sweet promise of a place to piss and rinse out his mouth, shuffling past a couple closed doors, listening for any signs of life and hearing nothing, until he shoulders his way into the bathroom and freezes in his tracks, because—

"Hey, uh. You're awake." Steve Harrington blinks at him, standing in front of a plain oval mirror, hairbrush in hand. Which he obviously hasn't used yet, because the bedhead he's sporting is kind of hilarious. It's all fluff in every direction. Billy wants to run his hands through it. 

Worse, though, is the fact that he's bare chested, wearing an unzipped hoodie and soft plaid pants, with all that fucking chest hair, and he's looking at Billy with a curious expression that isn't remotely like any way he's ever looked at Billy before and this is…all very, very strange.

So, obviously Billy's theory about what happened last night was wrong. He's not even back to square one, he has less than no idea what the fuck is happening.

"...Yes," Billy responds after a beat too long. 

Great.

Fantastic.

Very smooth.

The corner of Steve's mouth twitches. There's something soft and warm about the amusement twinkling in his eyes and it's making Billy itch. 

"I think I'm gonna puke."

Steve snorts, and drops his hairbrush on the vanity. "Right, I'll get out of your way then." He sidles past Billy, far too close, patting his shoulder as he passes. Which does not help when he's just barely keeping his shit together.

His footsteps fade down the hallway at Billy's back. And Billy doesn't move. 

What the actual fuck.

He slams the bathroom door shut behind him, and leans his forehead against it, trying to breathe slowly through his nose. 

They didn't have sex last night. There's no way. He did not fuck Steve Harrington.

He couldn't have. Steve would never…

He's not…

That's just. Not what happened. Because that would never happen. 

It kind of looks like that's what happened, but it's not. 

He sits on the floor, head in his hands. And breathes. 

It's unclear how long he stays curled up on cold tile. Long enough that his legs start to feel stiff. Nothing about last night comes back to him. He sighs.

And gets up.

And splashes some water on his face. Drinks a little from the tap. Uses some of the mouthwash he digs out from under the counter. Takes a piss.

He's still unsteady. His temples throb if he moves too quickly. But he feels a little less like roadkill.

Steve waves at him when he spots him coming down the stairs. Waggles his fingers in the air, like they're best buds and this situation isn't the most surreal thing to happen to them since the Byers' weirdly trashed living room.

Billy rubs the back of his neck. "...Hey."

"Coffee?"

"Sure."

Steve pulls out two mugs, one of his thumbs stuck through a hole in the cuff of his sleeve. There's sunlight warming the honey-coloured highlights in his hair.

Yeah, no, this is definitely more fucked up than finding Max in a random house with a busted window and shitty drawings everywhere.

He might actually have lost his mind.

"What the fuck happened last night?" He blurts, his cheeks hot, fingers jittery. He shoves his hands in his pockets, fists balled up against his thighs.

Steve glances at him out of the corner of his eye. "Ah, figures you don't remember."

"Don't remember what?"

"You were pretty out of it."

"Yeah, thanks, I know that part."

Steve snorts, grabbing more things out of cupboards. Billy's paying more attention to his hands than what's in them. "You didn't want to leave, so I let you sleep upstairs."

"...Why?"

"You didn't say, just said you didn't have anywhere else to be."

"That's not what I meant." He knows exactly why he didn't want to leave. All the many reasons why he'd rather be here than under Neil's roof. Or anywhere else. What doesn't make any fucking sense is Steve accommodating him. 

Steve's eyes flicker to his again, briefly, before he turns back to the counter. When he shrugs the nonchalance seems forced. "You're a lot nicer when you're plastered."

"I…" Billy opens his mouth. Shuts it again. 

What the fuck does that mean. 

Steve fidgets with a spoon. "You got…kind of weepy, y'know."

Oh.

Goddamnit.

His shoulders go tense, jagged edges of a shield around what's left of his dignity. "Fuck you, Harrington," he snaps. It's all he can muster when he doesn't know what the fuck he was crying about. Every possibility is worse than the last.

"Yeah, you wish," Steve mutters.

Billy freezes. 

And doesn't recover quick enough to hide it from Steve. Steve's eyebrows shoot up. "Holy shit, it's true isn't it?" He turns around fully, the mess he's made of the counter forgotten. 

