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femmethpipe · 1 year ago

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Red Water | Harringrove

Prologue: I Gotta Know What’s Inside You

Summary: Billy’s avoided Steve Harrington like the plague since that autumn night of ‘84. He’s given the fucking weirdo and the even weirder fucking kids their space just as Max demanded, and it’s worked for nearly a year.

He’s only got until his graduation until he can fly straight out of Hawkins without so much as looking back, but after leaving his beloved Camaro wrapped around a tree and his father’s hand on his shoulder heavier than ever, Steve Harrington, an alpha he knew he could never have, won’t fix that.

But things are never that simple.

TW: everything

Steve’s been driving with a grip so tight, his knuckles were bone white.

Billy steals a glance over at him at every possible moment. At the taut string that’s pulled the alpha’s shoulders into a defensive line, at the blank ominous stare he’s been giving the road for the past ten minutes as they drive further and further out of town.

It was one of those days where Neil wanted him out of the house. A dreary Sunday afternoon had somehow kept both Susan and Max from venturing out altogether which meant that Billy’s presence had to go, preferably without even stepping into Neil’s line of vision which left him to fend for himself while the temperatures dropped. Something about the cold and unforgiving dying that happens in Midwestern winters has never sat right with Billy, but he’s always been fascinated by it; the way everything dies in an explosion of color then rots on the ground. Overhead, the clouds are an ominous gray and the thunder rolls like a strike every so often.

Steve takes a backroad, one that’s twisting a bit too much for the fragile and flighty feeling in Billy’s head and bones. An Oingo Boingo tape blares way too loud and every nerve inside of the omega’s body is jumping, but he keeps it that way. He should turn the music down and ask Steve where he’s taking them, but he bites his tongue.

They were supposed to meet for their usual routine of the alpha feeding Billy and pretending not to notice any bruises the omega probably acquired over the week, after they’d park and smoke and talk. It was the one lifeline the blond had, his reprieve through a piss poor week and his one chance to relax—or relax as much as Billy could two feet away from Steve Harrington.

The dangerous truth was the omega felt like he could finally let go around him. His warm scent and big soft eyes that held no hint of judgement or betrayal. But today is different and Steve has barely said a word to him. Billy climbed into the car to the familiar and potent scent of aggression, but none obviously directed at him. Just looked him all over for way too many seconds too long, long enough to make Billy hesitate shutting the door. That seemed to bring Steve out of whatever trance he’d been in to ask the omega in a hoarse voice if he was okay. Which he was answered with a smart quip about if Billy looked alright.

Truthfully, the omega knew he looked like hell reheated and it kept his knees drawn so far to the right, his temple throbs from knocking against the window. His back burns with embarrassment that he’s wearing worn jeans with scant holes from his thighs rubbing together and the sweater Steve obviously gave him two weeks ago while the logos on the other boy’s clothes that he rightfully owned were about two tax brackets higher than Billy would ever see in his lifetime. His curls are messily pushed behind his ears and in desperate need of a brush though he should know by now Steve doesn’t give a fuck about that shit, that it wasn’t about that. But the deep need to attempt to look presentable, maybe even attractive didn’t forfeit the omega’s mind.

Fucking pathetic.

Billy knew it was. Finnicking over his looks just like he did that night he took out all his issues and problems on Steve, only now he’s shivering in the alpha’s passenger seat like a cat he found on the side of the road, and trying not to feel the butterflies in his stomach when he catches the brunet looking over at him.

The car is suddenly very still and the omega rips his eyes from the veins on Steve’s hand. They were outside of town, Billy knew that much from how long they’d been driving, but another factor about the shitty Midwest was that it all looked the fucking same. Flattened garbage litters the concrete ground and etiolated weeds jut from the cracks. A few faded yellow parking lines stood out just barely below the wet leaves and the trash that Billy could identify as pieces of red solo cups, Fireball shot bottles, and numerous beer cans. Nothing but towering, dying trees ahead of the dim lights of Steve’s Beamer with the clouds above darkening by the second.

The engine’s steady rumble dies as the alpha twists back the ignition. It kills the radio and plunges them into an uncomfortable silence that fills Billy with a cold dread that could no longer be kept at bay by the blasting heat.

The omega watches the bob of Steve’s adams apple where he swallows thickly. “We need to talk about what the fuck happened, Billy. I can’t keep doing this, I can’t keep—“

Billy’s heart drops to his ass.

