#my harringrove fic

[stervrucht]

A little piece of art drawn to accompany the fics @runraerun and I wrote for a 'fight club' prompt. Rae's fic 'Put up your Dukes' and mine 'There's a gap where we meet', both rated E.

[cuepickle]

Here’s my piece to go along with @discodeviant’s fic for this year’s @bigbangharringrove

The fic is beautiful and angsty and absolutely captured my heart. If you’d like to read the fic (which I implore you to do right now‼️) head over to ao3:

⭐️ Highway star ⭐️

[princenotsocharming]

😴

[ihni]

The sound of the doorbell is what wakes him. The morning sun is shining in through the window, hitting the messy curls on the pillow next to him and making them shine like gold. The sight makes him smile, and his first instinct is to reach over and brush the curls away from his boyfriend’s face. There’s nothing better than getting to watch him wake up, after all; watch those blue eyes flutter open and squint against the light.

The doorbell rings again before he can act on his urge, though. It is followed by loud knocking, which rouses the body next to Steve; unfortunately in a less peaceful way than Steve had imagined. Billy’s eyes shoot open and he tenses as he immediately takes in where he is, and with who. Wide, blue eyes meet Steve’s.

“Shit!” he says and is halfway out of bed before Steve can even react, pulling a shirt – Steve’s, not that it matters – over his head. “It’s Neil!”

Steve has just opened his mouth to protest, say that it’s not – it can’t be, Neil doesn’t know about them – when there’s a knock again, and an angry man’s voice drifts up from outside.

And it is indeed Neil’s voice.

Shit.

Steve jumps out of bed too and nabs for the other shirt that’s been discarded on the floor – but no, no, he can’t show up at the door wearing Billy’s shirt, he can’t, so he drops it again before hurrying to his closet. He pulls on an old T-shirt, and then whirls around and grabs Billy’s face between his hands. Billy’s face, which has gone ashen with fear.

“Stay here,” Steve says. “I’ll get rid of him. It’ll be okay.”

He turns and walks out of the room, squaring his shoulders as he goes. In his periphery, he sees Heather’s head peek out of the guest room that she and Robin stumbled into late last night while blushing and giggling, but he ignores her as he makes his way to the stairs.

The knocking and shouting continues, sending equal measures of anger and fear down Steve’s spine. How did the man know to come here? Billy said he’d told him that he was going to a party last night; said that he wasn’t even given a curfew. The man would have had no reason to suspect that the party was in fact a very private affair at Steve’s place, with just him and Billy and Robin and Heather – a safe place, as all of them knew about each other’s preferences by now – and definitely would have had no reason to show up on Steve’s doorstep this early in the morning. As far as Steve knows, Billy’s dad doesn’t even know Steve by name, and shouldn’t know where he lives.

He’s halfway down the stairs when a hand grasps his arm.

“Don’t,” Billy says, voice shaking. Steve turns – he’s standing a step below Billy, so he has to look up to face him – and sees that Billy’s shaking his head. “Don’t open the door.”

He’s scared, Steve realizes. Really scared.

From outside the door, they can now make out Neil’s angry words between the bouts of knocking. “I know he’s in there! Open the door. William!”

Billy is just standing there, still holding on to Steve’s arm. His eyes are big and pleading. He’s obviously terrified, and it feels so wrong. No one who has fought monsters with the same fervor as Billy should ever have to be scared of a mere human.

A calm settles over Steve, followed by resolve. He gently extricates himself from Billy’s grip – ignoring the way Billy trembles – and says, “Don’t worry. I won’t let him hurt you again.”

He continues down the stairs, but Billy shoulders past him and blocks his way. Puts both hands on Steve’s chest and pushes. “I don’t care if he hurts me,” he hisses. “But he’s dangerous.” The man yells some threats from the other side of the door and knocks again. Rattles the door handle for emphasis, this time. Billy flinches and looks over his shoulder before continuing, “I don’t want him to hurt you.”

“He’s not going to hurt me,” Steve says. He doesn’t know that for sure, but he can’t imagine it. This is his house, or, well, his parents’. Neil is the one who’s trespassing. And Steve knows the Chief of Police.

He walks past his boyfriend and crosses the hall. A hand lands on his shoulder again. Not forcing him to stop or trying to hold him back; just there. Imploring.

“Please,” Billy begs, and it pierces Steve’s heart like a knife because Billy doesn’t beg.

Billy, acting like this, is not right. The man on the other side of the door has brought Billy too much pain already. This has to end. And that end starts now. By getting rid of the immediate threat.

They’ll figure out the rest later.

