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camaro-and-smokes · 2 years

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Dream a Little Dream of Me

Chapter 6: My Future Just Passed

Rating: EXPLICIT (for the whole fic) Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: Stranger Things. Relationship: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington Characters: Billy Hargrove & Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Chrissy Cunningham, Robin Buckley. Tags: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Billy Hargrove Lives, Billy Hargrove Redemption, Gay Billy Hargrove, Bisexual Steve Harrington, POV Steve Harrington, First Meetings, Dreamsharing, Fluff, Billy Hargrove Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Billy Hargrove, Dreams and Nightmares, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington as adults, Mild Language, Harringrove, Protective Eddie Munson, Billy Hargrove and Eddie Munson are friends, everyone is grown up, POV Billy Hargrove, innuendos, Steve Harrington is not so innocent, Lingerie, Bottom Billy Hargrove, Top Steve Harrington, listen this is purely self-indulgent fluff, not sorry

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Summary: Billy visits Steve's place for the first time

Author notes: Listen, this is simply fully self-indulgent fluff throughout. I so am not sorry 💜

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Billy stepped out of the cab with the delicacies in front of Steve's apartment building. He had refused Steve's suggestion to send a car for him, because he wanted to cook the dinner himself, and didn't want someone waiting for him while he did the shopping.

And he also knew that it might be one of the few times he was still capable to go anywhere unnoticed – and didn't need a car to take him around. Steve's work kept him in the spotlight of the financial press, and when the yellow press eventually would find out that Mr. Fortune 500 wasn't a bachelor anymore, the spotlight would be on Billy, instantly. That would halt his free roaming around the city, at least for a while.

He didn't want to let go of that just yet.

They could of course choose to keep their relationship under wraps until they were ready, but that would mean the same kind of hiding Eddie and Chrissy were forced to do. Just because of a few lunatic fangirls Chrissy had to work a lot from home instead of going to work normally, and Eddie and Chrissy never went out together. Ever.

Billy wouldn't have that. He wanted to go to theatre, concerts, and gallery openings also in the future, and he wanted to do some of that with Steve - not to mention going to events that were related to Steve’s work. If they would have to wait for months before they could go for an outing together, Billy would drive himself, and Steve, no doubt, crazy.

When Billy entered Steve’s building, he did as Steve had told him to, and asked the building guard at the desk to call Steve. Soon the guard lead him into one of the many elevators, swiped an electronic key card in front of the floor selector in the cart, and wished Billy a nice evening.

The elevator raised up directly to the penthouse. Billy checked himself in the mirror while the elevator rose from floor to floor. He’d chosen to dress more casual this time, something that looked even more like him: a colourful knitted hoodie, blue jeans, black boots, a black biker jacket, and his hair on a loose bun. He'd ditched heels this time because he'd had to walk around city centre fishing for the groceries.

He was just wiping the lip gloss from the corner of his mouth when the door opened. Steve was standing in front of the door, and whistled. "Now there's a sight to behold." Billy turned, and smiled blushing. "Hello, gorgeous," Steve continued, smiling. He noticed the grocery bags. "Oh, you brought goodies. Let me take these, you just take care of yourself." He leaned down to pick them up from the seat of the cart. "Oh come on, that's so cheesy," Billy said rolling his eyes, but smiling a little, not fighting back Steve's chivalrous urge to carry the groceries. "But I could get used to this, too.” "I'll give you a proper tour of the place, but let's get these in the fridge first. Come," Steve said, leading them to a massive open space. It was divide into a living room with large couches, big plants and a huge TV, and further was a dining area with an empty space, clearly meant for mingling.

The apartment was as wide as the top part of the building, and to Billy’s surprise the room had floor-to-ceiling glass walls on both left and right side walls that opened a beautiful scene into the brightly lit Chicago downtown. “Wow!” “I opened the blinds so that you could see it,” Steve said knowing the view was what caught everyone’s gaze when they first came to visit. “The whole apartment is like this, all glass walls on the outside. But there are blinds that you can shut to keep the privacy. Though I don’t really use this part of the apartment that lot unless I have some kind of get together, except the kitchen. It would require a litter of six kids at least to have any real uses for this,” They finally got to the kitchen. "Ok, this is a tiny bit larger than mine," Billy said as he looked around the spacious kitchen that had Michelin level kitchen equipment. "Don't let it frighten you. Everything works just as in yours," Steve reassured him. "I just use the coffee brewer, and the toaster. Which is a waste of this space, really. I'm happy to have you using it." He set the bags on the counter next to the fridge, and turned to Billy. "Hey, you. Welcome to my home," he whispered, and kissed Billy in that intoxicating way only he could. "Hey, you. Happy to be here," Billy smiled.

When they had emptied the bags to the fridge, Steve took Billy's hand. "Now, let me show you the rest." They walked back to the hall with the elevator, and continued from there to a short corridor that lead into two rooms. “This is my office,” Steve said opening the door on the left into a room that again had the wall size wall on one side, and several big screens and a massive desk dominated the space. “The most boring room there is,” he continued, and closed the door. “But this one however you might find interesting,” he said, and opened the door on the right.

Billy walked into the room and gasped. The room was as wide as the whole apartment. It was surrounded by glass walls on three sides so that there was a 180 degree view to the city. There was a terrace in front of the room, but it wasn’t big. Billy walked to the window. "I knew you would have a room with a view, but this..." he shook his head in awe. "This is breathtaking." "I'm glad you like it," Steve said, and walked to Billy, hugging him from behind. "It's been lonely to be the only one to see it," he whispered to Billy's ear, kissing his neck. "How do you...Where are the curtains?" Billy asked, because he didn't see any. Steve let go of him with his other hand and took his phone from his pocket, showing it to Billy. "I open this one app, and then I push this icon here," he demonstrated, and as he tapped the icon the windows went dark. "Magic." "That's a neat trick," Billy said, turning his head to Steve. "But what if you're in the middle of something when you come into the room? You don't open your phone when you're busy with me, or it's the end of both you and the phone," he teased. "There's a remote control on the nightstand," Steve chuckled. "But when there's someone over, I keep the windows in closed setting anyway. The whole penthouse is controlled via the app, sound system, air conditioning, the works."

Billy turned around and wrapped his hands on Steve's waist. "Fancy. So, I understood you have a meeting to attend to?" Steve looked at his phone and nodded. "Yes. I should let you go to cook. Maybe we'll get to dessert then sooner too," he smirked. "I brought it with me, like you asked," Billy grinned, and stretched the neck of his hoodie to reveal a red shoulder strap of the bra. Steve let out a deep breath, and ran his fingers on Billy's back, feeling the bra there, and the garters. He swallowed and his cheeks reddened. "Oh boy, so you did," he whispered. Then he groaned. "It's going to be so hard to concentrate on international sales now that all I want to do is unwrap you."

After Steve was done with the meetings, and after they'd started with Billy's Waldorf salad as an appetizer, continued with a simple salmon dish as main, and finished by indulging themselves on the red, silky dessert worn by Billy for quite a while, they laid in bed cuddling.

“Do you have a valid passport?” Steve asked as he ran his fingers through Billy's hair lazily. "Why? Do you want to ensure who I am?" Steve chuckled. "No. I want to take you somewhere." Billy was silent for a while. "You want to take me abroad?" he asked. "Maybe." Billy frowned. "Where? When?" "If you have nothing special in your calendar, next Wednesday. But where, that's a surprise. I guarantee you'll love it though. We'll stay there until Sunday." Billy sat up and turned to look at Steve squinting. “Are you serious?” “Never been more serious in my life.” Billy looked at Steve incredulous. “Why?” “Why what?” “Why do you want to take me there, wherever there is?” “Because it's my...special place. One of them.” “There's more than one?” Billy asked his eyes widening. “Yes. I want you to see them all. I want you in all of them. To make them our special places.”

“What about work?” “What about it?” “Can you just take days off with a few days warning?" Steve raised himself up to lean onto his elbows. “Billy. I haven't cleared my work schedule even for a day in years. And I can do it, if I just want to. I just haven't wanted to, not before you.” Billy shook his head. “You crazy son of a...” Steve laughed. “There's nothing crazy in it. I'm just...” Billy looked at him, raising his eyebrow. “You're what?”

Steve looked at Billy for a moment, tilting his head. Then he sat up too. "When I'm with you everything just makes sense, everything feels right. You must feel it too, don't you?” Billy thought for a moment, biting his lip. Then he smiled. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” he said letting out a laugh. “It's...crazy. Like all of this was...” He pursed his lips. He didn't want to say the rest of the thought out loud. Steve did it for him. “Meant to be.” Billy nodded slightly. "It's just the second night we've been together, and the more I learn to know you...every piece just falls onto place effortlessly. Like it's supposed to be there." Steve smiled. "I know." Billy looked away and sighed. "It scares me. I've been burned enough many times not to believe in love at first sight." Steve stroked Billy's arm gently. "If I didn't think you were...someone significant, you wouldn't be here with me. Not in my bed. This is sacrest of the sacrest." "What about the escorts?" Steve shook his head. "I never brought them home. They're exactly what the name suggests. You, instead," Steve said stroking Billy's back, "you are special, and I'm taking you in every place in my life. So get used to it."

Billy smirked. "So, fast cars, private planes, and holidays in Europe whenever we feel like?" Steve grinned. "If that's what you want, then, yes, baby. Whatever you want."

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove fanfiction #billy hargrove redemption #steve x billy #billy x steve #dream a little dream of me #suometar writes

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sh1tbird-shantytown · 3 years

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WIP Wednesday

it may not be wednesday anymore but i’m not that far off.

tagged by @ghostofjellyfishforgotten and @deardmvz <33

i don’t even know who to tag so if you want to join me in being late for this please do go ahead. tag me, i’d love to see.

also this is just over 1000 words so excuse that. it’s a pretty lengthy series i was working on a long while back. never posted. :)

…

Steve had an arrangement of emotions that hovered over his mind as he rushed around the kitchen making breakfast for himself. The little television was on in the corner counter as he spread butter over his toast, occasionally tuning into the news channel. He was debating on whether or not calling out of work would be a bad move. His head did feel a little sluggish and he knew he’d end up with a horrible headache by the end of the day nonetheless. He straightened his posture and looked up at the grey window. The day didn’t seem to favor anything good either.