The alpha lets out a frustrated growl, one that takes him aback at first, but Billy will be damned before he allows an alpha to know he was intimidated.

“Keep fucking what, Harrington? What the fuck do we need to discuss that requires you to drag me out to the goddamn sticks?” The blond’s teeth bare and he wants Steve to snap his own back; juvenile, volatile, wishing for punishment because anything was better than beat around the bush, prayer circle sympathy.

Steve’s wide eyes stare at him from across the car like Billy was a sheet of glass. Right fucking through him since day fucking one.

Emotions stir under Billy’s skin and much to his dismay, there wasn’t much anger left for him to muster and use to fight his way out of this. It would have been easier that way. Scream in Steve’s face that he’ll kill him if he ever tells anyone Billy Hargrove gets fucked by his own dad after getting the shit stomped out of him. Then maybe slam his car door hard enough to shatter the window as if it would make him feel better.

But he knew it wouldn’t. Billy’s learned that plenty.

The man across from him takes in a deep breath like he’s steadying himself and Billy supposes he is. He wonders what that’s like, thinking before action, being smart enough to not fly off the fucking hinges at the change of an emotion and controlling himself.

I can’t keep doing this. The raw blister of betrayal pangs in his throat. His chest feels concave, unsurprised yet he’s never been accepting of being left behind before. This time wouldn’t be any different despite every emotion in his body swaying Billy like a storm every time he saw the Beamer parked somewhere waiting for him.

The omega had been telling himself to await the day that Steve’s eyes would linger too long somewhere they shouldn’t, that maybe he’d even be sympathetic enough to kiss him on the mouth once or twice, but inevitably he would only be welcome to the backseat in due time. One day, he’d told himself countless times over the past few months, but not today. It was the one thing Billy thought he had a penchant for, knowing when his time was up and his welcome was nearly overstayed. Car rides spent with only music and cigarette smoke between them on long roads and shared milkshakes and hot meals and warm blankets—He’d been almost fooled.

But he would have let him, something like Neil laughed at him every night he’d have the audacity to dream of something more between them. Billy would have let Steve do whatever he pleased if it meant closeness and the absence of the looming dread of loneliness. And let the humiliation afterwards burn as painful as the hurt from the alpha’s perfidy.

Billy’s grin splits in a sardonic smile that mirrors every ounce of his winded and broken pride that could no longer mask his hurt. He huffs in fake amusement and his words fall like feathers in a dead wind rather than cutting like the knives they used to be, “I never fucking asked you for anything, not a goddamn thing.”

A heavy sigh plummets from the brunet and behind his eyes, the omega can tell he’s thinking over everything with the same stubborn resolve he’s always had. It makes Billy dig his nails into his palms.

Placid eyes stare dead ahead into the dying foliage and settling clouds. He shakes his head in denial, “That is not what this is about,” Steve’s eyes dart to his seat then back at Billy with a puppy dog exhaustion that made the omega only more irritated, “Why is it always that with you? Why can’t I just be fucking nice to you without you thinking I’ve got one out for you, or some shit?”

Because that’s how these things work, Billy knew simply.

There wasn’t a way on earth Steve was that clueless as to what they looked like around each other. What people had been saying. What the entire world thought of omegas like Billy Hargrove and what they hung around for.

The omega draws a sharp breath, one that hurts his ribs and burns on the way out, “Jesus fucking Christ,” Billy bites out in a breathy, frustrated mumble before he finds that last string of red, that one remaining vein of gasoline to blow as he lights the match, but even then— “If your charity case work and taking care of unfortunate poor kids isn’t getting your rocks off anymore, maybe you should just take me the fuck home.”

“You don’t get it, Billy, I can’t go back to just fucking watching, I won’t.”

“Watching what?” The blond challenges, fucking spit it out.

“Why won’t you just let me take care of you?”

“What’re you trying to say, Steve?” He whispers the man’s name into the cold air between them.

A year ago, he would have been whatever cheap insult came from Billy’s rolodex first, months ago he would have just been Harrington. And it makes him want to blow his brains out that even just saying some alpha’s name meant so much to him; even worse when he knows that Steve knows that.

God, he always fucking knows.

