#this fic has ruined me for any other harringrove | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anarcoqueer1994 · 2 years ago

Text

TW: mild sexual harrassment, talks of toxic relationship dynamics

Also I love me some Billy and some Harringrove but I also love Billy as a plot device for angst.

Steddie fic with Steve in a crop top

Steve and Eddie had been together a little over 6 months, getting together right after they defeated Vecna (for now.) Not that anyone other than their friends knew. It hasn’t necessarily been easy, both dealing with the aftermath of everything; Eddie’s bandmates weren’t the biggest fan of Steve, (not that he could blame them, he wasn’t great in high school), both were dealing with healing mentally and physically from the upside down, Eddie still being harassed for murders he was cleared of, and the constant underlying fear of being found out as queer, which could spell disaster in a small town like Hawkins.

Plus, Steve had other baggage he didn’t tell Eddie, didn’t want to add any stress to the other man. Of course Eddie knew Steve had dated Billy, but nothing specific. His short but tumultuous relationship with Billy the year before was his first time with a guy. But that relationship hurt. Billy was always like a storm waiting to happen. Some days it would be calm, but most days being with him was intense. He would go from almost hating Steve, violent outbursts, too many bruises to count both from inside and outside of the bedroom, to being gentle, charming, holding Steve softly and telling him how pretty he was.

Sometimes those sweet moments with Billy, would have Steve thinking crazy things. They would have Steve thinking he loved Billy. And one day, he made the mistake of saying it out loud. Billy was holding him, smoking a cigarette as they laid in bed. Steve’s head had been on his chest, and Billy was being particularly gentle, letting Steve absent-mindedly trace lines on his chest. The sex has been soft, and Steve was just feeling warm. So he let it slip out, “Love you, Billy.”

Billy had pulled away from him like he was touched by fire. “God, you always have to ruin shit by being so clingy, Harrington. We’re just having fun.” It took away that warmth Steve was feeling, made him recoil, feel humiliated. More humiliating than any physical bruise, this was a verbal verification that he wasn’t loved, that he was only good for Billy when he was playing purpose like a punching bag or someone to fuck, to spend time with, to hold…but never to love.

Looking back, even though the good was severely outweighed by the bad, Steve let himself buy into the goods, and excuse the bads. Even if this meant crying alone in his room sometimes, wishing to be brave enough to leave Billy, and not get sucked back in by a sweet gesture. He will never know if he would have ever been brave enough, Billy died with no resolution. He was heartbroken. He was relieved.

Eddie never made him feel scared, or hurt, or only there for something to do. Eddie was always sweet, gentle. Even in the bedroom where Eddie would sometimes dom, he was never harsh. He always checked in with Steve, made sure Steve was enjoying it too, made sure Steve was taken care of. Steve was sure he loved Eddie; he was sure that he was in love with Eddie. He loved the way Eddie could always make him feel good, comfortable. He loved the goofy, nerdy things Eddie so passionately talked about (even if he had to ask Dustin for some clarification at times.)

He found himself lighting up just thinking about seeing Eddie. But part of him was terrified to say he loved him out loud. He would remind himself that Eddie is nothing like Billy, that even if Eddie didn’t say he loved him back, it wouldn’t matter. Eddie wouldn’t be mad at him. But he could not overcome the part him that was worried that if he said it, Eddie would see how clingy and pathetic he is, and that Steve was only good at doing things for people, but not to be loved. So, he never says it.

He shows his love though in other ways, like holding Eddie’s hand while he drives, or picking out whatever new horror film came in for their movie nights because he knows his boyfriend loves it, even if he doesn’t. Sometimes, like today, it was gifts. He surprised Eddie with tickets to see Metallica a few hours away in Chicago. Metallica is definitely not Steve’s style, tending to lean more mainstream, preppy. But the look on Eddie’s face when he gave him the tickets meant everything to Steve. He looked so happy like a child on Christmas day. And the way he pulled Steve into heavy, needy kissed indicated how appreciative Eddie really was. Steve could pretend he was loved.

But now Steve was up in his bedroom trying to get ready for the show. Of course, his parents aren’t home, but he wasn’t alone. Robin came over and convinced him to let her help him get ready. Steve wanted to look like he belong at a show like that…but he also wanted to look good for Eddie. Billy used to not like when Steve would hang out with him in public, didn’t want him to embarrass him. Eddie has never been like that, but Steve is still nervous about messing up. He just wanted to make Eddie happy. So, when Robin suggested black eyeliner and nail polish, Steve reluctantly agreed. He wore a plain black, slightly baggy t-shirt and a new pair of very tight black jeans, hoping he would blend in.

“What do you think?” He asks her when she finishes with the eyeliner. He stands up off the bed where they were sitting to look in the mirror. He had put in the same rigorous hair routine as he usually did, not allowing that to suffer for the sake of fitting in.

She laughs “Why are you so worried?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Come on, dude. Can you just answer the question?” He asks, obviously exasperated.

“You look fine, dingus. You literally always do.” She says matter-of-factly.

Steve pushes his hands against his, causing little dots to appear in his vision. “Ugh, I don’t want to look just fine Robin. What am I missing?”

“I don’t…” suddenly she pauses as a mischievous light fills her eyes. “Give me your shirt.”

“What?

“Give me your shirt. Do you want my help or not?” She demands

“Whatever you say.” He takes his shirt off throwing it at her face. She sticks her tongue out at him in retaliation.

She stands up, heading to his desk, grabbing a pair of scissors. As she does, she looks over and comments on his chest hair. “Henderson is right, you gotta tame that, man."

He smirks back at her. “Well, I haven’t had any complaints from Eddie.” He notices the scissors in her hand. “So, uh what are you doing?”

“You don’t have any emotional attachment to this shirt, right?” She answers with another question.

“Not really?” He answers more confused.

“Good.” And not even seconds later, she was taking the scissors to the shirt.

“Hey, hey what are you doing?” He steps closer, annoyance in his voice over his now ruined shirt.

“Helping you look good for your show.” She says as she finishes cutting, throwing the shirt back at him. From outside they hear a car honk, its Vickie picking Robin up. “Well got to go!” She hurries out the door before he has a chance to examine the newly altered piece of clothing. He hears the front door slam.

He holds the shirt out in front of him. It is way shorter than it was before. He is unsure but slides it over his head anyways. It hits him about mid-torso, leaving a little gap of skin between it and where his jeans sit on his waist. There is a small strip of hair visible leading from his belly button down to his jeans. He looks in the mirror, and with the eyeliner, and nail polish, and the clothes, he feels weird, but can’t help but feel a little pretty. He would never wear this around Hawkins, but maybe for a concert in a big city. He is still apprehensive, the scars sticking out slightly, but decides to go for it.

A little while passes before he hears the front door open. Eddie knows his parents aren’t home, so he had just come in. “I’m here, pretty boy.” He calls up the stairs. Steve can hear the excitement in his voice, ready to get going. “Let’s go!” He playfully yells.

Steve takes a deep breathe, knowing he would have to show Eddie eventually. That does not change the fact that he is still nervous with his new look. He yells down the steps “Okay��can you close your eyes?”

“What?” Eddie replies obviously confused.

“Come on, Munson, please?”

“Fine, whatever you say, baby.” Eddie gives in, closing his eyes. He is unsure why Steve is being so weird but goes with it. He hears Steve walk down the steps. He is now standing less than a foot away from the other man.

“Okay, you can open them.” Steve says nervously, his arms finicking at his sides because by instinct he wants cover up. Eddie opens in eyes and is very surprised by what he sees. He cracks a smile but before he can say anything, Steve starts talking again. Rambling. “Okay don’t laugh. I…I know it different and like probably dumb. It was Robin’s idea, you know the makeup and the shirt…and...”

He is cut off by Eddie grabbing his face and pressing a soft kiss against Steve’s lips. Eddie drops his hands down so they are resting on Steve’s bare hips. Steve looks at him unsure what to say. “Remind me to thank, Robin.” Eddie smiles, letting out a little laugh. “You look hot, princess. Well hotter than usual.”

Steve blushes at the silly nickname, Eddie has a million for him. He would never admit it out loud but princess is one of his favorites. “You don’t think it’s too much?” Steve asks, still nervous to be this far out of his comfort zone.

“Absolutely not,” Eddie assures him, running his finger along the little line of hair leading to his waist band. “Only problem is I might not be able to keep my hands off of you tonight.” Eddie winks. With that, Steve is mostly satisfied, feeling pretty and loving that Eddie thinks the same thing.

A few hours later, and they make it to the show. Steve hadn’t seen this many leather and spike clad individuals in one place in his entire life. He had grabbed a beer at the stadium to take the edge off, sometimes big crowds without easy exits still make him anxious. Honestly a lot of things make him secretly anxious these days.

He and Eddie stand in the middle of a huge crowd, not particularly far from the stage, but not that close either. He likes that with the big crowd, he has an excuse to stand extra close to Eddie, without arising suspicions. He glances over at Eddie to see a big smile plastered on his face. Steve can’t help but feel his heart flutter. Eddie had a way of doing that to him, especially when he has that big goofy smile plastered on his face. As the music begins, the already loud crowd starts to scream. Steve would honestly admit he hated it if it weren’t for his overly-excited boyfriend joining in. With Eddie, he finds it endearing.

As the concert progresses, Steve watches carefully as Eddie joins the mosh pit. He knows Eddie could hold his own, but it didn’t make him any less terrified whenever he watches those he loves do something that could cause bodily harm, and he loves Eddie. (Even if he can’t say it) He loses Eddie for second in the crowd. His heart begins to pound, flashbacks of almost losing Eddie in the upside-down play in his head. He is so focused on scanning for Eddie, and his own racing0 thoughts, that he nearly jumps out of his skin when someone squeezes behind him.

Luckily, as Steve turns his head, he sees it is the curly haired brunette. Eddie smiles at him, sweat covering his face but smiling like the luckiest man in the world. Steve smiles back at him instinctively. Before he can say anything, Eddie wraps his arms around Steve’s bare waist from behind, nothing he hasn’t seen straight couples do before. Heck, he has even done it to Nancy. Its perfectly innocent, normal…if they were straight.

But they aren’t straight, and Steve knows they would never do this in public, its not safe. Eddie obviously sees the distress in Steve’s face, tilting his head so Steve’s eyes could follow the direction. There he sees too girls making out, and a couple guys leaning into each out. Eddie says into Steve’s ear “We are in the big city, sweetheart…” Steve’s knees go weak at another one of Eddie’s pet names. “And we are at a fucking metal concert, we are good here. I want to show off how fucking hot you are and that you’re mine.” He smiles but then adds quickly “Only if you are cool with it, of course.”

Of course, Steve was cool with it. Billy would never want to show Steve off. Steve trying his best to stay in the background of the other man’s life. Billy didn’t even tell his close frineds. But he was learning that’s not true with Eddie. And if Eddie said this place was safe, he trusted him. He can’t help but blush knowing that Eddie thinks he’s hot and wants to show everyone they are together. As an answer, Steve turns his head awkwardly to kiss Eddie softly, nothing crazy. Quick enough to deny if someone had a problem. But Eddie still smiles anyways, holding Steve the rest of the concert, rocking their bodies together with the music.

After the show, they make their way to a little bar not far from the venue. They figured they would grab a beer and piss before hitting the road. It was full of folks coming from the same show. Steve stood by the bar, waiting for Eddie to come back the bathroom. As he leans forward on the bar, sipping his beer, he feels a pair of arms grab him from behind.

“Eds...” Steve laughs, the lightness from the evening taking over. “I think even in a big city, we gotta be careful at a bar.”

Steve freezes when he hears the voice respond, “Eds? No such luck, sweetheart. Names, Ricky. Seen you at the concert and thought you were fucking hot. Also you may wanna look around, honey. You are in a gay bar. No need to hide here.” Hot breath hits the back of Steve’s ear.

After a moment to process, Steve pulls away, turning to look at the guy. He was good looking enough, blonde hair, leather jacket, muscular, but Steve was not interested. He also looks around, only to notice the apparent queer clientele. He clears his throat “I’m with someone…Thank you, anyways.” He tries to be polite.

Before he can move away, the man puts his hands on either side of the bar behind Steve, locking Steve against the bar, with no place to go. He doesn’t want to start a scene. The guy was bigger and probably could kick Steve’s ass. “Aren’t we all? We are just having fun, sweetheart.”

Suddenly the pet name that made him go week in the knees earlier, felt gross, wrong. “I’m sorry, I’m really not interested.” Steve tries again.

The man’s tone gets less smooth, more aggressive. “How are you going to tell me that you came in here, dressed like.” He moves his eyes up and down Steve’s body. “And say you aren’t interested. Obviously, you wanted attention. Look around, every guy in here would love to go home with you.” He leans in trying to force a kiss on Steve, Steve doing his best to push back. He slides his leg between Steve’s legs.

“Stop, no!” Steve pushes him, trying to get him away. But he is bigger. “I’m not fucking interested!”

Before he can do anything else, he feels the man get pulled away. Then he hears Eddie’s voice. “He said he wasn’t interested!” He looks up just in time to see Eddie land a punch with his ringed fist. The man goes down, clutching his now very bloody nose.

He does not register what is happening, just Eddie grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the bar. They run for nearly 5 blocks before reaching where Eddie’s car is parked. Steve hears police sirens in the distance from where they came from, making sense why they ran.

Eddie gets in without a sound, frown on his face. Steve follows suit. He doesn’t speak out of fear of upsetting Eddie more. They drive for a while without talking. On he ride up there, they had held hands the entire time, and when they were at the concert, Steve felt so happy that Eddie was holding him. But now Eddie was upset, and all Steve could think about was the fact that it was his fault.

He keeps thinking of the what ifs. What if he would have just ignored the guy? What if he would have moved away sooner? Maybe he should have stayed in the bathroom with Eddie? Maybe he should have covered up more? They were having a great night, and Steve ruined it. After nearly an hour, as they drove on a dark, nearly empty highway, Steve broke the silence. “I’m sorry…” His voice is small, scared, scared that Eddie is going to realize that Steve was too much to handle. A small rebel tear he had been holding in rolls down his face.

A look of confusion fills Eddie’s face, as he stares ahead. This of course leads to more uncertainty for Steve. Without saying anything, Eddie pulls over, and for the first time since he started driving, Eddie looks at Steve’s face, illuminated by the nearby streetlight. His voice is soft, but tense “Sweetheart, why are you apologizing?”

That simple question was enough for Steve to start spilling what he was thinking about. “Because you were having such a good time, and so was I. And then I ruined it, I should have done something…pushed harder…and I am so sorry, Eddie. I’m sorry I made you mad, I’ll do better.” All his insecurities from Billy start to pour out. “Please give me another chance. I’m sor…”

For the second time tonight, Steve’s insecure ramblings are cut off with a kiss. Eddie’s kiss is more desperate this time, needy, intense. When he pulls away, Steve stares at him, confusion and worry still clouding his pretty features.

Eddie lets out a sigh, before reaching across the center console, softly grabbing Steve’s hand. “Stevie, you didn’t do anything wrong, I promise. I’m not mad at you. You made tonight great.”

“Really?” Steve replies, running his thumb over the top of Eddie’s hand. “Then…why have you been so angry since we left?”

Eddie swallows down an obvious lump in his throat. “Because…I was mad at myself.” Steve raises his eyebrow, not getting why. Now it was Eddie’s turn to ramble. “Everyone in town thinks I’m this freak, who is satanic and violent, you know? And like I am a freak, and I love that. But Like a lot of people still think I killed Chrissy. But I never wanted to you to see me as this violent guy. But before I could even stop myself, I left that guy bloody on the ground. He was just some guy, not some monster in the upside down.” Eddie’s voice is almost timid, like he’s afraid.

“Eds…” Steve reached his free hand to Eddie’s face, placing it gently on the man’s cheek. “I would never think that about you. You were defending me…” Steve leans in for gentle, reassuring kiss.

Eddie lets air out of his nose as the kiss ends. “That was part of it. Defending you…but if I was honest,” Eddie pulls his hand away as he talks. “part of it was…I don’t know, I guess I was jealous. Seeing some other guy trying to feel up on you, of course it made me protective, but it also pissed me off that it wasn’t me holding you, honey.” Eddie lowers his voice with the last word.

"You were jealous? Why?" Steve asks, oblivious to the fact that anyone would be jealous over him. "You're the only one I want, you know that, right?"

"Sometimes, that's hard to believe." Eddie says quietly, his own insecurities seeping out. He sees the look of panic cross Steve’s face, believing he did something to make Eddie not believe. "What I mean," Eddie corrects, "is you're Steve Harrington, king Steve. And I know I don't usually care what people think, but it's easy to see you are out of my league. Like way out of it, Harrington. And that guy from the bar, he looked more like he belonged with you. And I hated it because I couldn't blame you if you did want someone else, someone like him. Someone not like me. Someone like Billy."

Steve feels his heart sink, Was Eddie really comparing himself to Billy? "Eddie…it's true. You are nothing like Billy. And you never will be."

"Steve…" Eddie tries to interject.

"No, let me say something, okay?" Eddie nods reluctantly. Steve leans forward towards Eddie, taking both the other man's hands in his. "There is no one in the world that has ever made me feel like you do, okay? And I hate to admit it only because he is so cocky but Henderson was right again. He told me that you were cool and that I would like you. And he was right, so much more right than he probably expected. And I know it's cliche or whatever to say, but I think you are perfect. I don't want you to be like Billy. With Billy, it was so hard and it hurt more than it should have. " Steve looks away momentarily, never talking about these things out loud before. He takes a deep breath as Eddie squeezes his hands, sending little reassurances. Steve’s face shifts to a soft smile. "With you, it never hurts. You're funny, and passionate, so fucking hot." He laughs." You make me feel good. Like I'm enough. Like you want to spend time with me, and not just to fuck. Like I'm lov…"

Steve cuts himself out, scared he said too much. He almost said 'loved.' But he stopped the word from passing through his teeth. He is terrified to hope Eddie loves him. Billy had scoffed at his love, made him feel bad. Even Nancy called his love bullshit.

What Eddie does next surprises him. He leans forward, resting his forehead against Steve's, moving his hands from Steve’s to Steve's bare hips, feeling the skin against skin, running his fingers softly over the scars covering his side. It's like they are now in their own world, only noise around is the occasional car driving past. Steve stares nervously at Eddie, uncertainty still taking a toll. "Stevie, you are loved. I love you."

"You love me?" Steve asks, still disbelieving despite evidence to the contrary.

Eddie laughs at Steve's obliviousness. "I love you so much it scares me sometimes. It was all so fast and sudden but I knew I loved you, the moment I saw you walk towards Vecna, willing to sacrifice everything to protect the kids, to protect me. Very metal. And that love only grew as I watched you stay endless nights in the hospital with Max before she woke up, or when I watched you bus the kids around, or the way you listen to Dustin and I ramble about shit I know you don't care about. You are so good to Robin, and Nancy, and even Johnathan. You have been through so much, too. Robin told me about the Russians, and how they tortured you. And you never bring it up. You are always just taking care of people. You take care of me. I notice all the little things you do for me constantly, and big things." He adds. "Like tonight. I know you don't like Metallica but you did all this for me. And honestly, princess, all I wanna do is take care of you, in return."

Steve feels like his heart is going to pound out of his chest and flutter around the car. He's sure Eddie would bat it back down for him. Eddie loves him, and if he would have seen past his own insecurities, he would have seen that sooner. He whispers almost too quietly to hear, "I love you so much, Eds."

With that, Eddie moves his hand to Steve's chin, pulling him in for a tender kiss. It didn't feel rushed or desperate. It felt, pure, content, happy.

Steve pulls away slightly, their lips just inches apart. "How about we go back to my place, and I'll show you how much I love you?"

There was no real test, Eddie knew how much Steve loved him now, and Steve knew how much he was loved. But there was need, desire behind those words. He wanted to get Eddie to his bed and worship every part of Eddie’s body. He wanted Eddie to mark him up, to show everyone he was his. He wanted to fuck and love and just revel in the warmth of thier relationship.

Eddie, for his part, must agree, as he sped the entire way back to Hawkins

#stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #steddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #mentions of billy Hargrove #robin buckly

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claracivry · 2 years ago

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Hello Clara! I've got a little question for you, since I'm very curious about it: what do you think of Eddie and Steve as a couple? Do you like them together? just wondering, I swear I come in peace, too many people fighting over silly stuff like this lately, I feel the need to clarify ahahahah

ps: I love your whump fics by the way, I had to tell you!!

Hi, anon!!

I'm glad you like my whump fics!! It's my favourite genre and brings me so much joy, I'm glad there's other people enjoying it :)

Now, my thoughts on Steddie 😬 I come in peace too! Please don't shoot! I hope I don't get cancelled and lose all of my readers but. When I first saw the show, I didn't see it. As a metalhead who doesn't date, I saw Eddie and was like "hell yeah why be into boys or girls when you can be into heavy metal 🤘🤘🤘🤘"

And there's absolutely nothing wrong with the ship, but there's something about the shipping community that bothers me, is almost aggressive? Like going "if you don't like this ship you're either blind or homophobic!!!" is something that I profoundly dislike, like it's okay to have your ships but don't step on other people?? I think the fact that you have to say "I come in peace" in this message perfectly illustrates that. There's a lot of discourse and I hate discourse so so much. So yeah, that bothers me.

If you read me, you probably see that I love gen more than any ship. I wrote that much about umbrella academy because it was a bunch of siblings and ships were never central to the story or the fics. I sometimes love a very popular ship (Geralt and Jaskier in the Witcher) and other times I don't see it/ship it (Johnlock from way back in superwholock times). Is very rare for me to get reeeeally into a ship, so when the whole majority of fics is eaten by ships, it kinda bothers me, too.

And this was a thing before Eddie in this fandom, too! I would go to try and find some Jonathan whump and it would be all Harringrove where Jonathan was mentioned in one line. If all the whump fics are about feelings and romance Imma be pissed, I can tell you that. And this happens a lot with Steddie, I will see a promising fic about Eddie being sick and it'll be all couples fluff and romantic feelings. Does everything have to be romantic?

Also, I am a little petty bitch. Seeing gen fics getting two kudos and something very similar get two hundred because it has Steddie bothers me. I don't think it's fair. And again, the discourse, like you said, the fighting, is annoying. We write content because we want to have fun, right? It's not supposed to be a lesson in morality, Jesus. (That's why I love rarepairs, there's usually zero discourse)

Without all the drama, I think Steve and Eddie could be cute. I like the notion of Steve never having thought of boys in that way but being unable to tear his eyes off Eddie. I like the poor guy x rich guy thing, and how they could idk explore what each other's lives have been like. And let's face it, they're hot. They're friendly. Could be nice but sadly, the whole... vibe around it just bothers me.

And also, the fact that there's so little whump without Steddie. Like I said, petty little bitch.

So yeah, them as couple? I don't ship it, but the couple is cute. But the actual shipping community has ruined it a bit for me. If there's anyone out there who feels this way too, I would love to chat!

Thanks for asking, hope you don't mind my long and non-shippy answer! And I sure hope people continue to read me despite this :/

Clara out ;)

#asks #this is like buck and Eddie in 911 #Like Buck being adopted by the captain and Athena is there why do I have to put up with so much romance #And I like romance occasionally #Went fucking crazy for Drukkari last year #But often times... J #ust don't care #And moral superiority will ruin something for me 100% of the time #And fighting #Rarepairs tho #Even in a conflictive fandom like Voltron the pidge x lance people were nothing but kind to me #And still sick Lance being taken care of was so much more important to me #I wish I shipped Steddie you know??#There's so much more content so many more people to enjoy it with #But alas #it doesn't jingle my bells #Steddies pls don't get angry with me I'm but a poor whump little girl 😭

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disdaidal · 2 years ago

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😈🍆🎨🧠🤩🤯

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

Well, I love to write angst and torture my boys a little bit, so would that count? 😇

🍆 Do you write the spicy stuffs? If so, what’s your most popular nsfw fic?

