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californiaboytoybilly · 1 year

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Billy, who has only ever known a life of ‘use or be used’ comes to Hawkins, Indiana with exactly one plan.

To get the fuck back out.

But see, the problem is that that takes money. Money he definitely doesn’t have.

The first night in his new room, he doesn’t bother to unpack. No, he sits on the floor by his bare mattress and he plots.

It’s not worth the risk trying to steal from Neil. Can’t escape this shithole if he’s fucking dead. Getting a job and actually managing to keep the money without his father finding out would be… difficult.

Bored housewives would probably be willing to shell out gifts for the privilege of a quick fuck to forget their balding, miserable husbands. It wasn’t much, but it was a thought to consider.

He leaves that half finished plan open in his brain when he goes to his first day at Hawkins High, only to have the page ripped up and burned at the first sight of one Steve Harrington.

Bored and- seemingly- apathetic pretty boy with absent parents and a big house. Considerably more his type than some desperate midwest housewife with sickly sweet perfume and a simpering voice.

And clearly rich.

By the second week of classes, Billy has caught Steve’s eyes lingering on him a few too many times.

So starts what would become both the only thing that mattered to him, and the worst thing he’d ever do.

His usual charm doesn’t work on Steve, so he goes the other way. Taunts him, a bully pulling on his pigtails until one day Steve snaps and kisses him behind the gym until Billy almost forgets why he’s doing this entirely.

At first, he feels no guilt in it. They don’t talk feelings, it’s just good fucking sex and Steve apparently loves to give gifts.

Gifts that are too thoughtful. Too knowing.

First aid supplies. Clothes. Buying him expensive dinners to make up for the nights Billy was sent to his room without a bite to eat the entire day, even if he didn’t know that.

Billy starts to become more aware of his plan as the days, then months slip by. He thinks of all the times Steve has given him money for gas or other things, how Billy has lied to him. How all that money is stashed away, just waiting for a chance that he can disappear into the night like an asshole outlaw.

Steve becomes his boyfriend and the guilt sits heavy and sticky in his gut. He starts to second guess what he’s been doing.

Billy doesn’t say he’s in love, not even when Steve does. He knows he is- has fought against it with every fibre of his being the whole fucked up way down- but he can’t bring himself to say it when his escape is on the horizon.

He comforts himself by telling himself Steve will forget about him. Move on and marry some docile stay-at-home wife who wouldn’t push his buttons the way Billy did.

But then, late one night, Steve says it again while he’s pressing Billy down into the mattress. And Billy- emotionally taken apart by a particularly bad day at home- crumbles. His eyes fill with tears and he says it back in a fit of weakness. The first time he’s ever said those words to someone.

I love you too.

That’s when his plan starts to fall apart. It’s become annoyingly apparent that he can’t escape this. Doesn’t want to. Steve has become his escape.

So even though it feels like pulling teeth, he starts to empty his stash. He buys Steve gifts now, because spending it on him makes him feel less vile. Takes Steve out on dates.

He finally feels a sense of relief when it’s gone, even if he says goodbye to California mournfully in the same thought.

It’s easier to be around Steve after that, even if a trace of the guilt always lingers. Easier to say he loves him when he isn’t constantly ready to say goodbye. Easier to open up to him.

He finally tells Steve the truth about Neil, and the first thing Steve does is offer him a place in his home if he needs to run.

Billy loves him. He feels free for the first time in his life. He’s happy.

And that’s when Steve finds out the truth.

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #billy x steve #billy antis dni #billy hargrove deserves better #minor angst #miscommunication #harringrove ficlet #steve x billy #🌌 — a s t e r #🌌 — w r i t i n g

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nonnieapple · 1 year

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⛈☂ Strings☂⛈

• (Marshall Lee x reader) • r a t i n g: t e e n & u p • 2 4 2 5 w o r d s • p o s t e d 24.09.2023 🌧 navigation ☔️ SEQUEL • s u m m a r y: marshall likes snooping around, and you like peace and quiet.