Pretty boy sticks his nose in business that doesn’t have anything to do with him. Always ready to be someone’s knight in shining armor and even worse, Billy wants exactly that. Without deserving it. Aware there’s some shit even Steve’s heart of gold can’t fix.

He looks ready to say something, but the omega stops him dead in his tracks.

“I won’t suck you off or let you fuck me,” Billy spews like a busted beer can and God, if that’s not a lie. “If that’s— I know you don’t just give a shit. And I know that you know I don’t have anything else to give you. We’re not here for no fucking reason, so you can just say it and we can be on our merry fucking way.”

Because that’s the thing. Wild parties, tight jeans and tight shirts, fast car—Billy’s fucking poor. He’s loose, if anyone off the basketball team and cheer squad have anything to say about it. Steve should be running for the hills before he ends up making a decision he can’t take back.

“It’s not you saying this shit, Billy. I know it’s not.” The alpha’s face is painted in an emotion he doesn’t recognize, but then he’s turning in his seat to get even closer.

“Look at me.” Steve commands and Billy should tell him to fuck off, that he doesn’t take orders from a fucking baby alpha, but he tries.

Looks right at his soft brown hair that reminds Billy of the big redwoods in California when the light hits it just right. Broad shoulders covered in denim and wide, warm palms that didn’t feel like shackles when he’d grab Billy’s wrists. Steve’s scent was so potent in his car; burning wood and spice and smoke that fogged up his brain until he was so confused he thought he was safe.

Steve grabs his hand, so gentle yet his hold firm, and the sudden intensity of the alpha’s eyes meeting his own is too much. His hand is warm, but then again everything about him is.

“If I made you feel that way, that’s sure as hell not why I care about you. I mean, fuck Billy—I don’t just give people my clothes, alright?” Steve’s voice is filled with a desperate exasperation. “I don’t just stay up until the middle of the night driving people around while they try to fall asleep in my backseat, okay?”

A heavy sigh empties from the other man’s chest while lungfuls of the alpha’s scent burn Billy’s like whiskey. He looks just as tired as the omega feels for a second, but then he’s holding him tighter. “I thought my intentions were obvious for a while now.”

Steve lets the words hang in the air and he doesn’t let Billy go. It’s not like he wanted him to.

But he still has to try to pull away and aim his eyes out at the dying wild around them, only the alpha won’t let him go. It makes his heart sing. “Who told you that shit, Billy? Him?”

More and more, the dam of tears building in his eyes readies to spill over. They burn and bite at everything Billy thought he knew about himself. He prepares for the world to end, to stop turning and burn up in fire and ash, but only the patter of rain begins its descent from the clouds against the windshield. His throat is filling with cotton balls, but he’s not going to be hit; nothing is hurting at all. He nods his head and suddenly, the gate busts and the flood comes. But Steve is there.

His touch, his scent and all. Driving Billy crazy because he’s being pulled out of his usual reality of just surviving. Steve is here, making sure he’s safe when no other person has ever done that for him. He’s angry, but not angry at him, for him. And Billy can’t fucking breathe.

“That day, when I knocked on your door—“ Steve wets his lips and the trepidation in his words is almost too much for the omega to take.

“He said that.”

The man across from him appears to chew his words. “Does he hurt you? Does he do that shit to you, Billy?”

There was so much he knew the alpha wanted to say when Steve had unfortunately shadowed the Hargrove residence. Trouble was, Billy was getting closer and closer to baring his heart and fucking soul to him. The shaky lies he’d feed Steve kept burning his tongue every time he’d have to force them out. The anger which bled into exhaustion finally catching up to him like an adrenaline rush wearing off.

Because Billy was tired of the lying. Of trying and failing to keep the voice that Neil drilled in his head from getting too loud; of black and blue skin and blood stained sheets; not really living when being around Steve chases those feelings away and shows him it doesn’t have to be that way. Because Steve is so good and safe. And Billy is a greedy fucking leech for wanting to hand all his life away for someone else to fix.

He shakily nods his head out of distrust of his voice. Something sits at the edge of Billy’s tongue so heavily, he wants to fucking bite it. Shit he’s never said before, never wanted to say out loud or even think of again that he feels he needs to tell Steve. How he’s been running from everything, he wants to stop but he doesn’t think he can stop and how he’ll only bring him down with him in the end.