Fuck.

"I—don't know what you're talking about." His stupid deer-in-the-headlights expression is mostly under control but the sudden tremble in his voice definitely fucking isn't. 

He backs away a step and then stops. Where the fuck is he going to go, he doesn't know where his car is, where his keys are, and he's fucking barefoot. Running upstairs and locking himself in Steve's bathroom seems just a little too pathetic but that doesn't mean he doesn't consider it.

Billy clenches his jaw. It makes his head pound. "What exactly did I say last night?" He grits out, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Steve eyes him. Slowly, carefully. Deliberating. He chews his bottom lip. The silence is fucking agonizing. 

"Can't tell you," he finally replies, his voice light. One corner of his mouth lifts into half a smile, and scratches his cheek. "I promised I wouldn't tell anyone."

"That's…" Billy rubs his forehead with the palm of his hand, like he's looking for the button to restart his poor, confused brain. He drops his hand, exasperated, eyebrows creeping up to his hairline. "Steve, what the fuck."

Steve cracks a full-blown grin. "I told you I'm good at keeping secrets."

"I swear to god—"

"Aw c'mon, I can't break a promise! Especially 'cause you asked so nicely. You were so polite. It was very cute."

"I…what?"

He can't have heard that right.

Or Steve's just fucking with him. That's what's going on here. Billy let something slip last night and now Steve's holding it over his head. Because why wouldn't he, honestly. He has every reason to want to mess with Billy, and now he's got the perfect leverage.

"Billy." Steve's voice is soft, suddenly. His expression gentles, and he moves to close the gap between them. And Billy…doesn't get it. He's stalled out and stuck trying to figure out how this is gonna go wrong, how it fits into whatever prank Steve is clearly pulling.

He doesn't know what his face is doing, but he's pretty sure he's being way more readable than he'd like. 

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Steve touches him. A hand on his shoulder. A hesitant, awkward pat. Testing the waters, maybe. Trying to make sure he's real, maybe.

Is any of this real? Billy's still not convinced. He can smell Steve's shampoo and see all the little flecks of colour in his eyes and his shoulder is still burning where they made contact, but…

"I'm sorry I hurt you, y'know," Steve murmurs, his gaze dropping, hovering somewhere around Billy's crossed arms. He reaches out again, fingers grazing Billy's knuckles this time. All Billy can do is blink at him, afraid to breathe. "Doesn't have to be like that."

He tugs at Billy's hand, untucking it from the crook of his elbow, unfolding Billy's arms, and Billy lets him. One hand drops to his side and the other stays cradled in Steve's grip. He's…staring at it like he's studying for a test. Billy has no idea what's so fucking interesting, or what Steve's talking about, but he's also not bothered at this point. 

His knees feel like jello. 

"You could've just kissed me."

Billy nearly collapses. Like one of those swooning chicks in shitty romance novels. Breathless and flushed and overwhelmed. Except he just stands there like a moron, staring at Steve. And Steve's mouth.

"What?" he manages not to sound too strangled. Miraculously. 

Steve smiles at him, almost sheepishly. "You still could. I wouldn't mind."

"You…wouldn't."

"Yeah, I mean, if you had morning breath still it might be a different story, but…" Steve gestures vaguely, pulling Billy's hand along with him as he shrugs. 

Billy snorts.

And hey, maybe Steve is messing with him, and this will blow up in his face, but…

Well, he just really wants to kiss him before it does.

So he leans in and presses their lips together. 

~~tag list @spreckle @growup-thatbeautiful @prettyboy-like-you @suddenlyinlove

[dragonflylady77]

definitely better than being dead

a 'billy didn't die' day fic

Also on Ao3

I wrote this over the past day and a half, rushing to finish it on time, while it's still July 4 somewhere.

@spaceofentropy @fizzigigsimmer @lovebillyhargrove @shieldofiron @darleenjade

++++++++

When Billy comes to, everything hurts. 

He keeps his eyes closed, even though the space around him feels dark, and slowly takes a tally of where it hurts: hands, sides, chest, back, feet too... 

He listens to the noises in the room and the regular beeping of a machine close by tells him he’s in a hospital.