Steve walks on. Stops in front of the door and only then realizes that Billy’s standing there with him, still with a hand on his shoulder. He’s watching Steve with big, wet eyes and shaking his head silently. Don’t do this, he doesn’t say out loud. Please, just ignore him.

But Steve can’t. Not this time. Not when the man is ranting on his doorstep on a Saturday morning, threatening to break in. Not when Billy’s standing here next to Steve, shaking with terror.

Billy is not getting hurt by that man in Steve’s house. If Neil tries to set one foot inside, Steve will kill him.

Steve reaches for the door, and with his other hand, he pushes Billy up against the wall just inside the door. Close enough to touch, but out of sight of his irate father. He can feel Billy’s heart beat frantically under his hand, and silently vows that this is the last time. This is the last time Billy is afraid.

He breathes in deeply and takes a second to slip into spoiled rich-boy mode. Then he opens the door.

“What?” he drawls, unimpressed. He gives the man outside a contemptuous look. The man draws himself up to say something, but Steve doesn’t let him speak. “Do you know what time it is? It’s Saturday, man. Some people are trying to sleep.”

Neil Hargrove is proper; not a hair out of place. It’s the first thing Steve thinks as he sees him up close – he has seen the man from a distance at times and listened in on the occasional phone call between him and Billy, but Billy has never let Steve even get close to the house on Cherry Lane when he knows that his dad is home.

The man is of average build and doesn’t look particularly dangerous from an outsider’s point of view, but there’s something cold in his eyes that sends shivers of fear down Steve’s spine when he’s pinned under Neil’s gaze. He doesn’t let his discomfort show, though; just lets the man take in Steve’s appearance fully – his messy hair, the way he’s just wearing a shirt and underwear, and how he’s obviously just got out of bed – and waits for him to speak.

“I know he’s here,” Neil growls – actually growls, like an animal. Steve sees movement out of the corner of his eye but doesn’t dare glance to where Billy’s huddling up against the wall. Instead he leans against the side of the door, placing himself more firmly between Billy and his dad.

He has seen the bruises on Billy’s skin and he has hated that he has to let Billy go back to that house time and again, but this is the first time he truly sees what Billy faces at home. He thinks, idly, that he won’t be able to let Billy go back there again.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, and tries to make it sound as if he thinks the man isn’t all there in the head. By the way Neil’s face turns darker, he succeeds.

“My son, William. I know he’s here.”

“William,” Steve deadpans, as if it’s a word he has never uttered before. He raises one eyebrow. “Look, there’s no William here, man. You’ve got the wrong address. Go yell at someone else’s door. Or don’t, I don’t care. Just go away.”

He starts to close the door, but Neil’s hand shoots out and stops him. He doesn’t move to go inside, but he’s holding the door without letting it close, and staring at Steve with narrowed eyes. A challenge. A threat.

“I’m not leaving without my son.”

So that’s how it’s going to be, huh?

Steve draws himself up and narrows his own eyes as he stares back. He manages to dial back on the disgust, but some of it must shine through because he can feel himself sneering. “Who are you again?” he asks. Flippantly.

“My name is Neil Hargrove,” Neil says, pronouncing every syllable with obvious annoyance. Good. “And my son, William –“

“You mean Billy?” Steve says, letting surprise color his voice. “You’re Billy’s dad?” He doesn’t let the man answer, instead he lets out an incredulous laugh. “You think Billy is here?”

“His car is parked down the road,” Neil seethes, and oh. “You’re on the basketball team with him. And I know what he’s like. He’s a dirty little faggot who –“

Steve lets his face shut down. Slips on the mask that he has seen on his parent’s faces on many occasions during boring parties and work functions. The ‘do you know who I am’ persona. His voice is ice cold when he speaks.

“I’m not sure what you are insinuating, Mr. Hargrove, but if I were you, I’d stop talking.” Something like uncertainty flickers in Neil’s eyes. Steve drinks it in. “I don’t know if you know my parents –“ He nods to the brass plaque next to the door with ‘Harrington’ etched into it “– but I’m sure they won’t be too impressed when they hear that some lunatic showed up at their door on a Saturday morning, accusing their only son of being …” He holds Neil’s eye. Can’t – won’t – say the word the man used, not with Billy behind the door. “… a deviant.”

Disgust is dripping from his voice – disgust over this sorry excuse for a human, disgust over the fact that he has to deal with this at all – but that lends him credibility in this particular instance. He sounds just like an offended rich boy. An offended rich boy with influence.