The rain fell on the grasslands of Aaa and surrounding areas. The animals in the forests hid under trees, candy citizens ran into bars, and Marshall Lee floated high off the ground.

He floated to the empty Tree House. The willow branches dripped with cold water and glistened like rhinestones. He tapped on the glass. No one answered. Adjusting his jacket and turning invisible, he let himself in, prying the glass up with his claws. It opened with a slight screech. He flew in, shaking the raindrops off his leather jacket.

The water dropped to the wooden ground. He looked up and flinched, turning visible as he was met with a figure on the couch in the kitchen.

They held a left-handed guitar made of bone, decorated with worn stickers. They held a pick shaped like a heart as they strummed out chords of Francis Forver, strumming the e-string angrily each time they messed up, concentrating so hard it was almost intimidating.

Marshall floated above them as he zipped up one of his pockets.

You jolted up, stopped playing, nearly dropped your guitar, and with wide eyes watched as some guy appeared in front of you.

He had mint skin, black hair wet from the rain, black and red eyes you never got used to, and an expression that confused you. Maybe fear, or worry. You screamed, and he did as well. It was Marshall Lee- kind of a friend of a friend with whom you occasionally crossed paths.

Kinda a person you thought was mad cool, but not someone you were close with.

"What are you doing here?" He asked. His voice was calm and bordering on deep. You hadn't heard him speak much, and it was startling.

You raised a brow.

"I could ask you the same question!" You jabbed.

He floated down, eyes staring at your instrument.

"Nice guitar." He bent over to inspect it. You pulled away. His tone was between mocking and impressed. Personal space breached, raise the grimace shields.

He was acting quite calm. You were, too. Internally, though, you screamed, your heartbeat wild, hands drumming on your thighs.

"Um... thanks? Did Fionna invite you over?" You changed your posture from a slouch to the straightest and stiffest pose known to Aaa. Even your tone was stiff. You weren't a person who was comfortable with others around, often becoming a robotic, clumsy mess, and you were even worse with people you barely knew. Cool people you barely knew? Instant death.

"Nope."

Your face flashed with concern. Marshall wasn't... malicious, but he was trouble, and glob forbid he dragged you into some antics. Can't a guy practice some guitar on a rainy afternoon?

"As LSP would say, I'm crashing." He shrugged casually.

You strummed your guitar. It was still connected to your demonic amp. The amount of demons you had to fight to get that thing was crazy. But it was worth it. The sound was clear, the controls were precise, and it sounded otherworldly, especially with deadstortion.

He floated near you and nearly stood on his feet. The silence hung in the air as your eyes drifted around the kitchen.

"Mind if I try?" He spoke gently, far more soft compared to his usual sass. It could be something he put on in front of groups of people. Or maybe your deer-in-headlights demeanor was enough to make even him more careful.

Your eyes fell on him and you folded your arms, not before gesturing to the instrument swiftly.

"Uh no, go ahead." You nodded and raised your shoulders, tense.

Marshall scooped it into his arms. It fit great. His long fingers spanned across the frets nicely. He had hands made for playing guitar, and that made you envious. Even with practice, you couldnʼt reach so far. He positioned himself, floating mid-air.

Your face was a mix of curiosity and surprise.

"No pick? Just... fingers?" You raised a brow, the words coming out faster than you thought. He laughed lightly, and you flushed.

"I'm good with them." You choked on air as you sat stiffly, stifling a nervous laugh. If you were flushed before, now all your blood was definitely in your awkward face.

He strummed and his long ears perked up at the sound.

"You're left-handed?" He bit the edges of his black lips, positioning his fingers. He didn't need to take so long doing all that. He was stalling. Curious.

"Not quite. A dragon tore off one of my left fingertips, so I can't hold down the frets without gross pain," You rambled quietly as you rested against the red cushions.

He played what was definitely, unmistakably Misirlou. You had to close your mouth at the speed of his wrist. Looking at that shit was enough to give your wrist a sprain.

He lifted his hands, holding the guitar loosely as he stared in your general direction expectantly. You cleared your throat.

"You seem good at left-handed playing. I've only seen you play right before." Marshall's expression flashed disappointment for a second before returning to a chill one.

