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passivenovember · 3 years ago

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For the lovely @shewritesdirty, who requested 90s Skater!Billy and Confused, Fresh to Cali BabyBi!Steve for #HarringroveForUkraine !

Dude, I hope you enjoy!

“Where the hell did you find bandaids the color of the lesbian flag?”

Robin’s got a mural of dyed canvas sticking like frazzled wax strips to the hair that grows in bushels down the landing of her kneecap. She lulls against the furry green grass, knees knocking in a bowed arch as she turns her ankles in the warm July sun.

Steve pokes each bandaid to see if she’ll flinch.

Feels like maybe a churning of disgust at the sight of some of the gnarlier ones, orange peels that hang like posters over dots of black and blue, really is fitting when a spot of red bleeds through the canvas in the shape of Steve’s finger.

“It’s the millennium,” Robin says. “The late 1900s. And this is California.”

“So?”

“So, people don’t have the same kinda hangups when confronting homosexuality in the wild like they do back home–would you stop rubbing my leg raw like that?”

Steve jerks away, frowning when Robin nudges him with the toe of her sneaker. “Sorry, I just have a hard time imagining Robin Buckley on a skateboard.”

“Why?”

“Dunno,” Steve grumbles, settling next to her on the grass. “You can hardly ride a bike, for one thing.”

“Fuck off, I could make it across Hawkins in five minutes.”

“Yeah, but this is L.A.,” Even the name tastes like shit in his mouth. “The streets are full of businessmen riding scooters to grab takeout and, like. Weirdos aiming to contact the spirit world with a baggie of shrooms bubbling in their stomachs–”

“Gee, if I didn’t know any better and say you’re not feeling settled.”

“I’m not,” Steve admits.

And, like.

It’d be easy for Robin to wrinkle her nose and say, exasperated, that he just needs to give it more time. It’s still summer, not even a whole season has passed since Steve hugged the kids goodbye, snagged the ATM card with the link to his inheritance, and followed Robin to California.

It doesn’t matter.

Doesn’t burn like the kids want it to when Steve calls and admits that he’s ready to pack up his apartment and come home, that his life won’t be changed by the time cans of pumpkin pie appear again on the shelf.

Robin gets it. Understands him and, when Steve leans back against the green grass that afternoon, running a trepid finger over her bandaids, doesn’t regurgitate the same shit Steve hears from Dustin.

The way he thinks Steve’ll take on the world. The way Dustin knows he’ll make it a better place or something, Steve The Hair doing some good out here on his own--Dustin slings his affection like an anchor around Steve’s neck.

He doesn’t really blame the guy. Dustin doesn’t know any better.

Hawkins exists on its own plane like a separate, fern green spotted dimension where three months seems like three years to a teenager who’s only got sex and weed to pass the time.

Steve’s lived in downtown Los Angeles for three months. That’s enough time to have tried every hole-in-the-wall restaurant six times over. And the fact that he lives above a sex shop lost its appeal when Steve’s neighbor, this adonis who runs a cross-fit gym slid a note under Steve’s door asking if he’s as flexible as he looks.

And maybe Steve hasn’t spoken to anyone outside of Robin, but it’s safe to say the city is a fuckshow. Without the beach, it’d be a hellscape and like.

Steve used to despise Hawkins. The group of 200 kids we went to pre-k with. The monotony of fucking the same girls at the same parties every weekend, but at the mouth of the ocean where every day is bright orange and lemon trees grow on every street corner, he yearns for home.

Aches, like a fresh bruise.

Steve shakes his head, sinking back into his body. “How do you pop wheelies or whatever? On the street during the five o’clock rush?” Steve wonders, sitting to get a better grip on a flittering image of Robin; scraping her ass in front of Sunset Boulevard.

Robin frowns. “I don’t pop wheelies.”

“Skateboards have wheels, right?”

“Four of ‘em, good job, dingus–”

Steve marinates in the never-ending drone of traffic even though they’re far into the green, surrounded by fountains and fat little dogs chasing butterflies on the grass. “So if you do any kinda trick, isn’t that like popping a wheelie?”

“Are you high right now?” Robin squints. Thinks about it, then; “Shit, I guess you’re onto something. Or I’m high.”

Steve sits up straighter, not even trying to conceal his excitement. “Can you do a backflip?”

“On the board?”

“Yeah, like they do in Tony Hawk: Pro Skater?”

Robin snorts, like, “I’m not that good yet.”

“You aren’t good enough to do a flip?” Steve says. Whines, almost, like, “Why the fuck am I going to the park with you if you can’t even–”

“Look, dude, I’m not gonna take criticism from a guy whose knowledge of skateboarding begins and ends with a shitty play station game,” Robin says, rising to brush the dirt off the seat of her pants. “I invited you so you’d meet some new people.”

She stares at him expectantly, waiting for him to get up and follow along like a lost puppy dog. Steve crosses his arms instead. Decides to be difficult.

“C’mon Harrington.”

“I don’t need to be jump-scared into making friends.”

“At this rate, I’d have to disagree,” Robin chuckles. Then her voice gets soft. Softer, even though she kicks him a little bit. “How about I make you a deal. Come to the park with me today and I’ll start learning how to do backflips.”

Steve frowns, unmoved. “How do I know you’ve got the coordination for something like that.”

“I’ve got a pretty sick teacher.” Robin relents, holding out a hand to help Steve from the grass.

“Is that where you got the bandaids, from your super awesome skate crew?” Steve plucks at a dandelion, rolling the stem between his fingers. “Does she have lesbian bandaids to cover her bruises? Is that, like, a thing?”

Robin smirks. “It’s not a thing.”

“Your crew isn’t a bunch of tough lesbians?” Steve finally grabs her outstretched hand, adjusting as his head spins from standing up too fast. “They don’t cover themselves in orange and magenta?”

“Nah. We’re not a crew and my teacher’s not really much of a ‘patch up the scrapes so they don’t bruise,’ kinda guy. Plus, if he did use bandaids they’d be rainbow.” Robin narrows her eyes. “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

“You’re not learning to skateboard to impress some hot chick?”

–

There’s a hot chick, because of course there is.

Real Janelle Monet type with pretty skin, and her hair done up in little braids that swing pinched in the arms of a green scrunchie when Robin drags Steve through the chain-link to the skatepark and the girl screams, “Buckley!” Like Robin’s been away at war for the last ten years.

Robin gets red from tip to root, skateboard jabbing Steve in the side when she gathers the girl in her arms, barely holding still for the kisses that get peppered all across the bridge of her nose.

And the chick’s hands wander to grip once at Robin's ass, a cheek in each palm, and Steve has to look away, so.

There’s a girl.

But there’s also a boy, over by the lip of the highest halfpipe, who’s shirtless and explaining something to a group of teenagers that stare at the way his pecks bulge obscenely with each sharp gesture of his fist.

Steve understand. It’s distracting, and.

Steve’s seen guys before, you know? The sight of their biceps and jawlines have his skin trying to crawl away and fuse to bone all at once, a sensation that’s not entirely unwelcome, but it’s never actually happened before.

Steve always brushes it off before it can tick all the phases in a slow loading screen until his knees knock together like old chicken bones, stomach kickflipping up to his uvula and back again.

He doesn’t get to steady his berrings this time. When Janelle Monet says “Hey, Billy, look who’s back!”

And the guy. Billy—

With his head of springy, golden crust curls that escape a pretty green scarf tied like a bandana behind each ear, and his bare chest that heaves up and down, nipple rings glinting in the bright sun, and his low riding board shorts the catch on the dip of his hips, sliding impossibly lower when his ratty old vans tap across the asphalt before he hops on his board, riding down the halfpipe just to get closer–

Billy skids off his board and gathers Robin into his arms. Spins her around a little, whooping like a hyena about how they missed the shit out of her.

And Steve’s gotta stop the board from rolling away so he goes after it, reaching down to pluck the war-torn slice from the asphalt, only to turn back to see him. The guy. Billy, looking at Steve with a row of perfect teeth flinting like pearls in the warm July heat.

The sun does him favors, but not out of the pure goodness of its heart.

And Steve’s been around gay guys before. Knows what it means when they look him up and down a couple of times, when they take inventory of his hair and his broad chest and the double-decker cake situation his jeans can’t roll flat, but.