I do, in fact, write spicy stuff. XD I have some in the works atm. I just haven't published anything on AO3 yet. I wrote some for my old fandom, on LJ, many years ago though.

I think this Harringrove fic comes closest to the spiciest stuff I've published on ao3, but it's pretty mellow. :D

🎨 How do you feel about fan art of your stories?

No one's made fanart of my stories yet. XD A couple of people have written stories of my edits, however, and it makes my heart go boom. <3

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

Should I pick a character here or? Anyway, one of my favorite (and unpopular) headcanons for Billy is that he hates reading but does well at math and physics. (Why? I've known a few guys act exactly like him and they hated reading but were good at math/chemistry/physics. A couple of them in fact bullied me at school jdjhghg. So I'm projecting here I guess?)

So, because physics and chemistry are for nerds, and being good at school is for losers, Billy's an underachiever and allows his grades to drop on purpose because he's trying to fit in with "the cool guys", and because he's desperately trying to please his piece of a shit dad who wants him to excel at sports, not in academics.

Billy's frustrated because he knows he could do better, and he knows that he could have a future in science but his low grades aren't doing him any favors. He cares too much about other people's opinions of him, and it's about to ruin his future plans.

(But of course, someone who cares about him will step up and encourage him to do better. Any character of your choice, heh.)

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

I already answered this in another ask but while I like writing Billy, I also like to headcanon stuff for Steve because we only know bits and bits about his family and childhood. I also relate to some of Eddie's problems, and I could easily picture myself projecting onto him. So writing them, along with Billy, is (going to be) a journey itself. :)

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

I think anything that requires me to do a lot of studying and planning beforehand to make it sound more realistic. For example, a few people have been requesting me to write something for my Harringrove Rich Boy x Detective AU here. But I know absolutely nothing about the American police work or how business works etc. (and yeah I know, it's fiction we can do whatever we like yadda yadda), but I'm serious. XD I just don't think I can do it (but maybe someone else can *wink wink*).

Another AU of mine, which is actually one of the first Harringrove AU plots I ever came up with, was a nurse x mental patient AU. I could honestly even write something for this and I did start writing it (because I have personal experience from this kind of thing). But because it's also a heavy subject for me and a heavy topic overall, writing it has been giving me a lot of trouble.

Also, smut? I read smut all the time. I get inspiration for that from different things. But why is writing it so goddamn hard?!?!? I don't get it. 😂

fanfic writer emoji ask

#mrs-danny-gold #replies #thank you <333 #fanfic writer emoji ask

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withoneheadlight · 4 years ago

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life has been a bit crazy for me so I haven’t been around but I’m glad to see that the upside down kiss fic is circulating back around bc it lives rent free in my mind constantly and I am whORE KNEE 😩

nsfw! anon

(I hope you’ve seen well I miss u :((( )

NSFW!ANON I'M SO HAPPY TO SEE YOU I MISS YOUUUUUU!!!!! Holy shit this is the nicest surprise!!!!!! 💖💖💖🌟💖🌟💖🌟💖🌟💖 Wish your life were at least a bit less crazy :(. Mine's been a bit crazy too. Weird and busy. Haven't been letting me much time for fandom and i miss it so, SO FUCKING much.

And <3<3<3, haha yep! i’ve got a soft spot for that fic too bc i had so much fun writing it, and it’s even funnier on my mind idk xD. i’m so happy people likes it. Those gifs are like a harringrove inspiration charm i swear! Maybe you’ve already seen it but @warheadache added this amazing ar to it and 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉.

also!! i know it doesn’t look like it but i’ve got a couple things for you on the works and i’m closer to finish them!! at my snail pace but yk,

a few excerpts bc i want to give them to you so baaaaaadddDDDDDD:

(I'm sure you'll recognize the working titles :P)

| n s f w ahead |

| boots |

And it’s been more than three years. More than three years of holes on his body and holes on his veins and stitches and tubes and pills and pain under every scar and unsteady steps and pulling together a pile of dirty rubble. More than one of Steve, Steve, Steve. Of coming back in busts and flickers. Enough gasoline left to light a spark. Too empty still to start a fire.

Except―

He’s going through his old stuff, one day. Cold outside. Late January. Chill fogging the windows. Daylight pouring to the edges of the sky like red-hot steel on the other side.

Billy’s on the floor. The contents of the two plastic bags collecting dust at the bottom of his closet since he moved in here now scattered all around. Cassettes and crumpled papers and tampered books and stupid memorabilia and. His old tight jeans. His leather jackets. His light-blue denim one, with the blood-red goodbye kiss of somebody whose cheek he remembers touching, whose face he can’t remember anymore.

And Billy doesn’t hear him coming, but one moment he’s not, the next Steve’s crouching by his side, leaning against him, too lightly for it to be in need of balance.

“God, Hargrove” he huffs, picks Billy’s favorite shirt out of the pile “Am I remembering this one right?”

Billy bites in a smile. Swallows down some bitterness.

“You are”

Steve nods, mouth twisting into a grin, a brow rising. Glances down at what Billy’s holding (on to) between his hands.

“And oooh. Those boots”

Still dirty. More dark brownish than black. One of the few things he got back from the hospital. His pendant being the only one he ever put back on.

“Yeah”

“Thinking ‘bout using any of these again?” Steve gives the shirt a light shake, the dark-red fabric dragging on the wooden floor.

Last time Billy wore it, he burned hole in it. A stray ember fell from his joint, right under the left pocket. Tiny enough to pass mostly unseen but―

For a closer look, it was ruined.

Two days later, the Mind-Flyer dragged him into the basement of Brimborn Steel Works.

Billy digs his fingers into the dry leather before they can start shaking.

“I don’t―” Takes in a big gulp of air “―know. Don’t know if they’ll fit anymore” It feels like nothing.

Because, he doesn’t mean only his body. Means it all. Because he’s alivealivealive, like some kind of inevitability. Alive like a form of inertia.

Alive because that’s all he had left. Got’s left. The only thing he could. Can. Do.

But,

But

“Uhmm” Steve exhales. Looks right into his eyes and it feels like he’s looking deeper. And it’s not the first time, not the first time Billy wonders, how much he knows, and how he knows it. Wonders what he might be seeing, what his instinct might be saying for him to―lower down his voice, eat away almost every single one of the scarce millimeters keeping their mouths from touching “Maybe the boots, then” his hair tickling Billy as it falls over his forehead, the feeling of it so intimate it seems illicit “Only, the boots”.

And those words. Those words. Taste like gasoline on Billy’s mouth, make the flame almost catch. Hot. As they feel over the rabbiting pulse of his jugular. Ad there shouldn’t be any empty space left between them when Steve moves even closer, his lips brushing a path of raw tenderness over Billy’s cheek, trailing sideways, air turning flammable and unstable, unbreathable when he says, “You’d look―” Voice hoarse. Shaky. Breath warm down the curve of Billy’s neck. Fingertips burning as a branding mark over his solar plexus “Hot as fuck”

Trading a grenade for Billy’s fast-beating heart.

And then― he’s getting up. Going away. Closing the door behind him. Leaving Billy one pull away from the detonation.

And Billy.

It’s been more than year since he moved. More than a year of SteveSteveSteve. Of coming back in busts and flickers. Enough gasoline left to light a spark. Too empty still to start a fire.

But Billy wants it, this kind of inevitability. Not inertia. No survival. Not that something living doesn’t really feels like. He wants Steve to release that bomb he just dropped inside of his body. Left Billy unmade. Shape him back together with his own two hands.

So he gets up. Wired-up and breathless. Anticipation beading on the surface of his skin. Thinks about of all those times alive felt like something reachable. That almost-touch sensation. Static singing on his fingertips: loving arms closing around his ocean-cold skin. The rumbling of the sea caught up on the shell of his ribcage. Max's crazy laugh like a hammer to his bones. The Camaro cooking the soles of his feet, speed making his head spin through a wormhole and out into the infinite. His knuckles cracking against the skin of another, finding bone. The metallic tang of blood flooding down the back of his tongue.

Love and fire and rage and―

He takes all his clothes off. They don’t feel like they fit, either. Socks. Sweats. Hoodie. T-Shirt. Takes a deep breath when the pendant bumps against the naked skin of his chest.

Puts his boots on.

Does the only thing he’s ever known.

“Steve!” he shouts. Pulse spiking up fast. Trying to beat a way out of his body “Can you come back in here?”

Skyrocketing, when Steve shouts back.

“Going!”

And then is the door clicking open. Billy’s lungs freezing in the middle of a breath. Steve’s eyes looking almost black as they catch the shadows. Sun falling down the reality of the other side.

And in a darkness like that, it’s only them what remains. Them, and the way they are looking at each other.

And Billy feels alive. Like falling. Feet slippin’ on the razor’s edge.

"Billy" breathes out Steve. Shoulder perched on the frame. Fingers tightening around the handle "Fuck, Billy I―"

“Yeah?”

Alive. Like a form of gravity when―

Steve comes forward. To him. Careful. Careful. Footsteps creaking on the wooden floor. Lashes falling down as his eyes drift. Swallows. Comes closer and closer still.

And then.

Their chest are brushing and their hands are almost touching and it's not even an inch but Billy has to look up even with his stupid boots on and,

“You said―”

Steve breathes in. Cuts Billy’s breath off his lungs.

Between them, there’s no room for anything that’s not the way they’re not touching.

“I know what I said”

The air, sparks, sizzles, becomes the memory of a thunderstorm and. The tips of Steve’s fingers make his hairs stand on end. High voltage. Spark over the inside of his wrist. The faded blue of his veins. And Billy shivers. Feels like that second of stasis before the rupture. Static calm and then― the ocean breaks.

And then Steve says,

“I wanna see it. That fire in you” and his fingers tickle across the hidden tenderness on the inside Billy’s elbow. Nails grazing their way up to his shoulder, detouring to contour the crest of his clavicle, slide down the trough, spreading as they follow the shape of Billy’s neck, thumb fitting into the corner of his lips and “C’mon.” smiling, smiling. Eyes creasing at the sides, lashes catching the few last strings of light. Wicked and sweet and devastating “Show me who’s that Billy Hargrove everybody's been telling me so much about”

| stick | tw: object insertion |

It’s thrilling, this secret, depraved game they play. Feels like it's forbidden. Leaves a sweet, honey-thick aftertaste.

And Billy is so. So curious. Can’t stop asking Steve to tell him “How it feels babe. I want to know how good it feels. God you look like it's hitting you just right” and Steve tells him. Steve fucks himself down into whatever thing Billy is holding for him, never touching himself until he’s almost there, wanting to ride that sole sensation right up until the very end. Shivering. Shaking. Breaking a sweat. The words coming ragged out of his open mouth. “Cold” or “Weird” or ��Like. Too much–ah. Too much” and “Soft, God, Billy so soft” and–

“Why don’t you try it yourself?”

And Billy its so, so curious.

Billy does.

Rails himself for Steve to watch, slicked up with lube and dripping. With a rolling pin. A cucumber. Almost a whole box of wooden colored pencils, stuffed inside his ass one by one. With “ohgodgodgod” the handle of Steve’s fucking nailed bat. Lets Steve holds whatever thing he chooses for him “C’mon, babe. C’mon. Treat it good. Swallow it as deep as you can. Take it like you would take my cock”

And life in Hawkins gets boring after the first, second, fourth, seventh yearly round. Steve takes that office work. Billy gets a permanent spot in the garage. If he gets real lucky, somebody takes him an interesting car from time to time. But sometimes Steve looks at Billy with dark, liquid eyes. Says “Ok enough”. His voice harsh. Rasped. Losing balance at the edge of what he’s able to restrain himself. Sounding as if he’s jealous of those things jamming the insides if Billy’s ass. Takes out Billy’s been writhing around. Fucks him hard. Fuck him deep. Fucks him so good there are tears in Billy’s eyes by the time he comes. Fallen apart and sobbing.

Steve’s driving. One hand on the wheel. One hand on the shift. The cool air of the night coming in shorts through the rolled-down window. On the radio, Ted Nugent’s making his guitar whine, the strings arching into the touch of his fingertips, asking for more more more, ‘Here I come again now baby. Like a dog in heat’

Steve’s long fingers flex over the knob, winter-cold white under reddened knuckles. He shifts from third to fourth with a smooth press and lets go of the clutch, and the Camaro sighs, settles. Steve makes her calm. Steve tames her. Where Billy makes her growl and kick Steve drives her like a lover, whispers to her with all his body I’m gonna fuck you so slow. We got all night, baby. Steve treats her right. Runs those fingers up and down the metallic rod of the shift and Billy gets hard. One second from zero to sixty.

His cock pulses, pulses. Fills up whole. The sudden rush of heat traveling up, up. Presses against the walls of his throat. Billy wants to feel the head of Steve’s cock against his bell. Wants Steve to make him choke on him.

Steve brakes. Clutches. Reduces. The Camaro moans, needy. Steve soothes her, caresses it with a soft brush of his thumb along the speed patter Shh, baby sshhh. Just hold a little bit longer. I promise I will let you come.

Billy feels himself twitch, spit out precum. The inside of his pants feels damp, appetizing. He lets his hips slide, rock.

The knob is real leather. Silver pattern ingrained over black. Seams carefully sew out on the surface as a touch of style.

Billy replaced it a few months ago, the old one too damaged by use. Worn out.

This one curves slightly forward.

It would hit just right.

Steve's eyes are alight, framed in the light reflected from the rearview mirror, a dramatic take out of an old Noir.

Except the brown shines full color. Alive.

Billy puts his hand over Steve’s on the knob, spreads his fingers around his.

Grips him hard.

“Hey, babe. Have you ever thought about it?”

“Mmm? About what?”

“About riding my car”

Steve huffs. Chuckles.

“I am driving your car”

“Yeah” Billy caresses the side of Steve’s hand with his thumb, a lagged reflection of his gesture. Thinks about how pretty Steve’s lips would look around that leather, mouth open wide “Don’t mean it like that”

Billy has to take a deep, shaky breath, thinking it's a miracle they ever get as far as they plan, that Steve Harrington's mere existence doesn't make him come just by looking at him.

Not all their games get to the finish line. But this, God, Billy wants this one to.

"Ah-ah" he shakes his head, smirks, keeps the stakes high "But if you hop on I'll let you eat my mouth"

“Mmmm. I don’t know”

Steve twists his lips, considering, looks like he’s willing to take his sweet time deciding, staying just like this, idly rocking on his lap, keeping Billy hooked in this scarce feeling, this almost kissing between their cocks.

And Billy––Uff. Billy it’s too revved-up, can’t take it any fucking second more.

Grabs Steve’s asscheeks. Lifts him up.

“Billy what the—ohfuck” It doesn't go in. ‘Course it doesn’t. When Billy lets Steve’s weight drop just a slight bit. It bumps. Slips. Wet and obscene. Rips a breathless thing of a sound out of his throat. But then Steve’s arms wrap around his neck. Bracing himself so Billy can take a hold of it, line himself up. And then yeah yeah. He barely has to rub the head against Steve’s slippery hole and his cock slides in. Eaaasy. All the way. Into Steve’s warmth. Tight. Tight. Tight. And–

“Ohfuck. OhfuckOh”

The air coming in from the window is cool, bristling, but it feels like nothing when Steve lets out a chocked cry. Fucks himself. Fast. Rough. Face buried into the crook of Billy’s neck. Breath blooming hot, hot. Teeth on his pulse.

“Shhhh, baby, shhh” Billy takes his face between his hands, pushes him carefully backwards. Waits ‘till Steve’s eyes slowly find focus on his, still rocking, still― “Hey. You gotta stop. You hear me?” Steve takes a deep breath, exhales long and shaky. It takes all of him to slow down, Billy knows, but he does. Thighs twitching. Cock weeping. Smearing over Billy’s belly where his t-shit has hitched up.

Billy brushes his hair back from his forehead. Tangled and damp and gorgeous.

Kisses him light and sweet.

“We’re close, baby. We’re really, really close. But you gotta stop so I can open you up real good ok?”

Steve nods, eyes glossy, lips bitten and Billy feels overwhelmed, feels like burning under the hard sun. They’re both hanging by the thinnest of threads, Billy can feel it, can see it in the blown-out dark of Steve’s eyes. They’re riding pleasure at point break, time holding its breath for them. This is his favorite part of the game. A little too much, just a little too much. ‘Till one of them loses it. ‘Till one of them melts on the other’s hands. Hard and thick.

And God, Billy has never been one not to push his luck.

He takes two fingers up to Steve’s lips, runs the tips over the tender skin inside. Thinks about how they don’t look bitten enough, swollen enough. About how he’s gonna have to fix that.

“I’m gonna put these two inside. Will you get them ready for me?” Steve’s Smile twitches up, canines showing. It’s a two-men-con. But they play as much against the other as they play together. So Steve swallows both fingers. All the way in one go. Eyes falling shut. Eats them wet and messy. Deepthroats. Rumbles. Ass clenching, pulsing around Billy’s cock. And Billy is only a short breath of self-control away from spending himself inside him like a fucking rookie.

It’s boring, small-town life, really. Except–

“Good boy,” he says, making his fingers pop out of Steve’s mouth, satisfaction tastier than honey at the mean glare it grants him. But it softens, that glare, Steve’s eyelids flutter, open-mouthed and blissed, when Billy brushes the head of his cock with his knuckles, haft teasing, half relieving, keeping Steve in the tightrope with him.

“I’m getting a bit impatient in here, Hargrove” he says, only managing to make his voice sound half annoyed about it. Bit Billy is too, impatient. So drags his fingers down, pads tracing the taut shape of Steve’s cock, his balls, and down. Presses. Softly. Rubs the stretched-out flesh of his hole. Dips just the tips. Press. Press. And–

“AhfuckBilly–Ah.Mmmmh”

It’s tight. Steve’s ass clenches around him, squeezes him in. It’s a heady feeling, having him like this, senses overrunning. He’s intoxicated. High on the painful scratch of Steve’s nails when he grabs his jaw to kiss him open-mouthed and harsh. The helpless way he chokes off a sob when Billy makes his fingers curl, rubs him good and,

“I’m ready, Billy. I’m ready. BillyBillyplease. I can’t take it anymore. Please, baby. I’m ready” he’s gasping, breathless, barely taking in the heated up air they share.

“Hey. C’mon. C’mon. Just a little more, ok?. A little more and I’ll let you swallow it all in. That knob. All the way down your ass. No space left for anything else" he licks the words all along Steve’s neck, his ear. Rubs his lips over the damp roots of his hair. Cock pushing. Fingers working. When Steve sits on the stick. Billy wants him right over the edge “Gonna cum so hard you’re gonna be begging me to let you ride her again”

yup! hope you like them! i really really REALLY want to finish them for you.

Fingers crossed I get to see you again soon my dear nsfw!anon 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

#im sending you THE BIGGEST HUG <3<3<3<3<33<#I MISSSSS YOUUUUUUUUUU #your asks never fail to light up my day #take care #and dont let that bad real life grip you too hard #i'll be around if you need me #and my ask box is always open for you #ns*w!anon💖#harringrove #long post #till i can make a cut sorry #the wip tag game!#xwips #xaskfic

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potrix-the-queerschlaeger · 4 years ago

Text

layers (like onions)

Random idea of the day that wouldn’t leave me alone; this little future fic. And it’s not like we can’t all use some more Harringrove fluff, right? Can also be found over on AO3.

- - -

Sadie is having the absolutely worst first day at work, and the lunch rush isn't even over yet.

It had started with the fancy coffee maker spitting steam at her when she’d tried to show her new co-worker that she understood how to use it, burning the back of her hand and her wrist. Then the trash bag she’d been carrying to the dumpster out back had ripped, spilling all over her feet and the kitchen floor, so she’d spent fifteen minutes cleaning up while apologising profusely.

And to top it all off, her first table hadn’t tipped at all, even though Sadie had pulled out all the stops, been all friendly smiles and polite small-talk despite the total shitshow her morning had turned out to be.

Things don’t look much better with her current table, either.

So far, they’ve yelled across the restaurant for her when she hadn’t been fast enough with their drinks, demanded three additional baskets of the complimentary bread, one of them won’t stop making gross comments whenever she has to walk by, and by the look on one of the men’s faces right now, they aren’t happy with their food, either.

Forced smile firmly in place, Sadie approaches their table, ignoring the urge to roll her eyes when one of them clicks his fingers at her.

Before she can so much as ask what seems to be the problem, the scowling man snaps, “This burger has onions on it.”

“Yes, sir,” Sadie tries, summoning up patience only acquired through years of waitressing, “all our burgers come with tomatoes, pickles, and onions—”

“Well, I don’t like onions,” the man says, slowly, glaring up at Sadie. “I didn’t want any onions.”

“Of course, sir, I’m so sorry,” Sadie apologises, instead of demanding, like she really wants to, “Then why the hell did you order a dish with onions in it?”

(Watch out for the break!)

She pulls her notepad out of her pocket, quickly scribbling down an order for a replacement burger, and underlining the no onions three times. “I’ll put a new order in for you right away, sir. Would you like me to add a side dish as well? Free of charge, of course, as an—”

“No, no,” the man cuts in, and throws the burger he’d been holding down hard enough that it slips off his plate, and falls apart on the table. Which only appears to make him angrier. “Look at this mess. I want you to clean this up, and then I want to speak with whoever’s in charge here.”

The two other men nod, clearly not only used to their friend’s behaviour, but actively encouraging it. “Get to it, sweetheart,” one of them demands, making Sadie bite the inside of her cheek, “before all of our food goes cold.”

“Certainly, sirs,” Sadie scrapes the ruined burger off the table, waving over one of the busboys, “I’ll take care of this right away.”

Despite her words, after putting in the order for the new, onion-free burger, Sadie leans against the wall in the kitchen for a moment, breathing out heavily as she tries to compose herself. The line cook shoots her a sympathetic look, and Sadie smiles back shakily, grateful for the silent support.

Her boss’ office is one floor up, and Sadie isn’t too proud to sneak behind the bar, and make her way to the stairwell where she hopefully won’t be spotted by anyone from her table.

It’s quiet, once the door closes behind her, the voices of the guests and the sounds of the restaurant muffled, and Sadie swallows hard as she starts up the stairs. She’s seen her boss a grand total of thirty seconds so far, when he’d breezed in earlier, with a small child in each arm, a phone clutched between his shoulder and ear, and a frown on his face, while her co-workers had been showing her the ropes.

Mr Hargrove had been supposed to be the one to interview her, last week, but instead, Sadie’d been greeted by his business partner. He’d shaken her hand, smiling brightly, and introduced himself as, “Steven Harrington, but please, call me Steve, everyone does,” before explaining, all sheepishly, that Mr Hargrove was usually the one talking to the new hires, but that he’d unfortunately been called away on short notice.

He’d offered Sadie coffee, and had gotten her a glass of water instead when she’d declined, before dropping down in the swivel chair on the opposite side of the desk, picking up Sadie’s resume with a hum. “I’ll be honest, here, I don’t usually deal with this side of the business,” he’d said, chuckling a little to himself, “but if Billy’s invited you here for an in-person interview, chances are high he’s already decided to hire you. He can be picky.”

It had been said with a sigh, half annoyed and half fond. “So,” Steve had put the resume down again, and shrugged at Sadie, “if you’re still interested, and if the hours and pay you’ve talked about over the phone work for you, I don’t see a reason why you can’t start next Friday.”