Huh.

This is new. 

Neil never lets him go to the hospital, not unless he absolutely has to, like that time before they left Cali—no, not thinking about that.

Billy listens harder. There, breathing that’s not his, rustling of clothes as whoever is sitting by his bed shuffles to get more comfortable.

He tries to remember what happened, how he got there but it’s a blur. He knows something crashed into his car, and he remembers being pulled into that dark building on the side of the dark back road but after that, only pain. It’s fragmented, he’s getting flashes of people’s faces, horrible things that… thing… made him do, oh fuck, Heather, I’m so sorry, then the girl with her hand on his face and her mind in his memories.

It comes back to him, the beach, the wave, seven feet tall, the evil monster he helped build and how… the thought makes him feel sick. 

He pushed back with a roar to protect the girl who brought him back to himself, his arms still hurt from the effort that took. There were fireworks then there was just excruciating pain and darkness and he thought he was done. He wanted to be done.

Yet somehow he’s still here. Breathing and hurting. He realises his hands are clenched into fists and wills his fingers to unfurl. It’s a slow process that takes all his concentration. One of his fingers touches something warm and Billy freezes. Shit. He hadn’t meant to make contact with whoever is by his bedside. 

His eyelashes flutter open and everything is blurry at first. He sees a flash of red then he is being squeezed tight. Too tight.

“I can't breathe.” His voice sounds like gravel from disuse and he is craving some water. The arms around him relent a bit but don’t go away.  Billy can’t remember the last time someone hugged him.

“Oh Billy, I’m so happy you finally woke up.” The voice is trembling but he recognises it.

“Max? What…” Billy is not sure what he wants to ask so he stops. Lets himself enjoy the closeness like the touch starved loser he is and wonders how long he’s been lying in a hospital bed.

He moves his arm to wrap it around Max and she burrows closer, her face against his neck and he feels wetness against his skin. Tears? For him? Surely not.

“Why are you crying?” He has to push the words through dry lips, his tongue feels like it weighs a ton. It just makes her cry harder. Billy is very confused but the thirst for water wins over the thirst for answers. “Wa… need water…”

“Hang on,” a voice he didn’t think he’d hear again says and a cup of water with a straw in it appears in front of him. Billy tries to lift his free hand but it’s too much effort, he’s been lying in a coma for too long and the IV in his arm makes it uncomfortable. He lets out a long defeated sigh and closes his eyes again. Max is still hugging him, and he lets her, even though his chest is starting to hurt again.

“Let me help,” Harrington says. Billy opens his eyes and Harrington is holding the cup and the straw closer so Billy can take a couple of sips. The cool liquid soothes Billy’s throat but too soon, Harrington takes the cup away, telling Billy he needs to start slowly, to let his body adjust to it again.

“I’ll go tell the nurse you’re awake,” Harrington says, putting the cup on the table at the foot of the bed and turning towards the door.

“How long…?” Billy manages to ask as Steve opens the door.

“A hundred and forty-seven days,” Harrington replies without turning around.

The door closes softly behind him and Billy is left alone with a sobbing Max and even more questions than before.

“Max.” He squeezes her arm to get her attention. “Max, sit up. What the fuck is going on?”

Wiping her eyes with her sleeves, the teenage girl sits up on the side of the bed and takes his hand in hers. Her eyes look bluer than usual in the low light of the room and she looks thinner than the last time he saw her.

“Shitbird, why are you here? Why is he?”

“I’m here every day,” she says with a sniffle. “Steve gave me a ride because Mum was too drunk. Today is Thanksgiving so she started earlier than usual.”

“Thanksgiving? What the fuck? Where’s…” He couldn’t say it. Wouldn’t say it, lest it made the man barge in to teach him a lesson again.

“I know you have a million questions, and I promise I’ll answer as many as I can.”

“Okay.” Billy is still very confused but he figures Max’s promise is better than nothing.

The nurse comes in, followed by a bunch of doctors and Max hops off his bed and goes to stand with Harrington by the window.

Billy loses track of them as he is whisked out of the room for a plethora of tests. 

When they wheel him back to his room a couple of hours later, he’s even more exhausted than when he woke up from his five-month-long coma. 