“I’m Billy,” Billy says, with this. Sweet gravelly voice that cuts Steve’s hands to pieces but smoothes them over with aquafor when Billy pulls him closer.

Yanks him closer, not even noticing his board pinched under Steve’s left arm. He shakes Steve’s hand and then kisses the knuckles, like. “Never seen you around here before.” Billy.. He smells like pine trees. Lavender and musk, and.

And his eyes are blue.

Like the ocean. Like the foam pool noodles that were always Steve’s favorite as a kid–and he’s never written poetry but Steve could try, after this. Right now. Could ask the guy to turn back toward the halfpipe, hunched so Steve could slice the words into his back muscles. You’re perfect, just so Billy could have something to carry with him forever.

“What’s your name, darlin’?” Billy asks.

And Robin jabs Steve in the ribs. “That’s Steve. He’s a friend from back home.”

“Yeah?” Billy doesn’t look away, he just smiles, thumb rubbing sweetly over Steve’s palm. “Well, Steve from home, d’you skate?”

Steve blinks slowly, brain audibly dialing up. “Do I…?”

“My board,” Billy clarifies, tugging the thing from under Steve’s armpit. “You caught it pretty smooth, like a natural. You skate for fun back in Indiana?”

Robin snorts. “Harrington doesn’t skate, he can barely–”

“Buckley, why don’t you go makeout with Cheryl, yeah?”

“What, so I can leave you to pick the midwestern straight boy meat from Steve’s bones?” Robin teases. “Why don’t you drop to your knees already, Hargrove, save us the time?”

Billy turns to glare at her. Heated and so fond, like he’s annoyed but he kind of likes it. Robin has that effect on people, Steve knows it better than anyone.

Robin looks between them. Heated and nervous, and.

Protective.

Buckley’s worried about him. Steve smiles at her, like, “It’s okay, dude, I’ll yell if I need you.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Steve says, and then his white-knight shrugs, skating off before Steve knows what’s happening.

Billy pulls him marginally closer, and.

“You’re Robin’s teacher?”

Billy snorts. “Teacher’s spreading it a little thick.” When did he pull out a roll of gum? Steve’s mesmerized, watching as Billy’s pretty red lips smack and glow like fresh cherries. “Why, you looking for some lessons?”

Steve jerks his head from side to side.

“‘S a shame, I’ve got a longboard in my car, we coulda shared it.”

“I never said I wanted lessons,” Steve says meanly. He crosses his arms, huffing when Billy raises a perfect, slit eyebrow. “I don’t. You heard Robin, I’m not a skater.”

“Are you a music guy?”

Steve flinches, thrown by the sudden change of pace. “What?”

Billy sniffs, gruff and colored by ruby red cheeks. “I know you’re still kinda new to the city, and you’ve probably had a rough time finding your people, so–”

Steve snorts. “Don’t tell me you’re in a band.”

“I’m not in a band, I just.” Billy fiddles with his skateboard, rolling in back and forth under one sneaker, shy and nervous. “There’s a show tonight, down at the pier. I thought if you’re looking to make friends we could go together.”

Billy laughs, tucking a golden curl around one finger and then behind his ear, into the safety of his scarf, and like.

It’s not fair.

It’s the most unfair thing Steve’s ever had to live through when Billy drops his hand and stretches, pecks bulging.

All of Steve’s defenses topple like the walls of some ancient, homosexual city that Steve’s stumbled across in a mound of Californian sand when Billy shuffles half an inch closer, swag re-entering his body just as quickly as it had left.

“Meet me here, at nine, pretty boy.”

Billy blows a bubble and it smells like strawberries.

–

And he had thought maybe the pier was going to be more chill. Like, wide-open beaches with folks sitting on bean-bag chairs around some stained-glass bonfire. A couple dudes playing Nirvana on out-of-tune guitars, but.

It smells like piss. And there’s trash everywhere.

People, fucking, everywhere. Sitting on little benches shaped like rocks, making out on the sand, smoking pot by the waves. There’s a hot dog cart with a line snaking all the way back, to the place where the sand turns to rocks-grass-parking lot, in that order, and there are people dancing all over the place.

Next the porta-potties and right behind where Steve’s leaning against a palm tree, sipping on the cocktail Billy had tried to water down.

“Are you alright?” Billy asks, for the fiftieth time.

And. “Sure,” Steve says over the music. And, “No. Do you have any grass?”

Billy leans in closer, musk wafting on the sea breeze. “Huh?”

The next band’s loading on stage. Someone tunes their guitar on eleven, or something, because. “Sorry, it’s loud as fuck,” Steve says into the shell of Billy’s ear. “Pot, do you have Pot?”

His blue eyes are clueless.

Soft, and round, and so–

Steve grabs his hand. Threads their fingers together, on impulse, dragging Billy away from the palm tree and the hot dog stand and the girl who’s throwing up into the trash can next to the stage.

The farther they trot down the beach, the quieter it gets, and.

Billy doesn’t pull his hand away. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

Steve just moves their wrists. Adjusting, so their palms won’t get sweaty. “I’m sure, I was just asking if you had any grass.”

“Oh yeah, we can sit, if you want to,” Billy says sweetly. “I think there’s a picnic area–”

“No, you fucker, marijuana.” Steve chuckles. “Are you alright?”

Steve quits walking and turns to face Billy, who’s clammy, even with the breeze coming off the sea. Billy, who’s got his entire shirt unbuttoned, and who’s dripping sunburnt confidence while holding Steve’s hand like if he lets go he might drown. Billy, who’s rubbing their thumbs together but who still won’t look Steve in the eye.

Steve ducks his head, chuckling when those nervous little bluebells snap too, heated and cranky. “Why are you being so weird?”

Billy frowns. “What, is it a turn-off for the whole friend thing?”

“Nah.”

“You sure?” Billy smirks. “My nervousness isn’t killing your companionship boner?”

And maybe Steve’s had a little bit to drink, or. A lot-a-bit to drink, with those three Moscow mules suddenly hitting at once. The sky goes all bright and silvery, and Billy’s face gets fuzzy around the edges before hyper-focusing and Steve can count the freckles on Billy’s nose.

“The nerves are killing my friendship boner, but like. Not my regular boner.” Steve giggles.

Thinks, fuck, this is a date.

Thinks, yeah, I’m a little bit gay.

Decides, shit, I’m drunk and knows Billy’s gonna give him a real gnarly shiner, but. He opens his mouth to apologize and Billy kisses him.

And Steve’s drunk but it’s good. So good, like. Soft and sweet and then wet, hard, desperate.

Maybe L.A. isn’t so bad.

My commissions are still open for anyone craving a silly little story!

#harringrove #harringroveforukraine #billy hargrove #steve harrington #skateboarding #90s au

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jellyfishloveletterghosts · 3 years ago

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Stairs

Thank you @shewritesdirty for donating! Don’t forget to check out the Harringrove for Ukraine master list.

Warnings for minor injuries, off screen child abuse

Stairs

Billy has a shiner that draws the attention of every eye in the party. The congratulatory back pats and shoulder bumps from the usual chumps he hangs out with only serves to agitate his injuries that clothes hide, teeth gritting as they easily accept the lie he tosses out of a fight won. He sticks it out as long as he can, putting on a show until he can no longer muster the bravado and sneaks outside.

It is hot, hotter than he ever thought Hawkins would get after being subjected to its winter months. He has sticky heat starting to coat his skin as he slips around the side of the house out of sight and leans against the siding of the house as he lights a cigarette. It is almost quiet out here, the music and the people inside muffled, the few in the back and front of the house far enough away to be a mummer broken up by an occasional squeal or honking laugh. It is easy to tune it all out as he looks out into the woods this house is set back in, watching the flickering of fireflies in the field between.

He leans there with the ache setting in deeper, as blood pools around the injuries, smoking one cigarette and then breaking out another not wanting to go in and deal with people. It is when he is lighting his third, some girl half drunk and singing off key over the murmur that another person comes around the corner. It is dark but between the moon and the light spilling from the little back porch, Billy makes out his company before the shadows slip over him.

