#harringrove au fic

[lovebillyhargrove]

***

When Hargrove opens the fridge at the Byers' after their epic, having brought sweetness to his blood flow, fight with Harrington

Everyone around is yelling, the King of losers is stitching up his wounds, having put an icepack on his busted eye,

"Just shut the fuck up, Jesus, let me grab a beer and we're going home, Maxine! I'm not dealing with any more of Neil's bullshit tonight!"

And watches the demodog fall out of it —

He's unfazed.

Infinitely disappointed, probably.

"Fuuuucking shit. Had to relocate to this shithole of a town in the middle of no-fucking-where to face the same motherfucking insanity. God fuuuucking damn it .." Billy lets out a sigh of utter annoyance.

Bummer.

***

A harringrove au where Billy has already seen and fought demodogs a-la californian style, wearing shorts and a tank top. Nothing new, really, been there, done that. There's a crowbar, an axe and a 12 gauge 1887 Winchester shotgun (terminator2 !!) in his baby's trunk. Also, a Colt M1911 and a hammer in the glove compartment.

"Is there a chance you have a bazooka lying around somewhere?" A stunned Harrington is trying to make a joke, clutching his bat and studying the display of weapons.

[runraerun]

Heard a random 90s rock song & it legit got me thinking about Steve & Billy meeting again in their twenties... Like what if s3 never happened? After the fight at the Byers, Billy kept his head down & avoided Steve? I see him as being consumed by a sense of guilt/shame & yet still not being able to apologise until, that is, the day of their graduation when he's suddenly overcome with a need to just get it off his chest. He's been crushing on this guy since he got to Hawkins & he blew whatever chance he had of even just a friendship with him, but it doesn't matter now cos he's getting out of this shithole as quickly as possible, but he can't have this guilt gnawing at him any longer...So maybe he deliberately makes sure he bumps into steve at some point and mutters out a: "Harrington. We need to talk." And sucking on a cigarette like his life depends on it, hands shaking, barely making eye contact, Billy gives the world's shittiest apology. And it feels like his heart's gonna beat out of his chest & Steve's just standing there, staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face, before saying something like: "yeah, man. I'm sorry for that night too." (In my mind either Max let drop something about Billy's homelife or Steve has deduced something's not right). Anyway. Billy finally feels like he's able to breathe again for the first time in months UNTIL steve unknowingly utters the world's most devastating sentence: "I think we could've been friends if, y'know, shit hadn't gone down the way it did...oh well." And steve gives a sort of little grin and a laugh as if what he said wasn't a major deal. "Heard you're headed back to California?" Steve asks, and Billy's barely able to nod, still struck dumb by Steve's previous offhand comment. And maybe someone calls Steve's name and suddenly that's it. The moment is broken & Steve's leaving with a "Guess I'll see you around, Hargrove... or not" and a goofy little salute. And Billy thought he'd feel better. But in fact he feels worse. Because holy shit. Steve just said they could have been friends. And that's gonna haunt him for years....

Cue a few years later and they run into each other in Chicago (listen, the idea of Billy returning to California only to realise it no longer feels like home and maybe it never did consumes me), but yeah. They bump into each other accidentally and holy shit. Steve Harrington. He looks almost exactly the same. Other than the fact he's grown out the mullet and holy shit, are those highlights in his hair??? And billy's stunned by what looks like a genuine grin of delight that crosses Steve's face once he recognises who he's walked into. And maybe they chat for a little while; Billy doesn't even know what he's saying he's so in shock at meeting his highschool crush again. But just like the last time someone calls steve's name and of course steve has a girlfriend, of course he does (joke's on billy, cos it's just robin) and suddenly the moment's broken again and steve's walking away with a casual "it was good to see you again, billy" and billy is gripped with the thought that he can't let steve slip through his fingers again. how many people get a second chance like this? he can feel his old highschool crush flickering back to life where it's buried deep in his chest and maybe steve will never like billy like that but holy shit. billy still remembers the day steve said that maybe they could have been friends if things had been different and things are different now so why not take a chance??? and billy has never felt so brave or so fucking scared in his life as he does when he steps forward and calls after steve: "Hey Harrington! Wanna meet up and catch up properly some time?" and Steve's attention is back on him and goddamn. Billy didn't even realise how much he missed those eyes until now. ANyway!! This got away from me!! But 90s Harringrove pls and thank. Also the song i heard was lightning crashes by live. like the lyrics aren't even that appropriate but there's such a nostalgic feel to it.

oh my god. OH MY GOD.

Anon, this whole message has got me in a chokehold. Like, it’s such a direct hit. 🎯🎯🎯Billy choking on an apology because he’s so painfully unfamiliar with the very concept, the absolute devastation of hearing the potential of being friends with Steve was there, but he blew it, the PINING… urgh. How Steve can unknowingly fatally wound Billy just like that.

AND THEN THE HIGHLIGHTS ARE YOU JOKING?!

I hope that things get away from you many many more times, because this was incredible.