As if on cue – which it most likely is, since Steve suspects that the girls have been listening in for some time now – there are soft steps behind him on the stairs, and Robin’s voice drifts out from behind him, “Steve? What’s going on?”

He lets the door open just a little bit wider under the guise of turning around, allowing Neil Hargrove to see Robin. Robin, whose hair is also sleep-mussed, and who is wearing an oversized button-up shirt. It’s not Steve’s – she must have taken it from his dad’s closet – but Neil doesn’t know that. She paints a perfect picture of a confused girlfriend who just woke up to the sounds of yelling, and Steve is so grateful that he’s friends with her.

“Nothing, baby,” he says, softening his voice. “Go back to bed.”

Robin hesitates with one more look at Neil. Licks her lips, as if she’s worried. “Should I … call someone? The police, or …?”

Perfect. Thank you for the assist, Robin.

“No, there’s no need to bother Jim this early in the morning,” Steve says, making sure to use Hopper’s first name, and turns back to face Neil. Neil, whose face has paled. Who has possibly started to realize that he may have messed up. Steve gives him a stiff smile and lets his voice go cold again as he continues, “Mr. Hargrove here was just leaving. Isn’t that right, Mr. Hargrove?”

Too proud or too angry to say it out loud, the man just gives a jerky nod and steps back. Steve will take it, as long as he leaves.

Starting to close the door again, Steve sneaks one glance at Billy’s pale face an arms-length away, and adds, in a sudden bout of inspiration.

“Oh, and if you’re looking for Billy in Loch Nora –“ He gives Neil, who’s half-turned to leave, a slow once-over, showing just enough disdain to make it clear that someone like Neil Hargrove doesn’t belong in this part of town, “– then I suggest you try the Holloways next. I think I saw him with their daughter Heather at the party last night.” He gives a sardonic little smile at the way Neil Hargrove’s face shutters. Everyone’s heard of the Holloways, just as everyone’s heard of the Harringtons. “I’m sure Tom and Janet will appreciate being disturbed on a Saturday morning just as much as I have. Who knows, it might get you a mention in the Post.”

With that, he shuts the door in Neil Hargrove’s face and locks it, and turns to his wide-eyed boyfriend. Who hasn’t moved from his space behind the door.

He ignores both Robin running out into the kitchen on silent feet – probably to make sure that Neil Hargrove actually leaves – and Heather coming downstairs, in favor of putting his hands on the sides of Billy’s face and lean in so their foreheads are touching. Billy is shivering and his breaths are uneven, but he reaches up and grabs at Steve’s wrist and the back of his head with something akin to desperation.

“I can’t believe you,” he whispers. “You’re crazy.”

“Crazy about you,” Steve says, and is rewarded with a shaky little laugh.

“Shit,” Billy breathes. “I was so scared, Steve. I thought he was gonna –”

“But he didn’t.”

They stand there for a little while, just looking at each other. Holding each other and breathing each other’s air. Gradually, Billy’s tremors subside. His heart rate slows.

Eventually, Robin comes back into the hall and announces, “He’s gone. Got in his car and left.” She adds, pointedly, “Didn’t look like he was heading for the Holloways’, either.”

Steve looks at her and then drifts his eyes over to Heather, who’s sitting on the second to last step on the stairs, looking at them with one eyebrow raised. He winces. “Yeah … uh, sorry about that, I guess. I should have asked first.”

“You should,” Heather agrees. “But you didn’t, which means that you owe me one.” She looks between Steve and Billy and says, “I would have agreed if you’d asked, but you know. You still owe me.”

Steve laughs. Heather turns to Billy and points one well-manicured finger at him. “So I guess we’re dating now, you and I. I hope you know that I expect to be wooed.”

After Billy gives her a little salute, she nods and turns to Robin. Smiles lewdly as she takes in her appearance in the oversized shirt. “You look good in that,” she says, biting her lip. “Let’s see what other fun clothes we can find in that closet.”

The girls disappear up the stairs, giggling. Steve has a suspicion that his parents’ closet are going to be in complete disarray soon, but can’t bring himself to care. It’s a small price to pay.

“Do you want to go back to bed, too?” Steve asks, and belatedly realizes what it sounds like. “To sleep some more, I mean!” he adds. Because a Neil Hargrove scare first thing in the morning is probably not exactly a turn-on. “Or do you want breakfast? I can make breakfast. We have –“

“I want to go back to bed,” Billy says, thankfully cutting off the rambling.

“Okay,” Steve says and reaches out for his hand. When Billy’s hand slots into his, is it perfectly steady. No more tremors. “Okay, let’s do that.”

But Billy shakes his head. “I don’t wanna sleep, though.”