Sadie had blinked at him, stunned, and then scrambled to sign the contract. Flexible hours, two free meals per shift, decent insurance, and paying slightly above minimum wage? It had been everything a struggling student like her could hope for, and then some.

Now, faced with the prospect of having to tell her boss that she’s screwing up on her very first shift, Sadie wishes she was anywhere but here. Still, she steels herself, takes a deep breath, and knocks on Mr Hargrove’s office door.

A moment later, a gruff voice calls back, “Come in.”

Mr Hargrove is sat behind his desk, one eyebrow raised, and Sadie hesitates, standing awkwardly on the threshold. The kids—definitely Mr Hargrove’s, going by their wild, curly hair—are playing on a blanket in front of the small couch, where Steve is sitting with a laptop open on his lap.

He smiles and waves at Sadie, which gives her the confidence to clear her throat, and say, “One of the guests would like to talk to you, Mr Hargrove.”

When Mr Hargrove only raises his eyebrow further, she adds, “He ordered a burger with onions, but says he doesn’t like onions. I offered him a new burger with a free side dish, but, well.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Mr Hargrove mutters, which earns him a scolding look from Steve, followed by a stern, “Language, Billy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mr Hargrove says, with a small roll of his eyes. He gets up from behind his desk, gesturing for Sadie to lead the way. “C’mon, let’s go deal with this shit.”

He’s obviously not happy about the interruption, but Sadie’s glad to notice that his irritation seems to be aimed at the picky guest, not her. The cursing also helps, strangely enough, has her bite back a giggle as they walk back down to the main floor.

Mr Hargrove looks intimidating, at first glance, what with all the tattoos, the denim, and the heavy jewellery. Like those bikers always parked in front of the shady bar a block down from her shitty, shoebox-sized apartment. Only, like, prettier.

Sadie ducks her head a little, blushing faintly. Mr Hargrove has to be in his thirties, is almost old enough to be her dad, and Sadie isn’t even interested in men like that, but she does have eyes. The blond curls, piled into a messy bun on top of his head, the dimples, the striking, bright blue eyes; Mr Hargrove is definitely good-looking.

Frannie would have a field day if she knew Sadie was getting flustered by her old, cranky new boss. Sadie silently vows to never tell her girlfriend a single word about it, ever.

“It’s the booth in the back,” she says, once they reach the main room of the restaurant again, pointing in the general direction, “by the big window—”

Mr Hargrove freezes mid-step when he spots the three men, but only for a second. Then he sneers, teeth bared, “Hell no.”

He stalks over to the booth, fast enough that Sadie has to hurry in order to keep up, and slaps the fork right out of one of the men’s hand with a snarled, “Get the fuck out of my restaurant.”

The men at the table—and a few people within earshot—fall silent in shock, all gaping at Mr Hargrove. Then, the now forkless man pushes to his feet, and right into Mr Hargrove’s space. “William—”

Mr Hargrove doesn’t back down, though, and he has several inches on the other man. “Get out. Right now, all of you. You’re not welcome here.”

The other man’s face twists in outrage. “How dare you speak to me like this? You can’t throw us out, we’re paying customers!”

“Oh, trust me,” Mr Hargrove’s smile is, Sadie thinks, pretty damn terrifying, “I can. And I will.”

“On what grounds?” the other man scoffs, and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Well, let’s see. For harassing my staff,” Mr Hargrove begins, and holds up his hand, counting on his fingers, “or, maybe, the years of emotional abuse? For regularly beating the shit outta me for close to a decade? Or for just generally being a terrible fucking human being, and an even worse father?”

The restaurant is so quiet, after that, Sadie’s almost afraid to breathe.

“Take your pick,” Mr Hargrove finishes, and takes a step back with a sweeping motion towards the door. “But get the fuck out, Neil. Or we will call the police.”

“Honestly, I’d love to see that,” comes Steve’s voice from by the bar. He’s holding the phone, wiggling the receiver when everyone turns to look at him. “Your choice.”

“You—” Mr Hargrove’s father starts, but is wisely interrupted by one of his friends standing up as well, and putting a hand on his elbow with a disgusted, “Leave it be, Neil. The little faggot’s not worth the trouble.”

There are several gasps from the other customers, but Mr Hargrove seems unfazed. Almost amused, actually. “At least my faggot ass can keep a family together. Ginny was, wait, let me think? Wive number five? How’s the divorce going, by the way?”

“Okay, that’s enough!”

If Sadie’d thought Mr Hargrove looked scary, it’s nothing compared to an angry Steven Harrington, apparently.

“You’ve got one minute to get your shit, and get the hell out. Everyone else,” and now he’s all charm again, looking around the restaurant at the shamelessly watching customers, “free pie, for having had to witness this little display of homophobic bullshittery.”

Mr Hargrove takes it upon himself to escort the men out of the restaurant, while Steve goes around apologising for what’s happened. Sadie shakes herself out of her stupor, and follows Steve in order to jot down everyone who’s interested in the free pie.

Before she can head back to the kitchen, though, Steve stops her and asks, quiet enough that only she catches it, “Hey. Are you okay?”

“That was,” Sadie breathes out, then trails off with a helpless shake of her head.

“Not a great first impression on our part?” Steve chuckles, wry smile on his lips. “Why don’t you take a break? Get a slice of pie, too? We got it handled out here.”

Sadie accepts the offer gratefully.

And the pie is delicious.

“Billy’s a fuckin’ master with anything even vaguely dessert related, man,” the line cook tells her, when she moans around her first forkfull. At her hum of surprise, he laughs, and adds, “Yeah, he still does most of the bakin’, even though he’s the boss man nowadays. Ask him for his lava cake recipe, it’s fuckin’ sick.”

The rest of the day is, thankfully, much less stressful.

Sadie gets to leave on time, and slips out the back door with a cheerful, “Goodbye!” thrown over her shoulder, only to stumble to a stop when she nearly bumps right into Mr Hargrove. And Steve. Because they’re standing very close, with Steve’s arm around Mr Hargrove’s shoulders, and his chin resting on top of Mr Hargrove’s head.

Mr Hargrove blinks one eye open at her, but doesn’t move out of the hug. “You good? Sorry ‘bout, you know. All that shit earlier.”

“Oh, yeah, uh,” Sadie stutters, feeling herself blush again, “don’t worry, all good. Thanks.”

“Have a nice night,” Steve says, with another one of those sincere smiles. “See you tomorrow.”

Sadie nods. “Tomorrow. Goodnight!”

She carefully steps around the kids, who are racing each other through the alley, shrieking with excitement. She’s almost by the bike rack when there’s a crash, followed by a warbling cry, and a distinctly toddlery voice going, “Shit!”

“Billy, I swear—”

“C’mon, Stevie, it’s not my fault they—”

Sadie rides off, not bothering to hide her laughter.

(When she comes in the next day, Mr Hargrove is waiting for her. He apologises, again, and introduces himself properly.

“Billy, please,” he insists, grimacing a little. “Mr Hargrove is my father, and, well. You saw that whole shitshow yesterday.”

Then he shows her how to use the coffee machine without getting burned, before Steve calls for him from upstairs. He’s almost through the door when he turns back around, eyes flickering down to the collar of her shirt with a small but genuine smile.

Sadie watches him go, ghosting her fingers over the small rainbow pin Frannie had proudly stuck on her shirt earlier that morning.

She’s pretty sure she’s going to like this job after all.)

#stranger things #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #future fic #post canon #billy lives #homophobic language #neil hargrove's a+ parenting #myfics

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okaybutlikeimagine · 5 years ago

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Harringrove for Australia: okayshitbird

hi there everyone! ♥ the amazingly magnificent and so insanely sweet @okayshitbird requested this fic from me for #HarringroveforAustralia! for anyone thinking “wow you’re incredibly late with this”... you’d be right! but I tried and it’s finished now and isn’t that all that matters?? ~♥

prompt: Billy has to meet Steve’s parents, w/ fluff and enough angst to make the fluff hit hard

tags: mentions of non-graphic sex after the fact (I don’t know how else to tag that 😬), humor, fluff, angst, romance, Dumb Boys TM

You can catch it at AO3 right here if you want!

Word Count: 18,910 (way over word limit you say?? sorry can’t hear you, woops...)

thanks hun, and thanks again to @tracy7307 for being SUCH an amazing doll and putting HfA together for all of us!!

alright i’m gonna go pretend like I have the attention span to deal with my responsibilities, bye babes.

Stay safe! ♥

-----

More Than a Crush

It’s a gorgeously warm summer evening. The chirping of the evening birds mixes with the hum of the bugs creating a far more pleasant chorus than anyone could ever expect, especially someone from a place so different than this. The sound of the world outside is what Billy thinks the sun would sound like. The feeling around him is what he thinks happiness feels like. True happiness. The pure feeling of being content. There’s a short list of things in Billy’s life that have ever felt as gorgeous as this moment.

He’s really not sure why Steve insists on ruining it.

“My parents want to meet you.”

It’s Steve’s voice, saying it plainly, as if he’s talking about the weather. There’s immediate silence, Billy’s fingers digging into the warm-to-the-touch flesh of Steve’s arms as he’s holding him.

“Excuse me?” Billy asks, Steve’s statement hitting Billy sharp in his chest because what the fuck.

“My parents-”

“It’s been a good day, right?” Billy cuts in, because he’s not sure he can hear that again and stay calm. “We’re having a good time?”

They pause again. Steve just blinks from his position on Billy’s chest.

“Yes?” There’s obvious trepidation in Steve’s voice. “Are you having a good-?”

Billy cuts him off. He’s antsy.

“We got lunch, we smoked a little bit, we watched those birds… we fucked. Twice.”

Steve rolls his eyes like he’s trying to make a point of the action, but nothing hides the smirk on his face.

“It’s been a good day.” Billy says again.

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “It’s been a good-”

“So why are you screwing it up?”

Steve’s face pulls into something that looks appalled, rearing back to punch Billy’s shoulder lightly.

“Shut up!” Steve is indignant. “I’m not screwing with anything!”

Steve’s face is so genuinely irritated that Billy feels like the one screwing things up right now, and he definitely doesn’t appreciate the feeling.

“You should be screwing me-” Billy says with notes of resentment he’s sure he’d never be able to hide.

Steve shoves at Billy’s shoulder again before leaning down to bite lightly at it. Billy squirms involuntarily at the feeling, his body running a bit hot at the feel of Steve’s teeth. It always does that.

“Yeah yeah, shut up.” Steve mumbles against Billy’s shoulder, soft lips grazing the tanned skin as he flops his head down on the pillow next to Billy. “Look, I’m just saying, my parents told me they wanted to meet you.”

“Why do your parents even know about me?” Billy’s voice is a lot softer now as Steve traces little circles around his chest. It’s not voluntary. It’s those damn doe eyes and those damn soft touches that knead his heart into something more malleable; something more gentle.

It lasts for about a second, because he has to slap the hand of his stupid boyfriend who decides he wants to start pulling at Billy’s curly chest hair. Steve chuckles.

“Because I tell them about you.”

Billy sighs. “That’s my question, dipshit. Why are you telling them about me?”

Steve props himself back up on his elbows. His eyes are earnest. It feels like Steve’s hands have reached into Billy’s chest to play with his heart instead. Billy doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to someone looking at him with so much… care in their eyes. So much admiring love. It’s so much that Billy couldn’t even put a finger on what it was for months. He just felt this gut feeling bubbling up in him, even lashed out the first few times out of confusion, but now it just makes him feel weak at the knees. Weak all over. Billy’s not used to feeling weak.

But here he is, falling into that now-familiar weakness as he looks into Steve’s eyes that search him like he’s Paradise. Like he’s got all the answers within him.

“Because…” Steve starts again, voice silky smooth and hitting Billy’s heart all over again. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me.”

It’s… earnest.

So earnest it makes Billy sick to his stomach.

Billy lightly slaps the top of Steve’s head.

“Shut up, Bambi.” Billy can’t find an ounce of malice to inject into his voice, but it’s not for lack of trying. He hates all this mushy stuff. At least… he wants to hate it. “You’re gonna ruin everything.”

“Am not! My parents always meet my friends.”

“I-th…” Billy pauses. “They do?”

Steve nods. “They’ve known Tommy since we were toddlers and they met Carol a few years ago.”

Billy must get some kind of wistful look in his eye- on his face -because Steve nips it real quick.

“It’s not as sweet as you might think.” Steve pipes in quickly, groaning a bit as he lays his forehead on Billy’s chest. “They do it for their… reputation or whatever. They just wanna make sure you’re not ruining my image. They probably hear shit from their friends.”

“Am I ruining your image, babe?” Billy asks, holding the sides of Steve’s head gingerly to pull him up towards his face. He runs his tongue along the shell of Steve’s ear, revelling in the breath released before he twists his tongue around to stick it at least somewhere near the inside of Steve’s ear.

Hey, Billy’s the first to admit he’s a brat.

He gets pushed away, a disgusted sound coming from the boy on top of him. Billy chuckles, liking the feeling of Steve’s weight on top of him as his chest vibrates from his laughs.

“Cut it out!” Steve groans, scooting away minutely. “You’re not ruining anything. They’re just stupid. And they wanna meet you.”

“Okay, well…” Billy’s not sure what else there is to say. He finds no other words fit in his mouth. He gives in. “Okay.”

The air between them turns still and Billy watches Steve’s shoulders stiffen as he looks up, eyes impossibly wide.

“Okay?” There’s so much hope in his voice.

Billy sighs, his chest tight from more than just Steve laying on him. He’s being constricted by every expectation, but he’s not moving any time soon. There’s no way he’s moving away from Steve.

Billy nods.

“Yeah, okay. If your parents wanna meet me… fine. Alright.”

And now the pressure in Billy’s chest is mostly Steve, who has decided to squeeze the life out of Billy in a crushing hug.

If the sound that comes out of Billy could be labelled as a “squeak” or even “unmanly”, he would never in his life admit to it.

“Alright, alright!” He shoves at Steve’s shoulder until the boy lets up. “What are we gonna do? Dinner at the Harringtons? Do I need to wear my slacks?”

Billy wiggles playfully under Steve and winks at him for good measure. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Uh… not exactly.”

It’s not what Billy expected to hear. His heart skips with nerves.

“Well, what are we doing?” Billy couldn’t explain the racing of his heart if he tried. “Your dad doesn’t seem like the type to take me hunting to protect your honor.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, no… uh…. Well…”

“Well what? Spit it out, Bambi.”

Steve bites his lip and it takes all of Billy not to get distracted so he can hear Steve say: “We’re gonna need to go shopping.”

~~*~~

Billy hates shopping.

He hates the bright signs, he hates the fake smiles… he hates capitalism. Really, there’s nothing redeeming about going shopping. Not even Steve Harrington can help his hatred of shopping.

“Billy...” Steve sounds like he’s about to chastise Billy and it’s really not helping.

“Shut up.” Billy hisses, near snapping, but he holds himself back enough to take a breath. “Why do we have to be here? Why can’t I just borrow something?”

“Because you’ve already ripped enough of my clothes trying to fit into them.” Steve says, face blank as he turns to walk into the Polo store. Billy’s mad about it, but he follows after a few steps.

“It’s not that bad.” Billy mumbles, sauntering as much as he can until he walks through the doors and effectively feels himself shrink down. He hates the Polo store. He’s come here a couple of times before, only with Steve. His family isn’t rich enough for this and, truthfully, he can’t imagine going anywhere that would warrant these clothes anyway. All these pastels and collared short sleeves… it’s semi-idiotic to Billy. Not to mention those stupid little shorts…

And… yeah, don’t get him wrong, Steve looks great in all of this stuff. There’s nothing like Steve’s ass in some preppy pants, sure, but that doesn’t mean Billy has to wear them just to appreciate them.

“What about this?” Steve asks, pointing out a baby blue shirt that makes Billy gag.

“Are you kidding?”

“I think it’d bring out your eyes!” Steve says, sifting through the sizes. Billy can’t think of a single thing to do with himself except stand there and watch his preppy boyfriend sort through preppy clothes to dress him in like a doll.

“I think it looks like I’m going to brunch on my parent’s yacht.” Billy pulls a face as Steve chuckles, with some kind of pity.

“That’s kind of what we’re going for, here, babe.” Steve says, keeping hold of the shirt as he searches for more colors. Or something. Billy’s really just being pushed by the wind, here.

And he wants to throw more of a fit. He kind of wants to be a brat about it. He wants to be that little kid inside of him that’s kicking and screaming to leave because he feels uncomfortable and out of place and exhausted… but…

But he knows he can’t because this actually means something. This is meeting Steve’s family for the first time and yeah, they’re not telling them about their relationship or anything, but it’s still important to get this right. He doesn’t wanna give Steve any grief because his parents think Billy is an asshole, and he definitely doesn’t want to have to hide in public any more than they already do. They hide enough, he doesn’t want it getting worse.

It’s just…

“It looks like the Easter Bunny ralphed in here.”

“You’re not wrong.” Steve says on a chuckle before shoving a few shirts into Billy’s chest. “Alright, try these on.”

Billy pulls a face.

“Uh… real funny, princess, but no.”

Billy has only admitted it out loud a handful of times, but Steve looks cute when he gets all defiant like that with his hands on his hips.

“You’re trying them on.” Steve orders. Billy won’t lie, it gets him a little hot watching Steve order him around. “You’re not going to this with a ripped shirt.”

“Like you wouldn’t love that.” Billy says on a scoff, but his voice is quiet. The more he talks back the more sour it tastes on his tongue.

“You know I’d love to rip them off you myself but you have to-”

“I don’t want to go into that stuffy dressing room.” Billy raises his voice. He’s pouting like El. Like a brat. He feels it on his lips without even thinking about it but honestly, he’s not sure how he can be rightly blamed for this. He’s so deeply uncomfortable that he’s slipped into default mode, which happens to coincide with “bratty mode”. So sue him.

Steve’s eyebrows are knitted with irritation. He looks like he wants to do more than just sue him.

“Look,” Steve starts darkly, hitting Billy with a look that immediately shuts him up. “You’re talking to the guy who went through a major growth spurt the same summer that his mother decided she needed to go to every stupid country club function. I was in that stuffy dressing room every week. You can handle like, one hour.”

Billy doesn’t want to say he feels sheepish… but he’s feeling pretty sheepish. He watches Steve pant a little bit from the energy he’s exerted. It’s kind of cute, even though Billy’s heart feels sore for having to be told off.

Because he knows this means a lot. Steve knows this is killing Billy and he wouldn’t make Billy sit through something so draining if it didn’t mean a lot and… and Billy’s been kind of an asshole. He’ll be the first to admit… he’s the only one allowed to admit, thank you… and…

Billy shrinks about 3 sizes. He eyes Steve through thick lashes.

“One hour?” He asks, voice small. Steve is the only one to ever get him this way.

Steve gives a hopeful smile and nods, holding the shirts out yet again. He looks triumphant. Billy lets it slide.

“That’s about as long as I wanna be here, too.” Steve admits, raising an eyebrow to get Billy to accept the shirts.

He does with a sigh.

Billy heads into the dressing room with an irritated flair, aiming for melodrama. He’s standing in the dressing room and feels physically pained every time he puts on a new pastel polo. Which isn’t to say he’s unable to pull off these looks, because he can wear a garbage bag and still be one of the most fuckable people in Hawkins, it’s just… all this pastel and these stupid collared shirts. If anyone were to see him like this, he’d have to beat them up. There’d be no option.

He purposefully ignores the tags, knowing Steve is going to insist on buying everything no matter what he says. He still remembers the time that Steve insisted on buying Billy a new pair of fancy shoes, saying he had just been given some “emergency money” that actually equated to “you just caught your dad cheating for the 3rd time this year, please don’t talk about it to anyone” money before his parents left for yet another extravagant business trip.

Billy felt some kind of pride in “taking money” from an asshole like that.

Now Billy is going to have to meet that asshole...

But still, he doesn’t like money being spent on him. It always leaves a weird type of pain in his chest, knowing he can’t reciprocate all these gifts to his boyfriend who very clearly is acquainted with the finer things of life. He can’t spoil Steve as much as he wants to. Not that he’d ever in his life admit to wanting to… but still. He knows. He knows how badly he wants to give the world to Steve and how incapable of doing so he is, but that doesn’t change a whole lot. Steve seems happy with what they have.

But will he always be?

“Billy! How long does it take to put a shirt on?”

Billy jumps, stepping out of the dressing room with a scowl on his face that looks far more like a pout.

“You look so good!” Steve nearly coos and Billy is about to throw something at him.

“Shut up.” His face burns and if he’s blushing he’ll punch someone for pointing it out.

And as Billy tries on the handful of shirts that Steve shoved his way, he starts to feel like he’s in some kind of cheesy movie montage. He pouts his way through it, walking out each time and giving his best unimpressed look, spinning when Steve tells him to spin before going back in to change his shirt.

He walks out in a particularly vomit-inducing polo with pale pink and blue horizontal stripes, spinning slowly with his arms out at his sides, before turning quickly to look over his shoulder with a single eyebrow raised. He figures hamming it up is the best way to give himself some entertainment.

Steve laughs.

“You’re a stunner!”

Billy winks in response and saunters back into the dressing room, turning around to face Steve, still eyeing him sexily before saying: “I hate them all.” and closing the curtain with a swish.

And if he smirks at the loud, frustrated groan Steve gives… well he wouldn’t necessarily call it sadistic...

They take another walk through the store, and Billy refuses to drag his feet. He may hate it here but he’s not a child, thank you.

Then, the unthinkable happens: something catches his eye. In a good way.

“These.”

Steve seems eager to see what Billy’s talking about, turning quickly. His face cracks into a smile before it’s replaced by a (probably forced) scowl, because there’s no fooling Billy. He knows the boy was about to laugh.

“No… no Billy.”

“Yes.”

“Billy they… they have skulls on them.”

They do. They’re a bright, almost Pepto-Bismol looking pink with tiny skull-and-crossbone images embroidered on them. They kind of make Billy’s stomach ache because of how heinous they are but they’re also the best things Billy has seen in this hell of a store and he thinks they match his own “image”, so… he’ll take them.

“You bet babe.” Billy adds a wink for good measure, picking up the shorts in a couple of sizes before sauntering over to the dressing room. “It’s this or I’m going in just a jockstrap. You know I mean it.”

Steve takes a breath, makes like he’s gonna speak, but Billy turns and gives him a look that lets him know that whatever he’s about to say isn’t going to effectively reach Billy’s ears.

Steve sighs, but there’s a laugh on his lips and its twin can be found in his eyes. That’s one of Billy’s favorite things about this stupidly good looking boy.

When Billy gets to the dressing room, two shirts are being thrown in after him.

“You have to wear a shirt.”

Billy sticks his tongue out.

Steve leans forward to steal a kiss, lightly and playfully biting Billy’s tongue before separating and closing the curtain.

Billy’s mind feels so fuzzy, he barely registers the clothes he’s putting on.

~~*~~

The day has finally come and never in his life has Billy felt like this much of a dork.

Something about this really does feel like torture. Even though he knows that right now he’s only surrounded by people who love him wholeheartedly, this still feels like a form of sadism. Billy suddenly thinks he might understand what those little toy poodles go through.

Because right now everyone is… cooing at him. Joyce has stood Billy in the hallway (where Jonathan said the lighting is probably best) and is currently attempting to work Jonathan’s camera to take pictures. Jonathan is right next to her, trying to show her the buttons to press and where to look when she wants to take a picture. Jim is standing behind them, deep chuckles clearly bubbling up in his chest and a smirk he can’t keep hidden smeared all over his face. Every now and then he makes eye contact with Billy and tries a little harder to keep his laughter down. Billy tries to find something to appreciate about it.