He sees it the moment Steve recognizes him, tense and turning like he is going to run away, it makes Billy go tight, makes his aches more prominent for a second before he shakes it out. “Where you running off to Harrington? Not still scared of me are you?” Billy baits, he may have come out here to escape his peers but he will never pass up the opportunity for Steve’s attention.

It does the trick, has Steve turning back towards him and moving closer, voice a low hiss. "I was never scared of you.” Billy is pretty sure that is a lie, given how little of Steve he saw over the rest of the school year. “But you probably did give me a concussion." It makes Billy’s stomach sour. Was it really that bad? He can hardly remember the fight between time and the drugs, it is just sort of a blurry remembrance now.

"Probably?" Billy’s shoulders are nearly at his ears as he lets Steve steal the cigarette from his fingers, watching him lean close, shoulders almost touching as Steve’s eyes slide to the field full of lightning bugs.

"Didn't go to the doctor and get it checked out." Steve admits after a few minutes, mouth wrapping around the cigarette in a distracting manner, Billy’s wounds give a throb at the very idea because he is exactly the sort of distraction that keeps getting Billy hurt.

"You should have." Billy says with some concern, even though he knows he should tuck tail and avoid Steve and his pretty face, save himself from more pain in the future. Billy has never been good at doing that, sees something he wants and gets closer until he is burned either by Neil or his own desires.

"And told them what?" Billy blinks, staring at the shadow of Steve’s jaw, a little taken aback at the idea that Steve would not have just told them what Billy did. It is silly but it makes him feel a little warmed at the idea, like Steve is trying to protect him. Billy squishes it down as soon as it bubbles up, Steve would just be protecting himself, just like everyone else, he would not have wanted to tell them what he was up too in the woods with the kids any more than he wanted to tell Billy.

"That you fell down the stairs, works more often than you might think." Billy lets out a heavy sigh, teeth gritting as headlights cast him in light just as Steve turns to look at him, eyes clearly cataloging the visible damage with what Billy thinks could almost be concern. "Don't think on it too hard pretty boy, you might hurt yourself." Billy snaps, looking to protect himself and thankful when the light passes and he can no longer see what emotions those brown eyes hold even as they continue to bore into him.

“Billy-” Billy cuts Steve off before he can start with a hand slapped hard against his chest.

“Shut your mouth or you really are going to need a hospital.” Billy does not appreciate the snort that gets him, pushing his arm back hard against Steve’s chest even as it makes his shoulder ache.

“Are you always this much of a dick?” Billy eases his arm off of Steve, keeping it against his body as he lowers it, brushing against an ice cream softened belly. Billy will take annoyance over pity any day.

"Do girls always break up with you at parties?" Billy saw him show up with a girl, one he vaguely recognizes from Scoops Ahoy, Billy had seen them working together in the mall the one time he had gone in to grab lunch when he drooped Max off. She is pretty, Billy kind of hates her, hates the way he saw Steve smiling at her when they first got here, some sort of teasing going on between the two that Billy could not hear through the crowded distance.

“Robin? You think I’m with Robin? Was with Robin?” Steve gives a snorting laugh as if Billy has told some hilarious joke, it makes Billy feel like the joke is on him, makes him bristle, reaching over and pinching Steve in the side for it. “Ow!” Billy can see Steve’s lips pursed in the moonlight, lower lip jutting out distractingly, Billy tucks his hands in and pretends he did not just pinch Steve when his head swivels toward him.

“I’m not Robin’s type, we’re just friends. She did ditch me though.” Steve honestly sounds bummed about it as he rubs at his hip where Billy pinched him. “You’re just as bad as Tommy,” Billy is instantly offended by the comment. “kind of makes me miss him.”

“Well he’s right inside if you want that freckles fuck.” Billy sneers, reaching out to pinch again, this time Steve sees him coming and dances away.

“Hard pass.” Steve huffs as his own fingers reach out and catch Billy in the ribs. It is light and soft, making a laugh bubble up unbidden as it tickles. Billy lets him keep at it for a few moments squirming but enjoying the contact, the way it makes a genuine smile stretch over Steve’s face all for him.

The enjoyment is soon colored with pain as Steve’s hand shifts and brushes over one of his bruises. Billy hisses and catches his wrist in a hard grip. “That’s enough of that.” He tries to keep the pain out of his voice but he is pretty sure he fails with the way Steve falters, going still as his eyes bore into him again and Billy is thankful all they have is the moon to see by.

When he lets go, Steve settles back against the house once more, their shoulders pressed together this time, a line of heat that makes it hard to think of anything else. The quiet is broken up by that girl again, this time accompanied by an equally terrible male voice. “Someone should put that cow out of her misery.” He just needs something to take his focus off of his aching body.

“Tammy.” Steve snorts another laugh and Billy just makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat. “It’s Tammy Thompson, she wants to be a famous singer but she can’t carry a tune to save her life.”

“What and no one in this town has told her she sounds like a dying walrus?” Billy likes the way Steve breaks into more laughter as he shakes his head no, shoulders shaking where they are touching and it agitates his wounds a little but he does not want to move away from the heat of him. “I wish this place had an actual music scene, something to do other than these repetitive house parties.”

“The city has some good bands on occasion, best ones play at the Hole in the Wall.” Billy’s interest is piqued even though he doubts his and Steve’s taste is the same, Billy enjoys more than just metal, there is probably at least some overlap.

“The place have a name?”

“That is the name. I’m actually going to see the Power Bottom’s there next month.” Steve says the name so casually it makes Billy coke on his own spit, he is familiar with the band, having seen them perform a few times back in California. It is strange to imagine them playing anywhere near Hawkins, almost as strange as being here, stranger still is how excited Steve sounds to go to their show, Billy would have never guessed Steve Harrington would be into such an explicitly queer band. “I’ve never seen them perform but Robin has one of their cassettes and let me borrow it.”

“They put on a good show, have a lot of stage presence.” Billy has always found them enjoyable even if they are a little popier than he usually likes, he has always liked the energy they bring to their performances.

“Are you going?”

“I didn’t even know they performed all the way out here.”

“Do you want to go? Me and Robin are going and staying the night in the city at my dad's apartment. You could come with us if you wanted to.” The invite is a surprise, they hardly know each other and of course there is their history, the fight but Billy has gotten in a fight with someone before and gone right back to being buddies the next night. Maybe this could be like that? He squashes the traitorous part of him that wonders if it could be more.

“Why does your dad have an apartment in the city?” Billy asks, if only so he does not ask Steve why? If it is out of pity he does not want to know, that will just piss him off and lead to more bruises for the both of them.

“For their mistress but there’s a spare room and Mag doesn’t care if I come and bring friends.” Steve shrugs, Billy may not be looking at him now, eyes back out on the woods and the fireflies but he can feel it against his shoulder.

“You’re on nickname bases with your dad’s mistress?” Billy frowns, rich people are weird.

“She’s my parent’s mistress, they share.” Steve says it casually like his parents being in a queer relationship is not something he should be keeping a tighter lid on. “And yeah, I’ve known her since I was little. She is like a second mom.” It makes Billy a little jealous, the lack of shame Steve has over his parents relationship with the woman they are both in a relationship with but it also makes him wonder how much of that has worn off on Steve, how accepting is he of other people not fitting into the cookie cutter norm of a small town like Hawkins.

“You know that’s weird right.” Steve shrugs again, the cigarette he has been working on nearly a nub as he lets it fall to the ground and stubs it out with the toe of his shoe. “I’m in, if only to see how weird it really is.”

“Cool, I’ll give you the details when we get closer, it’s on the twelfth of next month but we haven’t hashed out what time we’re heading out or anything.” The terrible singing finally stops, the music from the party getting louder for a moment before going muffled again as the back door opens and closes. “I should probably check on Robin, make sure she hasn’t struck out and is drowning her disappointments in shitty beer.” Steve says it like a joke that Billy does not get.

“Sure, see you around.” Billy feels that jealousy creeping in again, the idea that maybe Steve has just been biding his time out here, waiting for Robin to be vulnerable to make a move, making him irritable.

Steve pushes away from the siding, tuning and pausing, Billy can feel the weight of the stare even as shadows obscure his face. “You know I have stairs at my house but no one will push you down them. You know if you needed a place to go."