Okay okay. Now, if I may, I will now attempt to match your freak.

ahem

—

By some serendipitous fuckin’ miracle, Steve agrees to exchange digits with him. They couldn’t find a napkin or any other god forsaken scrap of paper to write on, so they just scribbled their numbers down onto each other's arm. Billy was so fucking on edge that when he was peering down at the pale expanse of Steve’s mole-speckled forearm he damn near forgot his own phone number. Jesus, he’s a wreck…

At least whenever it comes to Harrington, anyway. Dude has like, Billy’s own personal strain of kryptonite woven in through his DNA or some shit. It would explain why his hands always get clammy and his knees feel like they’re made of fucking jello every time Steve flashed those pearly whites his way.

Christ, Hargrove, get it together…

Billy had spent the rest of the week running a finger along the wobbly looking numbers, fading more and more every day. Before they fade completely through, he finally finds his balls and dials Steve’s number.

A girl picks up, which… well, Billy knows Steve has a girlfriend. He didn’t know they’re living together though… but whatever, it don’t change shit.

“Steve around?” He asks, clenching the receiver in his fist so tightly that he can hear the plastic creak.

“Who’s asking?” The girl says, sounding pleasant despite her words. Sandy-haired, freckles. Cute, Billy remembers. Harrington always did go for the cute ones.

“Billy,” he answers, “Billy Hargrove. He’ll know who I am.”

“Oh, Billy,” The girl’s voice draws out his name like it’s an answer to a question that she’d been stuck on. “It’s about time you called.”

Which. That…

What the hell does that mean?

While Billy’s puzzling it out, she hears the girl holler for Steve, telling him Billy is on the line. His name is said with a weird amount of familiarity.

Billy switches ears and shakes out the stiffness in his hand. Focuses on breathing evenly instead of the steady flow of questions suddenly piling up in his head.

“Billy?” Steve’s voice, clear as a bell, asks from the other line.

Billy clears his throat, “hey, man.”

“Hey. I was just about to call you.” Steve says, doing that thing where he so casually drops bombs onto Billy’s world, leveling his cities with a passing word.

“Beat you to it.” Billy grins, and hears the little huff of a laugh on the other line.

“Always so competitive,” Steve teases, and Billy can just hear the smile. It makes his chest ache. It’s the sweet kind of ache, though. “Haven’t you ever heard it’s not winning that matters, it’s taking part?”

Billy shakes his head even though Steve can’t see him and sneers, “sounds like some shit losers say to each other.”

That gets a genuine laugh from Steve, all breathy and sharp, and Billy feels himself laughing along from the sheer thrill of getting Steve going.

“Jesus, I forgot how much of an asshole you are.” Steve sighs, but there’s no heat behind it. Just shit talk. It’s fine. What guys do.

“Yeah yeah. Can’t change my spots, or whatever.” Billy mumbles as he scuffs his boot along the floor. Fucking antsy. Jonesing for a cigarette. Just get on with it you piece of shit. He takes a breath and then takes the plunge. “So listen, we should hang out this weekend. I know a few good bars where we could catch up. Maybe get into some trouble.”

Steve makes a scoffing sound, “what kind of trouble are we talking here, Hargrove?”

His heart jackrabbits in his chest. He loves this part. Billy brings the receiver just a little closer to his lips. “The fun kind, Harrington.” He murmurs, voice pitched low.

There’s a brief, unbearably tense couple of seconds where Steve doesn’t speak. He just lets Billy dangle like a hooked fish. Static from the line. He doesn’t breathe. Then.

“Friday at 8?” Steve tosses the offer out, real casual-like. And with it, Billy feels the muscles around his neck and shoulders relax, like he got shot with a tranquilizer dart. Steve continues, “You wanna meet at the same coffee shop from before? I live in the apartment building just across the street from it.”

Fancy, Billy thinks. Of fuckin’ course. All the buildings on that block are the high end kind; with door men and balconies and working elevators. Billy only ever finds himself in that leg of the city when a pipe bursts or a sink gets clogged and Billy gets called in to fix it. Of course Steve’s living in the lap of luxury here in Chicago. Mommy and Daddy’s only child. Not that it’s his fault, Billy supposed. Some people are just born luckier than others.

“Sure, rich boy,” Billy grins, “bring your appetite though, I’m buying nachos.”

Steve heartily agrees. Because obviously. Who the hell could say no to that? Rich or poor, nachos are nachos.

It ain’t a date. It ain’t. It’s just two guys hanging out, y’know, catching up. For old times sake. Getting into some trouble, like Billy said. It ain’t date.

So what if he calls and asks Heather to pre-approve his outfit when everything he owns suddenly looks stupid on him? And who cares that he dabs double the amount of cologne onto his chest and triple down his pants—Billy likes to smell good, it ain’t a big deal. He wears a silver chain around his neck, the one that matches his earring, and undoes a few more buttons than usual to show it off. It’s cold this time of year but he figures they’ll be inside for most of the night anyway. Drinking, shooting pool, tossing darts. Shit like that.

Billy chain smokes as he waits outside of the coffee shop, sucking back one cigarette after the other, trying not to think about how he’s about to see Steve fucking Harrington again; the one who got away. Or, one one Billy never even fucking had a chance with in the first place, more like. He keeps wondering if he’s making a mistake. If he should just go home, forget he ever ran into that long legged, poofy haired, Bambi-eyed—

But then Steve’s there, handing Billy some froo-froo drink from inside (somehow they’d missed each other???) before he starts giving Billy a hard time for still not having a proper winter coat. Steve’s got highlights in his hair and eyeliner on his lower lashline and a spot of foam from his drink on the tip of his nose and Jesus fuck.