There was a dark haired, middle aged man speaking when Steve looked up as he plucked up the other piece of toast, “In breaking news, there was a private jet crash near the Canandian border reported just fifteen minutes ago. The group aboard the plane were prestigious lawyers, Katherine Dacy and Oliver Brookson and their co-partners, John and Elizabeth Harrington,” the man sat up straighter in his chair as Steve barely registered his own posture sinking. “There was a pilot aboard, Jayson Dickson, they are all assumed to be deceas—” Steve blankly heard his toast plop on the floor. His ears started ringing and his vision blurred, his knees following in his body’s failure to deal. His parents were dead. The plane crashed. Katherine and Oliver? He remembered them. They came to dinner a few times. They were nice, they talked to him about civil justice while his parents bickered over white or red wine. His parents—

Steve struck into action and stumbled upright clumsily to the phone on the wall ten feet away, “Hopper,” he whispered to himself, “Hopper. Hopper can help.” He ripped the phone off and dialed the memorized house number.

It rang and rang until there was finally an open click, “Jim here,” was the greeting, it sounded like a rushed thing though. Like he had somewhere to be and whoever was calling better have a good reason. Well, Steve thought dead parents were a pretty good reason.

Steve took in a shaky breath before clearing his throat painfully, “Hop?”

Hopper’s voice changed significantly, “Steve? That you?” he didn’t pause long enough for a response, “‘Course it’s you, I just saw the news, kid. I was just on my way over.”

“Over?” he asked curiously, he grunted as the air was forced out when his knees finally buckled and he dropped heavily to the floor.

“Steve? Harrington?” Hopper’s voice carried through the line worriedly, “You— What are you doing right now?”

“Work,” Steve mumbled and looked at the shiny red telephone in his right hand before slowly raising it, “I was going to work, making breakfast,” he spoke slowly; shock taking it’s powerful place. Although, toast and work seemed very far away; eons.

“You aren’t going to work, kid,” Hopper reasoned and Steve nodded back to the air emptily, “You got that?”

Steve whispered back, “Yeah.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, don’t do anything rash, Steve, I know you may be thinking things but you just wait there until we’re there.” Steve racked his brain to see what Hopper may have been talking about but he couldn’t find anything. There was nothing. He felt numb and even the deep sorrow he knew was there couldn’t penetrate the lack of everything he felt and thought. He swayed where he sat, subconsciously, back and forth as he searched desperately for some sort of movement around him.

“Okay,” Steve said at last when he realized they both had been stuck in the silence, “I’ll be here waiting.”

“See you soon, Steve,” he heard back and then clicked to the end of the line.

He sat back against the wall and spread his legs out in front of himself, light blue pajama pants that his mother had gifted to him last Christmas. Made him feel nice about something. Made him feel content and warmed even in the large and open emptiness of the house. And then Steve began thinking about how the house will begin to feel even more empty with his parents officially gone. No more mom and dad bickering over wine, or his mediocre grades, or how he should strive for a better job. No more stupidly funny jokes by his tipsy mother, no more pleasantly enjoyable law lessons from his father on quiet nights they were home, no more holidays shared sparingly. They were gone. And Steve had learned quickly, especially in the past few years, how to accept loss. But this seemed to be different. A part of his already feeble life was gone. A big part. The beginning of his own. His parents were dead. Was that what Hopper had been talking about. There was an awful amount of death-speak panging around his mind.

Steve erupted with a powerful sob then, tears suddenly springing forward and flooding over his eyelids even when he closed then uncomfortably tight. His shoulders hunched forward and his stomach contracted as he felt bile rise. He forced it down at the last moment and then took in a delicate rumble of a breath from his aching and burning lungs. His heart was pounding so loud and fierce that he felt it in his ears and brain. He brought his hands up and covered his face, where his fingers grazed his forehead and the heels of his hands rested at the bottom of his cheeks.

He trembled on the floor with hot and sticky tears blotching his skin, and then stood up in sudden strength and slammed his own phone down on the holder attached to the wall. The grey wall his mother had made his father agree to when Steve was ten. It had been a three day fight over the wall color. Steve’s father had wanted it green. Steve found that suddenly amusing as he recalled the conversations his mother had with his father where she scolded him on his poor color pallet choice. He laughed into the vacant house hysterically and listened to the echoes it created. The front door slammed open and multiple voices took it over.

There were arms around Steve before he could even fully turn around when he got to his feet to greet the loud guests. And when he did manage to glance at the tops of two women’s heads he clasped his own two arms around them too. Robin and Joyce stepped back with their wide and empathetic eyes. Steve knew he looked a mess by the way sympathy and concern overran their expressions. And he felt it too, his hot temperature and stiff limbs.

“We’re here for you, honey,” Joyce grabbed his forearm gently, but it was firm too. Hopper stood in the doorway, so Steve waved him over before he answered Joyce.

Hopper stepped inside and closed the door as Steve began to speak thickly, “I just— I don’t know what to do,” he released.

Joyce cupped his cheek like he’d seen her do with her own sons before, “Oh, honey,” she eased, “You don’t need to know anything right now. We just need to sit down, stick together, and take the day to slowly come to terms.”

“They’re gone,” he choked out loud finally. He looked up at Joyce’s suddenly tear filled eyes, “They’re actually gone. They’re not coming back to me anymore,” he felt his knees give way but Robin held him up.

She grunted and then put his arm over her shoulder, “Alright, let’s move this to the living room, Bud,” she spoke like she was trying to keep normality to the situation but also still show she cared. And Steve could understand the meaning even in the moment of weakness in his structure. There were cracks everywhere in himself. But he knew Robin and he knew Joyce and he knew Hopper. They were strong, they were present, and they came to stay with him. That was what he needed. Robin seated him on the plush sofa as the two adults entered the room. Steve leaned back and stared off a moment before refocusing on Robin’s clear blue gape.

“Do you guys have to leave?” he asked. The rest looked taken aback and Robin maybe a little offended.

“Son,” Hopper spoke up, “We’re gonna be here all damn day whether you like it or not.”

Steve smiled wetly back, “Thank you.”

Hopper smiled and Joyce did the same beside him, “No prob—” he was interrupted by the phone ringing.

Steve sat up with perseverance he hadn’t had a moment ago, “I got it, don’t worry.” He shuffled over to the wall from before and picked it up, after a moment he gripped it with his other hand too, “I know, Aunt Clara, I know.”

#wip game #steve harrington #stranger things #jim hopper #it is an eventual harringrove. key work eventual #tw death

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billyhargrovebabe · 3 years

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Thank youuu for the tag!! @lovebillyhargrove 💞💞💞 I love reading everyone’s pieces!!

WIP TAG GAME

Rules: Share the latest line however much you want from your work in progress and then tag as many people as there are words in the line as you want.

I’ve got about a hundred half-written Harringrove pieces bc I have commitment issues apparently lol. I also hate my writing but that’s besides the point…

Anyways… here’s one.

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Steve knew it was his fault.

The last time he and Billy had been together, he had said the word — blurted it out when their skin was flushed together.

He's in love with Billy Hargrove. Had told Billy so much himself.

And Billy had just gone rigid beneath him, his bright eyes fading into something reserved, something Steve hadn't understood as he pulled himself up from the blond's chest, stricken with panic.

"I'm not— I didn't..."

Billy never responded, not really. He hadn't said those words back, he had just said shut up, pretty boy, and pulled him back down to his body, pressing his lips to Steve's blazing cheek.

He hadn't seen Billy since then, after he had vomited his feelings at the poor guy, when they weren't even official. He knew he was the reason Billy had just disappeared — scared of commitment, not feeling the same way, blah, blah.

It’s been a month. A whole ass month. No golden curls or baby blues in sight.

And sure, he’d noticed the bruises now and then, dusted across Billy’s ribs or occasionally his face, but he’d never thought anything of them other than Billy being Billy. He liked to fight, whether it be Tommy H or some nameless stranger on the other side of town. Billy came with bruises — that was just Billy.

Except he storms into Hopper’s office, ignoring Flo’s protests about it being too early, that the chief’s having his coffee time, and slams the door shut behind him.

“How has a teenager being missing for over a month and you’ve not done a damned thing about it?!” He spits out, not bothering to sit in the chair opposite Hop, that he gestures to.

Hop drinks his coffee so scalding hot that the steam escapes his mouth, blinks sluggishly, and says nothing but a grumpy, “Huh?”

And Steve wants to shout, to scream, why does nobody give a fuck about Billy?! Instead, he stares down the older man with narrowed eyes.

“Billy. Billy Hargrove. He’s been gone an entire month to the day. He could be dead for all I know! And you— you’ve just sat around drinking coffee and eating donuts!”

Hopper sends him this calculated look as he sets his giant mug down on the wooden desk top. Steve’s expecting something — an excuse, a lie — but he’s met with the smoke of the cigarette Hopper plucks from his breast pocket and lights up instead.

He slams a hand down on the desk, the coffee mug jumping at the impact. “There's a loving family back at home for him, who you told there was nothing you could do to find him! What excuse for a chief are you, Hopper?!"

The older man, calmer than a dove floating in the wind, rises to his feet. He yanks open his top drawer, empties the contents on the desk in front of him. Spreads the small squares across the glossy surface.

Steve furrows his brows, seeing the polaroids Hop was spreading out in front of him. He leans closer.

“Does it look like this kid is from a loving family, Steve?”