"Shut up." Billy frowns, lip curling up in a sneer even as his heart pounds heavily in his chest, aches throbbing as his body goes tight again.

"Alright." Steve nods, accepting, fingers brushing against Billy’s fiddling with his pack of cigarettes as he digs out another one, needing the distraction. "Offer stands." Steve is moving away, already around the side of the house before irrational anger can well up to high in Billy’s gut.

Billy smokes another two cigarettes trying to get that dangerous pretty boy and all of his peculiarities out of his head. It does not work, Billy is still annoyed but also giddy at the prospect of getting to know Steve better. The twelfth cannot come soon enough.

Now with a part 2

I still have slots open if you are interested you can check the info Here

#harringrove #harringroveforukraine #jellyghostfic #fanfiction #St fic #Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington #If you enjoyed this please consider giving it a reblog

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memes-saved-me · 3 years ago

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Pacific Rim Harringrove AU

Billy and Steve don't get along, their methods and fight style the opposite but when they find that they're drift compatible it gets a lot more complicated than it used to be

Thank you @ihni for commissioning this for Harringrove For Ukraine (and thank you for picking this au because now I'm obsessed!)

#the entire movie I was just thinking of this lol #Harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringroveforukraine #edit #moodboard

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juu-riin · 3 years ago

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Harringrove for Ukraine

Hi everyone! I’m participating in Harringrove for Ukraine! That means I’ll be creating art in exchange for donations to an organization that supports the Ukrainian people in this crisis.

I’m asking that you donate $5 USD per doodle to one of the following organizations in exchange for me creating your commission:

The Ukrainian Army

The Ukrainian Red Cross, which does loads of humanitarian stuff, from aiding refugees to training doctors.

Revived Soldiers Ukraine, which funds medication and medical supplies for army hospitals on the front line.

The UN Refugee Agency, which provides life-saving protection to families forced to flee their homes.

Follow These Steps If You’re Interested!

Send me a DM and let me know what your doodle prompt request is along with a mailing address. International requests will be accepted!

Donate!! Remember PLEASE to screencap your receipt – you need to send me this to show you’ve donated so we can all track how much we’ve raised as a group

Don’t forget to block out any private contact details you don’t want me to see!

What I Have To Offer: For $5 USD, one 4″x6″ cardstock original Harringrove doodle of your request! You can donate more for multiple doodles too! There is no cap on slots. :) Will be done in sharpie/colored ballpoint pens, just like the doodle requests you’ve seen me post! Will do cute, funny, fluffy requests. No smut or gore.

Other Important Info: I am currently a full-time student and working full-time. I wish I could create elaborate digital art pieces for you, but I’m hoping this will bring you a little joy! All doodles will be mailed domestic/international post. Items outside of the U.S.A., please expect in 7-25 days.

And please check out this post with the other creators in this event! Thank you @callieb for organizing this!

#harringrove #harringroveforukraine #harringrovefanart #juu-riin #donation drive

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bentnotbroken1fanfiction · 3 years ago

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(This is my Harringrove for Ukraine piece for @callieb, though it's not actually Harringrove. It's a post s3 Billy centric, angst hurt comfort ficlet....so I may have to write up something else now that I really think about it....yeah, I'll write up something better)

Billy doesn't know how much time has passed since he went up against the monster that stole his body, but he does know one thing.

He's definitely dying.

It hurts…and sucks ass, but it is what it is.

He supposes it's fine. At least he stood up to it in the end. He broke free from the control. He helped that girl.

The one, the only one who saw him. The him inside the monster.

So he at least did something worthwhile in his sad pathetic life.

Right?

He protected her.

She's alive. She will be able to see her friends and family again…

And Billy…

Well, it doesn't matter because he's alone.

So, no one is going to mourn him. No one is going to cry over Billy Hargrove.

So, it's fine.

He can let go.

Nothing is tying him to this miserable plane of existence.

His moms already gone…so there's nothing…

Nothing and no one.

"Billy?"

No one gives a shit about him…..

"Billy!"

Right?

"Wake up, Billy!"

So….why is someone calling his name?

"Billy, please. Open your eyes!"

Someone is holding his hand, putting pressure on his chest…

"Not like this! You can't give up like this! Please!!"

Who is it? Who is pleading so desperately? Don't they know he's worthless? Don't they know what a horrible person he is? All the shitty things he's done? He was stupid enough to get possessed for fucks sake! and anyways, don't they know even if he was a good person… that it's too late? He's got too many holes in his guts. He can feel his life force slipping away with the blood pooling beneath his cooling body.

It's over.

He's finished.

The sobs are quiet in his ear. "Don't go."

There's nothing left for him here…

"Please don't leave me." The voice breaks as they softly add, "Don't leave me with Neil."

And with sudden and frightening clarity, Billy knows the owner of this sad miserable voice. He knows it and he knows how wrong he's been…knows the voice is right. He can't die like this. He can't leave….he does have a reason to stay…

If he dies….his dad might…

He can't let him hurt…

"Ma..Max." He is barely hanging onto this world but he speaks her name with a mouth full of slick black sludge. He can't get his eyes to open or his limbs to move but he can still force himself to speak. "Don't cry."

"Billy? Oh, my god, hang on! Help! Someone help me!"

Now he's aware of multiple pairs of hands touching him, pressing down on his abdomen, on his chest. Someone is pulling back his eyelid and shining a light. Many people are talking, yelling over one another.

But Billy doesn't care about them.

He just wants Max to know- "It's OK. Max…I won't….I won't leave you with him."

Her voice is farther away when she calls out to him, "They're going to help you. So just hang on a little longer. You hear me? Hang on!"

He has no strength left to answer her but he manages to crack one eye open and sees her dirty face, bloodshot eyes and tear soaked cheeks.

He wants to tell her sorry again. Tell her not to cry. But he can't…he can't even keep his stupid eye open. He's just so….

Everything goes black.

…Tired.

The next time he opens his eyes, it's light outside. He's lying on a bed and not the nasty concrete floor of the mall so he must be in the hospital. He tries to sit up but every nerve ending in his body lights up like a christmas tree.

Fuck. He's bananged up real fucking good and there's an IV in his arm, though by the amount of pain he's in, it must be out of the good stuff.

He groans and glimpses the movement of red hair next to him.

He's a little surprised that she is actually here. "Shit…Max?"

She looks up, eyes still as red as they were the last time he'd seen them. "Billy!" She moves, he thinks, to hug him, but stops herself short. Instead she awkwardly sits back down. "You've been asleep for three days." She says quietly. "I didn't think you were going to make it."

He sighs, which causes his ribs to ache. "You and me both, shitbird."

"I'll go get the doctor." She stands to leave but Billy pushes through the pain to grab her wrist, stopping her from going.

"They can wait. I'm not going anywhere."

Max looks confused but nods and sits back down. "OK."

They are both quiet for a moment, neither really knowing what to say.

The thing is, Billy has a fuck ton of shit to say. So much to apologize for. So much to atone for.

"Max?"

"Yeah?"

He might as well start with…"I'm sorry."

She looks taken aback. "For what?"

"For being such a dick to you." He replies, eyes trying to meet hers but failing miserably. "For…hurting you…for everything really…"

She's staring blankly at him. Like she's waiting for him to say haha! Just kidding. "Ummm. Thanks…I guess."

"I'm serious, " he insists. He needs her to know he's being sincere. "I've been an asshole. And I took a lot of shit out on you and blamed you, and that wasn't fair. I've been a shitty brother."

"Billy…I get it OK? I…I won't say that it's fine because you're right, you've been a dickhead, but like…I understand why…." She looks down at the floor. "I know why you're so angry all the time…and scared."

He feels a bit nauseous and finally remembers what it was that kept him from death's door.

"My dad…" He pauses, doesn't know how exactly to go about this. "He hasn't…he hasn't hurt you has he?"

Finally her eyes snap to meet his and they are wide with emotion. "What?"

"When I was dying….you said….you told me not to leave you with him."

Her cheeks flush a little. "You heard that?"

"Yeah…I heard it….so I need to know if he hurt you."

She shakes her head but he can tell there's still something wrong.

"Max…please. How can I protect you if I don't know what's going on?"