“He’s been angry for so long.” Billy’s voice is wet. He prefers for all of his words to come out swinging and ready for a fight, but that’s disappeared from him now. He’s too tired. “Even before my mom left.”

“Steve—“ If Billy wasn’t in love before, he was now at the way the alpha hangs onto the omega calling his name.

“I’m so tired of feeling dirty all the time.” The omega admits and suddenly there’s weight just gone. The words of weakness taste acrid like a pill he couldn’t swallow, but it’s gone. “It’s like I can’t get him off of me no matter what.”

Billy takes a breath that feels too big for his chest, but then he takes another at the force of the gasp erupting from his throat when Steve’s safe, steady palms take hold of his face. His eyes are so big, sometimes the omega thinks he might just constantly be in awe. But Steve is looking at him like that even with Billy’s armor stripped and burned away. Fuck, he can’t stop crying.

But there’s something more behind the whirls of dark amber. A shudder pulls through every nerve in the omega’s body. It’s like a match striking how goosebumps erupt on his skin, but this time not from the cold. From the heat in Steve’s gaze that’s pouring into his scent. It’s anger and fury and rage that Billy is all too familiar with.

Not a word is uttered between them. His nostrils were flared and a slight tremble in his shoulders, but he’s holding the omega so gently. Like he’s worth something. But he’s so angry and the omega should be thinking about running. Billy’s heard Steve get pissed off before, both times directed at him before they exchanged blows; then just a scratchy drawl expected of a teenage alpha and the omega practically laughed in his face. Now, the placid look in his eye is the blinding lightning flash before the blood curdling thunder of his growl. Steve sounds like nothing other than a predator closing in on its prey. His scent fogs the car with something Billy can only think of as wrath. Ice runs through the omega’s veins and every bone in his body drops in submission.

Cinnamon. Diesel. Not at him. For him.

A primal noise falls from the omega in a soft whine and for a moment, Billy can see the battle of animal and man quells within Steve. It’s a sound he’s never made before, but it comes so naturally. Since when does Billy Hargrove fucking whine? Since Steve Harrington, apparently.

His touch is hesitant, but he feels so sure. He’s everywhere, blanketing over the omega in a weight that makes him boneless. Steve’s fingers ghost over his cheekbone before his thumb rests over his cupid’s bow. A fine delicateness to Steve’s touches leaves a trail of fluttering goosebumps on his arms and up his spine. Being admired like fine art, something meant to be protected and cherished, it sends a tremble down his body in a wave of emotion. Billy presses into the touch and allows it to spread like a flame.

Steve presses his lips against his thumbnail and Billy fucking shakes. It’s a promise, one that could only end in fucking disaster and pain and loneliness will take the omega again. But it’s getting harder for him to believe that when the alpha is looking at him this way, even when he doesn’t have his usual glamor that serves him well as his armor.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” The alpha’s hushed tone is intimate, pleading almost as if he were asking for an apology, “I should’ve done it when I saw that fuckin’ bruise on your neck. I can’t let him get away with doing this shit to you.”

Billy can see the anger begin to simmer under his skin once more, so he makes that noise again. It’s soft and high pitched and so unlike everything he’s tried to craft about himself, yet still comes to him like he’s done it for Steve before.

The alpha huffs through his nose again in frustration, this time at himself.

“Maybe there is some fire in you after all.” Billy’s breathy voice is embarrassing, or it should be, but he doesn’t care. Barely crosses his flighty mind.

The fire in the alpha’s eyes dims for a moment and left is a puppy dog where the wolf once was. The omega cooes at how adorable it is.

Steve snaps his canines just an inch away from his face. It’s playful, it’s sending too much fucking dope to his brain that Billy doesn’t know if he can handle. He lets his head dip to the side and the incessant yet delicate press of the alpha’s fangs on his flesh has his head filling with sap. He’s so far fucking gone for this alpha and they haven’t so much as necked yet. A shudder erupts down his back and his cold toes curl in his converse.

“��Hair is so pretty.” Steve murmurs. Like himself again as he sinks his fingers into the blond curls and holds Billy’s nape.

He’s floating.

tbc

#billy hargrove #harringrove #omega billy hargrove #I love italics can you tell #I watched too much lifetime and twin peaks #s3 doesn’t happen #linebreaks don’t work on my phone so yes you will scroll through it all

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hippolotamus · 1 year ago

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Tagged by the talented @giddyupbuck @buddierights @eddiediaztho @wikiangela @spotsandsocks @911onabc (make sure you check their posts!)