The smoke he huffs out is sour in Steve’s nostrils, knocks his stomach queasy and leaves a sour taste in his mouth. It sours more when he picks up the first of many and eyes it carefully.

Billy.

He’s looking away from the camera, baby blues focused on the floor, with a bloody and bruised face. One of his arms is held close to his chest, bent at an ungodly angle and his t-shirt is stained, soaked in several places, notably from his dripping nose.

Steve’s stomach violently lurches.

“The kid’s lucky to be alive if I’m being damn honest.”

He picks up another, sees a trail of marks stomped into Billy’s ribs, skin broken in some places and swollen. Blood is etched across his chest, trailing down his neck.

The next is a close up of his face. His bright blue eyes behind splats of bruising, one eye almost closed off entirely as he stares directly into the camera. And his lips — those soft lips that Steve knew well — were cracked with bloodstained teeth poking from behind.

There was still maybe half a dozen more.

He’s never felt so dumb in his life. Being a kid who’s parents were distant to him entirely and permanently disproving of him, he should have spotted the signs. Billy’s dad was a cold-blooded abuser.

The date printed in the corner of each square makes his breath catch in his lungs, that night. The one where Billy fled in the middle of the night after Steve confessed his love for him. He probably got caught sneaking in by his dad because Steve couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut.

“Not convinced? Take a look at the damned report." Hopper jerks, flops down this thick file that claps against the wood of the desk and sends the polaroids flying.

Steve reaches for it, flips it open with a harsh swallow past the lump in his throat.

William 'Billy' Hargrove described the assault against him by his father after coming home late at night. He says he was pushed to the floor and landed on his arm. His father then proceeded to inflict more damage to his body — specifically using the force of his boots against Billy's ribs. Billy explained how the injuries to his face came after his father had picked him up from the floor by his collar, and verbally assaulted him. Finally, Billy left their family home and drove off in his car, to which he was met by Chief Jim Hopper less than an hour later.

His heart thunders in his chest. If he had known— he would’ve done something about the bruises earlier. He would have told Hopper or… shit, he would have even given Billy a key to his house to keep him away from his dad.

“That's no loving family, Steve.”

“I didn’t know,” he confesses to the older man. He lets out a shaky breath, wills the tears in his eyes to stay put. “Is he okay?”

Hop grunts. “He’s fine. He’s safe now.”

“Where is he?”

“That I can’t tell you just yet — for his protection and for the sake of the case. I’m working on the case day and night to get the kid’s old man behind bars. And before you start— he doesn’t appreciate being kept away from everyone either. Especially you.” Hop points his burning smoke pointedly at Steve, his cheeks burn instantly.

“Here…” The older man scribbles on one of his notepads, tears the sheet off before handing it to Steve. “One phone call a day, alright? That’s it.”

Steve nods immediately, catches sight of Hopper’s phone sat on the desk.

“Nuh-uh. You can use your own landline, kid. Don’t want you blocking up my line all the time.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Hop.” Steve spins on the spot, heads for the door with a rush in his steps. He needs to get home and to dial the number, needs to apologise and maybe tell Billy he loves him again now that he’s safe.

“And remember— one call a day only!”

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Polaroids will forever be one of my favourite prompts for these boys… this one just went a different way to usual? Don’t hate me lol.

Steve’s an oblivious bean, a little dumb too… but that’s okay — he figures it out eventually. Also, I think y’all can kinda guess where Billy is, no?

Tags:

Everyone who made it this far, this is my personal nomination for you to participate!!

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy x steve #billy/steve #steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove fics #angsty #mentions of abuse #Steve is oblivious #jim hopper

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marlenacomehome · 2 years

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Hi! I've made these edits about my Stranger Things OC Cornelia - her story, named ''My Mother's Car: 000's daughter'', follows s4 part 1 & (soon) 2 (tho I've written something about her mama too) and it's on Ao3:

tags: eventual romance, heavy angst, awkard crush & flirting, one-sided attraction in the beginning, corn is a trad/vampire goth, corn has a disability, mentions of harringrove & harringrove flashbacks, dom/sub, kinda switch eddie, bdsm, eventual smut, strangers to lovers, hurt/comfort, praise kink, slow burn, slow romance

Synopsys: Giulia Casanova - also known as 000 - is the first lab experiment ever created before her rebellion. She had a daughter, Cornelia, born when she was inside the lab from a security guard she fell in love with. Giulia died at the Russians base to save Hopper and destroy the key, but the second after her death, Cornelia was so close to her she inherited her powers - pyrokinesis and telekinesis. Her mother also pushed her inside the Upsidedown gate, where Corn spent many months alone trying to find the malignant entity her mother’s memories kept talking about. She rescued her friends Steve, Nancy, Robin and met Eddie, who fell in love with her at first sight. His feelings weren't mutual, but things changed when Corn embraced again her gothic self - and found out a freakier side of Eddie she fancied a lot. And that's where the story began.

I'm so proud of her because she's by far one of my best OCs <3 Check it out and let me know! It would mean the world to me, really

#stranger things 4 #stranger things oc #stranger things fic #stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #jim hopper #joyce byers #eleven #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove

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platypanthewriter · 3 years

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Hug

Harringrove April prompt day 11, Hug. Billy can't take any more of his dad, but he gets a softer landing than he expects.

In the trailer, Steve’s fingers had pressed against his chest, and Billy’d followed them. He laid awake in bed after—as his lip healed, as the skin of his knuckles stopped pulling and stinging where they’d met Steve’s face.

He’d just...touched Billy, with his fingers, pushing him away, and Billy’d wanted to lean in, yank Steve Harrington in like he had on the basketball court, breathing his air. Billy laid on his bed breathing unevenly, remembering the way Tommy had just thrown an arm around Steve Harrington, rested his weight against him, and the way Steve had leaned into it, grinning and loose. Billy’s eyes had been on the space between them—the inches, or sometimes nothing as their bodies brushed, or pressed against each other, hot and sweaty over the keg or in the showers.

His brain had always been on the soft finality in his dad’s voice as Billy’s ears rang, or the ache in his head from getting cracked against the edge of the doorway. He’d seen Harrington’s hand squeeze Nancy’s shoulder, touching her arm with a smile before walking off to get her a drink. Billy couldn’t stop thinking about Harrington’s fingers, brushing her cheek.

The bed creaked as Billy scrambled up. Three o’clock in the morning, and he could not sleep, thinking about Steve Harrington’s fingers pressing lightly on his chest. He yanked his jacket on—not that denim was gonna do fuck-all in an Indiana winter, but it fitted tightly, and he grabbed the sides of it and yanked it tighter so it squeezed his arms and back, instead of just buttoning it up.

His dad had grabbed it, earlier, shaking Billy before shoving him away, and Billy’d breathed easier, with hands on him. Neil had grabbed the open edges and yanked, and Billy’d imagined Steve’s fingers, shoving him around.

“I don’t know how to get through to you anymore,” Neil had whispered in Billy’s ear. “And I don’t know why I keep trying.” The tired indifference in his face was worse than the contempt, somehow, and Billy’d grabbed his dad’s shoulder, for once, asking what the hell that meant. He’d lost his balance when Neil just shoved.

It’d be final, at least, he’d thought for a second, in the vertigo of falling, before his head hit the green-painted brick of the fireplace, his shoulder crashed into the fireplace set as he curled up, and Neil reached across him to pick up the poker. For a moment, Billy thought it was over, finally. He’d started laughing, and he spit blood on Neil’s pants, but Neil just tidied the poker stand, hanging up the little shovel and tongs like Billy wasn’t even there.

Maybe he wasn’t, Billy thought, watching as his father walked off into the other room, and Billy was just left there, his ears ringing.

The lock on his car was stiff with cold, but it worked eventually, and Billy climbed in, turned the volume up on the Scorpions, and didn’t let himself think until he was halfway to Harrington’s house. He parked across the street, just sitting there listening to music and taking swigs of a bottle of cheap tequila somebody’d left on his back seat.

The lights came on inside, and Billy smiled at his radio. Like always, when he was gonna start shit, his hands shook just a little, so he clenched one on his steering wheel, and one on the bottle of tequila. Against the lights of the house, Steve looked like a dark shape when he walked out.

Billy switched his car off and got out, leaned back against it, and waved, running his tongue around his teeth.

“The hell are you doing here,” Steve whisper-shouted, flailing his arms, like an idiot. He stayed well out of range. “Fuck off, Hargrove, I’ll call the sheriff, I swear to god—”

“Don’t call your daddy,” Billy whispered, raising his hands. “Look, Harrington, I’ll be good. I’ll—” he laughed, staring into Harrington’s wide brown eyes. “I’ll just stand here.”

“...what the fuck,” Steve hissed, backing away, and Billy ran around to get between him and his house.

“You can get your own back. Give you some free hits,” Billy told him, licking his lips as he imagined Steve grabbing his collar, and Steve’s fist connecting with his face. “Two for flinching, right, Harrington? Hit me.”

“Are you high,” Steve yelled, backing up.

“Hit me,” Billy hissed at him, holding his hands up and away. “Clock me one, go on, Harrington.”

“What are you doing here, fuck off—”

“Hit me,” Billy screamed at him, and Steve shoved him hard and then went inside before Billy even had time to stagger back up to his feet, leaving Billy with a skinned hand and knee in Steve Harrington’s driveway. “...fuck,” he whispered, not drunk enough to blur anything. Harrington hadn’t even hit him in the face, he thought vindictively, he’d just walked off. Billy rolled onto his back, staring up at the stars, and wondered whether Harrington was calling the police.

He was still there a while later, singing off-key and mostly numb, wondering if he’d turned invisible, when Steve wandered out. He leaned around the door warily. “I gotta go to school in the morning. I’m gonna run you over if you don’t move,” he said, and Billy burst out laughing, clapping his scabbed-up hand over his face.