Billy’s in trouble.

[ghostlynimbus]

POV: You're Steve Harrington and the sea monster you're letting chill in your pool is kinda hot though. 😏

(Mer Billy Art for my fic Son of the Sea, available on AO3)

[makeadealwithdean]

modern au where billy is a dancer at a gay club and he does his routine to "one of your girls" by troye sivan, cause who doesn't love a blond twunk?

and he's in the middle of his routine when he notices steve fucking harrington in the second row (or maybe he watches steve walk in and sit down in front of his stage idk) and he's fucking shook out of his mind to see his old high school rival here of all places. partly because it's been like 5-7 years since they've seen each other last (graduation basically), and partly because up until two fucking seconds ago, billy thought steve was like 100% straight.

and billy is so goddamn shook to see steve again that he accidentally, subconsciously directs his whole routine towards him, and steve, for his part, is equally shook to see anyone he knows here, much less billy hargrove, but of course, he can't look away.

and then when it's time for the part of the routine where billy picks a random audience member to give a preview lap dance to,,, take a wild guess who he picks 😈

-a concept of a fic that i might write soon, who knows?

[flayedintheusa]

Steve Harrington is fucking confusing.

When he found out they were going to the same college, he didn’t think anything would really change. Not about either of them. They’d interact less, the campus was big. See you around in the most literal sense. Maybe once every couple weeks, maybe more if they had the same gen ed course. Maybe.

But he does see Harrington around. More than he thought he would. Like their paths crossing was integral to the fabric of the universe, he just kept seeing him. But it’s confusing. It’s hard to make sense of the things he’s seeing.

After locking eyes headed different directions at the opening orientation event, him on one sidewalk and Billy on the other, thirty feet away, Harrington smiled at him. That smile you share with people you know in a place you don’t. Fancy seeing you here. Billy watched. Waited for the other shoe to drop.

Something dropped, but not the other shoe. Something deep in the pit of his stomach when he went to the welcome meeting, first of the semester, for the new LGBT club on campus. He was pushing boundaries with himself; letting himself slowly crack his protective casing. Find himself now that he’s somewhere he can. He’s allowed. There’s no one here who will shove him down, knock him over, berate and assault him. He repeats it on his brain, a steady and small and pitiful 45 record, move the needle back, repeat, accept, it’s ok. And Harrington was there. There was that smile. Fancy seeing you here. Soft on the edges. Someone you know in a place you don’t. Acceptance is new ground for the both of them.

It should have been his sign, that Steve Harrington would only get more confusing.

Next time he sees Harrington, he’s at a party. Last night of orientation. Big bash to break into syllabus week with a bang. First hurrah. Steve’s rushing through the main room of the party and up the stairs tugging a girl by the hand. He’s pretty sure he remembers her from Hawkins, too. Her hair is longer and she seems to have broken out of the semi-style she’d had, here in college where one often establishes themself free of hometown ties and familial contingencies. Even back home, Billy can remember them being close. Notably. And Steve drags her across the cluttered floor, dodging flailing appendages and winding around bodies, fingers linked together and pulling her up the stairs. Which doesn’t really mean anything, but we all know what that insinuates.

Billy doesn’t see him for the rest of the night.

Almost.

He caches him on his way out the back, shotgunning a joint on the back porch not even an hour later with some socialite over-sharer with the base of his skull buzzed, talking astrology and You need a Leo. Someone to pamper. with a lackadaisical smile and far away eyes.

Harrington’s eyes are far away, too. They slowly tread the air like water until they reach Billy. Billy’s a Leo. He smiles slowly. Fancy seeing you here.

They haven’t talked. There’s no need. Or it felt like there wasn’t.

He’s just getting more and more confused with every almost-interaction. He can’t pin Harrington down. He has before, literally, and part of him grasps at straws to reckon that King Steve with this new one. This new one, that actually seems to live up to the title. The King of himself, not carefully cracking his casing, just immediately unfurling his wings. Billy’s still stretching them out, getting a feel. Freedom is sipped warily from his cup; Harrington downs the whole thing like Bacchus.

Second Monday of the semester, he’s lying on the library green beside the back-lot entrance with his head in a girl’s lap, air of flirtation as he draws on her ankle. Pretty, small, blonde. Giggling and flipping through a thin array of notes. It’s only the second week, after all. It’s easier to see. That’s the Harrington he knows, flirting with pretty girls and cocky about it. That feels normal.

What’s not normal is finding him that Friday at the bar caddy-corner to campus. It’s not easy, finding Harrington dancing on a table, looking downright androgynously slutty. He’s not the only one up there, but he’s the only one Billy can see. Glittering in low light. Lips heavy, parted. Lids heavy, cracked. Lashes heavy, shaded with coal and shadowing sharp cheeks contoured carefully. His eyes find Billy, chin a steady line following his body. His teeth peek out on his sly smile, just a small quirk. Fancy seeing you here. Much lighter and with much more weight at the same time.

It’s easier to justify he’s still the same Steve Harrington when he’s backwards-capped and sinking celebrity beer pong shots and hollering like a high school dropout. When he’s fratty and polo-cuffed with daddy’s money and laughing loudly at an Alpha Chi party.