She hides her face from his view but she finally answers. "It was just once but…he's been saying a lot of things so…."

"It won't happen again." He promises. And for the first time ever, he can feel the confidence behind his words. He just fought of a fucking demon…as scary as his dad has been in the past, Neil Hargrove is nothing compared to that.

"But-"

"I faced off against a monster that possessed me, and yeah it about put me six feet under," he says, motioning to his blood stained bandages, "but I survived. And I swear to god, Max, I'm never going to let my dad hurt me…or you…ever again."

She doesn't respond for a second but suddenly she leans over and hugs him. "Thanks for surviving, Billy."

It hurts like a bitch, but he finds himself hugging her back. "No," He replies, blinking back a wayward tear. "Thank you for wanting me to."

#harringrove #harringroveforukraine #though techically not harringrove #it's more billy centric #and sibling feels #angst #max mayfield #billy hargrove #back from the brink of death #can't leave his sister with his dad can he #neil is a dick

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boltedfruit · 3 years ago

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Harringrove for Ukraine - Creator Post

(I am using the format from @callieb original post!)

Hello! I’m participating in Harringrove for Ukraine! That means I’ll be drawing flat color art and writing fanfiction in exchange for donations to an organisation that supports the Ukrainian people in this crisis.

I’m asking that you donate money to one of the following organisations in exchange for me posting my work:

The Ukrainian Army

The Ukrainian Red Cross, which does loads of humanitarian stuff, from aiding refugees to training doctors.

Revived Soldiers Ukraine, which funds medication and medical supplies for army hospitals on the front line.

The UN Refugee Agency, which provides life-saving protection to families forced to flee their homes.

Follow these steps if you’re interested!

- Reblog this post and/or the master post both here and on Twitter if you have it so that we can get as much traction as possible as quickly as we can.

- Send me an ask to let me know what you’d like me to write/draw for you and how much you’d like to donate. I’m active both here and on Twitter (also @ boltplumart)

- Wait until I reply to your ask, then you need to make your donation to one of the orgs listed above.

- Donate!! Remember PLEASE to screencap your receipt – you need to send me this to show you’ve donated so we can all track how much we’ve raised as a group

- Don’t forget to block out any private contact details you don’t want me to see!

- Once I’ve seen your receipt, I’ll start work on your project. (I do have existing commissions but will be working on these asap!)

What I have to offer: Fanfiction and flat color drawings for donations!

What I Like to Write: I will write anything except noncon.

What I Like to Draw: I will draw anything except kids and mecha.

Accepting prompts? Yes, I love a good prompt! It can be as specific or general as you like.

Additional Info: Please specify if you want smut or no smut and if you have any squicks or preferences. (This goes for my fic and art. My nsfw art can be seen on Twitter @ boltedfruit )

Suggested Donation Amount: $40 flat color art, two characters maximum. $1 per 100 words of a fic. Obviously the more the better - this is such an important cause.

You can read my fic here.

My art examples:

#harringroveforukraine #harringrove #harringroveedit #billy/steve

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aggressiveviking · 3 years ago

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Donation piece for @plistommy as part of Harringrove For Ukraine

Thank you so much for your help! ❤

#harringroveforukraine #art #myart #wastingtime draws #stranger things #steve harrington #harringrove #fanart #artists on tumblr

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magniloquent-raven · 3 years ago

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my second harringrove for ukraine commission! feel free to check out my info post if you'd like me to write you something

tysm for donating @ihni 💕💕💕 i hope you like your fic!!!

(read on ao3)

Tell Me I Won't Be Forgotten

William Gilbert Hargrove—named for both his grandfathers—was born eight pounds three ounces on Monday, April 17th, 1967.

It was, by all accounts, a beautiful day. Clear skies and a mild breeze, smiles all around as the little bundle of joy was passed between embraces. His aunts cooed over his wispy blond curls, his pretty eyelashes, his fat little legs and chubby cheeks. His mother beckoned, exhausted but enthusiastic, whenever someone else held him for too long. His father glowed with silent pride over the birth of a son.

And there were many photos taken that day. One of Neil’s sisters had bought a polaroid camera four weeks prior and, once she’d gotten used to the contraption, couldn’t seem to stop taking pictures of anything and everything she deemed worth remembering. The birth of her newest nephew was certainly an occasion to be celebrated. Commemorated.

Billy doesn’t know what happened to most of the photos. He suspects that Neil got rid of the ones of his mother and Auntie Bridge during his messy divorce and subsequent estrangement from the sister who took his wife’s side. But it wasn’t all as dramatic as that. Over the years some of them just went missing. A few ruined by juice spilled by a clumsy toddler, one destroyed by a stray cat Billy let into the house, others seemingly vanishing into thin air, like things do when they aren’t tucked away for safekeeping.

There aren’t any pictures of his other birthdays.

It wasn’t like there was much to photograph on those days anyways, he never had birthday parties. When he was little it was because his parents didn’t have the time or funds, but as he got older the excuses changed. He talked back to his baseball coach, so, no, he isn’t allowed to invite his friends over. That last report card he brought home was shitty, and birthday cake is for boys who do good in school.

Eventually it didn’t matter if he’d been on his best behaviour or not. He’d gotten old enough that he shouldn’t expect treats and presents like some kind of spoiled child. Men don’t need those things. A sentiment that Neil doubled down on when Max and Susan came into their lives. With a little sister around, Neil was determined to make sure Billy was man enough to protect her. No coddling.

Like Billy needed any more reasons to hate Max. Or his father.

But, on Neil’s orders to be nice to his new progeny, Billy buys her a skateboard for her thirteenth birthday.

Neil fumes over it, obviously. Something that nurtures her tomboy tendencies is the last thing Neil wanted when he told Billy to buy her a gift, but Billy’s nothing if not willing to follow the letter of his father’s law while ignoring the spirit. He’s kind of fucking over trying to please him. Besides, it’s Max’s big day and Neil’s new fiancee is practically levitating with excitement, Neil’s not about to ruin it by pitching a fit on Billy’s account. He’ll get punished later, quietly, but whatever. For now Neil gets to stew in his impotent rage, and that’s satisfying enough for Billy.

So it could’ve almost been a good day, if Max hadn’t opened her big dumb mouth.

“Being a teenager feels weird.”

Billy barely suppresses an eyeroll. Neil isn’t within earshot, but he can still see them. “Uh huh.”

“Bet it wasn’t as weird for you, though, right. No stupid speeches about how you’re flowering or whatever.” She grimaces, and heaves a beleaguered sigh, absently spinning one of the wheels on her new board. “I knew my mom was gonna be weird about it, but damn. You’re so lucky you don’t have to deal with any of that on your birthdays, y’know, uh, whenever they are—”

“Get the fuck out of my face, shitbird, I’m busy.”

She blinks at him, mouth hanging open, visibly torn between calling him out on the fact that he was smoking a cigarette and staring into space when she walked over, or, “Fine. Whatever. I didn’t care anyways.” Her expression shutters. She walks off and spends the rest of the day avoiding him.

Probably for the best. Her rambling put him on edge. That familiar tight, coiled burn in his chest itching at his ribcage. Poking at him more would’ve ended badly for both of them.

It’s not until later, after he snuck into her room and unspooled her favourite Blondie tape, that he realized she was trying to ask when his birthday is. He’s not sure how he feels about it.

And he never gets the chance to find out. She doesn’t try again.

But it’s not like it fucking matters anyways. Their relationship does nothing but deteriorate. Between her blabbing to Neil about shit that was none of her fucking business, and everything that went down after that—moving to Hawkins, her threatening to nail his balls to the floor—he’s sure there’s no salvaging this whole sibling thing.

He’s not sure why she seems to care so much when that shadow thing takes control of him. Why she pleads with him to remember who he is, when she never fucking liked that person in the first place.

Not that he blames her much, he never liked him either.

Probably why it’s so easy to make the trade-off between his life and some random kid’s. Seems fair. He’s scared, but he doesn’t regret it.

Except things don’t go quite to plan because four months later, for the third time in his life, Billy Hargrove wakes up in a hospital.

Only this time his sister is there. And that kid he nearly got killed. El. And half the Byers’ tucked away in the corner. And, most baffling of all, Steve Harrington, slumped over and dozing, in a rickety armchair like he’s someone’s drunk uncle.