“Said I wouldn’t move,” he whispered hoarsely, waving his cigarette. “Said...go ahead, hit me.”

“...the hell are you doing,” Steve groaned, crouching a few feet away, still out of reach, and Billy curled on his side to face him. He wondered if Steve would kick him away, if he crawled closer, and started snickering.

“Make us even, right?” Billy asked, baring his teeth in a grin. “Run me over. Come on, you fucking pussy, start up your car—”

“Jesus,” Steve sighed, rubbing his face, and Billy ran out of breath watching his long fingers. “I’m not gonna kill you, christ. Go home.”

He’d come this far to feel Harrington’s hands on him again, and the thought of going back to his house to be ignored, fucking giving up, and crawling like a pussy back to his room made his his throat even dryer. He tried not to picture his dad’s reaction to him walking out, and laughed.

“Hargrove!” Harrington yelled. “Go home!”

��Not...gonna...happen, Harrington,” Billy told him, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

“Why are you even here,” Steve hissed, dropping to sit cross legged, and Billy stared at him so long that Steve scrabbled at his hair in frustration. “Say something, holy crap.”

“...you wanna get back at me,” Billy said gruffly, and reminded himself of holding Steve Harrington down until he stopped moving, stopped breathing, almost. He was still so warm under Billy’s hands, his lips swollen, his fingers bloodied. Billy swallowed back a laugh, and some of it got out, shaky and uneven. His spine still ached from slamming into the doorframe, and his upper arms let him know they were bruised every time he shifted. “Fuck me up, Harrington, it’s what I’m here f—”

“Go home,” Harrington said, standing up, and Billy pushed himself up, staggering.

“Wait, you fuck,” he hissed. “Stop fucking ignoring me—”

“Get the hell out of my face,” Steve hissed. “You really wanna end up down at the station?”

Billy stomped up and grabbed Harrington by his sweater, clenching it in both hands, and set himself for the blow when Harrington’s hand twitched.

“...what the hell,” Harrington said, after a few slow seconds of glowering into Billy’s face. “You’re stretching out my sweater, asshole.”

Billy shook him, and yelled “Hit me,” right up in his face, but Harrington just looked at him like he was a drunk, pathetic waste of time, and Billy clenched his hands harder, gritting his teeth, and hung on as Steve tried to dislodge him. “Fuck you,” Billy whispered, grappling in closer as his whole body hurt, from getting shoved into the door, shoved into the cement, and his voice got more and more hoarse. “End it, Harrington,” he whispered, and Steve stared.

“Nobody’s gonna ask where I went,” Billy told him, laughing, and letting go enough to run his thumb over Harrington’s parted lips. Steve jerked his head back, glowering, and Billy winced, grinning as he waited for the blow. “Come on, Harrington,” he whispered, yanking Steve close until their lips almost brushed. “What do I gotta do, huh?”

“...what’s going on,” Steve blurted, as Billy let go of his sweater, and smoothed it back down, waiting for Steve Harrington’s dumb brain to figure out what Billy was doing.

“Nothing,” Billy whispered, hoarsely.

“Why’re you here trying to die,” Steve hissed. “What is this shit, Hargrove—” His hands were up between his chest and Billy’s, waiting, and Billy let himself tip into them, feeling Steve Harrington’s fingers against his skin where he hadn’t buttoned his jacket. He grunted a little, deep in his throat, and Steve jerked his hands away.

Steve moving his hands meant Billy stumbled into him, right against his chest, and Billy’s heart stopped, it felt like, for a second, feeling Harrington warm and solid against him. Smelling Harrington—his hairspray, his soap-and-laundry smell, because Billy’d woken him up—made it feel like he’d fallen out of reality, just down the rabbit hole where guys didn’t murder you for climbing into their arms.

Somewhere with soft landings.

He drew a shuddery breath, closing his eyes, and then another, waiting for Steve to grab his hair, or something—shove him away again, and kick him on the ground, maybe, but Steve didn’t move, and Billy’s breaths were starting to sound like some little shitheel, whining when he didn’t get his way. He bit his lips together, trying to control himself, get his lungs to work normally, instead of gasping like there wasn’t enough air in the world.

“...the fuck are you doing, Harrington,” he choked out, “Fucking...end me,” and Steve just stood there like a post. Billy brought his hand up, slowly, and gripped the bottom hem of Steve’s sweater. When nothing happened, except Steve’s shallow breathing, Billy opened his eyes, staring at the tears smearing on the green wool of Steve’s sweater. He took another gulping breath as Steve’s arm moved, but he just grabbed the arm Billy wasn’t touching him with.

“Did something...happen,” Steve asked him, just—just letting Billy Hargrove fucking cry on him, and Billy shook his head, wishing something had. “Is Max okay?”

“...’m just like this,” Billy whispered, snickering, and clenching his fist harder in Steve’s sweater. Steve was warm against him, and as it started to sink into his skin, Billy started shivering, hard. “F-fuuuck,” he muttered, sniffling. “You can kill me now,” he said, giggling.

“Just like what,” Steve asked, still trying to figure him out, and Billy shoved away and laughed again, a weird, wet noise all up in his sinuses. He bent over and leaned his hands on his knees, trying to steady himself, and then saw Steve’s sneakers at the edge of his vision, and stumbled back.

Steve grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked him towards the door, Billy staggering along. He stumbled over the shoes inside the door, kicking his own off when he saw Steve do it, but Steve yanked him back upright, pushing him into a kitchen where the oven light illuminated polished, handle-less cabinets. Billy stood there, looking around at the darkness of the rest of the house, and then Steve was yanking at his jacket. He shook Billy, hard.

“Why the hell are you outside my house trying to—to get run over, or something,” Steve hissed, and Billy shrugged, wishing he’d had more to drink.

“Why aren’t you doing it?” he asked, grinning his sluttiest grin, and Steve growled, and yanked on his jacket again, yanking it off.

He tossed it away, and then grabbed the bottom of his own sweater and yanked it off over his head, and right-side out. “The fuck is wrong with you,” Steve muttered, sighing impatiently, and flapping the sweater on Billy’s head. “You’re like a wild animal or—”

“What,” Billy mumbled, “—the fuck are you doing—” waving his hands, a little, as Steve jerked the sweater down over his face, and the wool got in Billy’s mouth, and caught on his earring. Billy sniffled juicily and hugged himself inside it without putting his arms through the sleeves, breathing in Steve Harrington’s smells, and let Steve put a hand on each of his shoulders and walk him into another dark room.

“Stay,” he said, and Billy barked, laughing, but waited to see what would happen next, in this weird world he’d found down the rabbit hole. He wondered if Steve would chop off his head, and snickered at the image.

“You gonna tame me, Harrington?” he asked, still shivering hard, but he squinted around, trying to memorize the sounds and smells of Harrington’s house. The fridge hummed in the darkness, and he could smell dust, and something that had burned in the oven.

Then some vents turned on, and Steve threw something around his shoulders—a quilt, or something, it felt like, not too heavy. Steve grabbed his elbows again, pushing him backwards until he thudded against the wall—over a heating vent, he realized, as the metal dug into his feet. Billy laughed sharply as the blanket around him inflated like Marilyn Monroe’s skirt in the subway pictures, and started to fall off.

Steve wrapped it around him again and held it there, his hands on Billy’s arms as everything filled with warm air—blasting up through his socks and toasting his feet, up his pant legs, and filling the space around him under the blanket with what felt like hot clouds wrapped around him. He swallowed hard again as his eyes adjusted slowly to see Steve’s intent face in the darkness. He looked confused, mostly, and Billy giggled harder, trying to keep it silent, as tears dripping down his face.

Steve’s hands on Billy’s elbows were firm, and Billy caught himself leaning in again, shifting his feet to force himself back upright, snorting a laugh, but Steve’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward on his own, so Billy could lean awkwardly against him, held apart by his own arms inside Steve’s sweater. Steve just had a white t-shirt on, and he smelled even more like clean laundry in the dry heat of the vents, like he’d been curled up in bed before Billy’d crawled out of his own bed, and fallen down the rabbit hole.

He shifted to hold the blanket—one hand on Billy’s bicep, drawing him closer still, and the other one on the back of his shoulder, and Billy gave in, like he always did, and let his face rest against Harrington’s shoulder and neck, sighing. Steve stroked his back, gently, like a habit.

It was so warm.

The other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done

#harringrove #Harringrove April #I dunno about this one guys #Prompt length is pretty restrictive #Feels like we're missing a lot

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prettyboyporter · 4 years

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It Started Like This

also on ao3

for @lissieisspacey for harringrove for BLM, who wanted the story behind the cat drawn in this art by @artzeppo

1.5k | M

It started with Steve clearing out his savings account.

He marched into the bank kind of in a daze, and before he knew it he was blinking in front of a teller and saying, I’d like to withdraw all of my money. She gave it to him, baffled, and he looked down at the stacks of bills -- the college fund that his dad had deposited that never came to fruition because no colleges would take him in addition to the tiny amount he’d managed to put in there from his Family Video earnings.

If he was in a daze before, he suddenly moved as if a meteorite would crash into the Earth if he didn’t hurry. He sped home, took the stairs two at a time, flung open two suitcases on his bed and jammed them full of clothes, a handful of pictures, the little league trophy from when he was nine, a few cassettes, and the little stuffed tiger Billy had given him last night that led to their first kiss.

He snapped them closed as soon as they were full, tossed them in the trunk, and squealed his tires as he took the corner hard toward Cherry Lane.

Neil Hargrove was outside watering his lawn when Steve came to a speeding halt in the driveway, sending gravel skittering.

“Can I help you?” Neil asked as Steve bounded up the stairs and let himself into the house.

“Nope, fuck off!” Steve shouted back over his shoulder.

“Hey!” Neil shouted but Steve didn’t hear what came next because he was already standing in Billy’s room, chest heaving, his lungs trying to catch up with the frenzy of activity.