It’s harder to remember that Steve Harrington when he walks in on him getting his lips glossed by some guy in the English building. Pretty, pink, plump lip thinning only very slightly as he smiles at Billy, glinting a perfect bright white block from the bathroom ceiling light right back at him.

Always smiling at him. Always looking like he doesn’t mind being seen by Billy. Billy, who’s slowly accepting his wings, can only stare at Steve’s. They don’t make sense. He’s a walking conundrum. A sick, metal as hell steampunk-owl-clock-eyes tattoo fresh and damaging right on his thigh when his shorts stretch too far in the caf. Duality of man; a watercolor-smudged crack up the length of his outer forearm that looks like pink and purple and rose-tinted ink just leaks right out of him.

Bloody knuckles and a blackened eye, lip split.

Painted nails and winged eyeliner, highlight glittering on his cheek.

His brain can’t figure him out anymore. Steve Harrington found himself and Billy can’t for the life of him make it make sense.

Not until midterms.

It makes a bit more sense, when Harrington’s coming up behind him at the stadium entrance for the Saturday game. When he nudges his shoulder against Billy’s, smiling at his semi-startled look. The girl from the first hurrah is setting her eyes to the sky on his other side, like finally.

He’s wearing a university sweatshirt, pulled up to his elbows. Fabric shorts cut off at the knee and rolling up at the frayed edges. His hair’s a mess in the wind, and he doesn’t try to fix it.

He doesn’t look confusing. He doesn’t look normal. He looks happy.

It feels like it locks in. Feels like the other shoe’s finally dropped, and wedges into his brain. The difference between finding yourself and being yourself. He might be trying too hard to fit into his own skin, and Steve might just be showing him how easy it is.

He’s still smiling at him, as if the fact that they haven’t actually talked the whole eight weeks they’ve seen each other— as if they haven’t even been close enough to— means very little.

The girl slaps his shoulder, shakes her head when Billy looks at her and rolls her eyes as if Steve’s being an idiot.

“Next!” the lady at the ticket stand shouts.

His eyes rake quickly over Billy’s thin college tee, his ripped up jeans and scuffed tennis shoes. “Fancy seeing you here.”

And it’s not. Not really.

But it sure suddenly feels like it.

[harringroveera]

Principal Higgins: You don’t mean that—

Jim: She does

[spaceofentropy]

I'm late as hell because of *waves hand at the gloomy weather and the general sense of crappiness* reasons, but better late than never, right? The fic I wrote for @ihni's zine (which is A GORGEOUS FREE ZINE!) is up on ao3, and you can find it here. It was beta read by @dragonflylady77, who also made the banner! Enjoy!

I'm hungry like a wolf Rated T, 4141 words Relationship: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington Main Tags: No Upside Down; Werewolf AU; full shitf werewolf; some animal gore; Rivals to Lovers It's the third full moon since he moved to Indiana, and Billy Hargrove can't fight his territorial instincts.

[alicetallula]

Harringrove Micro Fic & Art - April 2025 - Enchanted - 06.04.2025

For the @harringrovemicroficandart ✨

January - Crisis / February - Valentines / March - Childhood

Enchanted - Female Harringrove - 06.04.2025

I decided to go with Disney's Sleeping Beauty, but make it lesbians 💕😊

Done using watercolors, ink pens, alcohol marker, metallic ink pens, gel pens, acrylic paint pens and Photoshop for the background and sparkles effect

AO3 post / Bluesky post / DeviantArt post / Instagram post / Pillowfort post / Twitter post

[robthegoodfellow]

I've wanted to commission art for @fizzigigsimmer's fic He Who Holds the Devil (Harringrove Hannibal AU of my dreams) for ages and ages and ran the idea by @ihni a couple weeks ago who proceeded to create this masterpiece as a gift to gift to Fizzi 😭 Just a whole sequence of sneaky gifting.

But just LOOK at this!!! I'm still in slack-jawed awe. STEVE SWIMMING IN BILLY-SHARK INFESTED WATERS 🤩 Thank you thank you @ihni you're amazing 💛

Read the scene below:

Hargrove holds his stare and repeats slowly, “You do process it. Things the rest of us can barely even get a sense of, right?” 

Across the table, Hargrove has started to change yet again. The light of admiration washes over him in colors of pale yellow and sweet cream, until he shimmers—like Steve is viewing him from behind the glass at the aquarium. It’s stunning.

Steve swallows hard, and it takes him a deliberate moment to blink his eyes slowly and push the vision away. An uncomfortable heat prickles in his chest, discomforted with the evidence of the other man’s admiration of something he himself can only see as flawed. He doesn’t know what to do with it. [...]

The pink tip of Hargrove’s tongue appears in the corner of his mouth as he considers Steve with that probing gaze. He swaths a slick trail over his bottom lip, dark pupils dilating. Steve looks him in the eye, just for a moment, just for a taste, and sees blue lightning crackle within their depths.  

He inhales quick and soft as swirls of blue fill the room, transforming into waves. They push at the walls, breaking the diner around him like it’s made of matchsticks, obliterating it from existence. A wave crashes over his head, and Steve barely has time to gulp in a breath before he’s thrust down into the water. 