“… no?”

Billy’s looking at him through his lashes – his ridiculously long lashes, which he knows is Steve’s Kryptonite – and gives a small smile.

“Not gonna lie, babe. That was a terrifying experience. But …” He takes a step closer, brushes the lightest of kisses against Steve’s lip before leaning in and whispering in his ear, “… the way you shut him down like that, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Then he abruptly turns and sashays away, but not before giving Steve’s butt a quick squeeze as he passes.

He stops at the bottom of the stairs with one hand on the bannister, and looks over his shoulder all seductively. “You coming?”

Oh, Steve is coming, all right.

He chases Billy up the stairs. (And this time, when he catches him, he’ll hold onto him and never let him go back to that house again.)

[runraerun]

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

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

oh my god. OH MY GOD.

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

AND THEN THE HIGHLIGHTS ARE YOU JOKING?!

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

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

ahem

—

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

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

Christ, Hargrove, get it together…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which. That…

What the hell does that mean?

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

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

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

Billy clears his throat, “hey, man.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Billy’s in trouble.

[theladycarpathia]

Billy’s not expecting the call from his dad.

“Billy?” Hop sounds distant, the faint sound of an idling engine in the background. Billy blinks, because his dad is at work and as far as Billy knows that usually means sitting behind a desk at the station and arguing with Flo.

“Don’t you have paperwork to be doing?” Billy says and Hopper snorts. There’s the sound of background traffic that’s then shut out by the clang of a car door.

“Don’t give me cheek, I am still the chief,” Hopper says as though that means anything in a small town where the most crime that they get is some drunk idiot attempting to rob the gas station.

“Yes, sir,” Billy quips and changes the channel. No one else is home and he’s bored. Jon and Joyce are still at work, and El and Will are doing weird nerd activities. The diner didn’t have a shift for him today and he doesn’t have a date, so he came home. He’d half expected someone to be here, instead of getting stuck with a protein bar and old reruns.

“That’s more like it,” Hopper says and then clears his throat awkwardly. “I was just wondering…are you definitely single?”

“Dad,” Billy says, attention now fully away from the TV set. Hop’s called him before, to ask him shit like do they need milk and to take the trash out. He doesn't call to talk about Billy's love life. They never talk about that, not after that time Hopper came in his room without knocking. “What is your next question, because this could make the next family dinner a little uncomfortable.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Hopper gripes. There’s the sudden cackle of laughter in the background and Billy sits up.

“Are you with someone?” he asks and then sucks in a breath at the implications. “Did you put me on speaker?”

“I may have done,” Hopper says, sounding sheepish. “I just picked up a young man outside the movie theatre and he’s about your age…”

“I’m nineteen!” the mystery guy hollers from the backseat. Hopper keeps talking like the guy hadn’t spoken.

“I don’t know, I just thought he was your type.”

Billy presses a hand to his temple, unable to believe that his dad has just said those words. “What’s my type?” he asks, wondering if he’s going to combust right here and now. Hopper makes that little awkward throat clearing again, like he can’t believe the situation either.

“You know,” he says stiffly. “Sort of…pretty.”

Oh God. Billy can never look Hopper in the eye again.

“You think I’m pretty?” the guy asks curiously, and Billy can’t blame him for sounding a bit weirded out.

“I think you look like a lot of the doe-eyed pretty-boys my son brings home,” Hopper snaps. Despite his obvious discomfort, Billy can’t help the rush of affection at Hopper trying to be supportive. Neil would have beat the shit out of him. Hopper tries to hook him up with appropriately aged delinquents in the back of the police car.

“A lot?” the guy asks and Billy flushes. He then regrets it because he has no idea if he even wants to impress whatever guy Hopper has picked up.

“It’s not a lot,” he says defensively because Hawkins isn’t exactly big on the gay scene. His last boyfriend he met at Tina’s Halloween party and to be fair, if you wear a kilt and not a lot else to a party in October, Billy’s absolutely going to beg you to rail him in the downstairs cloakroom. The relationship hadn't exactly worked out.

“Look, I get the feeling I’m never going to hear the end of this so here’s the situation,” Hopper says, sounding tired. “This is my son, Billy. He’s about to finish high school, he likes cars and burgers and loud music. He has shit taste in men even though he’s attractive, clever and a smart mouth. Billy, this is Steve. I was on my way back from the mayor’s office when I caught him peeing in an alley. Judging by his big brown eyes and the fact that public nudity doesn’t seem to be a problem for him, I thought of you.”