Billy stood up from his bed and faced Steve, shock written all over his expression. “The fuck?”

Steve’s heart was banging against his sternum. He felt like he was going to pass out. “Come with me to California.”

“What?” Billy asked, a little hysterically.

“Pack a bag, Billy. Fuck it. Let’s just go. Me and you.”

Two heavy boot thumps came from Steve in Billy’s doorway. “You’ll go nowhere with this boy,” Neil said from behind Steve’s back.

Fire flared up in Billy’s eyes -- a fire that had been missing during Billy’s strenuous ten-month recovery from Starcourt.

Last night, the first time that Steve had ever kissed Billy, Billy’s eyes were soft and warm as Steve held the little stuffed tiger that Billy had given him.

Right now, Billy’s jaw twitched, and his eyes were cold as ice. “I’ll go where the fuck I want.”

“You’ll do exactly as I-”

Steve turned around and decked Neil, and Neil went down with a loud thump. I won again, Steve thought. Dustin would be proud.

Billy stood wide-eyed, silent. Time stretched out for a few moments as Billy blinked at his father on the ground. “Fuck you Neil,” he whispered down to Neil’s unconscious body splayed on the hallway floor.

Then, he went digging under his bed and pulled out a suitcase. He started emptying the contents of his dresser into it. “See those crates over there? Start dumping shit in them.”

The crates made up part of Billy’s makeshift vanity. Steve’d always felt sad when he looked at it that Billy had to make it himself since his dad didn’t simply buy him one. He pulled apart the vanity and started filling the crates with haircare products and cologne and random items from Billy’s shelf.

They stood at the trunk of the beemer holding all of Billy’s worldly possessions. Billy paused as he looked at the beemer, then looked over at his own car. His expression hardened. “Let’s take the Camaro,” he said. “Let’s bring her home.”

Steve nodded. It made sense. He wasn’t overly-connected with the beemer in any case.

He left the keys in Dustin’s mailbox with a hastily scribbled note on a Burger King napkin.

Dustin would be 16 soon enough, and he deserved to have a good car. The whole thing felt good and right and when they pulled away, Steve wiped at tears that he hoped were inconspicuous.

They make it through Indiana, Illinois, and most of Missouri smiling, whooping, and fist pumping. They blared Metallica and Ratt and Van Halen. The Camaro felt like a roller coaster flying past corn stalks, flitting greens and fields of golden wheat. Steve stuck his hand out the window and felt the breeze flow between his fingers, free and clear.

Billy laced his fingers through Steve’s on the seat between them. They stopped and shared their second kiss after eating, still tasting of greasy burgers and Cokes with the smell of asphalt in the air.

They shared their third kiss when they spent the night at a motel, neon lights in the middle of a dark night, shining through the crack in their curtains as they slept together but kissed lazily and spooned, too tired to take it any further, too drained after a day of driving and intense emotion. Steve buried his nose in Billy’s curls.

Steve drove the next day with Billy’s hand on his thigh. They drove past more corn while Billy complained about Steve’s Lionel Richie tape laming up the aura of his car, then slept, mouth open and aviators dangling off of his ear. His curls blew around in the air from the cracked window.

Eventually the air grew warm and dry around them. Night settled. The stars appeared and the temperature dropped as Billy laid his head on Steve’s shoulder. He wasn’t asleep -- he just rambled about nothing and Steve dropped his arm around Billy’s shoulders.

“You’re good to me, pretty boy,” Billy said as he took a drag off of his smoke.

“Wouldn’t have wanted to run away and join the circus with anyone else,” Steve said. He planted a kiss on Billy’s forehead.

That night as they were bringing their suitcases into their motel room, a tiny little tabby cat brushed in past their legs, jumped up on the bed, and curled up into a ball.

“Fuckin excuse you,” Billy said to the cat. “Our bed. Skidaddle.”

The cat blinked lazily up at Billy.

“You wanna stay here you gotta pitch in for the room, gato,” Billy said as he placed his suitcase on the stand. Steve closed the door.

“Hey. That cat needs to get out. Open the door back up.”

Steve shrugged. “He looks comfy. We should let him stay.”

“How do you know it’s a he?”

“I don’t. C’mere gato!” Steve said in a high-pitched voice. The cat stood and walked to the end of the bed, raising his little grey head and closing his eyes while Steve scratched his cheeks and behind his ears, under his chin.

Gato started purring.

“I think we have a cat now,” Steve said.

“We don’t have a fucking cat, Steve.”

That night, though, Gato slept on Billy’s chest. And when Steve woke up, Billy was petting him and cooing.

When they got around to loading up the car, Gato walked out with them and jumped up into the Camaro’s back seat when Steve opened the door.

Billy looked at the cat and shook his head. “I guess we have a cat.”

They found a pet store in the phone book and Steve peeled off some of his savings account money for food, litter, a couple of bowls, and a box.

They stopped one more time at a motel. Gato curled up in Steve’s suitcase on top of his clothes while Steve tongue kissed Billy on the bed, heated, dick hard, got down between Billy’s legs, thick thighs under his hands as he sucked and sucked with Billy’s hand on the back of his head.

Billy did the same for Steve on his knees while Steve braced himself against the wall, breathless, in love, so in love, his heart bursting with it as he spilled into Billy’s mouth.

The next day the Welcome to California sign loomed ahead of them and grew larger as they approached.

Billy pulled the car off to the shoulder as they got close to it.

“What’re you doing?” Steve asked.

“Come on,” Billy said as he exited the car.

Steve looked around and couldn’t see why -- they were near the Colorado River so maybe Billy wanted to snap a Polaroid with the camera he’d purchased yesterday.

Gato got out behind Steve and started playing with the brush on the side of the road.

“Gonna carry you across the state line, baby. Here’s our future,” Billy said, gesturing up at the sign. He crouched down. “Get up on my back.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, and as he started to climb up, Gato scurried up Steve’s back and got up on his shoulder. “And you accused me of being romantic.” He leaned down to kiss Billy’s cheek as Billy started walking forward with Steve and Gato on his back.

It started four days ago with Steve clearing out his savings at Hawkins National. It started there, and ended here, in California, where Billy carried them across the state line, where they found a little loft in San Diego that fit their budget, where Steve found work in a bookstore and where Billy got a job in a repair shop.

It started at the bank, and it ended in love.

#harringrove #my fic #my writing #soft fic for hard times #soft times at ridgemont high #harringrove for BLM

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mourntheantagonist · 4 years

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alright ever since I thought about this I have not been able to get it out of my head so I’m just gonna leave this here.

band kids!harringrove (I know it’s awful but lemme indulge)

so for starters, billy is a percussionist (bc it’s always the percussionists) and steve is a sax player (bc he’s always memeing). billy is that one kid in band that legitimizes the whole thing because he’s also a cool kid and an athlete. steve is just there for the art credit. he does not have the lips suited for reed playing and he’s incapable of playing anything below a forte. It took him a fat minute to learn that ‘tounging’ and ‘fingering’ have a different meaning in the realm of sax playing.

girls will show up to band concerts just to watch billy on the drum set. flipping his hair and making it a show. Steve is constantly getting distracted from the music because he’s so enthralled watching billy play because he gets into a zone that he doesn’t quite understand.

billy and steve aren’t all that nice to each other. steve is always calling billy out on his cockiness. makes jokes about how percussion isn’t as hard as everything else even if he doesn’t believe it. billy will poke fun at steve for being second chair to a freshman. it’s all fun and games. no malice.

one day, steve stayed late after school because he had a test to make up. when he goes to the band room to pick up his instrument he hears loud banging on the tympani that lacks rhythm. when he walks in he’s met with sheet music strewn across the floor and billy standing next to the tympani banging aggressively with the mallets and he’s crying. neil had texted him right as school had gotten out not to come home. steve managed to talk him down and bring him back to his.

after much protest billy agrees to move in with steve and they slowly but surely become friends. when they’re home, billy will play the part of the metronome for steve when he’s practicing. billy starts helping him with his parts. apparently billy dabbled in saxophone before switching over to drums. he’s able to help him with his tongue position and gives him pointers like keeping his fingers on the keys and not removing them completely or positioning the reed further down the mouthpiece so the sound isn’t as sharp. by the end of the semester steve is able to move up to first chair.

steve enjoys having another presence in his usually empty house. however he’s not too fond of the midnight meltdowns that lead to banging on the cymballs and snare. one day steve asks him about it and he tells him how it’s a good way to let out steam. he tells steve to try it and he’s right. it does feel really good. although billy tends to be much more rhythmic with his meltdowns than steve is.

after billy staying with him for a while they start to grow closer. billy eventually opens up to steve about the abuse. steve tells billy that he actually doesn’t know when his parents will be back, and that when they do they won’t stay for long. billy comes out to steve to steve’s utter shock because he really thought billy was the dictionary definition for straight. steve comes out to him in return and they share a really sweet moment, but neither of them make a move.

that is until the night of their spring concert. the entire band had played really well. very few slip ups and steve even had a solo part in one of their songs. when the curtain closes and they exit the stage billy brings steve into one of the practice rooms. he pins him up against the piano and starts kissing him rough. steve kisses him back, his lips already swollen from playing.

“you look real good under the spotlight pretty boy.” he says and doesn’t give steve the chance to respond before going back in. this time steve starts to make use of his hands, grabbing at billy’s waist, pulling him closer. steve introduces his tongue into billy’s mouth and he can feel billy smile against him as he does so. billy wraps his arms around steve’s neck, pulling them both back towards the wall so now it’s billy who is pinned.

“I see you’ve been practicing your tonguing stevie.” he says when they pull apart for air.

“I’ve also been working on my fingering if that’s something you’re interested in.”

then they fuck in the practice room to the sounds of middle schoolers playing the star wars soundtrack.