He smiles at the nurse giving him his pain relief, nodding when she mentions a tray with his dinner. Soft diet, she said. He doesn’t think that will be anything too exciting. He might get ice cream and jelly, though, which would be nice. They gave him some when he went to hospital with a broken arm when he was ten. 

But instead of the nurse, Steve Harrington comes in through the door holding a tray and a bag.

Billy feels a surge of excitement at the sight and, try as he may, the anger and antagonism that coloured his every interaction with Harrington before that fateful night are nowhere to be found. 

Billy is left simmering with his attraction for this boy and the non-stop craving for his touch. He grips the sheets with both hands to stop from reaching out. Harrington wouldn’t want Billy to touch him anyway. Pretty boy deserves better than this. Billy is damaged goods, even worse now than before, and trash like him doesn’t deserve love, Neil taught him that. 

“Are you okay?” Harrington asks when he stops at the end of the bed and sets his precious cargo on the table.

Billy nods, all his focus on not reacting. Can’t let him know. Hold it in until he’s gone, like every other time. Billy finds it’s harder than it used to be.

“If you say so, it’s just…” Harrington looks at the monitor hooked to Billy then back at him. “Your heart rate picked up when I came in, it’s a lot higher than it was earlier.”

“I don’t know, man, I’m not a doctor.” Billy shrugs then nods towards the tray. “Is that my dinner?” 

“Um yes, jelly and ice cream and what looks like chocolate milk. The nurse said you were allowed soft foods so I brought you some mashed potato and gravy, and some pumpkin pie Mrs Henderson made. I checked with the nurse and she said you’d be okay to eat the filling.”

“Why?” Billy asks when Harrington wheels the table closer. Billy starts on his super nutritious dinner with gusto. He hasn’t had ice cream and jelly in years so he’s going to enjoy it.

“Why only the filling?” Harrington looks confused. “If you don’t like it, that’s fine, I’ll just—”

“No, pretty boy, why are you here?”

Fuck. The nickname slips out before Billy notices and now Harrington looks embarrassed, his cheek a little pinker than before. But then he looks straight at Billy, and there’s that fire that Billy was looking for last year. Feels like a million years ago.

“I can leave if it’s easier,” Harrington says and that’s the last thing Billy wants. Max promised him answers but she left before he could get any. He figures Harrington might know a lot.

“No, don’t.” Billy sighs, looking down at his hand clenching on the spoon. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s late, I’m hungry, I’m sore and I missed the last five months of my life. You probably have better things to do on Thanksgiving than entertain the guy who beat you up last year.” Billy glances up to find Harrington’s brown eyes fixed on him. “I’m sorry for that too.”

Harrington laughs. “That was a long time ago, Billy. I got over it, especially once I realised how it must have looked like for the outside. Then…” Harrington looks sombre for a moment. “Then you sacrificed yourself to save the world.”

“Sorry it didn’t stick.” Billy looks away, dejected. Always on the outside. No friends for Billy, no, sir. Trash, loser, reject. Appetite gone, Billy drops the spoon in the tray and gives the table a shove. It rolls away just enough to be out of the way.

“Don’t say that.” Harrington comes over to sit in the chair Max was occupying earlier on the side of the bed.

“It’s true. You’re all better off without me around. Especially my family.” Billy curls up into a ball on the bed, facing the side Harrington is sitting on, because he’s weak.

“Bullshit!” Harrington exclaims, taking Billy’s hand in his and Billy can’t help but stare at their hands as Harrington links their fingers together. “Max has missed you so much, Billy. She’s been here every day once we found out where you were. She sneaked out of the house at first then once your dad left—”

“He left? Neil’s gone?”

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have dropped it on you like that, I’m so sorry. Billy, we thought you were dead, there was a funeral. Then about a month later, your dad, he…” There are tears in Harrington’s eyes and Billy isn’t sure he wants to know anymore. 

Harrington clears his throat, squeezing Billy’s fingers before he continues, “Your dad emptied your room and put everything on the curb. He, um, he was gonna light all of your stuff on fire and she screamed so much and so loud some of the neighbours came to check what was going on. She got him to change his mind as long as she could find someone to take the boxes away. She called me on the walkie-talkie and told me what had happened. We piled all your stuff in my car and put it in a corner of my garage.” 