“Aww,” Billy drawls, sitting back on the couch. There are lights in the drive so someone has just arrived home. Which is good because he needs to tell everyone this story so they can give Hopper shit about it over dinner. “Pops, that’s so sweet.”

“Don’t say I never do anything for you,” Hopper says, like he hasn’t already done everything for Billy by getting him out, giving him a home. “I’ll take an extra polaroid when I process him.”

“I had to take a leak!” Steve protests and Hopper sucks in air through his teeth.

“There are public bathrooms, kid, I’ve heard those work pretty well. Billy, help your mom with dinner when she gets home.” Sucks for Hopper, it’s Jon heading up the path, keys dangling from his fingers. Billy can’t wait to tell him this story.

“Or what, you won’t bring me any more dates?” Billy asks, but he’s only half-joking. Hopper means well and kind of fucks it up a lot but this time he might have hit it right on the money. He thinks he might like Steve.

“Do I get a picture?” Steve asks. “Or does the Hawkins Police just pimp out young innocent men with full bladders?”

Oh yeah. He’s definitely going to like Steve.

“I have a picture on my desk,” Hopper admits grumpily. There’s the jangle of keys in the door as Jonathan lets himself in. “You can look at it if you’re good.”

“And what if I’m not?” Steve asks and Jonathan walks in just in time to raise his eyebrows at Billy.

“I can help punish him, if he’s not,” Billy suggests, and Hopper hangs up the phone just as Steve begins to laugh.

This has probably been done before because it's based on that famous tumblr post but it's so dull during school holidays I have nothing to do but write. And I have no in progress Harringrove fics which is probably a problem I should fix.

[dreaminginpencil]

Billy is treating the little boy in the water very delicately. The boy can’t be older than three, and he clings to Billy, whimpering, scared of the water. Billy soothes him by speaking in low tones; he holds him under the arms and allows the boy the time to kick and squirm, long enough to realize that the water isn’t hurting him, and Billy won’t drop him. Steve sees in real time as the boy calms down, and the two of them glide through the water until he’s comfortable.

Made for the Harringrove BB for @billysblueeyes’ fic squeeze your hands (around my bleeding heart)

[bigdumbbambieyes]

"Do you ever think of me?"

The question is mumbled into the skin of his neck, where Steve's mouth is pressed.

Billy had thought Steve had fallen asleep, but. Surprise, surprise.

And it's honestly such a stupid question that he considers not answering it at all.

But, he knows better.

"Always," he murmurs, turning his head to press a sweet little kiss to Steve's forehead.

"You promise?" Steve whispers, his voice quiet and small, insecure. He gets like that, sometimes. Not as much as Billy, though.

"Cross my heart," he replies just as quietly, pressing another kiss to the bridge of Steve's nose, soothing him.

It works, if the soft little happy noise his boyfriend makes speaks for anything.

"Love doing this with you," Steve murmurs as he lifts his head, his face finally peering out from its hiding place and Billy can see that pretty face in the dark of their room.

He would know Steve's soul in the dark, just like this.

"You love doing nothing?" Billy smirks.

Steve nods, "With you."

It's so disgustingly sweet, it could almost make Billy sick.

What makes him feel worse is that he's been thinking the same thing for a while now.

Just laying here, in their bed, cuddled up and breathing has Billy beyond happy. It's peace. It's love. It's his.

It's theirs.

"Yeah," Billy whispers, turning onto his side to cup Steve's face in the dark, his lips finding that wide Cupid's bow far too easily, their noses gently bumping as he murmurs into his boyfriend's mouth, "Love doing nothing with you, too."

[shieldofiron]

“DAD! DADA!”

Steve groans against the pillow, trying to bury his face further into it. It’s a harder than normal pillow, because it’s Billy’s chest, but surely there’s some give there for Steve.

“WAKE UP, IT’S CHRISTMAS!”

“That it is, Ocean.” Billy’s voice sounds dry and cracked and smells heavily of peppermint. And not like toothpaste.

They don’t have a lot of chance to get out and party now that they’re parents, so they took a few extra sips of peppermint schnapps while setting out Ocean’s Christmas bounty from Santa. Sue them.

“We’re getting there, baby.” Steve mumbles.

“You’re being a lazybones! Grammas already up and Uncle Jonathan AND Aunt Nancy AND-“ She cries, using the word Billy often uses to get her up.

“Ok, ok, we’re doing it,” Steve groans, raising his head that now feels way too heavy.

She squeals, leaving the room like a rocket, and Billy, adorably, covers his ears.

“Fuck, I’ve totally lost my edge,” He groans, “I had like one glass.”