#posting this now because I won’t post this if sober me has any say in the matter #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #this is so fucking stupid but idc #I got like halfway through this and realized it was a crime that I didn’t include canon band kid Robin buckley #but here we are #oops #I guess I’ll just add this #Robin walks in on the two of them one too many times and has to be consoled because she was just traumatized

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pondermoniums · 4 years

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Harringrove husband/dads headcanon! I’m working my omegaverse story today, so there’s a sprinkling of that too, but~

Steve’s love languages are quality time and physical touch/proximity. He needs to be physically close to the people he cares about.

It takes Billy a long time to figure out that he’s an actions kind of guy. This manifests in all sorts of ways: putting his ego aside to really say what he means, make Steve breakfast even though he thinks putting ketchup on eggs is some sort of blasphemy, etc.

Obviously these qualities come with their own drawbacks. Steve’s bad days mean he can be really overbearing; and because he’s self-conscious about it, he over corrects and completely withdraws from Billy until Billy figures it out and glues himself to Steve for as long as he needs.

Billy sometimes can’t just calm down with a really long hug or cuddle session. He needs actions given to him as well as doing them. Of course Steve is happy to provide, but Billy’s a doer, not a talker.

So imagine being a tiny tott, and seeing your grumpy dads kind of staring each other down with loud silent treatments until one of them breaks. Steve might ease himself beside Billy and feather-lightly rest his head on Billy’s shoulder while he’s shredding potatoes for dinner. A soft whisper is answered by a hard reply, and then an earnest whisper before Billy finally comes down to meet Steve halfway. And then Steve finishes making dinner for Billy, while Billy stays, if only to have his knee leaning against Steve the whole time.

The dads are kind of ridiculous, a lot of embarrassing, but a whole lot in love. And whenever one of them has to go out of town, or is working particularly late, or had to go into work early, and the other has to do their morning routine without the other, that empty space is really felt throughout the house.

These dramatic dads behave like someone died. Steve pulls out Billy’s mug before realizing with a heaved sigh that he’s wasting coffee if he makes enough for two.

Their son takes the mug before Steve can put it away, and finds a use for it. Eats cereal out of it, if he has too. Their daughter curls up with Steve on the couch in Billy’s place during morning cartoons. It’s a race to the phone for one of the kids to inform, “Daddy, come home for lunch. Papa’s moody.”

“Is he pregnant?”

“I AM NOT PREGNANT!”

A snort comes through the phone. “I’m on my way.”

Billy stiffly serves dinner like the world is balanced on his shoulders until their little girl sees the stress ease from her daddy’s face when she tells him, “I called papa. He’s bringing your favorite. Red velvet.”

He tells her, “Thanks, baby,” before his son distracts him with a tug on his sweatpants. Billy scoops an arm under his butt without thinking. Just heaving him up easily, only for their youngest to koala wrap around him. Even when Billy sits down to eat, his baby boy stays on his lap until Steve finally comes through the door, loudly announcing himself by dropping his keys, bag, and probably the cake he picked up on the way home. Because cake, why not?

And their kids try to ignore the sighs and kissing noise from the tiny foyer.

• • • • •

Once the kids are able to go to friends’ houses and see the difference, an unspoken understanding happens, both for them as well as their friends. The Harrington-Hargrove house is THE SPOT for everyone to hang out.

Alpha Billy knows how to ride just about any kind of board, and hosts whole neighborhood lessons for skateboarding, or for jaunts to the beach, surfing. Omega Steve (although nobody can tell the difference, and their kids don’t spill the details because they picked up real fast on prejudice bullshit) provides the safety for when one of the friends discovers their mom’s wine closet way too early in life. He’s a mom, dad, and loyal, rowdy uncle rolled into one, so the kids feel safe coming to him for their alcohol and weed curiosity in their pre-teen/teen years. That doesn’t mean he’s giving beer to twelve year olds, but he’s also not berating the kids for their natural curiosities.

Yes, eventually their house is the place where the teens smoke and drink cheap, sweet wine. But it’s better than dangerous jungle juice at a stranger’s house party.

And as fun as a pack of teens might be, a loving environment is magnetic. Steve and Billy lived their teen years through those parties because they needed something that they weren’t getting at home. Turns out, a quieter bonfire in an intimate backyard after a day at the beach drew the kids and their friends far more often than the parties.

Steve and Billy never hide their affection for one another. As the last log burns out in their fire pit, it’s been many years and the kids feel comfortable finally approaching the subject with them. How they do it: stay in love and liking one another. How open they are about things.

Steve admits, I think if I saw my parents hug more, I would be a different person.

Billy agrees. Too many broken plates in my house. I didn’t want to became a permanently violent person.

Steve laughed, Just see what doesn’t work and try differently, I guess. Too many hush-hush things in my house. My parents’ marriage was so under-wraps that they couldn’t dig themselves out to talk to one another.

Billy: Your parents were walking around like it was still the 1950s.

Steve: My mom’s beehive hair is legendary.

Billy: That explains a lot.

The conversation scares the kids in a very calm, adult way. A little bit of the real world, given to them in the safety of their best friends’ back yard, moderated by two dads who are able to guffaw over, Thank god they saw the light of divorce. Is your mom still coming over next month?

#I don't know what this is #i need to be stopped #but it's out of my brain now #so that's good #harringrove #head canon #dads au #omegaverse #harringrove parents #it's kind of a mix of stuff #pondermoniums

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laurasinele · 5 years

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A Fictober19 Harringrove drabble + a story of survival and awareness

Written for Fictober19 prompt 20: “You could talk about it, you know”

Harringrove fanfic (Stranger Things) + the real life experience that inspired it

WARNING: PAST RAPE/SEX ABUSE (the present is mostly fluff)

DMs on the subject are welcome

I honestly had no idea what to do with this. I'm working on each prompt on the same day or the day before, though I try to decide the theme and basic plot about four days prior to publication. I had absolutely no idea about this one. My husband suggested to make it chapter 3 of Magpies, but in that one neither Draco nor Harry are bottling things up, so this line didn't really fit there. Then, yesterday, the 19th, something unpleasant happened to me and I decided I could use this prompt as an outlet. I went through my ships and the idea of pouring myself in my headcanon of Billy Hargrove became strong (mind you. I have not seen season 3, and I am aware things get complicated in that one to say the least, but let me bask into my post-season 2 repressed and traumatised baby who finds solace and love and understanding in Steve’s superhuman empathy and general gorgeousness).

Click the link for the fic, what follows is the personal experience that inspired it, which you can also find in the fic’s chapter 2.

I am a sex abuse victim. The abuse took place in the form of repetitive non consensual sex in the context of an established relationship, through guilt-tripping mostly, on occasion by overpowering me physically.

The guilt-tripping went as follows: up until I was 22 my sex-drive used to be well above average. Now I know it was due to a hormonal unbalance and the hypomanic stages of my now diagnosed type II bipolar disorder. Back then, I saw it as a very defining trait of my identity, as I felt free, empowered and connected with my body and my lovers.

I said lovers because I had several of them simultaneously. Everybody was informed and agreed to it. Some of them were and still are friends of mine and between them. It was all open, honest and healthy.

My relationship with my abuser started with him being one of those lovers. Then, evolved into an “official” relationship, but still open. In a natural way, he became my only relationship, as the others either started exclusive relationships or had schedules incompatible with mine, while my boyfriend studied with me and I spent most of the time at his parent’s place to avoid the continued low-key psychological and emotional abuse of my father, but that’s another story.

Still, even though none of us was seeing anyone else, we agreed that our relationship was open. At one point, I mentioned I was planning on meeting one of my past lovers. Just meeting, nothing I said suggested there was going to be any kind of intimacy. He got angry. He didn’t lash out and, after a while of sulking, he reasoned that our relationship was still open but he was not comfortable with the idea of me meeting that particular person because there had been a romantic relationship, and he was willing to have and let me have other sexual relationships but not romantic ones. We debated cordially for a while and I accepted his point. Flash forward several months later at my faculty’s cantina: a very good friend, who actually became my lover later on in my life, and is not anymore but is still a very close friend, started to flirt with me jokingly, as we usually did. My boyfriend joined us at our table, we kept our conversation peppered with compliments and pick up lines and, at some point, it got hot. And it was okay, it was public knowledge that my boyfriend and I were polyamorous. My friend and I accompanied my boyfriend to meet a professor and, along the way, we were making plans for the afternoon. My boyfriend had something to do, at what rose the possibility of hanging out with my friend and see where all the spicy talk went. My boyfriend had been encouraging us and playing matchmaker all the while, and he said something along the lines of “sure, go ahead”, but when my friend and I started to discuss the logistic he got nervous. We noticed and exchanged worried looks, slowing the conversation down a notch. It was all very natural and open up until that moment, but the change in the mood was so obvious that I finally asked what was wrong. He said he wasn’t comfortable with me fucking one of my best mates because, well, he knew the guy. I couldn’t believe it at first. I remembered the first restriction: no ex-boyfriends. Now, not people that we both know. Because he said it in front of my friend, and my friend knew me quite well and recognised the look in my face as more than mildly annoyed, he hurried to say it was okay with him and asked me if I could still give him a lift. That way I avoided an argument with my boyfriend on the topic of “Is this restricting our openness as a couple becoming a trend?”. Not other prospects rose for me nor for him, and we never discussed exclusiveness again.