“Um, yo-your parents okay with that, Harrington?” Billy asked, wiping his eyes on a corner of the sheet with his free hand. If ever he’d needed a reminder of how much his dad hated him…

“Steve,” came the reply, with another squeeze of his fingers before Steve added, “I don’t give a fuck, I haven’t seen them since last Chrismas anyway.”

“Wow.” That explained a few things, Billy thinks. Like why Steve is always surrounded by the Weird Kids Gang. Must get lonely in that big house, no matter how much money you have in the bank.

“Yeah, you don’t have the monopoly on parents who suck,” Steve said with a sad grin.

“Clearly. How did you find out I wasn’t dead?”

“Oh, well the Byers moved to Cali at the end of July and about a week after that, I got a call from El in the middle of the night. That’s the girl you saved from the meat monster. She, um, she said you were alive and she knew where you were.”

“How the fuck would she know that?” Billy was getting really frustrated with the way the answer to any question always brought more questions.

“Okay, um…” Steve takes a deep breath and locks eyes with Billy. “I’m gonna need you to listen while I explain. I swear it’s all true and I’ll answer any questions after, okay?”

Billy nods. He has no fucking clue what’s going on but he’s never seen Steve this serious before, and they had History together senior year.

“That thing that attacked you was a creature from another dimension. The kids call it the Mind Flayer. It’s like, made of smoke, until it finds a host. It attacked Jonathan Byers’ brother last year and we thought we’d managed to get rid of it that night you found me at their house. It comes from this dimension that’s a warped copy of ours, filled with monsters, creatures with flower heads and lots of teeth. We, um, we call it the Upside Down. El was raised by a complete psycho who kidnapped kids and did experiments on them that gave them powers, like, mind powers, I’m not really sure how it works. She can see in the Upside Down and she can find people in this thing she calls the void. She can open portals into the Upside Down as well and fight the monsters. Again, I’m not sure how it works, but she kinda lost her powers after the big showdown at Starcourt Mall and we all thought that was that.”

“But then she rang you in the middle of the night?”

“Uh huh. Then we had to wait for her to make it back to Hawkins. That’s when she told us about a portal at the bottom of Lovers Lake and—”

“Steve,” Billy interrupts because he had to. He is getting a bit sore lying on his side so he rolls over onto his back, leaving his hand in Steve’s.

“What?”

“How come I never knew this fucking town has a thing called Lovers’ Lake?”

“I don’t know, Billy. I’ll take you if you want. Can I finish the story now?”

Billy stares at Steve, waiting for him to realise the enormity of what he said. He knows when Steve does because his cheeks turn pink and his eyelashes flutter.

“Oh. Um. Billy, I—”

“I’m tired. You should leave.” Billy doesn’t want to hear anymore. Harrington doesn’t look like he’s going to punch Billy in the face, maybe because he’s in a hospital bed and Harrington feels sorry for him. Billy isn’t sure what the hand holding is about but he doesn’t need anyone’s pity, he knows that much. Billy starts pulling his hand away but Harrington doesn’t let him.

“Billy…”

“What?”

“I almost lost you when I didn’t know I could have you, you really think I’m going to let go now that I know you want me back?”

“What are you talking about?” He knows he sounds defensive but that kind of talk gets you beaten up. He pulls again and this time Harrington lets go of his hand. Billy glances up at him and he looks tired. 

“I found your notebooks, Billy. The box they were stashed in was all fucked up and they fell out so I moved them into another box and I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have, but I had a look in one of them.” Steve blushes. “More than one of them, really. You’re an amazing drawer, Billy Hargrove. I think you made me look way better than I do though.”

“No, pretty boy, you really are that pretty,” Billy mumbles, unsure how to feel right now, but when Steve reaches out for Billy’s hand again, Billy lets him. 

“Thank you. Like I was saying, we found that portal at the bottom of the lake and me and Jonathan went in.”

“Byers helped?”

“Well, Max wanted to come with me.”

“What the fuck, Ste—”

“I said no, obviously. Hoo boy, she’s scary when she’s angry, and looks a bit like you too.” Steve’s eyes widen at the memory and Billy can’t help the snort that escapes.

“Shut up.”