“Not true, you had half the bottle, and I had half the bottle,” Steve mumbles, trying to be quiet.

“How’d you know that?”

Steve holds the empty bottle up.

Billy just winces. “Fair enough. I bet your mom has something for a hangover around here.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah it’s a HEAVY pour Bloody Mary.”

Billy groans. “Joyce, then.”

Steve tugs on his pajama top and tosses the matching one over to Billy. They each have to lean on each other a little to make it down the hall.

“How’d you trick me into this again?” Steve asks.

“Me trick you? As if, Pretty Boy, you were all my mom’s right down the hall if Ocean needs anything.” Billy sniffs. “You’re a siren. A drinking siren.”

They stumble down the stairs, taking in the Christmas lights and Steve’s mom’s new helmet hair cut that gleams just as expensively. Divorce suits her. She and Joyce are giggling over at the buffet, where it looks like someone brought in bagels.

“Hey, mom said to give you guys this?” Jonathan walks up and hands them two fizzing glasses. He’s wearing a vibrant blue Hanukkah sweater that hurts Steve’s eyes to look at, but he forces himself to do it anyway. God, his mom is going to force him into his own later. He can already feel the cashmere tight around his neck.

Billy sniffs his. “Alka seltzer. Joyce is a saint. Good to see you, brother.”

Jonathan grins, “You too.”

Ocean is sitting by the tree, eyes aglow in anticipation. Last night they had opened family presents with Max and Lucas, which is where they all got these spiffy and excruciatingly hot (when you’re hungover) Christmas pajamas, courtesy of Mrs Sinclair.

Steve drags his husband forward to the couch, where they flop next to Will and Nancy who is also quiet and holding a fuzzy glass of her own. She smiles at them weakly.

Ocean looks back at them. “Dada, is it time?”

Maybe it’s the hangover. Probably is a little. But Steve’s heart grows three sizes as he looks down at her. He knows that many of them feel the same way. That last night, looking at Vecna’s charred remains, he could never imagine a future as bright and good as her. As this.

He turns to his husband. “Well, Dada? Is it time?”

Happy crisis @intothedysphoria

[harringroveera]

Billy: Buckley, what are you doing?

Robin: I’m about to go out and see how Steve’s date goes

Billy: Harrington got a date? Which unfortunate girl got set up with him now?

Robin: Someone in class. I’m just there in case he needs rescue, if it’s a horrible date

Billy: Alright, you want a ride?

Robin: …you want to give me a ride to go see Steve?

Billy: Sure

Billy: And then maybe I can stay to watch Harrington with you too. Clearly, just in case his date is too persistent and I gotta work my charms on her to save Harrington’s ass

Robin: …

Robin: Okay, sure, whatever

Billy: Anyway, you think my hair’s okay?

Robin: Yeah?

Billy: Okay, cool, let’s go

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Steve is normally pretty good at bouncing back from things. Minor inconveniences and catastrophic disasters alike, and then some.

Today is the fourth day in a row that Billy has come home to find him tucked into bed before five o’clock has even come to pass, when the sun is still a while off from setting and the crickets have yet to chirp.

It’s safe to say that whatever he’s hit must be sticky, because the bounce back isn’t coming anytime soon either.

Billy goes about his routine as usual. Unlaces and kicks his boots off by the door, empties his pockets on the entryway table, and makes for the bedroom.

The first tell-tale sign that something’s wrong is the darkness in the kitchen — nothing heating on the stove or in the oven, no spices lingering in the air or onion skins piled on the counter. Steve will open the windows and busy his hands washing vegetables in the sink, listening to the sounds of the neighborhood as he pours through one of several cookbooks, trying to make something new and interesting.

It’s part of his evening routine. Helps him decompress, in a way, because he can focus on the words on the page and using his hands without having to talk or listen to anything but the calm sounds around him.

Then once Billy gets home, he blabs on and on about whatever comes to mind, and Billy listens as he eats whatever’s been made.

It makes for a good night when Steve cooks.

When he hasn’t, like tonight, a significant ripple disrupts Billy’s routine. Only he couldn’t give two shits about the food being ready when he gets home.

He gently knocks on the doorframe before he pushes the door open, letting a rectangle of light spill into the room. A sliver of it touches the bed, enough to highlight a partial figure under the covers, and Billy’s brows crease together as he slowly approaches.

“Hey, Stevie,” he coos. Sits on the edge of the bed and reaches a hand out to feel over the blanket, palm resting against Steve’s bicep. “Long day again?”

“Mm,” Steve hums.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t beg for a kiss like he usually does, and Billy frowns.