Seeing Steve does embarrassing things to the monitor at his bedside that’s attached to his heart rate, and suddenly everyone’s fucking staring at him.

Explaining what happened to him takes up the rest of the day. Prolonged by all the breaks they have to take for the nurses to make sure Billy isn’t about to spontaneously drop dead, and some doctor coming by a couple times with forms for him to sign, including an NDA for all the shit they’re about to tell him.

He wonders aloud about what his father thought of all this shit. They must’ve told him, right. Billy being in a coma meant the decision-making would’ve fallen to his father. But he’s met with an awkward silence.

“Well, son,” the doctor starts hesitantly, and Billy bristles at his tone. “given the…special circumstances, and, what with you being a legal adult and all—”

“Wait, since when?” Max interrupts. Loudly. She’s glaring at him, like it’s his fucking fault for turning eighteen without her noticing.

Well, it…sort of is, but that’s not the point.

“Pardon?”

“Ignore her,” Billy snaps.

“No, no, don’t ignore me, what the hell, Billy? I know you don’t, like, do birthdays because you hate fun or whatever, but you didn’t think to mention when you turned eighteen?!”

“It’s not like it matter—”

“Yeah it does! You know Neil isn’t legally obligated to provide for you anymore? He could just kick you out if he wanted. With no warning. Plus, there are even fewer laws keeping him from putting you in the hospital again—”

“Max, what the fuck!”

She barrels on like he never spoke, her fists clenched, face scrunched and red, “You can’t go back there—you—I’m not gonna watch you almost die again, you fucking asshole!”

The harsh, mechanical beep beep of the heart monitor is the only sound to puncture the silence that falls over the room. It makes Billy’s skin crawl. The quiet. Everyone in the room just fucking listening to his heart pound, all their eyes pinned on him, all their shock, and goddamn pity, and sympathy he doesn’t want.

Fucking Max and her big fucking mouth.

He wants to be angry with her. He wants to rage at her, wants to tear off all these fucking wires sticking to him and feel something break under his hands, and he wants everyone to leave so he can just…

No matter how hard blinks, he can’t stop the tears from welling up.

He’d kind of been waiting for it to happen all day, is the thing. Waking up miraculously not dead, and then having a whole lot of information dumped on him all at once—sitting through the Byers kid, Will, talk about being possessed too, and Steve telling him what was really going on that night they fought, and El filling in the blanks about the memories that shadow thing left floating around in his head. It was…a lot. He felt numb from the weight of it all, and that only ever ends one way for him.

And now Max…of course it was Max who breaks the dam, because the universe fucking loves to humiliate him.

He’s not sure what to do, what to say, but it doesn’t matter anyways, he can’t get much beyond a shaky, “Max—” before she practically bodyslams him with a hug, and he crumbles entirely, a pitiful, ragged noise ripping from his mouth as the tears spill over.

Her face is damp, leaving wet smears on his shoulder where she’s pressed herself so firmly he doesn’t think he could push her off if even if he wanted to. Four months bedridden and unconscious have left him uncomfortably frail, and her grip on him feeling immovably solid is so, so alien. Almost overwhelmingly so, it’s both strange and terrifyingly familiar to be so at another person’s mercy, and he nearly pulls away because of it.

But she’s still so…small. Despite her fierceness, despite the strength of her embrace, the hands curled into fists around handfuls of his hospital gown are tiny.

He hugs her back. Eventually. Trembling, and hesitant, wrapping his arms around her shaking shoulders and turning so his chin brushes the crown of her head, his whole chest aching with more than just the pain of struggling to cry quietly.

If he squeezes his eyes shut he can almost forget they’re doing this in a room full of people he barely knows.

They’re polite about it, at least. Once he and Max have calmed down and Billy works up the courage to actually look at anybody, none of them are watching. Which is a relief.

Steve meets his gaze after a moment, though, and it’s an odd moment. They made tentative peace before graduation, but they never spent more time together than a shared cigarette or two when Billy was feeling relaxed enough to risk it. He always figured Steve was putting up with him more than anything, but he was going to take what he could get.

But there’s a soft curiosity in Steve’s expression now. The barest quirk of his lips, and a gentle sort of warmth in his eyes as he searches Billy’s face for something.

What, Billy doesn’t know, and he never finds out, because the doctor decides now is a good time to poke his head back into the room, because apparently he’d left at some point.

They still have shit to sort out, so Billy refocuses. Better to deal with boring-ass paperwork than waste his time getting his hopes up about Steve Harrington.

Except Steve keeps doing things that make him want to. Over the next month he uses “Max needed a ride,” as an excuse to hang around so often that he stops needing to say it. Neil and Susan don’t know that she’s spending time with Billy, and the hospital he’s at isn’t even in Hawkins so it’s not like she can make the trip on her own, so it’s a good enough reason for Steve to be here that Billy doesn’t question it at first.

It’s the other shit that he does that makes Billy wonder. He always asks how Billy’s physical therapy is going, even though half the time he gets told to fuck off, and he’s constatly adding to the ever-growing stack of books on Billy’s bedside table, more often than not bringing books Billy knows Max didn’t grab from his room at Neil’s house. And that stupidly fond little smile he gets when Billy actually engages him in conversation.

It’s driving Billy a little crazy, trying not to read into it. Because the question on his mind so often now is, why? Why is Steve here all the time? Why is he putting all this effort in for…what? A friend? Maybe?

It doesn’t stop when Billy gets out of the hospital. He helps Billy find an apartment to rent out. Keeps him up to date on what’s going on in the Hargrove-Mayfield household because Max doesn’t tell him shit and he’s pretty much ghosted his dad. He brings movies over and complains about his job. He offers to try and sneak some of Billy’s stuff out of his old place on Cherry Lane because Max can only smuggle out so much on her own.

And one day in mid-April he knocks on the door to Billy’s apartment—something he pretty much never does anymore, he usually just barges in—with the toe of his sneaker because his hands are full. Of messily taped cardboard boxes.

Billy’s so distracted by the pretty flush on his cheeks, and the suspiciously familiar records poking out of the box tucked under his chin, that he almost doesn’t notice Steve isn’t alone. Max is standing beside him, looking weirdly sheepish, El at her elbow holding a covered plate. The Byers and Steve’s friend, Robin, are crowded into the narrow hallway behind them, craning their necks to see around Steve.

“So, um…” Steve starts, shifting from foot to foot.

“C’mon, move,” Max shoves her way past Billy, clearing the way for everyone else. He lets himself be pushed aside, shock making him pliant.

They all file into his apartment like they were invited, except Steve who shuffles in awkwardly and stops right next to Billy, just inside the doorway.

“Harrington?” Billy murmurs, watching Max rummage through his fridge while El sets her plate on the counter.

“We brought what we could save.” Steve lifts the boxes in his arms for emphasis. “He, uh. Your dad. I guess he…”

“Just say it.”

“Sort of…threw your stuff out.”

“Surprised it took this long.”

“Yeah, well. He noticed that some stuff was missing apparently, and he couldn’t get Max to admit to it but he knows it was her, so…yeah. Kinda stupid though, putting it all outside made it easier to grab a bunch of shit at once. Joke’s on him, I guess.”

“Thanks.”

Steve shrugs. Pauses for a moment before he sets the boxes down and starts to rummage around in one. He bites his lip, eyeing Billy from where he’s crouched, something clutched in his hand. His scrutiny makes Billy tense.

“There something else?”

Jesus fucking Christ please don’t let it be about the porn mags he kept in a folder taped to the underside of his dresser.

It’s not.

It’s something so much harder to talk about.

Steve stands, and hesitantly—fingers pinched gently around his prize like he’s terrified of wrinkling it—hands Billy a polaroid.

One corner was bent at some point, the crease left behind cuts through the bottom of the image, across the sheets of a hospital bed. The woman in the centre of the photo looks exhausted, blonde waves stringy around her shoulders, dark shadows under her eyes, but she’s grinning brightly, cradling a baby bundled in blue.

He almost doesn’t recognize her without the sadness she wore like a veil later in life, and lingered in the tight creases around her eyes even when she smiled. But there’s no mistaking the similarities to the face he sees in the mirror every day. He hadn’t even realized how much he looks like her until now.