"I've had a thousand years to learn, if I couldn't play either, that would be embarrassing." He smiled. Damn, that guitar suited him...

"Same with money... imagine being poor after like a thousand years..." You tapped on the table, lost in thought, partially about vampires, but mostly about a vampire.

"I can't, I own half of Aaa and my mom is the ruler of the Nightosphere. I used to own this Tree House!" He motioned to a part of the tree, and objects lifted to reveal an M carved into it.

"I remember that. I wasn't there but I heard about it." You nodded.

"Guess you've heard a lot about me?" He lifted his brows.

"Quite a- oooh. I get it."

"Get what?" A grin tugged at his lips.

"That wasn't an actual question, was it?" You squinted up with a smug expression.

"Wow. Pretty and smart. Package deal," He said with the perfect delivery- just the right amount of casualness for the line to be missed unless you were paying attention. And you indubitably were; you dearly hoped he didn't notice and you came off as cool and mysterious. Your flush and rigidity betrayed your discomfort.

Marshall passed you your guitar, and you leaned on it with your elbow, brushing hair away from your face as you looked around the room, searching for something interesting.

Dishes. Fridge. Your shaky hands. Paintings. Tree bark. A bug in the corner. Inevitably, your eyes fell back on Marshall. Your attention jumped from his clothes to his hair, to his inhuman features.

"Why are you staring?" You blanched and your expression fell. You met his eyes. If you looked down you'd be even more suspicious.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to. Your eyes are...." You trailed off. Shit. You weren't looking at his globdamn eyes, but you weren't about to say "Nice cock, bro".

"Horrifying? Demonic?" You swore he floated closer to you. You recoiled, pursing your lips.

"Interesting."

Good save, idiot.

His arrogant little facade faded, replaced by tired disappointment.

"It's also interesting how you're already tall but still float."

He shrugged.

"Alright, I'll bite." He stood on the ground. You finally got a good look at his frame and height, and man was that good look good. Every part of him was long and slim, from his ears to his eyes and fingers, and who else knows what. You slapped yourself internally at the thought.

He sat down next to you, setting his right calf onto his left thigh. He inclined his head.

"Not literally." He flashed the tips of his fangs. He fished a box of cigarettes out of his pocket, turning to you and slicking back his drying hair.

"You want some?"

You grimaced.

"No. and you shouldn't smoke inside. And this shit is bad for your vocal health." The rain still raged on, yet it felt like a calming ambiance when in the comfort of the Tree House.

"Aww, come on. Just once," He beckoned sweetly, nearing your face, feigning demonic puppy eyes. You shook your head. He set them down on the couch, as well as a red lighter. So much of his stuff was red. It was like if you had everything made outta food.

"It's like murder. It's a slippery slope."

You bounced your leg, checking your phone. You scrolled through your notifications. As empty as your heart.

"Sometimes I check my messages and realize just how bitchless I am..."

"Can't relate. I have lots of friends and messages...." He spread his arms over the backboard, gesturing in the air as his eyes wandered. He had a real soulful expression, as though he was speaking of glob itself.

Marshall dropped his arms, sighed, and frowned.

"Okay, yeah, I don't have anyone close to me. Sure I hang out with people but I'm kind of a loner," He admitted quietly, reminiscent of your insecure and anxious tone.

"You saw me earlier. I'm not much of a loner as much as I am a loser..."

"That's where we're different. But together we make a lone loser." He gestured to his unbeating heart, speaking like a damn motivational speaker. You smiled.

"Perfect."

A silence lingered. If not for the raging storm out, you would've heard the caw of a cyclops crow.

The silence turned strange as you made prolonged eye contact. Your proximity sent you into a fever. He didn't have any warmth- it felt like you had stolen all of it at once.

You tore your gaze away, opening up a portal with your pick and putting your guitar in. Marshall's eyes widened and he jerked in surprise.

"Where did that go?!" His voice strained against serenity.

"Uhhh I put it in its case. Between the Nightosphere-" You lifted your hand.

"The Nightosphere?" He interrupted with worry.