Not long after that incident, I fell into a depression. Both the depressive state and the anti-depressants affected my libido enormously. I was practically never in the mood for sex. Sometimes I willingly made an effort when he initiated it, but I realised the experiences were not comfortable for me and forcing myself was only making it more difficult to get my sex-drive back. I explained this. He said it made sense. Next night he tried again. I said no. This went on for a couple of weeks. Then he got, not angry but, dramatic, and said he had lots of trust and self-esteem issues and, that if we didn’t have sex, he felt as if I didn’t love him. I explained for the umptenth time, and emphasized that he already knew this, that my low sex drive was a chemical catastrophe in my brain and had nothing to do with my love for him. That, if something, it was challenging my self perception, as I had identified with my sexuality and explored it confidently and freely from a very, very early age. This was hurting me as much or more as it was hurting him. He calmed down for another week or two. He brought the “I feel like you don’t love me anymore” discourse again. I decided to have sex with him that night. It was awful. I didn’t came nor wanted to. He insisted on making me. He stopped trying with his fingers when I closed my legs, since my words didn’t seem to be enough. That night passed and others came. I said no, he said yes, I said no, he was almost 6’5 feet tall (2 meters) and his hand was bigger than my face. He opened my legs by force (I think he thought it was roleplaying). That made me freeze and I let him have his way. I still tried to say no every next time. I eventually stopped saying yes or no. I just layed there.

Now, when I started to tell this story to people, the most common first question was: why did you keep going to his place to sleep? The answer is simple: I did not see it as something as bad as going home and facing the tension and scorn and yells from my father. In the great scheme of things, I know now that what my boyfriend did was worse but, because of its duration in time and newness, the situation at my home felt much more real and unbearable. I still didn’t realize what my boyfriend was doing was rape. I just thought we had things to talk about and the moment to do so never came.

The first time I called it by its name it was like an epiphany. For some reason I remember it was March, and I remember I told him: “You’ve been doing it for six months”. We had an argument for an entirely different reason that I don't remember and it evolved into the fact that lately we were constantly arguing. I kept trying to get somewhere in that particular argument because it kept going in circles: he pointed out problems and I kept saying those weren’t what was wrong with us. He asked impatiently and loudly what was it then. And I bursted out, and I didn’t even know the words were inside me, I didn’t had the notion before talking: “Our problem is that you’ve been raping me for six months. You’ve been doing it for six months, and I say no, and you keep going at it and in the end I stopped saying no because it was easier than risking to get hurt. And so I can’t trust you anymore and that's why snap at you for everything”.

He was horrified. He covered his mouth with his hand and became pale. He seated and whispered “It’s true. This is horrible. This is horrible, horrible. This is horrible.” He kept repeating that word. I told him I had never known it was rape until I said it outloud and that, now that we both knew, it had to stop. He was disgusted with himself and he stopped. For a couple of weeks.

I never told him again what he was doing. I grew more and more wary of saying no. I just rolled with it: the non consensual sex and the relationship itself. That summer we ended it civilly, because there wasn't a moment we weren't at each other's throats, and we still remembered that we used to be friends. He had even pushed me against his wardrobe to make me shut up once. So we thought breaking up for good, and this is important, he specifically said “for good” and we agreed, was our best option.

Then began the gaslighting. I don't know if it was intentional or he is actually that delusional. I had buried the fact that none or almost none of the sex I had had in the last year had been consensual, and moved on with my life. He was still my classmate, one of my closest friends and a constant presence in my social life. I told everyone to support him specially because I'd had more experience in breakups while he was more emotionally unstable in general (and everyone knew this for a fact).

One day, two friends came to visit me to the store I managed. They asked how was I doing and I said I was fine, that in the end it was obvious that we could not be a couple. They exchanged disconcerted looks. "That's not what he's saying. He's telling everyone you've taken three months off and then you'll be back together". I was beyond shocked, specially by the specificity of it. Three months, he was saying. When they saw my reaction it was like opening a dam. They started to list all the apparently uncharacteristic things he was doing: he was drinking alcohol (he never did before), he was hard-core hitting on everyone, he was always trying to make plans with everybody and he would always talk about himself over any other thing.

In the span of a few months, he got a girlfriend and dumped her in a very ugly fashion. Two days prior to their breakup, their love was all over his Facebook, and right before leaving for a job abroad he dumped her telling her openly that he didn't love her. By then, our interactions were minimal and I had been starting to flinch whenever he touched me, but I didn't pay much thought to it until this breakup and a very unfortunate line he threw on me. There was a farewell party for him and, at the end of it, he approached me and said that now that he was single again we could fuck every now and then. I felt cold all over and then fiery fury. I remember clenching my fists. I dismissed his offer politely but sternly, reminding him, as it had been nothing, that there had been issues between us regarding consent. He didn't seem much bothered by my answer. Later on I learned he was telling people he had gone abroad to fuck, so I guess my negative wasn't a big deal at the moment. After that night, "He used to rape me” was always on my mind, every single someone mentioned him, I saw a picture of him or he contacted me.

I decided to tell, and only to very few people, and still excusing him, when it was too obvious that I was avoiding him, and when I began to have trouble to trust my sex partners. I stopped excusing him eventually, but I never fully blamed him (not that I blamed myself). Years later, I had another boyfriend and I met a girl through him. We became friends, and at some point she told me she had just met a guy. It was my ex. There were months of debating between telling her or not. I settled for “he’s one for long term relationships”, since she prefered no strings attached. However, as she put it, she fell in love. Time passed, my relationship with the man that had introduced us ended, and so my meetings with her where more sporadic. In one of those, she told me she already knew what he did to me. That he had told her. So he knew why I stopped talking to him.

I talked less and less with this girl, mostly through Facebook. At some point in time he and I exchanged messages. He wanted to talk, I was open to it but in a bad moment so I told him I needed to sort things out first. Never contacted again.

Almost four years ago, she got pregnant. I had assumed, since they’d been together for so long, that what he did to me was an isolated event. I met them to give them a baby shower present. I’d rather have met her alone but I had no time to meet her in Barcelona and she couldn’t drive, so he came along. It was the first time I saw him in years. She left us alone for a while. I asked if the baby was planned. He told me excitedly that it had been a whim after a woman they had just met in a party had told them what a nice couple they were and that they should have children, because some friends of hers had just become parents and it was wonderful. He told me how, when they got home, he picked up a condom an announced it was the last one he was using. He mocked his girlfriend saying “Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know” to that, and told me he said “You know what? I’m not using this one either”. And that night she got pregnant. On my 9 months pregnant friend’s mock-indignant words “This one knocked me up!”. I was horrified. I could not understand how they didn’t see how wrong that was. Never met them again.

Three years ago I saw a picture of the baby doing something cute on Facebook. I hit like without thinking. I had nothing but warm feelings towards the mother. A few days later she wrote a long private message through Facebook saying she needed to cut ties with me because of her baby’s father situation with me. She said I hadn’t wanted to fix things with him when we met last time, and that he came, according to her, so he and I could talk. I was going through a lot: had just lost my job in a project that was practically my creation, had just started managing a store, my husband’s mum was sick with cancer in another town 600 miles away (1000km) and my husband had flown there, and I was left cancelling reservations and calling the guests to our wedding that had been supposed to be in three months from that moment. Less than a week before that message, I had to go to ER because I spent the whole day with tachycardia. So I told her my situation, that I valued her friendship, and I asked to meet later on that month to talk about it. She agreed.

Two days later I was at work, alone, breathing consciously because of my constant anxiety. I got another message from her. It started: “I can’t be friends with someone who thinks my man is a rapist”. I got very angry. I told her I didn’t thought he was, but I knew what he did to me. She talked about it as if it was a lie, when we had both, the three of us actually, existed in a universe where we all agreed it was real. She said he had lost friends because of it. Our common friends that knew what had happened between us had distanced themselves from him, reportedly, because of his new self-centered, party animal, sex-obsessed attitude. I’d had enough. I thought I had it all wrapped up, I ended my day at work and drove to a seaside town to celebrate a friend’s birthday. There, I only told the birthday boy the reason of me changing my mind over attending or not. So, when shit happened, he was the only one who guessed where it came from.

I took my phone out to take a picture of our group, but saw the notifications of audio messages from Facebook Messenger, from my abuser. I walked away to listen to them. I was calm, I assumed he’d be apologising. I opened the first one and it was three seconds of silence and then my name in his voice and his tone was furious. My knees gave up, I leaned against a light post and slid down until I sat on the floor. The next words were “I am very indignant. How can you say I am a rapist?”. Then he proceeded to insult me, blame my father of everything, say I was laughing at real rape victims face, accusing me of having raped him… I fell in hysterics and doubted myself. I thought for a moment it was my fault. Now, the birthday boy was the friend my abuser had banned me from having sex with, and he was also one of the two friends that came to see me at work and told me that my ex was saying we were getting back in three months. The other friend was also there. They both knew and they both, when they finally understood what was going on, prevented me from listening to the rest of the audio messages (and more kept coming), and told me I wasn’t imagining things. They told me it happened and they told me I wasn’t a liar. The panic came and went for a long while. I couldn’t sit still, I couldn’t look at my friends, more than a half of which didn’t know what happened back then and what was happening now. I ended crying in a friends shoulder saying “I should have strangled him”. This episode kick-started almost 3 years of severe depression and anxiety, unemployment and relationship crisis, from which I’ve been recovering only for the last six or nine months. And, in case you haven’t thought of it, I still was having trouble trusting my sex partner when this happened, so I still needed to reconstruct my identity separated from my sexuality.

Through 8 years of my adult life, this is something that has been following me, that I’ve tried to manage on my own, and that he has had no remorse in bringing back when his life wasn’t going well. After his audio messages, I learnt that he and his girlfriend were swinging with a couple who I had only met once, being friends of a friend. I asked my common friend to not say anything about my relationship to my abuser and she answered “Too late. He told my friend about everything”. I asked, because I wasn’t sure and I didn’t understand. My friend confirmed that “everything” meant he told my friend’s friend he had been my boyfriend and he had raped me repeatedly. I was puzzled and disgusted. It had just been months since the audios, since him denying it. This friend of a friend is now closer to me and my husband, cut ties with him and has never mentioned it to me.