El is bouncing around in the back, giggling and pulling Will over to whisper to him. Will just shrugs, face red and laughter hidden in the corners of his smile. Billy knows he can’t get mad at them.

Jonathan though…

“Oh here, you just take it, honey.” Joyce concedes, handing the camera back over to her son with exasperation in her voice. Jonathan scrambles for the camera, hanging it around his neck before turning to Billy with a smirk on his face- a smirk that says: you’re never living this down. It’s in his raised eyebrow and all.

Billy’s gonna kill the boy.

“Say cheese.” Jonathan says with the smarmiest grin possible.

“I’ll kill you.” Billy says through gritted teeth, keeping his tone as sweet as possible. Jonathan laughs before taking the shot.

“Okay, okay, now I think we should get one over here!” Joyce is bouncing, tapping Jonathan’s shoulder excitedly. “The wallpaper is nice over here.”

Jonathan is cackling now, mixing with the low rumbles of Hop’s laughter as they walk down the hallway. Will and El move out of the way, heading to the kitchen for something.

Billy’s teeth are still clenched tight.

“I’d really rather not.” Billy says with as little anger in his voice as he can muster.

“I know, I’m sorry, dear, just a few more pictures! It’s just, I have pictures of all the other kids all dressed up and you look so nice!” Joyce brings a hand up to replace a curl that’s slipped out of where Billy has attempted to grease them back. Everything she does is so maternal- it all has such a loving touch that it softens Billy instantly. “Just a couple more pictures? Is that okay, honey?”

It’s just them in the hallway now, the chatter of the other people in the house sounding distant enough that the irritation in Billy’s chest simmers down to just about nothing. It’s just him and this woman who somehow always makes him think about the good memories of his mother. Not even the tangible ones, but rather the fuzzy ones that crop up more as feelings than as pictures. It’s something he’s not sure he knows how to truly appreciate. It’s something he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to again. It’s warm. It makes this whole place seem a little more like home.

It also makes it a lot harder to say no.

Because there Joyce is, looking at him like he’s one of her children. Like he’s her son all dressed up for picture day. He’s not fully sure what to do with himself. Especially because she’s asking his permission. So few authority figures ever do that.

He sighs.

“Alright.” He says, giving her a tired smile when her eyes light up at his response.

He follows after her into the living room, exhausted just from existing in these stupid clothes, having to look at all of these stupid smiles laughing at him like he’s a clown. He feels like a clown.

They’d probably insist it’s out of love and care. He’d definitely beg to differ.

But he’s still standing there, chin tilted up and hands clasped behind his back, doing his best to puff his chest and broaden his shoulders to look as manly as possible… even though he’s dressed like a damn Easter egg.

“C’mon, son, give us a smile!” It’s Hop, humor dancing in his eyes. “Let us see those teeth!”

Billy’s teeth are still gritted, mirth and pain definitely visible in his eyes.

“I swear to God.” He mutters under his breath before allowing the corners of his mouth to tilt up into a smile.

“C’mon a little wider.” Jonathan says through a smirk.

“Just take the picture.” Billy says through his smile, followed by the click of the camera.

Joyce fusses for a bit, moving over to the wall where all the kids have their pictures hung and trying to figure out the best place for Billy’s to go when Jonathan eventually produces it. Jonathan, still with that amused smirk on his face, wanders over to Billy.

“Hope you know how blackmail worthy these are.” Jonathan says with a glint in his eye. Billy makes sure to shoot daggers back.

“You better sleep with that camera under your pillow tonight, bud.” Billy says with sugar in his voice. He elbows Jonathan, who elbows him back, to which Billy responds with a harder hit.

The two are tussling about like a couple of kids before there’s a knock at the door.

Everyone stops at the sound, but when the bubble pops in the next second they’re all moving to answer it.

“I’ve got it!” Billy calls over the sound of them rushing to the door, taking long strides to push past them and get them away from the knob. “God, you’re a bunch of animals.” He chastises as he swings the door open.

On the other side of the door is Steve all dressed up in matching Easter colors. He’s looking down at his shoes, kicking a bit at the doorway in a nervous kind of gesture the second that Billy opens the door, and in the next he’s looking up with wide eyes.

He’s nervous why is he so nervous now I’m even more nervous oh God...

Billy squirms a bit where he stands.

Steve blinks hard. Billy doesn’t appreciate the silence, or the gathering of everyone behind his back that he can sense.

“Well? You got something to say, Bambi?” Billy’s foot is tapping incessantly. He can’t help it. He cracks all the knuckles on his left hand just by using his fingers. He’s nervous... and he swears he can feel everyone’s collective breath on his back.

Steve shakes himself out of his stupor.

“You look so good.” Steve nearly breathes it out. It kills Billy.

There are more than a few coos behind him, followed by a few amused chuckles. Billy’s face is currently burning red hot, but it’s not distracting enough to keep him from turning around and glaring at his family.

They’re all crowded together, doing their best to look at the scene in front of them without getting too close. When they get caught, they scatter.

Billy turns back to Steve, face still bright and hot. He absolutely hates the feeling, so much so that he can’t even think about wiping the scowl off his face.

“Yeah, whatever. You do too.” Billy feels sophomoric. Like a young girl who got asked to prom by a Senior guy. Like he’s waiting for his corsage or whatever. He feels so foolish.

“Thanks.” Steve says, eyeing Billy up and down. “You slicked your hair back.”

Billy reaches up for it self-consciously. He feels that curl that fell out earlier and brushes it back.

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Why?” Steve asks, a little smile on his lips.

Billy’s not sure why he’s so irritated by the question, but he wants to believe the red on his face that he’s deeply sure is out of nervousness is actually red out of anger.

“I tried to look presentable. This is about impressing your parents, isn’t it?”

Billy’s trying not to snap, but it’s hard not to after being so strung up all week. It’s all he’s been able to think about is standing out in a field of flowers with a bunch of stuffy rich people.

Steve nods. His eyes turn softer, even though Billy’s close to barking.

A tiny shoulder is pressing into Billy’s arm then, shoving him out of the way with surprising strength.

“Hi Steve!” El says cheerfully, beaming her little smile up at the boy.

“Hi kiddo.” Steve says, smiling back just as bright. Billy shifts in place.

“Steve!” Joyce calls from inside the house. Steve and El turn to look at her, but Billy is staring at the stupidly nice shoes on his feet.

Nervous nervous way too nervous why am I so nervous please don’t ask him in...

“Won’t you come inside? I’ve got lemonade!”

Pictures she wants pictures don’t ask for pictures...

“I’d love to get a good picture of you both, too-”

Billy cuts in. He doesn’t feel too bad about it.

“We’re running late, already.” Billy says, loudly, to try to send a hint to this room full of people who can never seem to take one.

Billy still has his back facing the house, so he can’t see Joyce’s face. He figures it’s better this way, otherwise they’d be dragged into another photo session and Billy really cannot handle that right now. Not when his heart is trying to pack it’s bags and run away to the fucking city. He just looks up at Steve, shooting the boy his biggest, cry for help, ”please-have-my-back-here-babe” face that he can.

Steve takes the hint and gives a little nod.

“Yeah, we really are kind of late. My parents don’t like me being late to this stuff.” Steve shrugs. There’s more words on his tongue, Billy can see it. Steve kind of word-vomits when he starts talking about his parents and all the ways he seems to think he disappoints them. It makes Billy’s chest hurt more often than not. It ends in Billy kissing the guilt away more often than not.

“Oh of course! No worries then, dear!” There’s not a lot of disappointment in Joyce’s voice. Billy lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He leans himself against the doorway, facing the other side of the threshold’s frame.

“You can’t drive us?” El asks, looking up with puppy dog eyes that could pull at anyone’s heart.

“Nah, can’t today, kiddo. We have to be somewhere.” Steve says. It makes Billy think something so stupid he wouldn’t even admit it to himself.

Kids kids kids kids…

He pushes the thought away to briefly wonder why Jonathan can’t take them. Figures it’s something with Nancy. He’s not dressed yet and the kids seem antsy to be somewhere. He’s fine with his mind on that, on anything away from where he’s about to be headed.

“It’s okay, El, we can just take my bike.” Will says, suddenly showing up at the side of them.

The four of them push through the door, giving their respective goodbyes before Billy and Steve climb into Steve’s car and El crowds Will on the back of his bike. They make the bike look a little small, but they’ve done this before. It still makes Billy laugh a bit. Seeing the two giggle a little when Will loses his balance for a second lightens Billy’s heart.

“Ready to go?” Steve asks, like they didn’t rush out to the car to get going. Like they aren’t really late and like Steve didn’t really mean what he said about his parents, even though Billy knows he did.

Billy nods.

“Yeah, let’s just… do it.”

Steve nods for a little too long. He can’t get the keys in the ignition without fumbling a bit. They drive and Billy can’t even think about how much he dislikes the song currently playing.

He’s fidgeting still.

Nervous nervous so nervous why am I so nervous what the fuck is wrong with me-

“You nervous?” Steve asks around a bubble in his throat. He clears it with a cough after he speaks.

Billy snorts unattractively and pushes back his hair, even though the curl isn’t loose anymore. He reaches for the top of his button down, unbuttoning and rebuttoning because he needs to do something.

“No.” he lies through his teeth.

Steve gives a little sigh.

“Yeah, me too.”

It confuses Billy for a second.

“What?”

“I’m nervous, too.” Steve says, voice a little shaky. Billy doesn’t know what to say. He feels appreciation bubble up inside of him that he tries to mask with irritation.

“I’m no-” His voice catches and immediately he’s mad about it. “I’m not.”

It sounds so stupid now that it’s out in the air. He looks out the window, like it’ll help the heat blooming on his face. He unbuttons the second button too.

Then there’s a hand taking hold of his left one. Billy looks at it, watches Steve’s thumb rub at the skin between his index and thumb. He looks up at Steve, who’s still got his eyes on the road.

“Thanks for… agreeing. I know it’s shit. Trust me, I don’t want to be going here either. But… it means a lot. And no matter what, I’m still your boyfriend, alright? I don’t care what anyone thinks.”

Billy’s eyes prick with tears. He’s not even sure why they’re there, but he blames it on how high strung he’s been all week. How pulled taut he’s felt since Steve brought this whole thing up. He’s just boiling over, that’s all.

Steve looks over at him, eyes getting soft and worry resting in his brow.

“Billy?”

“Just drive, you idiot.” Billy mumbles, turning back to the window while grabbing firm hold of Steve’s hand.

~~*~~

Billy is beyond uncomfortable.

Truly beyond uncomfortable. He’s itching in his button down, which Steve insisted looked better than the dark blue polo and would be much cooler to wear than the dark color in the bright sun, but Billy barely heard him. After a certain point (and that damn kiss) Billy just trusted Steve’s judgement.

But now he’s itching. He’s still unbuttoning the top button on his shirt, fingers twitching to unbutton the next one (or two) along with the first, but knows Steve would just close them up like he’s been doing with the top one.

“You’re not my mom.” Billy had muttered, squinting in the sun of the bright summer day.

“No but I’m your boyfriend.” Steve had said quietly, fixing the button again and making Billy’s heart palpitate.

And now they’re standing in a damn garden, big, bright, white, fancy, canopy tents propped up and scattered around the park, a little ways away from each other so you have to wander into the bright sun to get to the next one. There’s fancy tables with fancy trays of fancy food that Billy finds absolutely ridiculous.

Steve’s parents have been talking to people for the past twenty minutes. Steve made eye contact with them and waved once they arrived, but both of them just gave vaguely pleasant smiles while still schmoozing whoever it was that was more important than their son and his friend. That they themselves requested to meet.

Assholes.

“Whatever.” Steve had muttered under his breath before veering towards a waiter carrying around what Billy assumed was a tray of mimosas. Billy, for as nervous as he was and still is, didn’t exactly want to start drinking before he even spoke to the two. Y’know, good first impressions and all that. He hadn’t known before what it felt like to care this much, but he doesn’t exactly hate it.

Steve has downed about 3 mimosas, the two of them standing a ways away from his parents so that they can jump in when they’re free.

They still have to wait about five minutes before it’s their “turn”.

“Hi mom, hi dad.” Steve says, something plastic about his movements. It’s weird for Billy to watch.

“Hello there, Steve.” His dad says in a pleasant enough way. He doesn’t set off enough alarm bells in Billy’s head for him to get upset.

“Hello dear.” Steve’s mom says pleasantly in turn, leaning forward to give Steve a sideways kiss on his cheek, keeping her lips from making contact so she doesn’t smear him with lipstick. Steve purses his lips a bit as well.

“This must be your friend!” His mother says it like she just noticed him standing there. She offers a delicate hand, palm down, showing off her perfectly manicured nails. It seems like she’s asking Billy to kiss it or something. He reaches for it and decides it best to give her the satisfaction. He’s been trying to parse out how thick he wants to lay all his charm on. He finally decided “real thick” was the best option.

He leans down and gives the back of her palm a light kiss, immediately noticing that her hands don’t really give away her age like some other mothers Billy has come into contact with. Billy isn’t able to tell what age she may be. Steve insinuated once that his parents had him young- younger than was advised for them both- and now Billy thinks that probably makes sense.

When he comes back up, she’s giving him that look that makes his stomach churn. The look that every mother in his life has ever given him, save from his own and now Joyce. The look that comes off as if she thinks she’s the first to give it, but that Billy has seen since he was about 14 and his voice dropped.

Billy turns his attention to the father. He gives the firmest handshake he can, just on the edge of bruising the man’s skin. He’s a lot taller than Billy, hair perfectly groomed back with just the right amount of gray in it to make him seem wisened. He’s real young too- so young Billy thinks he may have dyed his hair a little gray to get that “salt and pepper” look that’s probably on trend or something. It makes Billy internally roll his eyes.

The man’s not exactly stocky, but he’s not trim either. Probably eats his fair share of expensive meats and works out a couple of days a week just to say he does. Maybe to fuck his personal trainer. Billy’s extrapolating now, but he doesn’t think he’s reaching very far.

“Nice to meet you.” Mr. Harrington says like he’s not at all displeased by this interaction. Billy takes it as a win. “I’m Charles Harrington.”

“Nice to meet you too, sir.” Billy’s mouth doesn’t want to form around the title, but he gives it anyway. Laying it on thick, and all. “Billy Hargrove.”

“He is quite a handsome one, isn’t he?” Steve’s mom asks, grabbing Steve’s arm to wrap her own around it. It’s like she’s talking with one of her socialite friends and thinks she’s out of ear shot.

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Yes, and he can hear you.” Steve mutters. Billy watches as her face doesn’t move a muscle but her hand claws slightly into her son’s arm.

“It’s always so nice to meet one of Steve’s little friends.” She starts again, eyes crinkled into a smile that’s not entirely disingenuous.

It’s not evil. Billy’s seen his fair share of evil women. She just seems a little less than satisfied with whatever situation she’s in. Billy does know that Mr. Harrington is a serial cheater, but he hasn’t heard anything about the mother. She’s still young and an attractive enough woman as far as Billy can tell. She could probably get one of these rich bastards to fuck her in one of the dozens of rooms at the country club.

Either way, it’s not really his business, and he doesn’t really want to think about his boyfriend’s mom getting railed while she’s gazing hazily at him like he’s the one that would do it for her. Either that or like he’s the man she probably reads about in her horny novels.

Steve has something poisonous on his lips, probably something like “he’s not little”. Be it with a dirty undertone or not, Billy guesses it doesn’t really matter.

He’s still fidgeting a bit, but he keeps his charming composure up.

“And it’s nice to finally meet the Harringtons. I’ll say, you’re definitely far from matronly, Mrs. Harrington.”

Billy doesn’t know if he should do the typical, cliche thing and say she looks like Steve’s sister. Considering she had him pretty young, it might strike the wrong chord.

Whatever, he said what he did with enough sugar to make her blush.

“Oh, Billy.” She tuts, rolling her eyes a bit and placing a hand on one of her cheeks, clearly becoming a bit flush. Billy takes a bit more pride in it than normal. He is here to schmooze, after all. “I bet you drive all the girls just crazy, don’t you?”

Billy’s been in this situation for about two minutes and already he has to feel out if he should act like a smarmy slut or like a proper gentleman.

He figures in-between is the best bet. Doesn’t want them catching on or anything...

“There’s definitely a few girls.” He says, hands clasped behind his back so he can hide his fidgeting. “But they don’t seem to get that I’m a wine and dine kind of guy.”

Billy has had what probably equates to about 2 glasses of wine in his whole life. He figures the tiny details don’t exactly matter.

He’s laid the charm on thick enough to get Mrs. Harrington giggling again, and said it with just enough charm to get Mr. Harrington to chuckle the smallest bit as well. It’s an oddly good feeling.

“We’ve got a regular casanova on our hands.” Mr. Harrington says with something that sounds like acceptance in his voice. “Good thing, too. I feel like we don’t get a lot of your kind in Hawkins.”

Billy gives them a smile and shifts his eyes to Steve, who looks a mix of nervous and amused. If only these two knew that more often than not he’s riding their son in the front seat of his Camaro, or fucking him up against the hood, or laying out in a field shotgunning a joint. If only they knew he sucked their son dry in the locker room after basketball practice back when they were still convinced they hated each other.

Casanova indeed. Real wine and dine.

“And your shorts!” Steve’s mother pipes up brightly. “So colorful! I love the little spots embroidered on them.”

“Actually, they’re skulls.” It’s Steve who admits to it, an irritated look on his face that’s somehow also laced with smugness. He’s clearly trying to get under their skin as much as they’re under his.

They both turn to Steve, before looking back down at Billy’s pants. The two lean in a little bit.

“That they are, huh?” Mr. Harrington says, sounding semi-impressed. “Well, would you look at that! A sense of fashion, as well!”

Steve rolls his eyes. Billy makes eye contact with him so he can share this semi-triumphant moment.

Steve seems about to say something, but his father cuts him off.

“So tell us, Billy-” Mr. Harrington seems hard pressed saying the name “Billy”, and it gives Billy some weird, perverse joy. “What does your father do?”

Billy’s immediately winded by the question, throat held tight by the thoughts that race through his mind in an instant.

In his stupor, Billy’s vaguely aware of Steve puffing up in defense.

“I already, told you, dad, he-”

Billy waves him away.

“It’s fine.” He mutters, before looking Mr. Harrington squarely in the eye. “My dad is the Chief of Police.”

It feels weird- alien on his tongue and in his head. It sets stress loose from its reign, running wildly through his body. It causes his blood to rush too fast, too loud through his veins.

“Oh! Chief-” Mrs. Harrington says, before her mind catches up with her ears. “Uhm… Chief…” Her voice is getting quiet, eyes hooded in confusion as she turns to her husband. “Chief… Hargro…” She’s clearly grasping for straws here. “Chief Hopper? Right?”

She’s speaking in a rather loud whisper, but only to her husband. Mr. Harrington shrugs a bit.

“Yes, ma’am.” Billy speaks up, when he’s finally able to. “My dad is Chief Hopper.”

“Ahh…” Mrs. Harrington breathes, still a little confused and looking slightly unconvinced. She’s giving him a smile as she processes the information before it hits her. Billy sees the realization light up in her eyes. “Oh, the adopted one.”

That whisper is quieter, more secretive… more careful that others won’t hear.

It strikes a chord in his chest. Billy wants to be mad about it. He wants to close himself off from whatever feelings it gives him. He wants to build up some armor… but it just makes his heart sink. He didn’t think that would be the response people would give.

Steve rolls his eyes, but there’s something upset living on his mouth, making it twitch.

Mrs. Harrington gives a careful look to her husband, before turning back to Billy with a pleasant smile. It’s a little hard to find anything false in it, but he can definitely see it. It makes him briefly wonder how much of their life has been hidden behind polite smiles just this side of false.

“That’s very interesting, Billy!” She says, like he’s a toddler that just told her about how he picked up frog collecting- like he’s a child. It’s condescending. It should make Billy angry.

It sinks his heart further.

“It’s not interesting, mom, it’s normal.” Steve hisses under his breath, eyebrows low over his eyes. Billy feels stupid, standing around, letting them talk about him right in front of him.

“Well, yes.” She sniffs haughtily, straightening her back ever so slightly. “Of course it is, it’s…”

Mr. Harrington cuts in. “Chief Hopper is a good man. He does a lot for this town.”

His voice is like that of a robot’s, inflectionless and calculated. Billy doesn’t need to be told about Jim, but he’d be interested to hear Mr. Harrington say more. As far as Billy knows, Hop hates these two.

Mrs. Harrington takes a light breath in, about to say something when her gaze is suddenly locked on something far away, and she’s tapping her husband’s arm incessantly.

“Charles, the Wilson’s just arrived.”

She gives her husband a look that he returns, and then they’re turning to the boys with matching smiles that make them look like they belong on a billboard advertising new homes.

“It was just so lovely finally meeting you, Billy.” Mrs. Harrington says, eyelashes fluttering.

“But we do have some business to attend to.” Mr. Harrington chimes in, allowing his wife to take his arm. They stand together like a shiny puzzle, obviously matching but not worn enough to really fit. “But enjoy yourselves, boys.”

“Yes!” Says Mrs. Harrington again, pleasantly, even though they begin to walk away. They’re floating away gracefully while still talking to the two. “I suggest the deviled eggs over on that table there. Mrs. Carlton finally made them again and I swear they’re to die for.”

They wave politely before rushing off, sending tittering words of hello to everyone they pass by.

Billy watches after them, stunned a bit at their presence and unsure of what to make of everything that just happened. He opts for turning his attention to Steve, who somehow has another mimosa in his hand.

“God.” Steve mutters before downing half in one gulp. “Well, say goodbye to them for the rest of the day.”

Billy’s shocked at the admittance.

“Seriously?”

Steve shrugs with an eye roll as he downs the rest of his drink. He gulps around his answer.

“Probably. Business usually means buttering up a few people for the rest of the party.” Steve sighs. “Trust me, I’ve been left alone at enough of these to know.”

He sets his glass on a passing waiter’s tray.

“So… I did good?” Billy asks, wondering how Steve picks up drinks so easily from those passing trays and wondering still if maybe he can do it or if he needs Steve to do it for him.

Steve is a little ways away, a little distracted if his eyes are anything to go by. Billy pinches his arm back to the present.

“Oh! Yeah, you were perfect. I think you pleased them enough to make them ignore us for the rest of the day.”

Billy feels proud about that.

“So we can go?”

He knows it’s hopeful thinking, but he lets his chest lighten for a second. Steve’s chuckle brings him back to reality.

“Not if you care about me, we can’t. My mom will have a tantrum if we leave before four.”

“Four?” Billy asks incredulously, eyeing more drinks as they walk by.

“Yeah.” Steve rolls his eyes. “It’s some stupid, unspoken rule.”

Billy sighs, watching all the rich, pretty people around them as they socialize. He’s still itching in his shirt, but a little less so, knowing the worst part is over. It has to be over. He did his job of impressing the parents and now he just has to… be eye candy or whatever. Whatever these rich people want.

“Let’s just hope I don’t run into anyone who wants to talk about how much I’ve grown.” Steve mutters. “C’mon, I wanna find those deviled eggs.”