“Happy birthday,” Steve says quietly.

Billy startles, blinking back tears. “What?”

“It’s written on the back. The date it was taken, and everything.”

He stares, not bothering to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

Steve’s wringing his hands, his brow pinched and so fucking concerned, words spilling out of his mouth more hurriedly the longer Billy goes without saying anything. “I didn’t like, root through your personal things or anything—well, I guess I kind of did, but just to figure out what was salvageable. And that just. Fell out of some book I wanted to save. The. Uh. Something. By that hobbit guy, I dunno.”

That explains it, actually, he hasn’t read The Silmarillion in years. He packed it up in California without giving it a second look and hadn’t even bothered taking it out of the box he shoved it in, ‘cause it’s not like he had a proper bookshelf anyways. He must’ve saved the photo right after his mom left, tucked it away where his dad wouldn’t find it. And then forgot it existed. Fuck.

“But. Yeah. I…Look, Max and El got pretty excited when I said we should get you a cake or something. So. Be nice. I dunno what the deal is with you and birthdays, okay, but you’ve—you’ve had a rough year, I think we all deserve to celebrate the fact that you’re still here. ‘Cause we’re all really fucking glad that you are.”

Billy’s not sure what exactly made him think kissing Steve right then and there was a good idea, but the next thing he knows he’s got a fistful of the front of Steve’s dumb polo and a warm mouth against his and…

It takes one breathless moment for Steve to respond, with a desperate little noise in the back of his throat he presses in closer, arms coming up to wrap around Billy, and it’s fucking perfect.

For all of ten seconds before Billy remembers where they are and pulls back like he’s been burned, leaving Steve blinking blearily and swaying in place.

“Uh…”

“Thanks,” Billy says quickly, before Steve can speak, “for—fuck, for the picture. Thank you. I—” he thumbs at his bottom lip, but drops his hand when he catches Steve tracking the motion. “It means a lot.”

Steve nods, still looking a little dazed.

When he works himself up to turning away and getting his legs to work he’s prepared for the worst, expecting glares and awkward silence at best.

That’s not what he gets.

El is sneakily eating frosting, not a care in the world. Max is pointedly not looking at him and doing a very bad job of hiding her tiny smile. Robin grins at him and Steve, openly, knowingly. Joyce comes over and pats his arm, the corners of her eyes crinkled, while Will tries his hardest not to stare, something vulnerable hidden away in his big dark eyes. Jonathan is the only one who looks a little like he swallowed a lemon, but honestly it’s hard to tell if that’s just his face. Billy hangs out with him sometimes, but he’s not exactly an open book. He does quirk a bit of a smile when he notices Billy looking, however, and…

Billy is still tense. Unsure. There’s an atmosphere of quiet companionship in the room, something gentle and warm that Billy doesn’t know how to hold onto without breaking.

But he wants to figure it out, and that’s the part that surprises him.

There are some bumps. Some awkward pauses. The day isn’t perfect. But Steve rests a hand on the small of his back like he’s asking permission, and Max punches his arm and tells him that next year he’s getting something that took time to plan—just that little bit accusatory, sharp around the edges and well-intentioned like he’s come to expect from her—and El eats more of the cake than anyone else, grinning when Joyce shrugs helplessly at her request for permission.

It might not be perfect, but it’s good. And kind of fucking beautiful.

~~tag list ppls @spreckle @growup-thatbeautiful 💕💕~~

#harringrove #harringroveforukraine #harringrove for ukraine #stranger things #billy hargrove #a raven's writing desk

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catharrington · 3 years ago

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Beast (EXPLICIT, ongoing)

“Everything that everyone tells you is so important, it’s all a lie.” Steve says. A mix between a sodden glare and a frown on his face as he looks down at the dagger's tip.

“Everything?” Billy asks. He pulls his cloak tighter around his body. His fangs feel huge inside his unsure mouth.

“Well, no. Not nearly.” Steve shrugs. “I do adore children. And I would love to be a father. And I care for Nancy deeply. Yet… I feel as though if I fulfilled all the duties a son is expected to do I would still be…,” he trails off. A longing look over taking his handsome features. The daggers blade stops spinning.

“Would still be empty.” Billy finished for him.

He knows of these thoughts. Of how they can drive you mad. Of thinking no matter what you do to please other people, to please your family, your own soul will only ever be a husk of what yourself truly wants. If you’d ever be so lucky to actually solve that riddle.

“Exactly.” Steve agrees. Sadly, with a quiver to his graceful tone. His brown eyes weigh ever downwards with sorrow. Now, he was playing with the blade of the dagger. Sliding it back and forth over the clean legs of his pants. One leg was bent and holding up his weight on the railing of the balcony. His thighs swollen though the thin fabric that kept moving from his fidgeting.

He looked nearly untouchable up there, on the dark stones that made up the edge of the castle. Unbothered by the drop and unbothered by the sharpness of the danger along the sensitive areas of his inner thighs. It drove Billy to want to stare again.

Though he knew he shouldn’t, it was impossible not to.

(Okay, first fic drop for a lovely donation to #harringroveforukraine 🖤🖤🖤 thank you so much @cherrydreamer for letting me run with this silly plot bunny. And also a huge shout out to @ghostofjellyfishforgotten for writing a great beauty and the beast au that totally inspired this one😽)

#Harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #billy/steve #my fic #harringrove for ukraine #harringroveforukraine #beauty and the beast au #my moodboards

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monochromegee · 3 years ago

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Donation piece for @letshargroovetonight

Thank you so much!

#harringroveforukraine #harringrove #billy hargrove #art #digitalart

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passivenovember · 3 years ago

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For the ever kind and talented wordsmith @chrisbitchtree who requested Billy and Steve living their best “I can be my most comfortable, gross self around you,” For Harringrove For Ukraine.

I hope you enjoy!

Steve’s got money because he can eat name brand peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon.

And the thing’s gotta be forged silver because the handle doesn’t turn his sweaty, post-sex skin green when he takes a big scoop from the jar and waves it over, like “Want some?”

Steve talks with his mouth full.

Billy wrinkles his nose. Thinks poor table/post-midnight-fuck session manners while eating peanut butter from the jar over the kitchen sink should’ve been beaten out of him.

At finishing school.

With Harrington’s pretty little panties down around his ankles as the teacher painted his ass cheeks red with a ruler--

Billy might be trying to connect dots that aren’t there. Steve licks the spoon clean and dives in for another, poking Billy’s lips until they smudge brown.

“Quit it,” Billy says, kinda. Laughing, maybe.

There’s no bite. No sting when Harrington chases him around the kitchen island with his silver spoon full of Peter Pan Peanut Butter and picks Billy up around the waist. Deposits him, like he weighs nothing, onto the counter.

Steve bullies his way in between Billy’s thighs and says, thoughtful, “Ever had someone eat crunchy peanut butter off your dick before?”

Billy’s never even thought about it, but he says, “Duh.” Just to stick a dam in whatever water this Rich Boy’s mind is treading.

Steve feeds Billy a scoop of peanut butter. “Would you let me--”

“No.” Billy laughs thickly. “Seek help.”

“Why not?”

Steve’s eyes are lovely. Warm. Not like peanut butter itself but like chocolate cups, maybe. Smooth and sweet when they crack open on nights like this one, when they’re alone. Loose lipped, bare legged, and free.

“I’ve seen the way you eat come, Harrington, you never finish it all.”

“I'd finish it. I’d lick it all off for however long it takes.”

And he looks so earnest.

Horny and bright and eager, so.

“Hours?” Billy teases, imagining how forgotten peanut butter could lead to a nasty UTI.

“Days, baby,” Steve insists. And he’s kinda feverish. Wild. “I’d be so good for you, let me--”

Billy pushes Steve to the ground and, when his dick goes into the jar, pushing brown nut butter onto the marble, Billy makes Harrington lick that up, too.

Steve’s a bad influence.

Maybe it’s because he’s had an army of women in pressed black uniforms to clean up after him for his entire life, but the dude lives like a sewer rat who somehow found itself bedded in a castle.