"-And the deadworlds. Let me finish." You readjusted yourself, unamused.

"Oh, I'll let you finish alright. Not like that. Are you finished?"

Your mouth was agape.

"You made that a lot worse than it was. Yes, I'm done."

You would never forget the awkwardness that plagued you throughout that whole interaction. It would forever be embedded in your cringing bones.

You browsed on your phone, refreshing your conversation with Fionna. No updates. Not even a bad meme. Sad.

Your arms rested on the table as you set your phone face down. You contemplated making tea.

"Why haven't we talked much before?"

That was a difficult question. You braced yourself as you turned your head to him just a tad.

"Honestly? I was... afraid of you. Not because of the demon vampire thing," You quickly defended yourself.

"That's surprising..." Marshall mumbled.

"Sorry." He raised his arms defensively.

"But because you're... I'm gonna sound stupid." You laid face down and laughed nervously, in sync with the drops hitting the windows.

"I doubt that. You're not Fionna."

The corners of your mouth tilted up, and you shot the vampire a dirty look.

"Shut up!" You laughed hollowly, surprised by his little joke.

He gave you a tight-lipped smile.

"You're cool, and I thought you were better than interacting with someone like me." The words did sound stupid coming out of your mouth. The thoughts were completely irrational.

"Someone with mutual interests and more to talk about than hacking monsters or angry exes?" He quirked a brow.

"I'm not trying to rationalize it. Also, I have plenty of exes to talk about." You raised your phone.

Marshall's face was practically begging you to not.

"Please don't."

"Fine. You're safe. For now. One was a demon." You glared at a picture of them with you. He peeked over your shoulder.

"That's interesting...."

"You said not to talk about it." You leaned on your palm, feigning disinterest.

"I take it back, come on! Don't leave me hanging," He asked desperately, ghosting his black claws over your now upright back. You shuffled away.

"You'll have to beg-"

Your phone buzzed. You hummed with displeasure, reading the message right away.

"Glob. You gotta go, Fionna will be here soon," You urged as you stood up, straightening out your clothes and stretching as you paced around the room. Marshall paused for a second and decided to stand up.

"You're right. No fun getting caught." He shoved his hands into his pockets, walking to the window. You watched his movements carefully as he opened up the window, putting his foot on the ledge, and floating, defying gravity.

As he left, you were hit with a lot of. A lot. Just, a lot.

You put the kettle on the stove, sitting on the counter, relaxing, finally.

You had always... wanted to hang out with him, but, damn, you didn't think it'd happen. And he wasn't as intimidating as he came off! You felt all funny inside, still absolutely high off the adrenalin of it all. When you saw him appear it was like your body got restarted.

The water began to boil, and you poked at dry leaves of colorful tea.

You were surprised as Marshall flew back in. You didn't have time to process a thing. He observed you as you lounged with owlish eyes. He picked up his lighter and cigarettes. He hadn't looked away.

"Forgot these." He glanced from the objects to you. He headed for the window again. He hesitated.

"These aren't tobacco, you know."

You raised your brows. He flew out as the front door rattled and Fionna and Cake yelled loudly. You waved to Marshall, only to see that he was gone, and the window was open.

You sat like a statue with a mystified gaze.

The kettle whistled and Fionna waved her hand in front of your face.

Did you fumble or did you fumble hard? Maybe if you had taken the offer, something else would be ha...

"Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost," Cake frowned, poking your knee. You moved the kettle and Fionna turned off the stove.

"No, I saw a... yep, saw a ghost. A cool ghost," You replied breathlessly and somewhat robotically as you finally managed to focus on the two. You poured hot water from the kettle into your favorite mug. It had a cat on it. Dropping tea leaves into the water, you watched as the leaves seeped a bright ruby, and swirled with darker, near-black swirls.

Rain still poured outside, albeit it was far calmer than previously. You hoped Marshall was fine.

You held up two more mugs. You smiled awkwardly.

"Anyone want tea?"

#☂️#w r i t i n g #a d v e n t u r e t i m e #adventure time #marshall lee x reader #marshall lee

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