Billy follows like a puppy.

~~~

It’s…. strange… watching Steve float around from table to table, effectively deflecting people he doesn’t wish to talk to in such a polite and collected way.

Billy was prepared to take the brunt of the conversations, but to his surprise Steve does most of the talking. He schmoozes almost as perfectly as his parents did, giving the same plastic smiles Billy has been watching him give all day, allowing the women to pat his shoulder or grab his arm or tell him how “strong” he is now; how “old” and “mature” and “handsome” he’s gotten.

Something a little sick fills Billy’s stomach, but it’s pushed away by the butterflies… probably more accurately described as something akin to “moths”. Or lightning bugs. Or maybe those big, thick, black flies that buzz louder than they ought to. Yeah, those.

It’s just that every second that passes leaves him out of place. Pushes him further and further to the left of where he should be. Women are laughing and talking with Steve, and Billy really is just the arm candy. He gives them smiles as polite as he can muster. Sometimes they eye him up and down (always getting caught on his bright shorts), and ask who he is, where he’s from… what his father does.

“He’s the Chief of Police, ma’am.”

“Oh!” They say, eyes wide and smiles fallen, before picking them back up and insisting Chief Hopper is a “very kind man” before sauntering away with some excuse of finding a friend, or a drink. Or their husband. Sometimes they have something a little more knowing in their eyes; sometimes their eyes get wide with memories and they look at Billy with blushing faces that aren’t because of his own good looks. Billy’s not an idiot- he’s heard about Hop’s affinity for “getting around” before El came into his life, and he kind of figures that must be what they’re so embarrassed about now. It makes Billy chuckle.

He doesn’t like watching these women touching Steve, though. He’s glad when they turn leering gazes onto him rather than reach out to grab at Steve’s arm.

“Oh, so you’re Billy Hargrove.” One woman, a Mrs. Sadler, says with a weird glint in her eye and irritation spread thin over her voice.

“Yes, ma’am.” Billy says with as smug of a look as he can muster, trying his best not to look as awkward as he feels. “Does my uh- reputation precede me?”

He hates that he falters, but he says it with enough charm that she laughs a shrill sort of thing.

“Oh, yes. You really caught my Addison’s eye when you first moved to town. My lord, you are all she would talk about for at least two weeks.”

Ah, Addie Sadler; the quiet little sophomore girl who stared at Billy every day at lunch from across the cafeteria before getting dared to lay a kiss on Billy at a party. Ever since then she hasn’t so much as made eye contact with him. He’s kind of happy about it- her stares used to weird him out.

“Now I can certainly see why.”

The woman reaches a hand out to touch Billy, but somehow Steve talks their way out of the situation, grabbing hold of Billy first and saying he needs some company to find his parents to “ask them something” but “thanks for the well wishes on college, Mrs. Sadler” and “say hi to Addison and Jacob for me”.

Billy’s so thankful for his boyfriend he could kiss him. Lord does he want to kiss him. Billy’s been trying to scope out the place for the past hour to find a corner they can hide away in.

They end up at the next tent over, where Billy recognizes enough people to know they’ve already talked to them and thus, shouldn’t be bothered.

“Thanks.”

“Course.” Steve says, love in his voice even if he can’t show it physically.

Billy’s itching again, absolutely itching. He feels like there’s ants crawling all up inside of his pretty, new, collared shirt.

He eyes another tray of fruity drinks that passes by them and taps Steve’s shoulder.

“I’ve been trying to get a drink all day, how the fuck do you stop one of those guys?”

Steve laughs.

“You just reach out and grab a glass. Here, what do you want?”

Billy looks around, weighing his options. He’s never tried champagne, but he’s not the biggest fan of orange juice. He thinks there’s someone walking around with sangria but he really doesn’t care for the taste of wine.

Then he sees a couple of men huddled in a corner together, laughing heartily, drinking some beers.

Billy points.

“They’ve got beer, where’d they get beer?”

Steve eyes them curiously. “Oh, you have to ask someone for that. I can- uhh- waiter!”

One of the waiters stops suddenly in his tracks, tilting his head to indicate his attention.

“Can I get a couple of beers, please?”

“Of course, sir.”

He asks about different brands Billy’s never heard of. He assumes they’re probably craft beers. Steve looks to Billy, who probably looks more than a little shocked. He’s never had any kind of craft beer before. They’re expensive, and he just gets what he can from the drug stores. He shrugs.

“Whatever you recommend is fine.” Steve answers, slipping money into the man’s hand and giving another plastic smile before turning to Billy with a simple look. “See?”

“Well la dee da, Mr. Country Club.” Billy says, giving a little bit of a smile back. Steve shoves Billy’s shoulder.

“Shut up. I had to go to enough of these I’ve lost track, I had to learn some things to keep myself sane.”

“It’s just… weird.” Billy admits, leaning against a table behind him that luckily isn’t littered with tiny foods or abandoned glasses of wine. “Seeing you in your… ‘natural habitat’ or whatever.” Billy uses air quotes for good measure, because truthfully, the words don’t seem right.

Steve snorts.

“Yeah, sure, so natural.” He says almost huffily, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I just know enough to get by at these things. I hate them. I bet only about 3 people of the dozens here actually give a shit about if I’m going to college or not.”

“That why you’re lying and telling everyone you are?” Billy asks, the smirk on his face masking the worry he feels. Steve sighs.

“Yeah, because they don’t care. Not really.” Steve grabs a tiny biscuit or something as a waiter walks by with it. “They just wanna hear me talk. Seem polite to keep up appearances or whatever.” Steve shoves the food in his mouth with a shrug. “Plus they all got their kids into college. They paid them all off. My parents would kill me if I told people they didn’t pay my way.”

Billy tries to think of something to say, but the waiter is back with the two beers.

“Thank you.” Steve says politely after swallowing. The man bows his head a bit before scurrying off.

“Here ya go, babe.” Steve mumbles the last bit. “I’ll hold the other till you want it.”

“Thanks.” He mumbles back, thinking about how if he’s this uncomfortable now how he can’t imagine what he’d feel like as a kid.

They stand around and talk, Billy taking note of how anxious Steve seems to be now that he can’t pick up another fruity drink being paraded around.

“I think you should slow your roll on the drinks, babe.” Billy says, lips at the tip of the bottle. “Not unless you want me driving your fancy car home.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Whatever. I guess.” He sounds bitter. His eyes are shifty, looking at everyone around him, waiting for the next person who’s gonna come after them to start asking questions.

Billy reaches a hand out, time feeling a little sticky in the summer heat as he decides where to put his hand. What he wants to do is grab Steve’s hand and put his other on Steve’s chest, over his heart, and pull him in tight and kiss his nose and be soppy. It’s soppiness that heals Steve faster than anything. Soppiness that gets him all melted and calm.

What he does is grab Steve’s shoulder and squeeze, shake his shoulder a tad till Steve is looking him in the eye. He injects as much love into his gaze as he can, knowing that’s the only place he can really get away with it.

Steve seems to appreciate it. He takes a deep breath and breathes out slowly, albeit a little unevenly.

“Sorry.” Steve says like he’s ashamed. Billy pinches Steve’s shoulder.

“Stop that. This place is shit, I know you think so too.”

Steve nods. “I just… I know I’m different here.” Steve swallows because he’s nervous. “It’s gross but I- I can’t help it. It just comes out. I grew up here, I-”

Steve is reaching up to run his hands through his hair, mussing it up until Billy pinches his shoulder again and slaps his hand away.

“Shut up, you idiot.” Billy’s stern, but not harsh. Steve looks him in the eye again. “The only thing that’s different is you’re not happy. I haven’t seen that famous Harrington smile of yours all day.”

Steve chuckles a bit, but it’s not good enough. Billy reaches out to poke Steve’s side, eliciting a laugh and a noise of indignation.

But there’s the smile.

“Hey, warn a guy.” Billy chastises with a smirk on his face. “You’re gonna blind someone with those.”

Steve laughs, and shoves at Billy’s shoulder again. It’s the only contact they can get without attracting unwanted attention. But it’s not much different from their everyday lives anyway, careful of every touch they give so as not to get anyone suspecting anything. They just enjoy what they can when they get it.

They’re standing there, chuckling lightly with each other, eyes sparkling and bright, when-

When they’re interrupted by the roar of an engine, followed by the shrill sound of La Cucaracha blasting through the air, causing more than a couple of women to shriek and jump.

Everyone in the party turns to the parking lot, where a pale yellow, 1953 Coupe DeVille is currently driving past.

Billy’s heart jumps a bit at seeing the car. He can appreciate a nice car when he sees one.

“Now that guy, knows how to ride in style.” Billy says, arms crossed, looking at the car in appreciation.

When he doesn’t get a response, he looks to his boyfriend, to see his face has fallen in shock.

“Grammy.” He whispers under his breath, so low Billy almost doesn’t hear it.

“Huh?”

Steve blinks.

“It’s… it’s Grammy.” He shakes his head a bit, blinking heavier, coming out of whatever weird memory he’s in. “Uh, my grandma. It’s my grandma.”

Billy’s about as surprised as Steve looks. He signed up for two parents, not a family reunion.

“Your grandma? Drives that?”

Billy hasn’t seen his grandmothers in a while, but he can safely say they never drove anything like… like that.

Steve just nods.

“Yeah… uh. God, they didn’t tell me she was coming, why didn’t they tell me she was coming?” Steve sounds more on the side of shocked than angry.

Billy looks around to find Steve’s parents standing amid a small crowd, looking at the parking lot in what Billy could only describe as “shameful horror”.

He laughs.

“Somethin’ tells me they didn’t know.”

Steve looks over to them, shaking a bit. Billy wants to help. He places a hand on the small of the boy’s back, knowing no one’s paying anything else but the coupe much attention. He leaves it there for a second or two and takes it away just as quickly, but it’s the thought that counts.

Suddenly, Steve’s parents turn towards them, and then they’re gliding towards them with a purpose.

Billy isn’t sure what exactly to do with himself. He feels stupid for thinking it, but he thought he was done. He really thought he was done, but now he’s fidgeting again. Itching in his shirt, itching in his skin, itching itching itching.

“Steven.” Mr. Harrington says by some way of greeting. It’s far more authoritative than before. It almost doesn’t feel like the same man. Steve just nods his response.

“I know.”

There’s a pause. Then:

“Well, we’ll just… we’ll just have to... “ It’s Steve’s mother. She’s obviously shaking with nerves before she turns to Billy with a collected smile. “Billy, I’m so sorry, I’m afraid we’re going to have to… steal Steve away. For just a bit.”

Billy nods, but doesn’t get much of a chance to say anything before Steve’s mother links her arm with her son and the two drag Steve away, leaving Billy there to watch.

Steve shoots an apologetic look back at him.

Billy waves.

He downs the rest of his beer before he realizes that Steve left the second bottle there on the table for him. Billy picks it up and looks for a way to kill time.

He feels immediately untethered. It only takes a few feet between him and Steve for Billy to feel the line connecting them snap, and along with it his sanity in this place. In an instant he feels like a child, lost without his parent. He feels idiotic, bobbing out at sea, an untethered boat floating away from the dock, pushed into vulnerability.

Nervous nervous fucking hell why am I so nervous goddamnit I… I…

He needs to sit.

He mentally debates between staying close enough to Steve just to be able to see him and have comfort, or getting as far away as possible so as not to attract attention to himself from Grandmother Harrington. Or… whatever side she’s from.

He figures the latter is probably better. Maybe if he hides away, acts busy, looks somewhere else… he won’t have to meet her.

Another tent another tent another tent…

Billy wanders out of the tent he’s under and towards another one, before getting caught up in the sun and the comfort it gives him for a second. He lets it burn comfort into his skin.

Standing in the middle of a perfectly manicured field, staring at the patches of well-gardened flowers with something boiling and vile in his chest. Something so deeply uncomfortable and unnatural. Something almost rotten. He thinks of the time and the effort spent on making just these flowers look presentable enough for these rich people. He thinks about the poor men who sit out here and work at maintaining all these stupid plants that these people never come out to appreciate because they don’t go anywhere near the damn sun. Like they’ll melt. Maybe they will.

…

He thinks about how pretty that flower is. That one. With the reddish-purpleish petals. Lots and lots and lots of thin petals. He thinks about Steve. About how the only reason he’s here is because of Steve. About how that’s what makes all of this worth it… Steve.

He feels something bubble up again in his chest. It overpowers the other stuff. It makes him a little less sick.

As he reaches out to pick it, all he can think about are Steve’s eyes. Steve’s skin. How good this flower will look in the pocket of Steve’s stupid little button down.

“What are you doing?”

Billy startles.

As he turns his head to find the voice, he doesn’t expect to have to look down to see a face.

It’s a little girl. Her curls are perfect and pinned away from her face with shiny little things that Billy thinks Max would gag at, no matter her age. Her dress is a pastel blue and just the slightest bit too fancy for what Billy thinks this event is supposed to be. Billy’s still not even sure what this event is supposed to be, truly, but this girl looks like she’s going to church. She has earrings Billy thinks may be her mother’s and a bossy little scowl that’s definitely all her own.

“I said, what are you doing?”

Billy’s still got his hands around the stem of the flower. He plucks it from the bush. The girl gasps.

“You’re not supposed to do that.” She says, matter of factly. Her hands are on her hips. Billy raises his best oh-yeah? eyebrow, paired with a what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it? smirk.

“And who said that?”

“My mother.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, ‘cause I used to try to pick ‘em and my mother said no.”

Billy snickers. “Maybe you should stop listening to your mother, kid.”

Her eyebrows curl in on themselves. “Hey! I’m not a kid. I’m eleven.”

Billy laughs something a little fuller. “Sounds like a kid to me.”

“I’m eleven.” Her hands curl into fists on her hips. “And you’re not supposed to do that.”

She looks pointedly at the flower in Billy’s hand. He follows her gaze to look at it too.

He wants to give it to Steve. He wants to lay it on his ear, tipped under his hair. He wants to tuck it into his shirt pocket.

He can’t do that out in public. Billy twists the flower in thought, mesmerized for a second by the petals spinning in a dizzying pattern. He’s taken out of it in an instant. He decides what to do just as quickly.

“Not even if it’s for you?”

Her eyes light up immediately, glued to the flower like it’s a promise ring or something. Her smile sneaks its way out and something about it makes Billy feel warm. Like when he makes El laugh, or when he makes Max smile and punch him, or when he makes Joyce giggle that happy little giggle where she has to cover her whole face with her hand. He doesn’t know this girl at all, but something about her smile after seeing her scowl at him like that makes him feel like he’s accomplished something. He smirks in some kind of strange triumph.

She takes the flower and holds it close to her, inspecting the petals like she’s doing a quality check.

“I guess that’s okay.” She says into her flower, shrugging little shoulders. Billy laughs a bit, looking back at the flowers and wishing again for a second that he could have given it to Steve instead.

There’s a moment of silence, Billy getting lost in his thoughts of Steve and kids and family and if Steve is done yet-

“Are you famous?”

It’s the girl. Billy looks back down at her.

“Huh?”

“Are you famous?” She enunciates like he’s dumb for being confused. Like what she just asked wasn’t supposed to catch him off guard.

“No. Why would you think that?”

“I dunno.” She shrugs her shoulders again, looking down at her flower with a face scrunched up by the sun. “The only time I see boys with hair as long as yours is when they’re famous.”

“Really?” Billy asks on a scoff. He knows his hair is a little over the top here, but he couldn’t even count on his fingers how many people he saw with mullets back in California; with hair longer than his back in California. There were countless people that had hair that could rival your local hair band. Then again, there are probably no ‘local hair bands’ out in Hawkins.

“Indiana’s pretty boring, huh?” Billy asks.

She shrugs again, picking at something on her flower like she’s bored. “I guess. I dunno.”

Billy scoffs and looks back at the flowers. He briefly wonders what it’s like for the kids who grew up here… who spend their whole lives here. The poor kids who get stuck here. They’re probably the ones who sit around in the parking lot of that drug store on the corner of Hyde.

“What’s your name?” Comes the little voice again. Billy becomes vaguely aware of the awful slow rock in the background. It sounds like something by Paul Simon.

“Billy Hargrove.” Billy licks his teeth around it.

“Ha!” She nearly shrieks. Billy doesn’t get as startled with this one. “So you are famous!”

“I’m not.” He’s definitive about it, but her determined face doesn’t let up.

“Are too.” Her hands are on her hips again, the flower still held gently in her left hand. “My brother used to talk about you all the time. He doesn’t shut up.”

“Really?” That perks Billy’s ears up. His mind flips through all of the faces at his school like a flipbook. “Who’s your brother?”

“Connor.”

“Huh…” There’s only one Connor that Billy can think of: Connor Blake. He sticks his nose up at everyone. Billy can’t say he’s less than curious about whatever that prick would have to say about him. “What’d he say?”

She shrugs again, looking towards the tents with her face still scrunched up in the sun. “Weird stuff. Stuff about your eyes and your muscles and your hair. He’s weird.”

That makes something electric light in Billy’s chest. There’s a full blown cackle brewing in him, but he just lets out a cool chuckle. Connor is a more than decent looking guy. He has a nice nose, for whatever that’s worth, even if his lips are a little non-existent. He’s always come off as the ‘holier-than-thou’ type. Not like Billy is much of one to talk, but still. Something about the boy and his high horse never seemed to lend to any particular gayness in Billy’s eyes. Obviously he pegged him wrong.

“Maybe you’re just not old enough to get it.” Billy says over a smirk.

The girl shrugs again. At this point Billy’s sure her shoulders are going to get caught in those earrings. “I dunno, I’m pretty old. I’m eleven y’know.”

Billy rolls his eyes but there’s still a smirk on his face, albeit a tired one. “Yeah, I know. Where’s your brother now? Did he come?”

Her curls flip around themselves as she shakes her head. “No, he never comes to these because my parents say he gets to pick, but I’m still too young to pick if I wanna go or not.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. But I’m eleven. I should get to pick.”

“Yeah, you should.” Billy really does agree.

“Can you tell my mother that?” She’s looking up at him now, nose all wrinkled up.

“Sorry kid, I think you have to do that for yourself.”

“Olivia!” Comes a shrill voice that Billy wishes wasn’t getting closer. “Stop bothering this young man and come say hi to Mr. and Mrs. Whitman.”

“Mom!” The girl yells back. “Billy says I’m old enough to pick if I wanna come here or not.”

“Billy?” The woman asks, getting closer. Billy turns to greet her. “Billy…” She says quietly, doing her best to place the name right up until she sees his face. “Oh! Well hello there.”

Billy gives a tight, close-lipped smile. The woman fixes her hair where it’s already perfectly piled on top of her head.

“Why, you’re Billy Hargrove, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes yes… everyone’s talking about how Jim Hopper’s son is here today.”

Billy’s confused at that, wondering what everyone’s deal is about him being adopted. His mouth twists up a bit, involuntarily.

“Jim Hopper?” The girl asks. She looks about as confused as Billy feels. “The policeman? He came to our school once. He’s kinda fat to be your da-”

“Olivia!” The woman clicks her tongue, swiping purposelessly at the air in her daughters direction.

“It’s true.” The girl mutters, looking down at her flower and spinning it. Her mother clicks her tongue.

“Oh please.” Her mouth twists in distaste. “And didn’t I tell you not to pick flowers?”

“Billy picked it for me!” The girl says indignantly, crinkling her nose up in defiance now. There’s a very obvious difference.

The mother’s demeanor changes instantly, face smoothing over in understanding as she turns approving eyes in Billy’s direction.

“Oh! Really? Well then, that’s fine.” Her voice is dripping in liquid sugar. She looks like she wants to reach a hand out to touch him, but her daughter is piping up again.

“Hey!” She yells, catching the attention of both of them. Billy’s not religious, but he might want to bless this child. “That’s not fair! Why can he pick flowers but I can’t?”

Her mother looks exhausted. It makes Billy chuckle.

“Because, sweetheart,” She says, the sweetness entirely fake now. It makes Billy taste something bitter. “You’re a lady and he’s a gentleman.”

“And gentlemen get to pick flowers?”

“Yes. For the ladies.”

The girl, Olivia, gives her mother a look like her mother is trying to pull one over on her. She looks down at the flower, and then up to Billy, who gives an unimpressed look matching his unimpressed, single-shouldered shrug.

The girl turns back to her mother.

“That’s dumb.” Olivia states, very matter-of-factly, before walk-skipping away, dress flouncing around her.

Her mother looks beyond exhausted.

“Olivia!” She tuts again, calling after her in her shrill voice before turning back to Billy.

“I’m so sorry about her, Billy. I have to go get her. But it was so nice to meet you!”

And with that, she flutters away, skirt flipping around her calves as she takes tiny steps in her tiny heels along the grass.

Billy chuckles a bit. He eyes the flowers for a second before walking away, deciding against picking another one in favor of finding some kind of food to eat.

He winds up in front of a very large tray of the world’s tiniest sandwiches. He’s immediately irritated by them. He can’t pick one up in a way that feels… manly. He has to pick them up with just his fingertips or else he squishes them.

But they’re made of some kind of surprisingly hearty turkey along with some fancy tasting cheese and a little bit of crispy ultra-green lettuce and the softest white bread Billy’s ever seen… so…

He picks 3 up in one swipe and places them on the nearest empty plate he can find.

They’re disgustingly good. Like, unnaturally good. By his 5th one he wonders if maybe it’s their size that makes them taste so good. They really shouldn’t taste this good.

He nearly forgets his beer in his tiny-sandwich-stupor. He takes a swig as he grabs more tiny sandwiches. He checks his wristwatch (that Steve insisted he wear) as he shoves a sandwich in his mouth.

It’s been about 20 minutes since Steve left to go talk with his grandma.

Billy settles in, slouching over the table a bit.

A woman comes up to politely chat him up, making like she’s bored or like she was sent here on an order or something equally unbelievable. Billy just as politely turns her down.

He checks his watch. About 25 minutes since Steve left.

He takes a pull off his bottle. Turns down another woman coming by feigning extreme interest in the beer Billy’s drinking. She ends up walking away dejectedly with just a couple of sandwiches on her tiny plate.

29 minutes.

He’s on probably his tenth sandwich when a man comes up with a weird glint in his eye. He’s persistent, he’s tall, and worst of all, he’s drunk off his rocker. He leans a hand on the table, right next to where Billy’s leaning on his elbows. Billy leans back in his chair.

The man has a proposition on his tongue, hidden by the slimiest grin Billy’s ever faced.

“Hey there.” His voice is gravely. It grates on Billy’s ears. “I haven’t seen you at one of these before.”

Billy shakes his head and chews on the inside of his cheek.

“Nope. I’m a friend of someone.”

“Ah, you’re the adopted kid.” Billy’s not sure why that’s such a hot-button topic around here. He’s sure that he doesn’t like it, though.

“Yup.”

“Y’know,” the man slurs in what he must think is a hushed tone, leaning down a little further. Billy does all he can not to lean back any further away from the man’s physical advances. “I heard our Chief Jimmy Hopper is a pervert.”

It sets Billy’s skin on fire and absolutely boils his blood. He’s a kettle over the highest heat.

The man starts to laugh a real heavy, guttural laugh. Billy’s seeing red. He takes a deep breath and absent-mindedly plays with one of the fancy napkins on the table.

“You’ve got about 5 seconds to get away from me before that nose of yours gets broken.” Billy keeps his voice strong and flat and as intimidating as possible.

Billy watches in his periphery as the man moves back.

“You… what?”

Billy looks him straight in the eye.

“I didn’t stutter. Get away from me now or you’re gonna end up walking away with a broken nose.”

The man blinks hard twice before his face shifts into anger.

“Is that a threat, son?”

“It’s a promise, sir.” Billy’s face is screwed up in anger, surely red as a brick. His eyes shift over to the man’s wife on the other side of the tent. He knows it’s his wife, because she’s one of the women that came up to Billy and Steve earlier in the day. This man was with her. “Or I could always tell your wife you’re the real pervert.”

“Oh come off it-”

“It’s Marci, right?” Billy asks, leaning over so he can see past the man. He takes a deep breath to make like he’s going to call out-

“Okay, okay!” The man stops him, grabbing his forgotten glass of some dark drink off the table and taking a swig of it before leaving, muttering darkly to himself.