Billy steels his jaw and tries to uphold is standards. His morals, as if Ma and Pop Harrington would give two shits on the rare occasions when they're asleep down the hall from their son getting pegged on sheets that were due for a wash last Christmas.

It doesn’t take much to get him down on Steve’s level.

His standards collapse through a hole in Steve’s tight, pretty blue briefs when Monday rolls around and Billy realizes, finally coming up for air from an entire weekend of bed, blowjobs, beer, and bologna sandwiches with spicy brown mustard, that they forgot to do laundry.

Typical.

And Steve is drooling a plate-sized wet spot onto the pillow under his left cheek as Billy teeters around the room fresh from the shower, his bare hip still sticky with dried come. Billy paws through a stack of dirty laundry swallowing the panic rising like bile in the back of his fucked-raw throat.

“You don’t have any clean underwear.” Billy spits, from the third pile of laundry next to the hamper. “We forgot to wash up.”

Steve doesn’t wake. Doesn’t even stir. Billy slaps the plump, pink curve of his ass cresting over the lip of the sheets and Steve moans softly, blinking himself awake.

“Huh? What time is it?” Steve grumbles before rolling onto his back, and like.

He’s hard.

Tenting the blanket.

Making Billy’s mouth water. “I said, you’re fresh out of briefs, Harrington,” Billy says again.

“Sorry.”

It’s not good enough. Steve’s mouthwatering, mind-numbing cock and balls aside, “What am I supposed to wear to work?” Billy demands.

Steve tenses and then settles against the pillow. Deflates. “Go commando. Don’t you normally, like. Raw dog it? Dick against zipper for easy access, or something?”

“It’s not for easy access.”

“Alright.” Steve yawns, more awake now.

“I just don’t need the leering eyes of old ladies checking for panty lines through my jeans–”

“Then why do you want–”

“Yours are tight enough that they don’t show.”

“Wear a dirty pair,” Steve mutters. Plain and simple.

“What?”

“A dirty pair. Do the sniff test. If they’re too rank don’t wear them.”

“You want me to sniff your underwear?” Billy grits, as if the mere thought of it doesn’t have him hard enough to slice through concrete.

“You eat my ass, it’s pretty much the same thing, Mr. high horse.” Steve supplies, already sticking one foot up the crack of Father Sleep as his voice trails off.

A second later he’s snoring, deep and mellow, and the clock says 8:36 in cherry green numbers.

Billy takes a deep breath and tugs all ten fingers through his freshly washed hair. Decides, catching sight at a pile of laundry covered in suspicious, filmy white residue, to weigh his options.

On the one hand, it’s kind of depraved to wear someone’s dirty boxer briefs to a ten-hour shift at the car shop, but.

On the other–

Walking around with Steve’s cute little panties on all day, come brushing against his dick while he works on Mr. Rameirez’s Toyota…Billy’s cock throbs and his balls draw in close to his body and like. He really doesn’t have a choice. It’s three against one.

Fuck.

–

Steve is a lot dirtier than Billy ever thought he’d be and like–

Absolute filthy, A list, market-level smutty sex talk aside, on days when he doesn’t have to go play tape jokey for eight hours at the Family Video, Steve parades around in thick, holey gray socks and a worn, stretched out Santa Cruz Mathletes ringer tee Billy left after staying over that first time. He wears his slutty little lounge uniform and nothing else.

Always.

With his plump little ass and the soft head of his dick peeking out of the hem of the thing, always, and Billy flip flops between choking on saliva and staving off heat stroke from the intensity of his annoyance.

Every time he Billy stays over, he’s gotta way the options.

On the one hand, he can suck Steve off for hours when the dude’s practically on sale like that, one leg kicked over the arm of the leather couch so his hole winks at Billy like a cheerleader who’s trying to score on prom night. Some of the best sex Billy’s ever had has been because Steve’s easy, lazy, and can’t load a washing machine to save a burning building.

But on the other, girthier fist of the two, Steve is gross.

Dirty.

Absolutely filthy when he’s comfortable. Bleching, farting, passing a bowl of cheese puffs and asking, with orange dust clinging to each fingertip, Want a handjob?

The answer is always yes. And it shouldn’t be so hot.

But it is. And Billy’s easy, maybe. Furious, too, that the caveman he spends 6 nights a week with, camping out at the Harrington’s until they’ve got enough money to move in together, can wave his trust fund asshole in the air and it’s got Billy tucking a napkin in the front of his t-shirt.

It’s poetic.

So Steve’s gross and Billy isn’t all that surprised when he catches wind of the come-soiled panties in the living room after work that day, spread open on his back with that fucking nightgown of a ringer tee covering his dick because Billy was sporting a half chub all day at the shop, sneaking away to tug one out when he could, so.

Steve shucks Billy’s work overalls with fervor, peppering absolute filth into the air, and Billy wants to eat him alive. Tries to, but Steve’s running his hands over Billy’s ass, gripping at it, spreading it, and then freezing. Detaching Billy’s teeth from his neck with a whiny little, “Fuck, wait, baby, I–”

But Billy can’t think straight because he’s got three fingers in Steve’s ass.

“Sugar,” Billy manages, smartly. “Feel so good. Been thinkin’ about you all day.” Billy twists his fingers, digits fucking in and out, knuckles working to spread and scissor inside until Steve forgets why he was asking for the breaks.

Billy can see it, can taste the loss on his tongue when Steve whimpers, hips grinding down in search of friction, and.

“All day? You were thinkin’ about me all day?”

Damn.

Billy nods. Tries to keep his tongue in his mouth. “Always.”

Steve clenches around Billy’s fingers. “Would it have anything to do with you weaning my come rag briefs?” He wonders, lips bit raw and eyes sparkly. Curious.

Amused.

It makes Billy wanna pin him down, so. He does. Puts one arm across Steve’s chest and presses another finger inside. Billy relishes the soft, sweet hitch in Steve’s throat, says, “Yeah. You grossed out?”

Steve grins in slow motion, eyes on Billy’s mouth, “A little.” Steve teases. “It’s kinda hot. I bet when Mr. Rameirez picked up his fucking dad-mobile and got an eyeful of your panties covered in my come peeking around your coveralls—”

“Pretty sure it’s my come.”

“They’re my briefs,” Steve says easily, “I’ve been using them to clean up for, like, months.”

And.

This feels like a conversation Billy shouldn’t have while he’s four fingers deep in Steve’s asshole, but Harrington clenches down on him again and Billy groans, surging to mouth possessively at Steve’s neck. “You’re so fucking gross, who has a designated come rag?”

“Just eco-conscious, I guess,” Steve chuckles and then, on a low, hard moan when Billy yanks the shirt up under his armpits to get at those tits, Jesus Christ, “Can we leave ‘em on, baby?”

Billy blinks at him, dazed. “Huh? The shirt?”

“No, dickhead, the briefs.”

“Panties.” Billy insists. Fucks his fingers in and out, hard and fast, while Steve’s face screws up like he just tasted something sour.

“I hate when you call them that,” Steve pants. “You know it makes me slutty. Makes me feel–”

Billy grins. “You’re leaking a puddle on the floor, sugar.”

Steve’s eyes snap forward, heated with a glare that’s got Billy’s cock searching for a hole in the briefs big enough to get through.

Billy taps their noses together, like, “Call them what they are and I’ll consider it.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“C’mon, baby. Say it.” He fucks Steve a little more with his fingers. Waits. “Want my cock?”

Steve pants. Whimpers and then nods.

“I wanna hear you say it,” Billy says, rubbing against the spot inside Steve that’s like a magic mirror. A red button Billy can press to get Harrington turning to putty in his hands.

Steve’s eyes are fucked out when he opens them. He focuses on Billy, teeth tugging on his bottom lip before he sighs. Says, “Please leave the panties on.”

Billy pulls his fingers out. Tugs his dick through the hole in the briefs and then gives himself a few slow, hard pumps before slotting into place.

Pressing in.

Steve arches against the floor, ribs crackling like fire as he pants up toward the mantle. It takes five minutes and then Steve’s coming. Shooting up to his chest to paint the ringer tee that will probably never get washed.

Billy doesn’t mind.

My commissions are still open!

#harringrove #lemony #sorry for the delay bab #I hope you liked it <3 #harringroveforukraine

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