This last indirect connection with him was about three years ago. I live in a small historic village near Barcelona. As far as I know, my past abuser lives in Barcelona and does not know where I live. Yesterday, I was sitting at a cafe’s terrace with my husband and my dog, telling my husband how amazed I was by the response to the Merlin/Arthur drabble being it such an old fandom, when I lifted my head from my phone screen and I saw him, with two more people, in tourist gear. I was wearing big sunglasses, and I stopped talking, hoping he wouldn’t recognise me behind them, but he was looking at me. He looked like he wanted to say hi, and veered towards me. I stammered a bit but kept saying what I was saying to my husband, pointedly looking at my abuser with a very serious face and tone.I waited just for a beat for him to change his mind and stop looking at me, and walk past my table without stopping. I told my husband. He congratulated me on my reaction and offered to get me a second breakfast pastry.

My abuser passed again near our table with his partners, and this time he didn’t glance at us. I had my heart hammering a hole through my ribcage and I was angry that I had not yelled at him, that I had not hit him, that I had not finished it. Then I realised that, although now I am physically and emotionally exhausted, it is because of the sudden trip back and forth in time and the mental exertion it caused since I am bipolar and hence more sensitive to this things. It was not because I am not over him and what he did. I didn’t had to finish it because it had finished already, sometime in the last three years, and I did it just by investing in myself and my loved ones, just by not having my abuser’s ominous presence obscuring it all. Just by speaking up. Just by avoiding hatred and toxicity and choosing healthy affection, honesty and trust.

If it happened to you, or is still happening, say it. Say it to your abuser, to the people who loves you, to those who love them. Tell the authorities, tell as many people as you can. Put space between you and the facts, between you and your abuser. The first person you need to help and save is you. Talk to someone, anyone, but don’t shut it down. Don’t keep it hidden because it rots.

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thedeviljudges · 5 years

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Just cause I'm curious and we talk about official merch a lot, do you own any unofficial/fan merch? I recently got a scoops ahoy name pin and an art print of el and max and I love them! I'm planning to buy a few other fan pieces too soon. But I was wondering if you owned any or you had any fan creators you'd suggest! Thanks! Much love and I hope you're doing great!

ooooo where’d u get the name pin cuz that sounds dope as fuck!!!!! but also, yay for fan merch!!!

and the only fan merch i have is from gabbia. i have the billy doll and the little bunny harringrove keychain they made. which if you like harringrove, i 110% rec the keychain. i love it so much. it’s literally on my keys, and it makes me so damn happy. i wanted to get a second one for my other keychain i have or at least to keep one on my shelf bc i know it might get scratched up as keychains typically do.

my plan is to eventually buy fan merch, but i haven’t yet because all of my money has been going to official billy merch. i have this innate need to buy it all before it disappears forever. so that’s a priority for me atm. like, i just spent a chunk on the die cast camaro so i gotta sit on my hands for awhile until i work my ass off for that money back, lmao.

i also suck and haven’t taken a good, hard look at everything that’s available out there for print. so i legit can’t tell you were to go or have a lot of suggestions. i know @neonlaynes has some adorable stuff. they’re always so bright and colorful. but truth be told, every artist here in harringrove is talented as hell, and i’d honestly just go through all of their art to find things (as they do make edits that are not harringrove-centric, too).

sorry i’m not much help on this subject. like i said, i plan to go through stuff in the future bc i’ve been dying for fan merch. if you come across stuff you wanna rec as well, please go for it!!! also thank you!! i hope you’re doing well, too!!

#x #anonymous #answered

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sendhelpfanfics · 6 years

Text

Feels a lot like home - Chapter 2

Here we go - chapter 2

Might try my hand at some Harringrove after uploading this.

So here’s some very nice Sterek for you - Stiles is agoraphobic and has a nice new house and a nice new neighbour.

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Chapter 2 - Neighbourly

Stiles made it a couple more days before he turned his thoughts to Ikea. There were several things which would be really useful for the house, so he took to the website, and the app, finding the perfect collection of white, grey, or aged-wood style furnishings; shelves, bookcases, coffee tables, a laundry basket, a full collection of mugs, plates and other crockery for the kitchen, and a few other things thrown in.

Having them arrive a day later was fantastic. He loved the opportunity to get his hands on something like that. He knew he’d regret even purchasing them in an hour when he had to put them together.

The time off from work was a blessing and a curse. He still had stuff to do, unpack and organise and set up, but his evenings mainly consisted of him sitting in the living room, curled up with a mug of hot chocolate, watching something on the History Channel. He’d found he loved myths, since the breakup with Liam he had to find something to do in his evenings that wasn’t going out with Scott or Allison or whoever was around, and sitting and learning about mythological creatures, vikings, famous roman generals and all sorts of other interesting stuff that was on there. It was so far away from what he did as a job that it was a brilliant way to relax.

True to form, an hour and a half after the flat-packed devil spawns arrived at his door, he was nearly tearing his own hair out. He decided to take a break, leaving the destructed living room to go and get an energy drink from the fridge. Only thing he could think to do while this angry was go for a bike ride.

He changed into a pair of shorts and a vest, grabbed a towel and a bottle of water alongside the already open can of Monster, and took to the bike. It was nice being able to look over the gardens while he rode, very relaxing. He sighed as he pulled out his phone, only just remembering that he hadn’t yet installed the speaker system he wanted to have in here.

It was a fully detached house with enough room all around so that his music wouldn’t bother the neighbours, or… anything else he got up to for that matter. He put his phone down in the holder on the bike and settled for the speakers built into the damn thing. He knew he shouldn’t really complain - he had a fucking sweet life here, but it didn’t come easy, so he’d allow himself to be a little bit impatient.

Stiles started up at a slow pace, warming up slowly, a slight incline to get his legs properly working as he scrolled through his Spotify, trying to find something to listen to. Eventually he settled on his ultimately favourite playlist of all time, one that Scott had put together for him two years ago titled ‘Lacrosse Training Angsty Crap’. It was so funny thinking back to the day he’d first created it. Stiles was now 23, two years out of college. They were having a drink on Stiles’ 21st, which also happened to be the day that their last assignment was handed in at college. Stiles and Scott were discussing what life was gonna be like now that they’d finished.

It felt weird to be talking about that; they’d been in some form of education ever since they’d met and to suddenly now be friends outside of that, it felt kind of weird.

“How are we gonna cope?” Scott asked, the top of his bottle of beer pressed to his lower lip as he thought. “Like… all my life dude, you and me, we’ve been school friends… key word here being school.” He said without thinking.

“And here I was, thinking that the word ‘friend’ was more important.” Stiles shot back sarcastically, taking a sip of his own.

“Come on man you know what I mean - like we’ve been friends so long but the fact that we’ve been together, at school all that time, must be important right?” He asked, a small frown on his face.

“Well… I guess.” Stiles gave in, finishing off the beer and clearing his throat, smacking his lips as he laid down his third bottle, picking up his fourth and cracking it open. “But come on - we’ve been going down different paths since coming to college; if you haven’t decided I’m not worth the bother by now, when the hell are you?” He asked with a sarcastic grin.

Scott had barked out a laugh at that. “As if I could, man.” He said simply, before turning his head as some crappy pop song came on. He grimaced. “I fucking hate this song… gimme your phone lemme change it.” He said, holding out his hand for it.

He had nothing to hide from his best and oldest friend and handed it over without a problem. Scott knew his password already, opened it up and went through the Spotify, grimacing slightly before he remembered the music they used to listen to for lacrosse training. He eagerly began adding songs to a playlist, putting on a song as he came across it. Stiles quickly caught on to what he was doing and started calling out songs for him to add.

“Oooh! Oh! Last Resort!” He called, laughing softly as it immediately came on, singing along absolutely terribly with it as Scott did the same. It was brilliant and hilarious, and one of the best nights Stiles remembers with his best friend, on the cusp of a new chapter in their long tale of friendship.

Stiles, unable to decide on what he wanted to play during the workout, opted for ‘shuffle’ and smiled as ‘Bad Company’ by Five Finger Death Punch came on. This would do, while he was still angry.

Looking out over the garden he started to notice something. Movement in the kitchen of the house opposite his, well… the house behind his. As he picked up the pace, he spotted a huge, stubbled guy standing in the kitchen, tight grey t-shirt straining over the large expanse of chest he clearly had. Stiles loved having 20/20 vision sometimes. He watched intently as the guy grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, removed the top and started drinking. He looked thirsty. Real thirsty. Wow that bottle of water was already half- nope, completely gone. Wow.

He sat back a little on the bike, slowing his pedalling and reached for his own bottle of water, taking a sip as he watched the guy move to exit his kitchen, and suddenly he was gone. Stiles couldn’t say he wasn’t a little disappointed. He didn’t get much of a chance to observe hot guys in real life.

Stiled suddenly stopped, legs jarring a little at the abruptness of the stop. “What the fuck am I doing, good god I’m such a creep.” He whispered to himself, rubbing a hand over his face and shaking his head to get rid of the image.

He started pedalling again, hands firm on the handlebars as he pedalled, trying to keep his head down, looking only into his own garden. Until he spotted movement in the upper floors of the house, eyes drifting upwards just in time to see the guy pull off the tight-fitting shirt. He took a deep breath, sucking the air in through his teeth and letting out the breath, nice and slow. He looked nice. More than nice. How fucking stupid a thing to think. The guy was hot, suh-mokin’. Stiles slowed a little on the bike, head tilting to one Side slightly as he watched the guy grab a towel, rub his face and drape it over the back of his neck, before heading out of the room. Probably to shower. Ohh now wasn’t that a vision.

Stiles couldn’t help the blush that rose on his cheeks and the sly smirk that curled the corners of his mouth. “Okay so… now you’re a creep.” He said softly, no heat to his own words, just a sly, happy tone.

#sterek #stiles x derek #stiles is a perv #derek is hot #neighbours #fanfiction #sterek fanfiction #fanfic #sterek fanfic #dylan o'brien #tyler hoechlin #gay boys #gay boy is gay #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x derek hale #derek hale

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