Billy’s disgusted. He checks his watch.

34 minutes.

Billy’s fuming. He shoves a few more sandwiches in his face and gives a mad eye to a woman who approaches him. She gives a kind, nervous smile before grabbing a piece of fruit off the plate and walking away a little quicker than she came, no words exchanged.

38 minutes.

Billy’s tapping his fingers on the table, watching everyone schmooze and laugh their twinkling little laughs and he’s gonna go mad.

A young girl walks up to him. He recognizes her from school.

She opens her mouth to speak, eyelashes fluttering so hard she could cause a hurricane, but Billy cuts her off before she gets a chance.

“No thanks, dollface.”

She looks like she’s been slapped for a second before she recovers and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

“But I haven’t even said anything, yet.” Her voice is as mousy as her features. Billy’s so irritated he can barely see straight.

“Yeah, well you’ve got that look in your eye-”

“What look?”

“And I know you’ve got a boyfriend.”

She swallows and straightens her back out a little bit, shifting on her feet haughtily.

“Well, I could just as well not have one.”

Billy’s stare is poison. He makes sure of it.

“Yeah, and I could just as well tell Trevor that you stuffed your bra just to come over here and talk to me.”

She balks.

Billy doesn’t exactly like saying it. He doesn’t do that shit anymore and he doesn’t like to let people rile him up like this. The words feel gross and heavy on his tongue. He’s just fed up and everyone is bothering him and he feels like he’s been on display since he’s been here and… and… and these stupid tiny sandwiches and-

“Well, those shorts look idiotic on you.” She spits out at him with tight lips, like it’s an insult he actually cares about. She turns quickly on her heels and swishes away purposefully. Billy doesn’t find any atom of his body that cares.

He’s sitting there staring at the sweaty condensation that’s collected on the bottom of his beer bottle, then at the intricate pattern on the fancy napkin, then at the fancy tray holding the sandwiches, then at the face of his borrowed watch.

He’s on the last sandwich on the middle of the tiered tray when he hears someone clear their throat. He rounds on them like a bull, mouth prepping to tell them off… when he sees that soft, chocolate brown hair that (irritatingly) comforts him instantly.

“Whatcha doing, stud?” Steve’s hands are shoved in his pockets and one annoyingly nice eyebrow is raised.

Billy grumbles.

“Eating.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. These sandwiches are stupid by the way.” Billy picks a few up in one hand and flops them down on his plate. “They’re so small. Why are they so small? I hate them.”

“Uh huh. That why you’re eating them all?”

Billy gives Steve a dirty look, and makes it even harsher when he sees the boy smiling at his expense.

“Yes. The sooner I eat them all the sooner I don’t have to look at them anymore.”

Steve laughs and Billy responds to it with a growl.

“You’ve been gone almost an hour.” Billy mumbles, thumbing at the napkin in front of him again.

“You’ve been counting?”

Billy shrugs. He’s not sure what to say, so he figures saying nothing at all is best. He glances at Steve for a second, before deciding he doesn’t wanna see the boy’s smug face.

“And this what you’ve been doing while I was gone? Eating all the sandwiches?” Steve reaches out for one on the bottom tray. Billy watches with rapt attention and wants, impossibly, to grab the boy’s hand and hold it in his own. He feels a little sick to his stomach at the thought, but decides to blame it on how quickly he’s been eating.

“I also picked you a flower.” It’s out of Billy’s mouth before he can think about it.

Steve outright laughs at that, and if Billy’s face turns the same color as that sangria everyone’s drinking, he’ll kill the person who points it out. He slouches down a little further, tearing slightly at the napkin.

“You did what?”

“I picked a fucking flower for you, alright?” Billy hisses, looking his boyfriend straight in the eye this time. He’s even more mad at what he sees, which is the softest expression to ever grace this boy’s stupidly pretty face. God he wants to deck him. If he wasn’t so in love with those dumb doe eyes and that idiotic pink mouth… and his soft heart… he would really deck him.

Steve’s smile is melting Billy into a puddle.

“Really?” Steve asks on a whisper. It makes Billy itch in his skin. He looks back down at the napkin he’s slowly tearing to pieces. “Well, where is it, then?”

Billy nods his head in the direction he saw the girl last. “I gave it to a girl.”

“You gave it to a girl?”

Billy smirks at the jealousy he hears in Steve’s voice. He feels even better when he looks up and swears he sees green on the boy’s face.

“Little Olivia Blake.” He says with a smug grin. Steve visibly relaxes before laughing in on himself. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just funny you picked her.” Steve says, grabbing a few grapes from the top tier of the tray. “They’re close family friends. Her parents always joked that if they ever had a daughter, they would marry her off to me.” Steve rolls his eyes at the statement, but he’s got a fond smile on his face that twists Billy’s stomach up.

“Why would they say that?”

“They’re nutty. They own a big department store a couple of towns over, but they like to live here because it’s quiet or something. I dunno. My parents used to joke that it’d be a ‘good move’ to merge our families together. We’ve got a running gag that Olivia and I are ‘betrothed’.” Steve pops a couple of grapes in his mouth. “She gets a real kick out of it.”

“Hm.” Billy grunts, spinning his beer bottle around on itself where it sits on the table, making the tablecloth wet underneath it. A thought hits him with a smirk. “Hey, did you know Connor Blake wants to fuck me?”

“What? Connor Blake? What makes you say that?”

“Your little fiance told me he used to talk about my muscles all the time.”

Billy looks up at Steve through his lashes with a sly grin to see Steve’s face flushed red. There’s a second or two of silence between them, something light and electric in the air before they melt into helpless giggles, both dropping their heads and shaking them in disbelief. It’s a good couple of minutes of laughter between the two, and it’s the happiest Billy has felt all day.

When it’s over, Steve finally sits down.

“So uh… your grandma?” Billy asks, half his napkin torn into ribbons.

Steve nods like it’s an answer, before he seems to remember his words.

“Yeah, she wants to meet you. My mom accidentally let it slip that one of my friends is here. I think she’s kind of drunk.”

Billy’s heart takes off running, beating wildly like a bird in a cage. Most of his napkin is in shreds now. He watches Steve for a bit and notices that the boy seems just as nervous as he is… fumbling with his fingers and biting at his lip.

“So… I have to go over there?” Billy asks. Steve shakes his head.

“No, she said she’d come find us. She had to talk to someone else first.” Steve’s tapping his fingers on the table and it’s rapping on Billy’s head at the same tempo.

“Is there uh… anything I need to know about her? Before I meet her?”

Steve sighs a very tired sigh, but at least his tapping stops.

“Yeah I mean… she’s a little… crazy?” Steve says, biting at the corner of his bottom lip and rolling a grape around on a napkin. His posture is hunched and small. His eyes flicker on everything near his hands and back again. He’s nervous. It’s freaking Billy out.

He doesn’t say anything other than that. Billy figures he has to take the non-existent bait.

“Her car is pretty killer.” He says, sitting up from where he himself was slouched and leaning over the table, both arms folded as support in front of him.

Steve snorts.

“Yeah well, funny you say that…” Steve says, popping the grape in his mouth when he seems to be done uselessly playing with it. “She bought it after my grandpa passed away.”

He pauses again, for a little too long. Billy’s jumping to fill the silence with something.

“That’s not weird.”

Steve snorts again, grabbing more tiny fruits off the tray.

“ Well there was this big rumor that she killed him for his money so… she thought it was funny and wanted to play into it or something.” He eats a little piece of cantaloupe and Billy tries very hard to understand what any of Steve’s words mean. “I mean obviously she didn’t do it but, she thought other people didn’t need to know that.”

Billy’s mad at the pause now, moving to sit forward still, waiting impatiently for the end of the story.

Steve just shakes his head at his fruit with some weirdly disapproving face.

“You’re serious?”

Steve laughs a tired laugh.

“Yeah. I told you, she’s nutty. She’s also like, super into going to church. She started getting extra involved because her neighbor accused her of being friends with Satan or something? She’s really old fashioned though and has all these awful thoughts about poor people and she likes to rile people up for no reason. And she’s not very… motherly.”

Steve’s a little out of breath. Billy wants nothing more than to hold his hand.

“What side of the family is she from?”

“My mom’s side.” Steve’s a little quieter now, heavily mesmerized with the fruit in front of him. “My mom hates her. I can tell.”

Billy knows Steve’s relationship with his parents isn’t exactly cherries and ice cream, but… seeing your parents get so upset is emotionally draining. He’s felt something like that before. He used to get blamed when members of the family would reach out to Neil. It was stupid and it made Billy grow to resent any time the phone ringed.

He reaches his hand out, linking just his pinky with Steve’s restlessly tapping one. It’s a small gesture, hidden well between the tray of food and the centerpiece on the table.

Steve’s body visibly melts out of its stressed out state. When he looks up at Billy, it’s with that appreciation in his eyes that makes Billy want to kiss him harshly to get him to stop. Billy has to look away, but he grabs on tighter with his pinky and hopes with his heart to make this the least painful experience possible.

“Steven!”

Steve jumps.

He jumps nearly out of his skin and hits his knee on the table in response. He scrambles out of his seat, knocking a couple of grapes off the top tier of the tray when his hand hits it in his hurry to unlink himself with Billy, even that slightest bit.

“Steven did you have to wander off so far away?” She accuses, voice a little young on Billy’s ears for what he would expect of a grandmother. Billy feels glued to his chair, a little out of breath from the sudden fracture of the moment he was just in. Steve’s back is covering the woman from Billy’s view.

“Sorry. Hi Grammy.”

Billy hears her tut. “Stop that, we already said hello to each other. Don’t waste our time.”

“Sorry.” Steve mumbles, fingers fidgeting restlessly where he has them hidden behind his back.

Billy watches a hand grip Steve’s right arm, nails manicured just as perfectly as Mrs. Harrington’s were, but a deep red that come to a bit more of a point than Steve’s mother’s. She has rings on all fingers, each different sizes with different shiny stones embedded in them. She grips rather tight, and Billy watches Steve lean down to give one of those weird side kisses everyone has seemed to do today when they recognize someone. It’s over quick enough that Billy doesn’t get a good look at her face.

“Where’s your friend, Steven? I came over here for him, didn’t I?”

Billy’s heart jumpstarts like a car.

“Oh, yeah, Grammy, this is my friend Billy.”

Steve opens his posture up to Billy sitting behind him. He figures this is the time he should stand up.

As he does, he finds himself standing in front of a short woman. She’s got her hair smoothly styled in something Billy thinks would look fashionable for the 1950’s or 60’s rather than the 80’s. Her earrings dangle and sparkle almost blindingly, even though they’re nearly hidden from the rays of the sun. Her makeup is fairly minimal and her eyes are youthful but knowing, piercing Billy’s mind in a way that makes him feel stuck and helpless. Like she’s a black widow preying on him and his weaknesses.

She has a fur wrapped around her. Billy assumes it’s mink because that’s all he knows about furs. Her bag is rather large and unmistakably fashionable. Billy doesn’t want to stare for too long, but he swears something is moving from inside of it.

“Billy, this is my Grammy Genevieve.”

She reaches one of her manicured hands out. Billy accepts it, her hand a lot younger looking than Billy was expecting, but still showing age in a way that Mrs. Harrinton’s didn’t. When Billy leans down and gives it a kiss, it’s on instinct rather than decision.

He straightens back out to find her eyeing him curiously. Billy holds her gaze, fearful this is some test he needs to pass. Her grip gets tighter and tighter.

A few moments go by before he’s released from her grip and being given an approving look.

“Well isn’t he just as handsome as the day is long?”

Steve gives a grateful smile for a second before training his face back into something blank. When she moves to sit, both Billy and Steve go to hold the chair out.

Steve’s hand gets hit.

“Stop, let your handsome little friend here do it.”

Steve sits down with a muted nod, but he keeps his back held straight.

After Billy sits down, in a whirlwind of thoughts that he can’t pin down, he comes back to reality to find Steve’s grandma mumbling into her bag.

“What is it? What do you need?” She asks, reaching a hand in to… stroke something? It looks like she’s stroking something. “Do you need food? Water?”

Billy looks to Steve with a look he’s trying his best to keep away from ‘bewildered’, but he shouldn’t be blamed if it gets there. Steve’s still got his back rod straight, but his eyes are tired and he’s idly playing with a grape again.

“Stop fidgeting.” She chastises, again hitting the top of Steve’s hand. Steve quickly shoots his hand into his lap, nodding.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, just do it.”

Steve nods, but Billy notices another apology on his lips. Billy matches Steve’s posture, back up straight, but he’s abusing the inside of his lip in his nervousness. Something about this woman freaks him out a little more than he thinks she ought to.

“Steven, get me some water, will you?”

Steve nods and steps away, leaving Billy there with the woman and her moving bag that Billy really can’t take his eyes off of. It looks like it’s breathing and Billy’s waiting for a snake to slither out or something.

“So, William.” Grandma Genevieve starts, still stroking the inside of her bag like it’s a normal gesture. She doesn’t continue what she’s saying until Billy looks up at her, making him realize she’s referring to him. Billy hasn’t been called William in… he’s not even sure he could count how long it’s been. “How are you in school?”

Horrible. My teachers hate me. They give me bad grades for no reason. I have to get my dad to rough them up to treat me fairly-

“Fine.” He lies, tongue heavy in his mouth. “Thanks.” He tacks on quickly when her eyes don’t let up.

She seems satisfied with the thank you, but she’s not letting up.

“Are you going to college when you graduate?”

No because there’s no point. Why would I? They’re just going to drain all the money I don’t have and it’s not like I have enough potential to actually make it there, let alone make it through-

“I don’t graduate until next year.” Billy offers.

“That’s not what I asked.” She stands firm, fixing him with a look that makes him want to apologize, too.

“Uhm-”

“Don’t stutter. Speak clearly.”

“No.” He says quickly and honestly. He can’t lie with her looking at him like that. He feels like he’s been cornered.

She lifts a single eyebrow, the look in her eyes entirely disapproving.

“Hmph.” She says, looking down into her purse like he isn’t worth looking at. It makes his chest boil with something less than anger; something that makes him want to apologize again. “That’s a little foolish. What do you plan on doing?”

Billy doesn’t even fully register the insult of being called foolish.

“I don’t need college to go into a trade.”

“What trade?” She asks, voice dripping with what Billy thinks must be venom. He’s more than half expecting that snake to come out soon.

“Auto Body work. Mechanic work.” Billy speaks in stuccatto. He really can’t help it. “I like cars.”

She looks back up at him, eyeing him up and down in the most brutal evaluation Billy thinks he’s ever been given. He feels frightened in a way that feels entirely new.

It’s a few moments of that- a few too many moments.

“Hmph.” She huffs out again. “I see.”

She’s still pinning him down with a stare, but after a few more seconds of silent judgement, it’s over. Her gaze is a little softer at the end, but it may be a trick of the light. Billy’s just glad it’s over.

Steve is speaking before Billy even notices his presence.

“Here you go, Grammy.”

“Thank you, Steven.” She says, taking hold of the clear bowl holding water inside of it. She places it in front of her and moves her bag closer to the edge of her lap, just resting on her knees.

Steve sits and sighs a bit, getting Billy’s attention. His eyes are apologetic and his mouth twists up in a way that lets Billy know he’s asking if he’s okay. Billy nods, eyebrows furrowing a little to prove it. His heart is beating wildly, but he’s sure Steve can probably tell.

In the corner of his eye, something flesh colored and… rat like slowly rises out of the woman’s purse.

He snaps his head towards it, nearly jumping.

It’s… it’s a cat. It’s a naked cat.

It leans forward, slowly and gracefully, to lick up the water in front of it.

“There you go, Cleo.” The woman mumbles, stroking the cat’s head once again. It gives a croaky meow as a response in between it’s licks.

Billy can’t stop staring. He’s never in his life seen a naked cat before. It has wrinkles and folds that go on forever.

Why does she carry this thing in her bag-?

“So William,” The woman says diplomatically, again not continuing until Billy gives her his undivided attention. “Are you the reason my grandson looks like a beatnik?”

“Grammy-”

“Enough, Steven, I wasn’t speaking to you.”

Steve hangs his head, looking to the left of him, possibly staring out at the flowers.

“I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.”

“Your hair is outrageously long for a young man.” She states plainly, still stroking her cat’s head.

A little fire starts in Billy’s chest.

“I didn’t tell Steve to grow his hair out. If he did it by himself, that’s his business.”

Steve’s head whips around so quickly Billy’s sure his neck must be sore, but Billy doesn’t break eye contact with the woman.

She’s eyeing him harshly again, mouth twisted up like she’s tasted something bitter. They stare at each other for a few moments, but there’s a lot less fear in Billy’s chest now. He’s right and he knows it. He shouldn’t have to sugar coat things for this woman who obviously doesn’t sugar coat things back.

The distaste on her lips twists into a smirk, Billy’s sure of it. He doesn’t get too hopeful though. She looks back down at her cat.

“Hmph. Alright.”

She doesn’t say anything after that. Billy’s not sure why, but he feels pretty safely like he’s won something indescribable.

He’s overwhelmed with the need to take a piss.

“Steve.” Billy says clearly, looking at his boyfriend who’s eyeing him owlishly- like he’s shocked.

“Yeah?” Steve answers, shoulders shaking a bit.

“Can you show me where the bathroom is?” He’s sure to be as concise as possible in front of this woman.

“Yeah. Uhm, excuse us, Grammy.”

She waves a manicured hand in the air.

“You’re free to go.” She says dismissively before mumbling to her cat.

The two boys, for as cool as they typically are, jump out of their chairs a little less than smoothly.

They don’t speak until they get to the building that houses the bathroom.

“Holy shit, Billy, how did you do that?”

They’re out of breath, both from rushing to the building and from the tense exchange they just shared.

“Do what?”

“Get her to like you?”

“She likes me?” Billy tries his hardest not to sound so shocked, but it’s difficult.

“I think so.” Steve admits, looking back at the tents even though they’re much too far away from them to see her from here. “What did you talk about while I was gone?”

Billy catches his breath.

“College. What I’m gonna do after school.”

Billy doesn’t even have to say what she said for Steve to look sorry.

“God. I’m sorry about her.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, she’s so… she’s so harsh.”

“It’s fine, Steve.”

“It’s not, I can’t even imagine what she said-”

“Steve.” Billy grabs Steve’s hands, which are reaching up to rake through his hair again. “Shut up. Stop worrying. It’s fine.”

Steve’s eyes are wide and nervous, his hands shaking slightly, his lips worked over by his teeth.

He melts.

“Yeah… yeah okay.”

“I love you.” Billy mumbles it out before he even thinks about it. They’ve said it a few times before, but every time feels like shots of electricity shooting up through Billy’s bones. It makes Steve start to shake a bit again.

But his eyes soften, the skin around his forehead relaxes, he looks a little more peaceful and that’s what Billy wants.

“I love you too.” Steve whispers.

They separate quickly, even though they’re far away from anyone that could see them. Better safe than sorry.

They take their time to be quiet for a second while they’re both in the bathroom, letting the water of the sink drown out the silence between them. Billy’s mind is swimming with so many things they don’t slot correctly in his mind. He’s trying desperately to make sense of anything through his still-present nerves.

As they’re walking out, he just says the first thing on his mind.

“So are you really gonna marry that little eleven year old?”

It slips out of his mouth like a piece of gum when he tries and fails to blow a bubble. It feels stupid. It’s all he could think to say.

Steve shoves his hands in his pockets but doesn’t say anything for a second. Billy turns to see his mouth moving around a smug little smirk.

“Are you gonna fuck Connor Blake?” Steve asks by way of response. It hits Billy’s chest.

“What? No.” Billy’s adamant, annoyed that he didn’t get an answer. “Why would you ask that?”

Steve shrugs with a chuckle. “I dunno, I thought we were asking stupid questions.”

Billy chest unwinds. He laughs. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Just asking.”

Steve shakes his head, but Billy doesn’t look up to see it.

“How’d you even meet her?”

Billy shrugs. “She came up to me when I was picking a flower for you.”

Steve grabs Billy’s arm to get him to stop. They’re close to the tents now, but the gesture isn’t too suspicious.

“Are you serious about that? Did you actually pick a flower for me?”

Billy’s face blooms red as blood rushes to it. “Yeah, I told you.” He wants to fidget. His shirt feels too tight again.

Steve smiles.

“You’re a sap.”

“Shut up.” Billy hisses, ripping his arm away. His face won’t stop blushing. “I just… I love you.”

Billy’s mumbling now, his head down. Steve clicks his tongue.

“Awww…” Steve coos quietly, and Billy doesn’t need to look at him to see the irritating smirk on his face. He looks up anyway, just to glare at him.

“Whatever. You know I love you. How many times do I have to say it?”

Steve’s smug and Billy swears he could slap that look off his face if he didn’t care about him so much.

“I dunno. A few times a day would be nice.”

Billy rolls his eyes. He’s gonna say something, but suddenly there’s a synth song overtaking the previous synth song. Steve gasps.

“I love this song!” He hits Billy’s arm.

“All this music is awful-”

“Shut up!” Steve hits Billy’s arm again. “This song is good!”

Billy listens a little closer to the rhythm of the synth. It sounds like “Is This Love” by Survivor. Joyce likes to listen to this song with Hop sometimes when it comes on the radio. It’s kind of gross, honestly.

“Aw,” Steve coos again, watching the pretty little fancy couples on the make-shift dance floor in between two of the tents, out in the sun. “I wish we could dance. Is that stupid? That’s stupid. Sorry-”

Billy rolls his eyes as his boyfriend babbles next to him. He does a quick scan of what they can see, and decides something without much thought. Maybe it’s the singing that picks up that pushes Billy’s heart.

~I’ve heard talk of blind devotion…~

“Go ask Olivia.”

Steve turns with confused but earnest eyes.

“Huh?”

“Go ask Olivia to dance.”

“But why-?”

“Just go. You’ll see why.”

~Faithful to the bitter end…~

Steve still looks confused, but Billy shoves into his shoulder to get him going.

“Go! Trust me.”

Steve eyes him still, but he goes to find Olivia, who’s off sulking in a chair in the corner of one of the canopy-tents.

Billy watches Steve walk away fondly before taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. He takes a few breaths as he walks towards his target, psyching himself up, striking up his confidence…

“Grandma Genevieve?” Billy asks, making sure his voice is clear and free of any shakes. She’s sitting alone, thankfully.

She looks up with her piercing eyes, an eyebrow raised. That’s all she gives him.

“May I have this dance?”

Her clear eyes pierce him for a second, the song striking Billy in the chest, making him feel vulnerable.

She looks down at the cat still in her lap, before looking back up at Billy.

“Please?” He asks, not taking his eyes off of hers, even if he wants to know where Steve is and how far he’s gotten at convincing the other girl to follow him to the dance floor.

There’s another beat of silence, another line of the song hitting Billy hard, before she gives a smirk that lets him know maybe she really does like him.

She takes his hand and stands, before slipping her bag off her shoulder and shoving it into the chest of a free-handed waiter walking by.

“Watch my child Cleo for me.” She states plainly, like it’s not a request. The young waiter’s eyes go wide as the cat peeks it’s head out and croaks a meow in his face. “If anything happens to her, you’ll be fired by the end of the day.”

She says it with a smile before Billy escorts her to the dance floor.

He turns his head and immediately sees Steve walking next to him, being pulled onto the dance floor by Olivia.

~I need to prove to myself this is more than a crush…~

The two boys lock eyes, Steve laughing a bit, Billy smiling easily.

~Can you convince me it’s not just a physical rush…~

Billy grabs Grandma Genevieve’s hands in his, interlocking their fingers, and begins stepping side to side. He watches her face for a second, and sees, surprisingly, something that looks like uncertainty. She’s watching their feet like she’s unsure of what they’re doing.

Billy chuckles a bit. She squeezes his hands so tight they hurt a little bit, and she sends him a glare to match. She must have heard him chuckling.

“Don’t laugh at me.” She chastises, before looking back down at their feet.

Billy keeps stepping side to side along to the beat as he looks up to find Steve, who’s dancing right behind his grandmother and facing Billy. They lock eyes over their partners. They’re swaying almost in time with each other. It’s like they’re dancing with each other.