“You okay?”

“Mm.”

“Did I do something? Feel like I haven’t seen you all week…”

For a few beats, Steve just lays there. Then, he sighs.

“No.”

“Then what’s wrong? I’m walkin’ on eggshells here because I’ve felt like you’re pissed at me.”

“Didn’t ask you to,” Steve grumbles.

Billy furrows his brows.

“Well, shit, Harrington, I’m glad we cleared that up. Next time I feel like caring about my boyfriend, I’ll just go fuck myself instead.”

He stands up and steps toward the door, stopping before he’s crossed the threshold. Behind him, he hears a sniffle, and sighs as he rubs a hand over his face. Turns back around and makes his way to the bed again.

“‘Kay, I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry,” he says. Sits back down and fiddles with his ring on his middle finger. “I’m worried about you, baby, but I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.”

It’s quiet between them for a moment. Steve sniffles again, and there’s movement under the covers — presumably him lifting his hand to smudge the tears away from his eyes.

Billy scoots closer and sets his hand on Steve’s arm again for reassurance, rubbing softly up and down.

“I’m just— I feel useless, I guess. I don’t know,” Steve says.

His voice is low and raw. Vulnerable. Billy wonders if he’d been crying before he came home.

“Feel useless how?”

“I don’t… I don’t have anything. I’m nothing.” Steve lets out a shaky sigh and curls closer to himself. Billy’s expression drops. “I’m not smart enough to go to school and make a future for us, and, like, I know working minimum wage isn’t bad, but I want to… I want to have more for us than this, y’know? I’m a failure at everything I fucking try, and I’m scared this is it.”

The brunet chokes out a hushed sob. Turns his head to bury his face in the pillow to muffle the sounds of his strangled breaths.

Billy leans over his partner in a half-hug, laying his head on his shoulder and pressing him down into the mattress. It has Steve taking a somewhat slower, somewhat calmer breath. The first of more to come.

“How long have you been feeling like this?”

Steve swallows thickly, and his throat clicks.

“A while,” he manages. “I try not to think about it.”

“Sweetheart, not thinking about it isn’t gonna help you. Trust me, been there.”

Below him, Steve huffs.

For the first time in a while, Billy’s mind wanders to places he thought were forgotten. Closes his eyes and nuzzles his cheek against Steve’s shoulder as he rubs over his back.

“Y’know, I never told you this before, but I used to think I was unlovable. Wasn’t anyone’s first choice for my whole life ‘til I met you,” he murmurs. Steve’s breathing slows, and Billy spreads a little smile. “If you don’t have anything, Steve, you have me. I’d choose you and our shitty apartment over some sugar daddy with money and a mansion any day of the week.”

Steve sniffles.

“Yeah?” he rasps.

“Mhmm, and you’re not a failure, and you aren’t stupid. Just ‘cause you have hobbies that you don’t make money off of doesn’t mean you aren’t talented either — your customer service skills are honestly scary and I think I’d gain five hundred pounds if you got any better at cooking.”

Billy cracks a grin when Steve snorts. Turns his face downward and kisses his shoulder.

“Five hundred pounds, huh?”

The blond quirks a playful brow.

“How many servings do you have to make when you cook for us, Bambi?”

“I dunno, like, four?”

“And how much do we usually have leftover?”

There’s a short pause, and then Steve chuckles.

“None.”

“Uh-huh, exactly.” Billy props himself up on his hands and gently pushes Steve’s shoulder until he rolls onto his back. “You’re smart, you’re passionate, you’re somebody, okay? If anyone ever tells you otherwise, I’ll buy a gun.”

Steve laughs, and Billy leans down to kiss just below his jaw.

“You’re a dork.”

“No, I just love you.”

Arms slide out from beneath the covers and drape around Billy’s neck, guiding him closer.

“I love you too.”

Steve tilts up into a kiss when Billy lifts his head. The blond hums against him, chewing his lip when they part.

“Wanna come heat something up and cuddle on the couch?”

Steve shrugs, his eyes lingering on Billy’s lips in the short distance.

“How about we order out and take a shower? You smell like motor oil.”

“You like it when I smell like motor oil.”

Fingers card into Billy’s hair, and he exhales a small sigh when they tug lightly.

“I like scrubbing it off of you even more, though,” Steve lilts.

Billy snickers and brushes their lips together again, melting down into his partner like sugar in a sun-warmed glass of tea. When they part, he lingers close, mere millimeters away from sharing another kiss.

“Lead the way, pretty boy.”