His heart pounds heavy and fast in his chest as he fights to swim toward the surface, but his movements slow when he senses that he is not alone in the depths. Turning slowly, he sees a dark shape in the water, growing larger as it swims towards him—recognizes the graceful sway of its body before it comes fully into view. Steve goes still, the surface forgotten. 

It’s a sandbar shark, colossal in size—king of its kind. It glides towards him, turning its long powerful body as it makes a wide arc and begins to circle. The meaning is clear: somewhere in the depths of Billy Hargrove a predator lurks, and Steve is in its sights. 

He’s gone too deep. He should be fighting to get back to the surface, back to himself, but that’s not the job. Steve doesn’t fight the pull of Hargrove’s mind. He forces his muscles to relax. His heart begins to slow. He kicks his feet and delves deeper.  

As he swims down into the deep blue the shark is never far, sometimes gliding just below or above in a lazy orbit. Despite Steve’s initial fear, it seems in no hurry to harm him, and he takes advantage of their silent truce to admire the impressive length of its body and smooth bronzy skin.  

What a beauty you are. 

[shieldofiron]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ice Skating, Figure Skater Billy Hargrove, Figure Skater Steve Harrington, Rivalry, Rivals With Benefits, Anal Sex, Topping from the Bottom, Choking, Safe Sane and Consensual, Semi-Public Sex, Soft Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Men Crying, Getting Together, Love Confessions, Short & Sweet Summary:

At last year’s World Championships, Hargrove had taken the gold by only two points. An extra spin of a rotation that could have pushed Steve’s jump into a quad. That’s all it would have taken.

But instead he’d been stuck on the second rung of the podium, his costume itching his neck, as he looked out over the crowd and tried not to fucking cry.

Steve didn’t think, he just shoved, temper flaring hot. Hargrove looked truly shocked, floating back a little on his skates, blue-green eyes wide. Like he didn’t actually expect Steve would have the balls.

But it didn’t take him long to recover, easily eating up the distance with his skates and grabbing Steve by the collar, jerking him close. Cold air blasts down the collar of his pullover, and the heat from Hargrove’s breath sears his upper lip with heat.

[fkinkindagauche]

A Helping Hand

We are back with the deranged Harringrove Merfolk of Lake Michigan AU. This one is a fill for @harringrovewinterbingo, square B1 - "coffee shop".

Rating: Explicit | WC: 2,537 | Tags: AU - No Upside Down, AU - Merpeople, Enemies to lovers who are still enemies, hand jobs, mutual masturbation | CW: None for this one.

The fic can also be read on AO3. The first two installments in this AU are The First Taste and Not a Fish, Out of Water. While this can be read without going through those, reading those will enhance your experience!

Many, many thanks to @dame-zoom-a-lot for continuing to beta this series! Please check out their awesome Tumblr posts of Murray's field notes, set in this AU: Day 0 Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4

"What the fuck is that?" Billy asked, pointing at the steaming cardboard cup held tightly between Steve's hands.

"It's coffee," Steve replied, like that told Billy fucking anything. Harrington could be so goddamn snotty. "I got it from that little shop." He pointed behind him at one of the storefronts lining the dinky little main street. Steve sat down next to Billy on the bench, looking at the deserted, snow-covered park in front of them.

They'd spent the day canvasing this stupid town looking for El, coming up with nothing, as usual. They'd been here for a week, and hadn't gotten a single lead. Made Billy wonder if Max had been wrong about El's stupid little boyfriend living in Hawkins. El was a merperson, too. She should have been as clueless as Steve and Billy had been upon first coming out of the lake and entering the human world. How was she managing to hide so well?

A weird scent wafted from Steve's cup, like nothing Billy had ever smelled before. He wrinkled his nose. "What is that?"

"I told you. It's coffee," Steve repeated with a little smirk, taking a sip. He was bouncing his legs a mile a minute, the motion in his peripheral vision was driving Billy nuts.

"What. The fuck. Is coffee?" Billy grumbled through clenched teeth.

Steve stopped bouncing his legs for a second and looked at Billy. "It's a drink adult humans seem to like," he said, speaking much faster than usual." He didn't wait for Billy to reply before continuing. "Apparently it's some sort of stimulant, but you can mix it with all sorts of sugary things. It's like a hot dessert that gives you lots of energy. You wanna try it?"

Steve stuck the hot cup out jerkily, nearly splashing Billy in the face.

Billy sent him a suspicious glare. "You tryin' to poison me again?" Steve had, in fact, poisoned Billy once when they were fifteen after Billy's team absolutely obliterated Steve's in obelisks.

Steve rolled his eyes. "That was only a little poison, definitely not enough to kill you. Just give you a little tummy ache."

"A little tummy ache?" Billy spluttered. "I was sick for days!"

"Well you should've thought about that before you broke my arm," Steve insisted.

Billy crossed his arms over his stomach and harrumphed.

Steve pointedly took a sip of the coffee then held it out to Billy. "See? No poison."

Billy grabbed the cup. He took a big gulp, just to be sure Harrington couldn't accuse him of being a pussy. Then he instantly spat it out all over the snow in front of him.

"That's disgusting!" he yelped. "It's, like, trying to be sweet and failing."