~Is this love that I’m feeling? Is this love…~

Billy gives a little kissy face in Steve’s direction. Steve rolls his eyes and looks back down at his own partner, who’s currently standing on his feet with her own little ones as they dance.

Billy looks back down at Grandma Genevieve, who’s very clearly struggling.

“You’re doing well.” Billy tries to assure her. Her face twists up.

“I haven’t danced with anyone in a long time.” She admits quietly. Billy’s shocked to hear it.

“Well, there’s not much to it.”

He leads the way, stepping the two of them back and forth to the beat. She seems to relax a bit at the words and it hits Billy’s chest with pride.

There’s a very girlish giggle that snaps Billy back up to Steve, who’s swaying a little more forcefully now with his eleven year old partner in tow. He looks up at Billy and their eyes lock again.

They’re connected in an instant. The distance doesn’t matter.

~Now look me straight in the eye ‘cause tonight is the night…~

Billy’s heart is beating so rapidly he’s worried Grandma Genevieve will hear. Steve is looking at him like he loves him. Like he really loves every bit and piece of him. Like he’ll never have to say it, never have to be asked again, it’s just a known fact of the world now. Steve Harrington is in love with Billy Hargrove and nothing is going to change that fact. It clings them together, to the point that Billy feels like he could be pressed to Steve’s chest right now, even though there’s several feet of distance between them.

~We’ve got to ask each other if the moment is right…~

Billy could melt onto the floor right now in a puddle. He feels ridiculous but he’s fine with that. He’s never been so into someone and he’s fine with that, too. He’s fine if he gets to see Steve’s eyes before he falls flat on his face in love. He’s fine if he gets to see that gorgeous smile forever and ever.

The chorus picks up again, singing loudly as Olivia swings Steve away, spinning them into an uncontrollable circle of smiles and giggles.

~Is this love that I’m feeling?~

The song sings as Steve and Olivia spin in a tornado of pastel colors, storming around the dance floor like a couple of children.

Grandma Genevieve laughs. It catches Billy off guard and makes him tear his face away from Steve and all his beauty.

“Do you wanna spin too?” He asks.

“Spin me and I rip that curly hair of yours out.” She promises, gripping his hands tight again.

The threat of it makes Billy laugh.

They dance out the rest of the song, but after it Grandma Genevieve is tired and Olivia’s mother is chastising her for causing a ruckus.

Billy sits down with Steve’s grandmother for a second, watching Steve intently as he speaks with Olivia.

He laughs as he sees the girl grab the flower Billy picked and give it to Steve, waving the boy down to her level so she can kiss his cheek and run away with a giggling, red face.

Steve watches her, laughing, before looking down at the flower with a kind of intent that Billy can see from yards away.

Grandma Genevieve is still worrying over her cat by the time Steve makes his way over.

“Hi Billy. Hi Grammy.”

“Steven, you made a fool of yourself.” She says immediately, without even looking up at him.

It smacks Billy hard in the chest, and he can only imagine what it must do to Steve. The two boys watch her, shocked at the harsh words.

She looks up at him, a rare smile wide on her face.

“It was rather charming.” She admits. Steve releases a breath, about to say something, before his grandma hits him lightly. “But don’t do it again.”

“Yes, Grammy.” Steve says obediently, with a small, disobedient smile on his face. Billy chuckles a bit at it.

“Well, it’s been a lovely afternoon, but I need to get going.” The woman stands up, accepting Steve’s help as he reaches a hand out to her. Billy stands as she does, and moves next to Steve.

The look she gives the two almost makes him nervous again; it’s harsh and judging and almost dissatisfied.

“Steven.”

“Yes, Grammy?”

She shifts a hard look over at Billy. He does his absolute best to keep her eye contact and stand as straight as possible. It makes him uncomfortable, even with all of the practice he got of standing at attention in his youth.

Her eyes shift back to Steve.

“I like this boy.” She says plainly, and something about it immediately lifts the heaviest weight off of Billy’s chest. “He’s honest and he’s practical and he’s brave. And he’s definitely handsome.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Billy sighs out a bit. She waves a hand dismissively at him, telling him it was unnecessary before she turns back to Steve.

“Tell your mother I need that paperwork in the next 3 days, got it?” She pats Steve’s arm harshly and pulls him in for a light kiss on the cheek before turning to leave without getting a response. Billy’s not sure what she means, but he’s not even going to think about asking.

The two boys stay right where they are, rod straight, watching her walk away. It’s not until she’s a few yards out that they let out a collective breath.

“She likes you.” Steve says with amazement.

“Yeah… Guess so.”

There’s silence between them for a second, some Journey song playing in the background. A slight flash of purple hits Billy’s periphery.

“Hey by the way,” Steve starts, voice playfully wistful. “Thanks for the flower.”

Steve’s got a sly grin on his face. Billy looks over at the purpleish-reddish petals twirling delicately on top of the stem in Steve’s fingertips. The smile he gives in response is involuntary.

“You’re welcome, babe.” He says quietly, chest alight with love and love and a little bit of love and maybe a dash of love... just for good measure.

And if Billy smiles every time he hears “Is This Love” by Survivor from now on… well he doesn’t see a need to explain why.

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memes-saved-me · 4 years ago

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i ship dacre and joe but im not doing anything bad?? how is that any differenr from ahipping billy and steve and making thousands of nsfw drawings of them... i respect both of their luves and girlfriends, but i like them together. i think theyre cute.

First off, I don’t speak for everyone and that post had a lot of other people reblogging and agreeing with it so it’s not some personal attack at anyone. But, anyway...

It’s when fans start to attack their partners or insist they’re not straight or love each other that it becomes a problem for me. Imagine a stranger on the internet insisting you’re a sexuality you’re not or that you secretly love your best friend and hate your wife/girlfriend. It depends on the person, if they request for people to not write fics or make nsfw art of them as a person, not their characters then that is downright disrespectful but if they don’t mind or encourage it then knock yourself out.

I think the main difference is they are removed from the characters, they’re a part they played and left on the set. They aren’t that character 24/7 and most of the time do not act or look anything like whoever they portrayed on screen. I don’t tag my harringrove things with their names because it doesn’t really involve them and it keeps shippy stuff out of much bigger and wider used tags, along with somewhat hiding it a little more from their view. A lot of actors really don’t mind shipping or people writing or drawing stuff about their characters or selves but some do and I think over my years of being in fandoms and participating in them I’ve seen both sides. There have been cases that have ruined friendships or even caused mental breakdowns (Phan) but has also created good laughs and enjoyment for everyone. Cases that have had certain ships banned from convention questions or used against actors to call them homophobic when really they’re just uncomfortable and it’s just not right to use a fictional idea against a real person with a real life.

Overall I don’t think looking at two people and thinking, “Oh, they have really good chemistry. They would be a cute couple,” is a bad thing in and of itself but if you then start to ask questions or contact them about said made up couple then.....that’s when it’s an invasion of privacy and tbh rude.

I used to ship a bunch of irl people; actors, band members, singers, youtubers but I didn’t create or consume stuff within their view or reach and over the years, becoming an adult shipping real people now makes me uncomfortable so I just stay away from it. Honestly, ship what you want. I’m not the shipping police but I just have a negative view and experience with shipping real people and so do a lot of people by the looks of it.

Ship Dacre and Joe, make edits of them or write fics all you want. You’re free to do that, I just personally find it uncomfortable and wouldn’t do it.... I’m really not a big fan of policing in fandoms so don’t take this as a demand that you follow, I’m just sharing my thoughts and feelings towards the topic... You’re free to do as you wish.

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little-werewolf-oven · 5 years ago

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If you're still doing the writing prompts, Harringrove 10 & 45! :) Also I just want to say that I really love the Parent Trap, your fic is a gem!

(THANK YOU!! I’m hoping working these little drabbles will help me get back to finish Parent Escape with the panache you all deserve!! In the meantime hope you enjoy this little bit!)10: A hello/good-bye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it.

AND

45: Kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa, or bed.

Steve shifts in his bed, stirred awake by the alarm blaring in the other room. He doesn’t have to look at his clock to know it’s 6 am, and that Billy’s alarm will go off at least two more times before he actually gets up. Steve huffs out a put-upon sigh and does a crunch to get himself in a sitting position, yawning and scratching at his chest before flinging his feet around to land on the floor.

For the past six months this has been their ritual: Billy sets an alarm, Steve wakes up to it, the light sleeper that he is, and gets started on his day. About thirty minutes later Billy comes barreling through the kitchen, grabbing his things and running out the door. It wasn’t long into this weird arrangement before Steve was brewing his roommate a to-go mug, sometimes even making him some toast, and once or twice, when he was feeling especially generous, a breakfast sandwich.

This is apparently one of those mornings. Steve’s feeling good; the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, the cool spring air, still heavy with dew, is wafting through the open kitchen window. He loves mornings like this, loves that he gets to experience them in his own space, at his own pace, without his dad harping at him about not living up to his potential, or his mom complaining about what the neighbors have done to their yard. He never appreciated little moments like these in that house. But how could he? Can’t appreciate something that never existed in the first place.

He goes to work putting the sandwiches together: toasted English muffin, slice of American cheese, fried egg with the yolk strategically broken and folded, and a sausage patty. Puts one on a plate, wraps the other in a napkin and sets it next to the travel mug of coffee already filled and ready to go: one cream and two sugars.

He sits back in the rickety kitchen chair, sipping at his coffee from his “#1 Grandma” mug Dustin had gotten him last Christmas, reading the funny pages as he hears the alarm go off for a third time, quickly followed by a, “shit, fuck” and the sound of Billy bumping around his room. Steve grins. He doesn’t have to be at the station until 8, still has plenty of time to shower and primp his hair, could even clean up the dishes, but Billy normally did that when he got home. It was kind of an unspoken agreement between them; Steve takes care of things in the morning, and Billy picks up in the afternoon. What’s weird is, a year ago no one would have thought he and Billy would be able to stand living in the same town as one another, much less the same apartment. And now here they are, domesticated as cats.

Billy stumbles into the kitchen, shirt half on, jeans unbuttoned, hair uncombed, and still looking better than any of the one night stands Steve had brought home in the past four months. It’s unfair, is what it is. He pushes down any burgeoning feelings that might be creeping up as he watches Billy open a cabinet, curse, then shut it, before noticing the breakfast spread set out for him. Grins into his mug and pretends to focus on the paper as he hears Billy say, “Fucking yessss,” followed by the tell-tale sounds of a bag opening and things being shuffled about, the heavy footfalls of boots coming toward him.

“See you tonight,” Billy says, leaning down as Steve cranes his head up and over, lips meeting in a brief kiss before Billy’s swinging his messenger bag over his shoulder and walking out the door. Steve goes back to reading the funnies, gets through a whole panel of Garfield before the reality of the situation hits him, and he has to put the paper down and lean back, fingers running through his hair as his brain tries to catch up. He and Billy kissed. They kissed. And he just… like it was… they KISSED…

The door slams back open and Steve jumps out of his chair, heart racing as he watches Billy stand in the open doorway, bag still on, unmoving as they both just stare at each other. And then he’s dropping his bag to the floor, taking long deliberate strides until he’s against Steve, pressing him into the edge of the table, hands cupping his face as he kisses the ever-loving daylights out of him. And Steve had never really understood that phrase before, but now, he gets it. Because the way Billy’s holding his face, his jaw, the way his lips move against his, the way he opens his mouth just enough to get a taste of tongue… it’s like the rest of the universe just fell away. Day, night, time itself has ceased to exist, it’s just Billy and his hands and his tongue and the table digging into his side.

“Mph,” Steve groans, hands grabbing at Billy’s shoulders, pushing him away but not letting go, holding him out just far enough that he can take in the near dazed look on his face, the heady want in his eyes, before crashing their faces back together, using the leverage to push away from the table, slamming Billy’s back into the refrigerator. From there it’s a dance of dominance, giving and taking, moving them from the kitchen to the living room, nearly tripping and dying over the coffee table Steve had insisted they needed, and finally making it into Billy’s room. Clever hands and deft fingers unbutton and tug, leaving a trail of clothing behind them, until Billy’s pushing a shirtless Steve onto his bed, kicking off his own pants as he follows him down.

“I gotta-” Steve gets out between kisses, “I gotta… I’ve got… work in…”

“Call in,” Billy says, lips moving down to Steve’s neck.

“Mmm, you’re missing class…”

“You think I give one single fuck?” He raises his head so they’re nose to nose, Steve nearly going cross-eyed to keep looking at him. Billy pets a hand through his hair, sliding it down to grip at his neck, “you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” And this… this is news to Steve. He’d always assumed they’d gone from outright antagonists to reluctant classmates to tolerant housemates to kind of friends, and yeah sometimes he maybe looked a little too long or laughed a little too hard at one of Billy’s jokes, but that was just, he was just… Billy lowered his mouth back down to his, and all other thoughts flew from Steve’s mind. None of that mattered, now that they’d made it here.

Billy eventually lets Steve up to call into work, poking at his side and absolutely ruining any illusion that he’s home with the flu. An hour later the rumbling of both their stomachs bring them back to the kitchen, which looks absolutely ransacked, complete with a stray dog nosing through Billy’s messenger bag, back door still wide open, and magnets, postcards, and a month old shopping list littering the floor in front of the fridge.

“I’ll take care of this, you make me a new sandwich?” Billy asks, watching as the dog chews on his napkin-wrapped breakfast, the plate where Steve’s had been now cracked and on the floor.

“Sure thing,” he says, going for the stove, but is stopped by a hand on his waist.

“Hey,” he turns to look at Billy, hint of nervousness showing on his face for the first time, “this, is this good?”

Steve smiles and leans in to give him a soft kiss, comfortable, like they’d been dating for years, “Yeah, so very good.”

#harringrove fic #harringrove #My writing #writing prompts #sorry it always takes so long

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callunavulgari · 5 years ago

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Year-In-Fic | 2019

How many fics did you write this year? What was your total wordcount?

This year I wrote 41 fics (technically 40 as the last was published today, but I wrote it in December so I’m counting it), for a total of 96,689 words. For even more interesting numbers, of that 96k, a little over 70k of them were written in the month of October alone, so I’m pretty proud of that.

Fic Roundup!

children of dust and ash | Bartimaeus | Bartimaeus/Kitty(/Nathaniel) | 1,801 words | Kitty summons Bartimaeus on a chilly fall day in her thirty-eighth year.

sweet music playing in the dark | DBH | 1,102 words | “I noticed some time ago that you seem to have an appreciation for jazz.”

Radio Ga Ga | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 1,143 words | There’s always another party in Hawkins, Indiana. It would be almost boring if it weren’t for Steve Harrington.

Sunlight | Marvel | Loki/Thor | 765 words | They aren’t quite out of the solar system when Loki appears at the arm of Thor’s chair, hair shorn short and a furious snarl on his face.

like the bough of a willow tree | Detroit Become Human | Hank/Connor | 1,214 words | There’s a human lost in his woods.

knocking on heaven’s door | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 1,748 words | “Just, get in the fucking car. I’ll drive you home.” Billy looked at him, very seriously, and said, “What if I don’t want to go home?”

no more dreaming like a ghost | KH | Axel/Roxas | 813 words | He is in the kitchen, the stove top still warm under his thighs, and everything smells of cherries. The pie is cooling on the windowsill, the sun slanting in warm and buttery, and it is like a dream. A memory. A wish.

Cheers | DBH | Hankcon | 6,368 words | “Are you coming in or not?”Connor blinks, jerks his eyes up and away from those hands and-The bartender has blue eyes. They match the spinning LED at his temple perfectly.

bury a friend (try to wake up) | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 1,587 words | Steve digs up Billy’s body on a Tuesday.

won’t be too soon ‘til I say… goodnight moon | KH | Riku/Sora | 4,549 words | The house was built in the fall of 1882.

you’ll never know what hit you | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | 5,379 words | “C’mon, ghost,” Shane urges. “Make all my dreams come true. Fuck me up, fam.”

make this chaos count | EOS 10 | Ryan/Akmazian | 724 words | “You really should stop looking for me,” Akmazian tells him, fingers creeping across Ryan’s ribcage, mapping the architecture of his ribs.

eat you up whole | The Witcher | Geralt/Regis | 2,527 words | “How many mouthfuls do you think I could take from you before it had some effect?” Regis whispers, lips against his throat. Geralt can feel the pinprick of fangs. “Four? Six? Ten? More, even?”

forget the horror here | DBH | Hankcon | 4,390 words | “Hello,” the android says, it’s chest heaving, the gleam of its heart brighter, bluer than before.

summoning demons (and other bad first date ideas) | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | 3,868 words | “If I let you out of that circle,” Ryan says, slowly. “Are you going to eat me?”

Itch | The Magnus Archives | Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims | 1,440 words | The boneturner takes from him two ribs - one for him and one for Jon.

the salt water sting | Dishonored | Corvo/Outsider | 2,163 words | The ship wrecks several hundred miles off of the coast of Karnaca.

a skeleton of something more | SGA | Rodney/John | 3,072 words | “John?” he murmurs, still coasting on the pain. His head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, if cotton were also made of glass.

in the woods somewhere | Teen Wolf | Derek/Stiles | 4,570 words | Stiles buys a house in Virginia.

Wake Up | The Magnus Archives | Martin/Jon | 550 words | “If you wake up,” Martin tells him, experimentally. “I won’t go through with it. You can tell me what a stupid idea it was, and we can laugh about it, and everything will be normal.”

Pas de Deux | KH | Axel/Roxas | 506 words | Roxas doesn’t remember what the sky looks like anymore.

try to wake up | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 1,226 words | They do not, in fact, bone down and praise Satan.

too late to come on home | LoZ | Gen | 1,391 words | “You look familiar,” the boy says in his strange, haunting voice. “Are you lost?”

patron saint of the lost causes | Harry Potter | Draco/Harry | 4,203 words | “Can’t you just, y’know,” he waves a hand and makes an obscene gesture, his cheeks flaring red. “Shag it out?”

wouldn’t you like to see something strange? | Teen Wolf | Sterek | 1,571 words | “I’d say you make my heart pound, but well…” Stiles nods meaningfully to his chest, where if you look hard enough between the slots of his ribs, you can see the lump of muscle that once was his heart, pointedly not beating. “You know.”

the night is softly, sweetly calling | Teen Wolf | Sterek | 2,938 words | Here’s the thing that Stiles never tells the Hales: his mother was strange too.

Haunt | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | 1,486 words | Ryan couldn’t remember a time when the world didn’t believe in ghosts.

bite my tongue, bide my time | PJO | Nico/Percy(/Annabeth) | 1,376 words | “What’s wrong with you?” Nico asks, cowering when Percy places a gentle kiss on his collarbone.

Bird Song | Raven Cycle | Ronan/Adam, Gen | 1,445 words | On a dreary Sunday in early January, Ronan dreams himself a pair of wings.

kiss me hard until you’re done | Star Wars | Reylo | 3,082 words | He looks up at her from under heavy lids, dark hair sweeping forward to frame his face. “May I have this dance?”

beauty in the dissonance | Marvel | Tony/Loki | 1,411 words | When Tony dies, it isn’t for forever.

like real people do | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 2,808 words | “I’ve got the sight, man,” he says with a small shrug. “And look, I feel for you. You’re dead and I’m not, and that sucks, but unless you’re planning on doing something about it, I’d really appreciate it if you could stop feeling me up and let me get back to sleep.”

i’d rather drown in your ocean | Naruto | Itachi/Shisui | 1,630 words | The Uchihas are an odd sort. Everyone says so.

catch your breath | The Bright Sessions | Mark/Damien/Sam | 2,588 words | Mark had never assumed in a million years that he would ever see Damien again. He hadn’t factored in zombies.

Nightmare | The Magnus Archives | Martin/Jonathan | 1,424 words | “All right,” he says, taking Jon’s still outstretched hand. “Let’s give the dream what it wants.”

dreaming of the crash | Gravity Falls | Mabel & Dipper | 484 words | When the end of the world comes, they’re under the bed.

don’t we love it now? | Kingdom Hearts | Sora/Riku/Kairi | 1,784 words | When Kairi is eleven years old, she gets lost in the woods.

all this, and love too, will ruin us | Star Wars | Reylo | 1,102 words | Rey is awake to watch the sunrise

open the walls, play with your dolls | Coraline | Coraline/Wybie | 2,886 words | Halloween at the Pink Palace is a lot like any other time of year.

in every golden trace | Queen’s Thief | Costis/Eugenides/Irene | 4,645 words | For as long as Costis can remember, he’s had two names scored across the skin atop his ribs, one on either side of his rib cage, nearly perfect mirrors to one another.

a different kind of danger in the daylight | Shades of Magic | Lila/Kell/Holland | 6,930 words | Sleeping with Holland was never part of the plan.

Best story I wrote this year: Probably the night is softly, sweetly calling. I wrote this for the 18th of October, and it’s the much awaited third part of a Teen Wolf/Addams Family fusion that I wrote back in 2014. A lot of people have asked me to continue this series over the years, but I never did because I felt my writing style had changed too much and then I fell out of the Teen Wolf fandom completely. But I’d written another Teen Wolf fic a few days before (more on this later) and I was just... very nostalgic all of a sudden. My style of writing had changed, but to offset the change of tone, I wrote the story from Stiles’s POV instead of Derek’s and it made all the difference. I was pretty pleased with the result, and hope that it made everyone happy.

What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest. patron saint of the lost causes. There were a couple fics that I think I did a really good job writing this year, the one listed above and below included, but I think that this one was my favorite. Writing Drarry was a surreal experience, because even when I was in the Harry Potter fandom I didn’t really write for it (well, I didn’t publish what I’d written for it) and I was surprised by how easily it came to me. I tried to channel a lot of the feeling of men who had mothers when I was writing this one, because it seemed very right.

Okay, NOW your most popular story. All right, so technically my stats are all messed up this year because when I posted the third part of the Addams/Teen Wolf fusion, I also posted a chapter to Que Sera, Sera since so many people were subscribed to that story. So. From a purely stats standpoint, Que Sera, Sera was the most popular because it has a total of 25,790 hits, 2973 kudos, and 115 comments. BUT, I did not actually write anything new for that one so-

in the woods somewhere was the first fic I’d written for Teen Wolf since I wrote take me to church in August of 2017. It has over 900 kudos and some 5000+ hits. When I decided to do Dark Month this year, I knew that I wanted to revisit some of my old fandoms, so Teen Wolf was always going to be a given. I wrote take me to church as a cathartic goodbye to the show, the fandom, and of course, Stiles and Derek. It was my soft epilogue for the boys.

in the woods somewhere has a very similar feel to it. It’s post-canon, obviously, and features Stiles buying a house in Virginia and Derek slowly working his way back into his life. It is also very much in the ‘soft epilogue’ genre, leaning heavily into the magical Stiles Stilinski trope while maintaining the FBI agent direction canon was leading us in. Also it has a lot of comfort things for me - judicious descriptions of food, a packed witchy cabin in the woods, and warm shower kisses. Story of mine most underappreciated by the universe, in my opinion: Possibly either won't be too soon 'til I say... goodnight moon or all this, and love too, will ruin us. The first of these two fics is almost 5k of spooky season Riku/Sora that was strongly inspired by Uzumaki-sama’s old fic Goodnight Moon. It was the second day of October and my prompts for the day were moon cycles, nightmare, cage, lookalike, mirrors, and glowing eyes, which was just asking for fic exploring doppelgangers and old haunted houses. I loved writing it, and maybe I should have expected it since Kingdom Hearts is such a quiet fandom nowadays, but it honestly stung that it didn’t get more attention.