[stervrucht]

[cuepickle]

A bonus drawing of Steve that I drew for act III of Highway Star by @discodeviant for the harringrove big bang!

If you haven’t read the fic already, you can start here: Highway Star ⭐️

[ickypuppi3]

only child steve who never learnt to share, being so extra and possessive when it comes to things that are his. steve getting real weird about billy hopping off his case all of a sudden and hanging around with other people. steve pushing back, getting on billy’s case ‘cause- that’s his, that attention is his, billy is his

[ihni]

Author spotlight: @robthegoodfellow

Thought I'd go ahead and rec some favorite fics of mine by the same author, because a) why not? and also b) they're awesome. So!

Sideways (Harringrove) Such a good read! This was the kind of fic that I couldn't even read just whenever, oh no, this one deserved focus, so I had to treat myself to a comfortable space and time to spare when I read this, because I didn't want to just speed through it. This fic deserves to be indulged in. They boys are written so very well and so are their growing relationship. (Not-really-spoiler: Chapter 4 is my favorite chapter <3)

Drummer Boy (Billy-centric, also Harringrove) This is such a lovely piece of writing, following Billy from his childhood and up until Hawkins, told in his memories of ... beats. Different kinds of beats, that he has always been able to hear. It's a darnright joy to read, and leaves you hopeful in a way that feels so much it's almost heavy.

Love and Hate and Love Her So (Billy-centric) Billy and Billy's mom. Heartbreakingly beautiful, and also just heartbreaking. Howcome it's always the people we love the most who can hurt us the most? This is such a good fic, and it leaves me aching.

Näcken in Loch Nora (Harringrove-ish) A different first meeting between Billy and Steve. A very different first meeting. This one is a mixture between outrageous and unexpected and just plain, uncomplicated fun. With a backstory! All wrapped up in a bite-sized fic that is as delicious as a three-course meal.

Billy Hargrove's Extensive Knife Collection (Harringrove) How can I not rec this? It was for me! And it's a short one and it doesn't really have a plot, but it focuses on one specific thing (I won't tell you what, you'll have to read for yourselves) and it does it well. It makes my face smile and my fingers itch to pick up a knife. (You'll understand when you read it, don't worry.)

¿Por qué no los dos? (Harringroveson) And finally, this one. Maaaan, this one. Listen listen listen. You think you can't write an aromantic character and have it be shippy? Think again! There are so many layers to being an aromantic, and there can still be so many wonderful and meaningful relationships with people, which this fic shows. This fic is SO dear to me, because a) representation and also b) it gives me hope. And it makes me yearn. And it makes me fucking HAPPY okay? It contains a lot of sex between three people but they work so WELL together even though one is not like the others, and they have their happy ending and I just. I just love this one. Please, if you're gonna read a fic today and don't know which one, go for this one.

[runraerun]

Art by @racketti (his commissions are open!)

Easy as 123

**Updates every Monday going forward**

AO3 | Beta’d by: @dame-zoom-a-lot | Rating: E | Warnings: Referenced Child Abuse, minor character death, domestic violence flashbacks | Tags: Single!Dad Billy Hargrove, Billy & Max having a good relationship but they’re still siblings who fight like cats and dogs (he’s trying his best okay don’t call CPS on him just yet!), Famous Steve Harrington, Horn Dog Billy Hargrove, Plot with Porn, No Upside-Down AU.

Summary:

At first Billy had hated the stupid kids show, with its bright pastel palette and mind-numbing repetitive songs—how everyone is just so goddamn cheery all the time! But the more episodes he’s been forced to consume, the more get gets used to it. Hell, he’s even started looking forward to it.

The fact that the host, Mr. H, looks like sex on legs makes the whole thing a little more palatable. Billy could watch that dude file taxes and he’d still be entertained. But you can’t blame Billy—dude’s a total knock-out.

“I wish Mr. H was my daddy,” Max says wistfully from across the couch.

And shit, that makes two of ‘em.

Or, Billy’s living life as, essentially, a single dad to a six-year-old Max who’s obsessed with Mr. Roger’s style kids show that Steve hosts. So when the famous Mr. H comes to town for a Meet & Greet, Billy’s gotta take Maxine, right? For her sake. The fact that Billy’s got a total hard on for the guy’s got nothing to do with it.

Tag List: (message me to be added or removed from this list/if you want to only be alerted for Steddie works, or a Harringrove works, etc.)

@stervrucht @dame-zoom-a-lot @lawrencebshoggoth @themoonagainstmers @morallyundefined @thepossummoldypasta @wheneverfeasible @lifelessstar @sanctumdemunson @bookworm0690 @mamakitty187