Steve let out a full-throated laugh, his head falling back. Billy stared at the line of his throat. He could kiss it. Fuck no.

Billy shoved the cup back into Steve's hand. "Enough dicking around," he said, voice gruff. "Let's go walk around the high school again."

They took off in the direction of the school, walking down mostly deserted streets. Billy thought he'd get to see actual cities, filled with all sorts of people. Instead, he was stuck in this backwater. It figured that his first trip above water was turning out to be a total drag.

Steve stopped twice more for coffee as they walked around that day. He would not shut up, talking a mile a minute, fueled by the coffee. Billy was ready to murder Steve by the time they got back to the motel where Murray had set them up before he'd fucked back off to his own town.

He took a long shower, to give himself time away from Steve's non-stop yapping. It also gave him time to further explore the discovery he'd made a few days ago. As the warm water loosened up his back, he looked down at his dick.

They'd been prepped on human anatomy during a course in school in case any of them ended up getting sent on a mission up top. So he knew that in addition to its excretory functions, his dick was also an external reproductive organ. But he hadn't known that touching it would feel so good. If he went at it long enough, he could get to a sensation almost like when he came from having his stalks or core stimulated in his mer body. It was kinda messy, but worth it. Especially if he did it in the shower, where the mess would just go down the drain.

He squirted some soap into his hand and grabbed his cock. It had already started to harden, just from him thinking about doing this. It only took a few pumps of his fist and then it was fully hard.

He kept stroking, twisting a bit every few strokes at the top. He tried very hard to keep his mind carefully blank, to just focus on the feeling of pleasure building in his lower abdomen. But he kept seeing little flashes of Harrington, like he did every fucking time he tried this.

It started with thinking about Steve's neck when he'd thrown back his head and laughed that morning, about how the two moles on his throat shifted. He thought about the laugh itself, the tone of it, so free and easy. He thought about Steve's lips, open enough to show his bright white teeth. Thoughts of Steve's lips made Billy's mind drift to the night of the midwinter party, before they'd come up onto land.

Billy gave up trying to avoid the thoughts and sank into the memory, pumping his hand over his cock furiously. He remembered the way Steve's lips had felt against his, so plush and soft despite the cut that Billy had elbowed into them earlier that night. Remembered the way Steve's stalks had felt against his core. He kept going, stroking his cock until his whole body clenched up with pleasure and the weird white liquid was shooting out of it.

He came down slowly, pulling in deep breaths. He made sure the stuff was all washed down the drain, wondering what the hell was in it. Eggs? Spores? Their class hadn't covered how reproduction worked for humans. They had only even talked about dicks so they'd know how to piss, and the reproductive aspect was just briefly mentioned.

Steve was practically vibrating when Billy came out of the bathroom. He had another fucking coffee in his hand.

"Are you sure that's a good idea before sleeping?" Billy asked, nodding to the cup as he toweled off his hair. Steve's eyes skittered over Billy's body as one of his legs bounced.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Steve asked.

Billy laughed. "Steve. It's a stimulant. Meant to keep you awake."

Steve frowned, like he hadn't thought of that before.

"Sometimes I wonder if there's anything going on in there," Billy said, flicking Steve's forehead.

Steve batted away Billy's hand, slamming his coffee down on the bedside table. "Fuck off, Billy."

Billy shrugged, sliding into his bed and turning on the TV. At least there were two beds at the motel. And a TV.

He loved watching the TV. It showed him the types of experiences he'd thought he would be getting coming up here - cities with huge buildings, beautiful humans, gun fights, car chases. Why was none of that happening in Hawkins?

Steve got up to dump his final coffee down the drain in the bathroom. He settled back in the bed, but got back up just minutes later to pace again. Then he went back to the bed. Then he got up again. Billy lost count of the times Steve tossed and turned in the bed only to get up again and pace.

"My chest feels funny," Steve complained while Billy was trying to watch a large bald man drive a car between two skyscrapers in a desert. "Like my heart's beating really fast."

"Do I look like I care?" Billy asked, looking over at him with what he hoped was an annoyed expression.

Steve let out an exaggerated sigh and flopped back down onto his bed. "Do you think I could die of coffee poisoning?"

"One can only hope," Billy muttered, jacking up the volume on the TV. Billy turned off the TV once the movie was over, settling into his bed to sleep.

"My stomach hurts," Steve whispered into the darkness. Billy threw a pillow at him.

Billy was just drifting off to sleep when Steve sighed loudly and flopped around in his bed.

"Harrington," Billy grumbled. "Calm the fuck down and go to sleep."

"I don't think I can," Steve whispered. "I think I'm gonna be awake forever."

Billy rolled his eyes at the melodrama. "Just fuckin' try, okay? Or at least be quiet about being awake."

Billy fell asleep pretty soon after that, but was woken up some time later by a loud crash and a muttered, "oops" from Harrington.

He sat up, turning on the lamp on the bedside table. Steve was standing by the window. A large book was on the floor beside him.

"What are you doing?" Billy snarled.

"Reading! To try to go to sleep," Steve explained. "It's a book by someone named Gideon, I found it in the bedside table. Not sure what a Bible is. But it's got some pretty brutal stuff going on."