Posting a lengthy snippet of you're where I wanna go under the cut because: I can, I have no impulse control, and I'm hoping this will make me write beyond this stage and get Buckaroo a little relief. Or at least, y’know, less sad 😘

No pressure tagging @shortsighted-owl @alyxmastershipper mi cariña @disasterbuckdiaz @honestlydarkprincess @jesuisici33 @wildlife4life @stereopticons @elvensorceress @monsterrae1 @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @heartshapedvows @loserdiaz @spaceprincessem @thewolvesof1998 @chaosandwolves @statueinthestone @eowon @the-likesofus @barbiediaz @cowboy-buddie @your-catfish-friend @forthewolves

“Evan? Is that you?” Even with walls of plaster and heartache between them he can hear the obligation in his mother’s tone. The hollow echo of concern that reaches for him before bouncing off and landing with a dull thud on the oriental carpet in the foyer. He removes his jacket, draping it over his arm, and walks towards the parlor, finding her sitting with her back to him in a favorite chair. His late father’s matching one still exists stoically beside it, a reminder of the man’s presence, even in death. The faint scent of peppermint tea drifts through the air, coupled with the tinkling sound of her spoon against the gold rim of a hand-painted china cup, stirring stirring stirring. “Good evening, mother.” “You’re late,” she comments, not bothering to turn around. “I was out walking.” It’s not untrue. And it’s not as if she actually cares what he was doing. He leans with his shoulder against the doorframe, waiting to hear if there’ll be more than the impatient sigh he’s sure she means for him to notice. “That girl should really be more considerate of your time, Evan.” That girl. Margaret Buckley has never shown interest in knowing more than she absolutely has to regarding the details of Buck’s romantic life. Truthfully, he almost prefers it that way. Less ammunition for her to cut him down with. Not none, but less.

The soft parts of him that yearn for a mother’s affection do want her to show genuine curiosity. But her current disregard for Ali sets off a flare of annoyance that makes his jaw tense. “Miss Martin,” he corrects. When she doesn’t answer, he adds, “But that won’t be a problem going forward. She’ll be leaving to pursue other opportunities.” The spoon makes a halted clink. “I suppose it was only a matter of time. She never did seem very reliable.” Margaret pauses to sip from her tea. “We’ll start fresh tomorrow then.” Tomorrow. Meaning that In less than twelve hours she intends for him to be meeting and charming potential new partners. As if he’s seeking a trinket. Something inconsequential. The spark of annoyance tips into a full bodied discontent. His fingers curl in, nails digging into the fleshy bits of his palm. Selfishly, he wants the skin to break open, allowing his frustration to drip on the imported rug. To then wipe away the excess on each hand-embroidered curtain and stain them with his misery. He wants to pull his wretched, broken heart from his chest and set it on his father’s chair. Maybe then it would be worthy of inspection. But, of course, he doesn’t do any of those things. “Nevermind that I might need some time before going off in search of the next Mrs. Buckley. That I might want just a- a breath before seeking out the unsuspecting person who has to spend the rest of their life with me a-and this family.” “Evan.” Margaret turns to him then, wide eyed with her mouth set in a tense line. “You're being dramatic. You have very few obligations to, as you say, this family. What’s left of it anyway. You are provided for and need not lift a finger if you don’t want to. The only thing required of you is to find a suitable wife, and to grow up. Is that so impossible?” Buck is suddenly twelve years old again, desperate to please his parents. To diffuse any contention that stands in the way of him being loved. “N- no. I’m simply asking for a little time. Not much. Not even a week. Just a few days to recover so I can have a clear head to think with. Please.” Margaret’s deep scowl relaxes to a more neutral air of indifference before she turns away from him again. “One,” she says. “I will allow you one day.” The room falls silent as it was before. The only exceptions are a silver spoon resuming the task of stirring what must be lukewarm peppermint tea, and the grandfather clock ticking in the corner. Buck silently excuses himself, taking the dismissal for what it is.

#buck's gonna meet his lifeline next #well meet her again #😉#fuck it friday #hippo writes #watch me abuse those italics and dashes #fic: you’re where i wanna go #buddie wip

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