The second of those fics was a Reylo fic (yes, yes, I know, it’s an awful ship, etc. etc.) that was very much written to be slow and melancholy and kind of surreal. Sometimes my smallest fics are my favorite, and I really liked this one. But alas, some things were not meant to be.

Most fun story to write: I had a whole lot of fun writing summoning demons (and other bad first date ideas). A lot of the fics I wrote this year, particularly during October, were really fun and easy to write. I missed writing every day. This one in particular though was about 4k of Ryan accidentally summoning Shane (the demon) while Shane was standing right next to him in his human suit. It let me play with a lot of body horror tropes that I don’t explore usually, and Buzzfeed Unsolved is a very fun, fresh fandom to dig around in. This is the second of the three (I think it was three, at least) fics that I wrote for the fandom during October and I had so much fun with it.

Story that could have been better? I don’t know about better, but Sunlight and Bird Song were both supposed to be significantly longer. I wrote Sunlight shortly after watching Endgame, and it was always going to be me working my way through my issues with that movie (Loki not really coming back, weird wonky time travel, Thor leaving his people after his whole arc was him learning how to be a good king) but I got distracted and had to go somewhere that day and just never got back to it.

Bird Song is actually a fic I’ve been meaning to write for years. Ages ago (and we are truly talking ages ago, like September 2015 ages ago), @kaikamahine gave me a prompt for E, 17, and hymnal, which basically balanced out to Ronan, churches, and wings. So day 20 of October was going to be Raven Cycle (with such prompts as stacked deck, darkness, wings, and fight fire with fire, it was begging for it) and I was finally going to write Ronan wingfic. It was going to be great. There was going to be Calla and Ronan interaction and found family themes and there was going to be a church, because obviously, but then I wasn’t doing so well and ran out of time, SO. Definitely could have been better.

Story I wrote to fix things: beauty in the dissonance, the 24th fic of October, was a Tony/Loki flavored story where both Tony and Loki are, in fact, alive. Sunlight was written as a direct response to Endgame, even if it was never finished properly. make this chaos count was the 4th day of October, and written because I’m still not fucking over Ryan and Akmazian. And then knocking on heaven’s door was written just after viewing s3 of Stranger Things. It was uh, less of a fix it fic and more a wallow in your grief fic, but it still applies.

Oh, and a different kind of danger in the daylight was technically fix it fic? I’m generally okay with how Shades of Magic ended, despite my favorite character dying because it came off as a good death. However, the recipient of my Yuletide gift wanted no character death and I wanted to write something post-canon, so presto, fix it fic.

Longest completed fic this year: a different kind of danger in the daylight, followed by Cheers. Both are hovering between 6 and 7k, which isn’t technically long, but since about 90% of my fic this year was written over the course of a day each... I’ll take it.

Fandom you enjoyed writing for most this year: I had a lot of fun with Buzzfeed Unsolved and The Magnus Archives, but I also had fun dipping briefly back into Harry Potter and Teen Wolf.

Favorite character you wrote this year: I had way, way too much fun writing Geralt and Regis in eat you up whole. I have literally no idea if it translated into good fic, but it was fun and just shy of porny and I just really like Geralt. I also had a lot of fun writing Lila in the Shades of Magic fic.

Most memorable comment(s) this year: I got two comments from @kaikamahine about a week ago that honestly made my day. @faorism reread one of my older Stranger Things fics and left a comment, which made me reread it, which was just very good. Every single comment I got on the new Teen Wolf fics with some variation of ‘missed you’ or ‘so glad you’re back’ made me fucking melt. The two different comments where the reader wasn’t even familiar with the material, just read and enjoyed because I wrote it. The comment on one of my Stranger Things fics that just reads, “What the FUCK this SLAPPED.” The comment directly above that one that is from one of my favorite writers in the fandom. The several comments on the single PJO fic I wrote this year which were different variations of “oh my gosh it’s you” and “it’s been so long.”

And of course everyone losing their collective shit over some of the grosser October fics. Namely Itch.

Fics you wanted to write but didn’t: For the most part, the fics I wanted to write but didn’t are the same as last year- Sabriel AU, Enjolras/Grantaire fic, found family Dishonored fic, bodyswappying Reylo, Sterek Bioshock and Carmilla AUs which I am likely to post as is sometime next year.

I still want to finish the Castlevania OT3 fic, the giant canon-divergent Bright Sessions AU where years after the series ends, Mark ends up running into Damien again in a small town in the middle of nowhere only to realize that he has a daughter, a farm, a life, and is just so drawn to it that he keeps coming back. I have the Wolf 359 post-canon fic where everyone has feelings and found family is a general theme and maybe Eiffel smooches an AI. I also have the smuttier Wolf 359 fic that’s been lurking in the back of my head for months where Eiffel and Kepler er, basically eiffel tower Jacobi.

Oh, and I have the Reylo fic where Rey (and Ben, through the bond) sit through General Organa’s funeral and keep coming back to each other afterwards. And that Final Fantasy 15 fic where Dino and Noctis do the nasty. And the Hera & Jacobi fic from October. And uh, the post episode 9 fic that’s been lurking about in my brain.

Oddest story: Probably i’d rather drown in your ocean? It was pretty spot on aesthetically for me, but it was weird to write Itachi and Shisui again, especially in a strange modern day vampire context? Also Itch and Nightmare were both Magnus Archive fics that were super gross (Itch) and just plain spooky and bizarre (Nightmare) but they were so fun to write. Hardest story to do: Cheers gave me some trouble initially but got a lot easier as I went on. I hit writer’s block pretty bad with the Shades of Magic fic too, but that seems to be what happens when I come up on deadlines. Easiest story to write? Most of October’s fics were a blast to write and super easy besides. Basically all of the Kingdom Hearts, Stranger Things, and Teen Wolf fic. And the Buzzfeed Unsolved.

Most mining of your own history in one story: Probably either open the walls, play with your dolls or no more dreaming like a ghost. Not in any way that really matters, but there are a couple familiar details.

Themes, or absence thereof: Mostly either spooky scary things or fix it fics. Sometimes both.

Where did you publish/archive your stories? Ao3, as per usual. Story I haven’t yet written, but intend to: The only thing that I currently have planned is the post episode 9 fic and a couple things that I’ve had planned for a while that may or may not come out.

Sexiest moment (excerpt): “How many mouthfuls do you think I could take from you before it had some effect?” Regis whispers, lips against his throat. Geralt can feel the pinprick of fangs. “Four? Six? Ten? More, even?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Geralt murmurs, and Regis laughs.

“I would,” he agrees.

“So, why don’t you find out instead of boring me with all the details?”

Regis pulls away from his throat, far enough that Geralt can meet his eyes again. He swallows at what he finds there. Amusement, yes, but also hunger, brighter than the moonlight reflecting in his eyes.

“A taste, first, I think,” Regis says in a low, cool voice, and then closes the space between them.

Geralt had forgotten the blood on his lip, but he remembers it when Regis catches him in an open-mouthed kiss. It’s wet and bruising, and Geralt is responding before he remembers he shouldn’t, fighting back the only way he knows how with the rest of him indisposed. He claws at him, bites at him, and the vampire laughs when Geralt catches his plump lower lip between his teeth and bites down. Regis gives his mouth one last darting swipe of the tongue before he is pulling away.

There’s a flare of color high on Regis’s cheeks and his ears are distinctly more pointed than they were five minutes ago, the sclera of his eyes gone red.

“Can’t say I’ve ever been bitten by a human before,” Regis tells him, leaning close like he’s divulging a secret. “It’s a rather exhilarating experience.”

“I’m all for a repeat experience,” Geralt quips, eyes narrowed. “Lean in just a little and we can see if I can manage to tear off your lips before you rip out my throat.”

“Please,” she whispers, and feels herself quiver like a taut bowstring when he touches her mouth gently, with the very tips of his fingers.

He smiles and leads her away, through the demons and goblins and fae that she came here to kill.

They make it as far as the parking lot before he is hitching her up the side of a gleaming Mercedes, hooking her legs around his shoulders, and hiking her skirts up over her thighs so he can duck his head beneath them. His fingers linger for a moment on the silver of the knives strapped securely to her thigh, and then he is reaching in, guiding her underwear to the side and getting his mouth on her, right where she wants it.

She must make some kind of noise, because he chuckles, tongue circling her clit in a slow, languid way that makes her think that he is savoring her, that he likes the taste of her on his tongue.And he must, because she knows what he is. Knows that just as he’s savoring the taste of her, he is eating her, feeding off of her want like the things that she hunts in the dark feed off of blood and marrow and souls. She knows, but it isn’t enough to stop her from tilting her head back, gasping for him, the distant wink of streetlights and stars so far away.

He makes her come with his mouth on her, with his fingers inside her, and even as she’s shaking around him, she knows that it isn’t enough. She wants more, wants to feel the heavy press of him inside around, wants to kiss his lips and taste herself on his tongue.

“Please,” she says, her thighs shaking, and he laughs, pulling away and easing her down, until her legs are looped around his waist instead of her shoulders. He reaches between them, and she knows what’s happening beneath her skirts, knows that he’s getting his cock out of his pants and pressing it against her, can feel it as he sinks slowly into her, the tight fit of it so sweet, so perfect that it makes her ache.

“You’re lovely,” he whispers, kissing her shoulders and fucking into her slow, a teasing stretch that makes her mouth water, makes her twitch.

“Is this what you wanted?” Hank jeers, one finger circling the rim of Connor’s hole. There’s a flush of angry blue across his cheeks. His hair is coming loose from its usually immaculate tail, curling against his forehead. His eyes are blue. His LED is not. “To lay back and take it? From a fucking machine?”

Connor whines, back arching as Hank dips the tip of his thumb inside, just enough to hold him open.

“That is it, isn’t it?” Hanks says softly. There’s a touch of triumph to his gaze as he fucks Connor open on his thumb. Something mean, too. Disdain, slowly unfurling in the curve of his lips. He shakes his head. “All this time, coming to this bar. Talking to me like you thought I was some kind of human, and you just wanted something like me to hold you up and take you apart.”

“No,” Connor gasps, but can’t help the twist of his hips when Hank adds another finger.

“No?” Hank says with a laugh. “Look at you.”

Connor’s cock jerks against his belly as Hank drags his pants the rest of the way down his thighs. They make it as far as his knees before they tangle, stuck on his shoes. His cheeks feel hot, and he- god, he wants to protest. Wants to say that Hank’s got it all wrong, that this is more. That he’s more.

But then Hank is flipping him over, until the arm of the couch is digging firmly into his belly, his ass high in the air. Hank pulls his fingers out, then leans over and spits, the cool slippery slide of the saliva trailing down the curve of his ass.

“All right, Connor,” he says. “This what you want? I’ll give it to you.”

No, Connor should say. It isn’t like that.

Instead, he says, “Please.”

Crackiest moment (excerpt):

“Did you just sneak into my house?” Stiles breathes, absurdly charmed.

Derek’s in his human disguise, everything dangerous about him hidden away from view, lurking just under the surface. He gives Stiles a look, and says, “Don’t be weird about it.”

He shuts the door behind him.

“I’ve got a nice monster knocking on my door just before the witching hour,” Stiles tells him playfully, making room for Derek to take a seat next to him. “How am I not supposed to be weird about that?”

Derek does something akin to rolling his eyes, the flames doing a little shimmy around the circumference of his eye sockets. He leans back against Stiles’s headboard, seemingly unconcerned that their sides are pressed together. Derek’s skin is very warm, human warm, and Stiles is all bones. He sucks up the warmth greedily.

“I’d say you make my heart pound, but well…” Stiles nods meaningfully to his chest, where if you look hard enough between the slots of his ribs, you can see the lump of muscle that once was his heart, pointedly not beating. “You know.”

“What’s the local legend about this thing?” Shane asks, hopping up onto the throne easily and spreading out, eyes on the night sky. He looks good. He always looks good, but Ryan likes him best like this, out here with the moonlight shining down on them and the camera catching all his best angles.

As Ryan watches, he blinks, and turns to look at Ryan, puzzled. “Ryan?”

Ryan clears his throat. “The locals say that if you make a wish while sitting on her throne, the witch will grant it.”

Shane gives him a wicked smile and hums a few bars of Genie in a Bottle. Ryan chokes out a laugh, crossing the space between them until he’s leaning up against the side of the throne himself.

Shane closes his eyes. “I wish, I wish with all my might, please dear god, let there be ghosts here this night.”

Ryan holds his breath.

“C’mon, ghost,” Shane urges. “Make all my dreams come true. Fuck me up, fam.”

All around them, the world is still.

Shane cracks an eye open and squints at him. “Did it work?”

“Jon?” someone asks, and Jon blinks.

Martin is standing before him. He’s wearing something out of another time, a costume of silken breeches with a well-cut waistcoat of a rich, opalescent blue. There’s a puffy cravat hugging his neck, and polished buckled shoes on his feet. Jon almost expects him to be wearing a wig, but his hair is the one thing that’s been left untouched, hanging loose around his chin.

“Martin?” Jon asks.

Martin seems to take him in, his eyes running slowly down Jon’s body, lingering at his wrists, his waist, his thighs. It’s a bold sort of move, one that Martin would never be half so blatant about if he were awake.

“You, er. Look nice,” Martin says, and Jon glances down at himself.

He’s sure that moments ago he’d been wearing the same thing he’d worn to the office, shabby coat, mostly clean shirt, a pair of nondescript trousers that didn’t have any stains. But now, he finds himself in a dress. The gown is long and brilliantly red, the skirts heavy around his thighs. There are embroidered patterns reminiscent of roses along the bodice and down the front of his petticoat.

“Well, shit,” he mutters, still staring. Experimentally, he moves his hips, and finds that the skirts swish obligingly with the movement.

“Yes, well,” Martin murmurs, cheeks flushing horribly. “You always did look rather good in red.”

“In red-” Jon repeats in horror. “Martin, I’m in a gown.”

Favorite dialogue (excerpt):

“Are you ever going to stop looking for me?” Akmazian asks him one night.

Ryan is tired. Akmazian is a shadowed figure in the dark that he tries not to look at too closely, because if he does, Akmazian will be gone.

“Maybe,” Ryan tells him, and turns over onto his side. Away from the shadow, the ghost.

The bed dips under the weight of a person who isn’t really there, and Ryan can feel Akmazian’s breath on the back of his neck, warm and damp.

“Don’t touch me,” Ryan says, and means, I don't want this to end yet.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it, darlin',” Akmazian murmurs back, then drags his lips over the back of his neck anyway, just to be contrary. Ryan swallows, his throat dry, tongue thick in his mouth. He clenches his fingers in the sheets, eyes squeezed so tightly shut that his vision stains red behind his eyelids.

“Please,” Ryan says.

“You really should stop looking for me,” Akmazian tells him, fingers creeping across Ryan’s ribcage, mapping the architecture of his ribs.

“I know.”

“You’re never going to find me.”

Ryan laughs. “Never say never.”

There is silence behind him and then, “Ryan. Please. You’re hurting yourself.”

Ryan trembles a little when a hand lands on his hip, just this side of too solid.

“Don’t care.”

“You’re hurting the stars.”

Ryan is silent for a moment. Then, “I just miss you.”

A sigh.

“I know,” Akmazian murmurs, and leans over to place a kiss on Ryan’s forehead. “I miss you too.”

Ryan opens his eyes, turns to look, and like always, Akmazian is gone.

“Look,” Potter says, audibly slurring. “I’ve had an idea.”

Draco crosses his arms. “And what, pray tell, is this idea of yours, Potter?”

Potter leans forward, using a hand to prop himself up, until he’s well into Draco’s personal space. He smells like beer and whiskey, and his cheeks and jaw are more beard than stubble.

“Break your curse with me,” he breathes, a hand settling atop Draco’s blanket-clad knee.

Draco swallows. “I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

“No, look,” Potter says, leaning in even closer, eyes a bit wild. “We can just… you know.”

“No, Potter,” Draco tells him. “I don’t know.”

But he does. He really does.

“You know,” Potter says again. “Shag it out.”

“I think that you’re confusing things again,” Draco says tiredly. He sets the book on the nightstand next to him. “Remember the terms of the curse? Love, Potter. Not sex.”

Potter’s nose wrinkles. “But sex is part of love. Usually, anyway. It’ll work, I know it.”

“It won’t,” Draco insists, slapping Potter’s hand away when it begins to wander up his thigh. “Do you really think that I didn’t shag my wife before she left me? Because I did. We tried for years. Years, Potter. Trust me, if the curse were going to break because of a fuck, it would have happened well before now.”

Potter blinks at him, his eyes wide. There’s a ruddy flush on his cheeks, and Draco’s not sure if he likes it.

“We could at least try,” Potter says, almost gently. He doesn’t touch Draco again, but he looks like he wants to, hand trembling where it lays on the bedspread.

It feels like there’s glass in Draco’s throat. He is so, so tempted. Here is what he wanted - or at least part of it - Potter in his bed begging to fuck him, and he’s going to have to send him away.

“I think you should leave,” he tells him, and Potter’s mouth shuts with a click.

Favorite lines (excerpt):

“Relax,” he croons, stroking her fingers before he pulls away. “Your secret is safe with me. Most of this crowd knows that I’m not on speaking terms with that side of my family. They won’t suspect you because of me.”

Her face is flushed, either from rage or humiliation. Possibly both.

“So you-”

“Yes,” he says, fingers dropping to caress the fabric of her gown, swirling a thumb around the sweeping petals of an embroidered rose. His gaze is sly, a bit predatory when he glances back up at her. “I know what you have under this pretty skirt of yours.”

Rey’s breath catches, and she feels something- a slow trickle of heat seeping in to pool around her navel. She shifts, thighs sliding together, and hopes that he can’t smell her.

“Just as I know exactly what you’re doing right now,” she tells him in a hard whisper, jerking away from his grip on her elbow.

His eyes widen, affecting a look of innocence - a ‘who me?’ - that isn’t quite as effective when his lips are also curling up into a slow, pleased smirk.

“And what exactly am I doing?” he asks, his eyes laughing at her.

She glares at him. That seems to be enough of a reply, because he chuckles before taking possession of her arm again and pulling her smoothly towards the dance floor. Once they’ve reached the edge of it, he stops, dropping her elbow in favor of dipping into a low, courtly bow.

He looks up at her from under heavy lids, his hair sweeping forward to frame his face. “May I have this dance?”

The dance floor is crowded, full to the brim of masked people sweeping by in jewel-bright dresses and dark suits. She knows not to - knows that this place is a lot like fae courts of old. You don’t eat the food, you don’t drink the wine, and you definitely don’t dance.

But she’s already drank the wine, so she might as well dance.

The ship wrecks several hundred miles off of the coast of Karnaca. The storm that ends them is a rare sort, fiercer than most, a huge bank of dark clouds that seems to come from the void itself, blooming on the horizon like a warning. The lightning cracks the world asunder, thunder deafening, but it's the wind and waves that will always be a ship’s downfall.

Corvo watched the wave approach, saw its frothing white caps and the way it had stretched, higher and higher, until it loomed over the ship.

They never had a chance, and by the time the wave came crashing down, Corvo was already holding his breath.

Much of what he remembers after are mere snippets: the gulping suck of the water around him, broken pieces of the ship spinning by along with those of the crew who were unlucky enough to be caught by the ship’s pull, sucked down into the void, devoured by the whale god himself. He remembers his first gasp of air once he’d surfaced, the tang of brine and salt heavy on his tongue as wave after wave battered his body.

He doesn’t think that most of the crew survived the first few minutes much less the whole night, and he is certainly alone when the sun blossoms on the horizon hours later, clinging to a piece of ship the size of his torso and kicking relentlessly towards the dawn.

Corvo grew up on the coast, his hair stiff with salt from the ocean breeze. He grew up in and out of the water, hauling cargo or gutting fish on the docks. He’s familiar with the ocean - how the pull of the tides work, which days its best to avoid the dock, how to escape the sea’s wrath when a riptide or an undercurrent tries its damndest to drown you.

So he knows that his chances of making it to land are slim. But Corvo has always been stubborn, his legs have always been strong, and his story is far from finished.

Stiles buys a house in Virginia. It’s a modest thing close to Quantico, but not too close, tucked away into the heart of the wooded Appalachians. The bones of the house is all stonework and sturdy dark wood, a rickety wraparound porch bracketing the house on all sides. The first thing that he’d bought for it were two overpriced rocking chairs he’d gotten from the nearest Cracker Barrel.

Over the course of a year, he fills the house with things. A soft, dark gray sofa. Several solid end tables. A pair of emerald lamps he gets from an antique shop. A moss-green throw that is warm as a hug when it’s wrapped around his shoulders in the dead of winter. His living room is a bit too mountain man chic, but he likes the way that it looks when he’s coming home from a long day at the academy, warm and inviting.

He gets his bed set from a woodworker a couple dozen miles down the road, a man with a gruff bristled gray face and a warm smile, who trades Stiles the custom set for some warding and a couple bottles of what he calls, ‘miracle elixir.’ The set is sturdy mahogany, a pair of wolves carved across the top of the curving headboard, runes filling the gaps between them. The chest of drawers and dresser are just as solid, and Stiles has to hire movers to help him get everything back to the house.

The bulky rednecks decked out in worn flannel that help him with it carefully avoid looking at the runes of the headboard, their eyes skittering away from the carvings like frightened rabbits. They exchange apprehensive looks when they see the herbs drying over the sink in his kitchen, but to their credit, stay quiet and hightail it out of the place when he pays them. Here in the Appalachian backwoods, no one talks about magic, but everyone knows it exists.

Stiles has people over every once in a while - flies his dad and Scott in from California, has Lydia drive down from Boston, or Kira from North Carolina - but mostly, he’s alone. It’s a strange thing to get used to, the silence of the nights out here, where the night sky is bright and clear enough to see the stars above him, not a hint of light pollution to be seen, and the trees rustling in a quiet wind is almost louder than the hoots and hollers of the local wildlife.

He’d thought it would be lonely, and to be fair, sometimes it is.

Some nights he comes home and collapses back onto his sofa, and would do anything to be right down the road from Scott and Melissa and his dad again. He has days where he craves Melissa’s pozole or his dad’s meatloaf so badly that he can taste the heat of it on his tongue.

But mostly, the quiet is nice.

He cooks himself soups that simmer in the slow cooker while he’s at the academy and roasts that he makes on the weekends. He experiments with food the way he never used to back in Beacon Hills, where he had his dad’s heart to worry about if he made anything, and fast food which was easier to grab when he didn’t. He takes a world tour through his kitchen - homemade pierogi, hearty paella, steaming pirozhki, spicy-smelling curries, and hand rolled sushi. The first time that he makes his own bread in the ancient oven that came with the house, the smell of it coming fresh out of the oven is so good that he nearly cries.

It’s three winters into living there before he hears a scratching at his door in the middle of the night, and when he goes to investigate, finds a large black wolf on his doorstep.

It’s favoring one of its paws, dark fur matted on one side of its head where he can dimly make out a sluggishly bleeding gash. It blinks at him, eyes glowing a bright, familiar blue, and Stiles spends a minute watching it before he smiles and steps aside.

Fic goals: Hey Heather, it was only 800 words, but you did technically write something original. Now, let’s do something original that’s a little longer. And while we’re at it, let’s do something novel length.

#heather says what #heather writes #2019 #new year's memes

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