Billy knew he was going to need to resort to drastic measures if he was going to get any sleep tonight. He could knock Steve out with that fat book he'd dropped on the floor. But if he didn't knock him out with the first hit, they'd end up beating the shit out of each other and that would get messy, and probably just rile Steve up even more. He did know one thing that was messy but much more calming. "Look, have you tried pulling on your dick?"

Steve gave him a very apprehensive look. "Have I tried what?"

"Your dick," Billy repeated, pulling the covers down and motioning to his. Steve looked down at his own dick. Neither of them wore clothes when they were in the motel room. They both still hated clothes.

"Why would I pull on it?" Steve asked. "Are you fucking with me?"

Billy sighed. "No, I'm not fucking with you. I figured it out the other day. Has it ever been, like, hard when you've woken up?" Steve nodded. "Well, if you pull on it a bunch, it gets hard like that, and if you keep going, it will get to the point where it feels like an orgasm."

Steve frowned. "Seriously?" He didn't look convinced. He probably thought this was some prank Billy was pulling.

Billy took his own cock in hand and started to stroke.

"Wh- what are you doing?" Steve asked, moving back to his bed and sitting on the edge.

"Showing you. Since you won't believe me." It had been long enough since his shower that he was able to get hard again. He let go for a moment to squirt a little lotion on his hand from a bottle on his bedside table. He threw it at Steve, who caught it on instinct.

"It feels better with something to smooth the glide," Billy explained. He took himself back in hand, moving his palm up and down the length.

Steve still looked incredibly suspicious, but intrigued. He put some lotion on his hand, then reached for his own cock. Billy watched as he stroked it a few times, trying to mimic Billy but not quite managing. His eyes kept darting back and forth between Billy's hand and his own, like he was trying to get it exactly right. The dumbass was thinking way too much, he hadn't even gotten hard yet.

"You're really bad at this, Harrington," Billy said with a huff. He walked over to Steve's bed and sat down beside him. "Watch from this angle." Billy resumed his stroking. His shoulder brushed against Steve's with each stroke. He could smell the soap Steve used (he'd insisted on buying a fancy brand that Billy refused to use), could feel the warmth coming off of Steve's skin.

Billy's cock was plenty hard now, but Steve's was still flagging. His hand movements were jerky, and his fist was too loose.

"May I?" Billy asked, motioning down to Steve's flaccid cock with his hand.

Steve shrugged. "Fine. But I don't think it works. I probably got a defective one."

Billy rolled his eyes. "No, you're just bad at it." He put one of his hands over Steve's, guiding the other man's hand in a few gentle strokes. "Squeeze a little harder, like this," Billy said, squeezing on Steve's hand. "Then sort of… twist it every once in a while."

He felt Steve's cock getting hard beneath their hands. "Oh," Steve muttered, surprised. "Okay." Billy let go since Steve seemed to get the hang of it. He stayed sitting next to Steve, reaching his hand back to his own cock.

He looked up briefly and froze. There was a blush spreading across Steve's chest, up his neck and onto his cheeks. Billy wanted to kiss that flushed skin, lick up the little beads of sweat building at Steve's collarbone. Fuck. Why did his brain have to keep doing this to him? Steve was not attractive. He was an insufferable privileged rich kid with too many moles. (Cute moles.)

Steve was panting now, the sound filling the small room. "Shit. This feels good," Steve mumbled. Billy watched the muscles of Steve's belly work as he thrust his hips up into his fist. He wanted to bite them.

"That's it," Billy encouraged, feeling pleasure build in his own body as he watched Steve. "Keep going." A bead of sweat started to drip down one of Steve's pecs and Billy couldn't fucking help himself. He bent his head forward and licked.

Steve yelped and shuddered as the white liquid shot out of his cock. Most of the mess stayed on his stomach but a few drops reached his face. "What the fuck?" Steve screamed, looking down at his dick in shock. "What the hell was that?"

Billy laughed, coming back to himself. Hopefully Steve would just forget that lick had ever happened in his shock. "Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that part."

Steve shoved Billy's shoulder with his free hand. "You forgot to mention that weird stuff would squirt out of my dick when I came?"

Billy shrugged. "Slipped my mind."

Steve wiped the liquid off his face. "It's sticky," he said in disgust. "What is it?"

"I don't know," Billy admitted. "Try to go to sleep now, princess."

Billy got up and slid back into his own bed as Steve went to the bathroom to wash himself off. Steve's breathing evened out quickly once he got back into his bed, so at least Billy would be able to get some sleep tonight.

He reached beneath his covers, taking his cock in hand again. If he thought of the way Steve's skin had tasted while he was touching himself, and the noises Steve had made when he'd come, that was fine. No one needed to know.

Ocean divider by @/saradika-graphics

[lovebillyhargrove]

*** a Harringrove au

Where Steve Harrington is a professional photographer, and today he is working with ..

This.

Gifs by @hoegrove

A movie star.

For the first time in quite some years of his career, Steve's hands tremble while holding the camera and he feels the rising need - to get totally unprofessional.

However, the young man whose pictures he's taking, seems indifferent, focused on the photoshoot and uh .. simply and absolutely uninterested.

Steve keeps on wondering, knees weak, heart racing, mouth dry

"Should I .. should I not ..? Doesn't he feel the tension?"