“So, yeah, Jon came with me, and we found you where El had said, covered in vines. Took us ages to axe them all off and carry you back to the portal. Then we had to swim up real fast, which, let me tell you, is not Jon’s strong suit,” Steve finishes with a chuckle.

Billy can work out the rest, since he ended up in a hospital bed, but a couple of things are still puzzling him. “Steve…” The name feels still new on his lips but he’ll keep saying it if that’s the way Steve looks at him when he does. “My dad…”

“Ah yes, the model parent. He skipped town the day after he tried to burn all your belongings, I’m afraid. The house was in his name so Max and her mum had to move out. They’re renting a small trailer at Forest Hills, across from Eddie Munson.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, Max spends all her time with the rest of the kids when she’s not at school or here with you.”

“But why? I don’t understand. She hates me, you all do, I was a complete asshole… and then…” He doesn't want to think about that again or he’ll cry for sure. He’s always crying. At least now he don’t have to worry about Neil finding out.

“Then you saved all of us. Max… um, she told us about your dad.”

“Great.” Billy feels the tears roll down his cheeks and he does nothing to stop them. Everyone knows about him now. They all hate him or pity him, or both, he’s not sure which is worse. 

He has no family, no house to go back to, no money, no car. He’s stuck in this fucking hospital bed in fucking Hawkins, Indiana until they kick him out. “You should have left me where you found me.” His voice sounds hollow, even to his own ears. 

“Don’t say that. It’s not—”

“It is true. I was better off dead. Where am I gonna go when I get out of here, Harrington, huh? I have no one. Nothing. And my car… Fuck!”

“I told you to call me Steve. And, well, I was hoping you’d come live at my house.”

“Your house? I don’t understand. Steve, why…?”

“Well, for starters, all your stuff is there. Oh, and your car is there, she’s all fixed up and ready for you.”

“You fixed my car?”

“No, because I don’t know anything about cars, but I paid this guy I know to fix her. It was the least I could do, since I was the one who crashed into it.”

“But why would you do that? Steve, why?”

Steve gets off the chair to sit on the edge of the mattress, his hand still holding Billy’s, his fingers moving to link with Billy’s. “Billy, when you faced the monster that day at the mall, I got so scared because I realised I’d never have the chance to tell you how I feel.”

“How you feel about what?” There is no way the fucking tears are going to stop now, not when Steve is sitting on his fucking bed, clasping his hand, his thigh pressing into Billy’s hip. Being so close to the one person he’s ever wanted, Billy can barely breathe.

“Two years ago, Will Byers ended up in the Upside Down.

 “Okay…” What? Billy is confused at the change of subject.

“He was there for a week,” Steve continues, his thumb stroking Billy’s knuckles as he speaks. “His mum and Hop found him and brought him back, and he said he hid in the place where he felt safest.”

“Right.” Where is Steve going with this? Billy doesn’t have a safe place, not in Hawkins anyway, and even if this Upside Down is a copy of their world, there is little chance Billy would have made it to California on foot, with monsters chasing him.

“You want to know where we found you? Where your safe place was?”

Billy nods. This is the longest conversation he’s ever had with Steve and the most confusing.

“You were in my room, Billy. In my bed. Do you know how you ended up there?

“That was real? I thought it was a dream. It was so dark, I was so scared and needed to hide. I found your house and that was the only room that felt safe.”

Steve smiles before leaning closer, his arm resting on the other side of Billy. “I’m glad.”

The closeness and the smile on Steve’s beautiful face make something warm spread inside Billy’s chest. “And why is that, pretty boy?” he hears himself ask, looking into brown eyes he hasn’t seen that up close since they played basketball together.

But instead of replying, Steve presses his lips to Billy’s and Billy stops breathing. He freezes until Steve moves back a fraction.

“Billy? Is that okay?”

“Again…” Billy brings a hand up to tangle in Steve’s hair and pulls him closer. Is this what being happy feels like? He feels the tip of Steve’s tongue on his bottom lip and opens his mouth, welcoming him in, swallowing Steve’s moan when Billy tightens his hand in Steve’s hair.

Steve Harrington is kissing him like Billy always dreamed of and he wants Billy to live at his house? Definitely better than being dead.