Harrington feels it alright, is he the only one feeling it? Wtf?

"He doesn't remember me!? .. At all ..!?"

***

[runraerun]

Chapter 4 of Easy as 123 is LIVE! 📺

And look! More wonderful art from @racketti <3 He really understood the assignment (commission) and brought Mr. H to life! 🥹♥️ I’m so obsessed. Thank you again, my friend!!

[ghostlynimbus]

A Place To Belong - AO3

-

Harringrove. Werewolves. Omegaverse.

With a focus on packs and pack dynamics.

-

Billy Hargrove is no stranger to getting himself into bad situations.

After all, he'd been so desperate to get away from his father he had still been just a kid when he joined whatever pack promised to take him furthest away from home.

And everyone knows only the really shady packs take in kids that young without their parents permission.

He’s changed packs a few times since then, and traveled far from where he started, but the quality of the company he keeps has done anything but improve.

But this, this is pretty bad, even by his standards.

Kicked out from his latest pack for talking out of turn, Billy finds himself packless, injured, and out in the snow.

-

(This is a rewrite/revamp of an older unfinished fic that I was unsatisfied with. This version is much more werewolfy, and hopefully will be better.)

[allthingssteddie]

Steve Harrington stepped out of his car and onto the driveway of the Hargrove ranch. He stretched his arms over his head, feeling the weight of the long drive from Hawkins settling into his muscles.

As he looked around, he took in the fields. It was a big property. This would be the first time Steve would have to work on a ranch. This wasn’t exactly what he wanted to do but with his dad refused to help pay for the repair to his car even though he had wrecked it in a drunken bender.

He grabbed his duffel bag from the small car and slung it over his shoulder, making his way towards the ranch house. As he approached, a figure emerged from the shade of the porch.

"Can I help you?" the figure asked gruffly, eyeing Steve's car and his yellow sweater.

Steve smiled, extending a hand. "Hey, I'm Steve Harrington. I'm here to work on the ranch."

The figure's gaze narrowed, and Steve caught sight of a nasty looking bruise spreading across the bridge of his nose.

"Billy," the figure muttered, ignoring Steve's outstretched hand. "My old man hired you."

Steve's smile faltered for a moment, but he recovered quickly. "Nice to meet you, Billy."

Billy's eyes flicked towards Steve's car again before he turned and walked back into the house, leaving Steve to follow.

As Steve trailed after Billy, he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the man's nose.

Following billy into the house, his eyes adjusting to the warm, cozy atmosphere within. As they walked into the kitchen, the aroma of cooking food filled his senses. A woman stood at the stove, stirring a pot of stew. She turned, a look of distress.

"Is that you, Billy?" she asked, her eyes flicking to Steve.

"Yeah, it's me," Billy replied, his tone curt. "And I brought the guy my dad hired. Do you know where he is?"

Before she could answer, a man stormed into the kitchen, his face red with annoyance.

"God damn it, Billy, I told you to take out the trash, and you made Maxine do it!"

The man's gaze shifted to Steve, and his expression changed to one of curiosity.

"Ah, Evan, right?" he said, extending a hand.

"Steve," Steve corrected, shaking the man's hand.

The man's face creased into a smile. "Yeah, well, Steve. My son here will be joining you out there."

Steve's eyes widened in surprise. "I thought I'd be doing this job myself."

The man chuckled. "Yeah, well, Billy here needs to learn some responsibility and be a man. Maybe you can teach him.

Billy's lip twitched at that, and Steve sensed a surge of resentment emanating from him.

Neil Hargrove nodded curtly. "You'll start at dawn tomorrow. Billy, show Steve to the guest house. He can stay there while you both working on the ranch."

Billy's scowl deepened, but he jerked his head towards the door. "Follow me."

Steve grabbed his duffel bag and trailed after Billy, feeling a sense of unease as they walked towards the guest house in silence.

As they reached the small cabin, Billy pushed open the door and gestured for Steve to enter. "You can drop off your stuff. We'll head back to the main house for dinner."

Steve nodded, stepping inside the cozy cabin. As he looked around, he noticed that the cabin was surprisingly tidy, with a single bed made up with fresh sheets.

Billy lingered in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room before settling on Steve's face. For a moment, they just stared at each other, both seeming uncomfortable.

Then Billy turned and walked away, leaving Steve to wonder what he had just gotten himself into.

Kind of a brokeback mountain au. Just a idea I had

[flayedintheusa]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington Characters: Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Heather Holloway, Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - College/University, House Party, Drinking, Fraternities & Sororities, its comedy and a quick escalation, Steve Harrington Wears Lingerie, Boy does he love it, Slight feminization, Nipple Play, Nipple Licking, Coming Untouched, Shout out to Diaper Guy Series: Part 2 of Higher Learnin’ Summary:

“What,” he says suddenly, eyes still trained on his chest. “What was that?”

Maybe he didn’t see it. Didn’t see enough. Or maybe he just needs to know for sure before he punches Steve in the face or something.

But his eyes are a bit heavier, almost attempting to bore his sight straight through the fabric if he tries hard enough. “Steve,” he says; it’s urgent, stepping a little closer, one of his hands swishing as it drags down the fabric of the jacket to grab at his hip. “What was that?”