nancywrote

[nancywrote]

“remember me” benrey/gordon

this fic hhh i blurted it out in a rush but i tried my best (also the title is COMPLETELY pooped out) and idk if it’d fit on ao3 so i’m posting it here first in case..... it’s an angsty one i’m sorry hh

000

Remember me.

Benrey runs his knuckles across Gordon’s face gently, as though feeling him with his fingertips would be too real, too close, and he can’t handle that. He just can’t, when Gordon closes his eyes like that and breathes far too caringly.

With every breath, Gordon’s hands get dangerously close to Benrey’s own, and he rips his own away to hold them to his chest. The blanket of lashes part to reveal green eyes, confused and with too much light despite how much light they’d taken out of Benrey enough.

“I don’t remember, Benrey,” Gordon whispers. Croaks. Like he doesn’t understand what’s going on right now, like he’s talking to some kid and telling them a secret, like he doesn’t know.

“I want you back,” Benrey manages, as evenly as possible through that sheen of vulnerability in his voice. His shaky breaths betray him, a direct juxtaposition to Gordon’s calm and consistent one. They’re too close, so Benrey pulls back a little, doesn’t try to catch those green eyes watching his every move. The rain drowns out his thoughts.

“I never got to say bye.”

It goes static after that, the rain filling both their ears and the sounds of cars passing by taking their thoughts with them. Nothing’s exchanged, nothing’s gained. Nothing’s different.

This can’t be real.

And it’s not long before Benrey remembers, the rain’s not touching his cheeks.

“Don’t cry, Ben. I’m --” Gordon takes a sharp inhale, seems to lose all train of thought. “You deserve better.”

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

But his voice doesn’t pick up, he doesn’t look at Gordon to say no, I want you, because he knows. He knows it’s not true, he knows it is. He knows it’s wrongfully true. He knows it’s the best outcome.

He wants to tell him, I care about you. He wants to say all those words and sentences that he built up in his head in his own little world from the day they played in the sand to the day Gordon moved. Wants to hold that sun kissed face in his palms, pepper kisses where the moon and the shadows shine, run his lips along the ridge of his jaw and shell of his ears, get his fingers tangled in the mess of auburn locks and lost in there forever.

But most of all, he wants to say, I love you.

But he can’t look up.

And the rain’s not touching his cheeks, it’s his own tears. And it’s like, he’s gonna do something. Something bad. Something he’ll regret.

Instead of running off like he should, or staying quiet until Gordon has to go, he lets slip a question.

“.... did you have any friends?”

The way Gordon responds makes him think that maybe he was the one who had the wrong memories.

“Yeah, my best friend, Kenneth.”

Kenneth spat in your face when you hung out with me, and you gave him the finger.

Without incentive, Gordon continues, “we never fought. I don’t remember you, Benrey.”

“But I don’t have to, right? Remember you? I -- I can still -- you know, right now. I can still do that. It won’t change, we’re just… one off.”

Benrey finally dares looking up, and Gordon looks more distressed now. It brings some satisfaction, but pulls at his heart. They both know they won’t get out of this.

“I can -- I can still lo --”

“-- don’t say it,” he cuts him off.

“Benrey, please, just -- just this once. Just this once.” Gordon’s hand, without meaning to, brushes against Benrey’s side and he flinches.

“Don’t say you care. Don’t tell me you… love me. Don’t.”

The rain, once penetrating, dulls to a sweet nothing, giving too much room for Benrey’s thoughts. Too much room to realize.

Just this once.

And God, it hurts to analyse, but it hurts even more to realize that this could be it.

“But I do,” Gordon says, too easily. And it hurts.

Benrey feels his heart slowly sink, feels himself losing sight of everything.

“I know,” Benrey lies. I wanna hear it from the Gordon I knew.

The Gordon I loved.

And of course, this Gordon shifts awkwardly in place. They’ve been there, standing, for far too long and Gordon doesn’t know what’s going on. He never knows what’s going on. 

And, Benrey can’t control it. The hate that boils in him. The anger and betrayal that he wasn’t worth a single room in Gordon’s mind. What happened? Why him?

So he says, “Leave.”

“Benrey.”

“Leave.”

The rain’s gone.

The pavement’s wet, mixing with Benrey’s tears that fall. He can’t control it, that’s what he tells himself.

He can’t take it.

“I can’t, Gordon, I don’t want this. I can’t have this. If I couldn’t have you before, how… how can I have you now? You’re not the one I love. You’re not --”

It’s a lie.

It’s a complete lie.

He loves Gordon. So much.

Too much.

But he wants him to go.

And it hurts him, he feels like he’s betraying himself, he’s pissing himself off, and he can feel how broken Gordon feels. For all the wrong reasons.

He breathes, “You’re not… my Gordon.”

“I’m not yours,” Gordon echoes numbly.

“You’re not…” he trails off, afraid to complete it. Afraid to sign his contract.

“... not yours,” Gordon finishes anyways.

And it hurts.

What hurts more, is hearing a choked okay come from those beautiful lips.

Hearing an umbrella be weakly tossed by his feet.

Smelling the strong cologne fade from his senses.

And then, it hurts,

so much.

To hear, from those lips that could’ve been his,

“I’m sorry I’m not the one you wanted to love. I’m sorry I ever did love you, actually.”

And somewhere in there, a goodbye is buried.

And it hurts.

To look up with bleary eyes, and find nobody there.

#hlvrai #half life vr but the ai is self aware #half life vr self aware ai #benrey #gordon freeman #my fic #fanfic #angst #ILY SORRY

[nancywrote]

oh my GODD!! :000000 this is AMAZING i love the way you drew this sm!!! i’m so honored asudfhbkzs thANK YOUUU I HAVE NO WORDS AAA THIS CAPTURED THE SCENE PERFECTLY AAEAHBDKFGJSNFGHSB THANK YOU i love this oh m y godhs i’m weeping

have an illustration to this wonderful fic by @nancywrote: archiveofourown.org/works/23994289  it’s just so cute and I’ve read it several times because of how cute it is!

#this is amazing #oh my goshhh #thank you so much i'm so happy!! :D #this brought a huge smile to my face!!! #<3333333333333333

[nancywrote]

“flame masked lips” harringrove

a little shorter than what i’m used to, also a lil poetic, but i decided to put it here since i thought it’d fit with its length! POV from billy :)

references to burns/fire

~~ ----- ~~

steve had the lips of a model.

except, not really, because no model has ever had lips as appealing and hypnotizing as harrington’s. to billy, at least, those lips were so irresistible.

in practice, whenever billy caught steve with labored breathing, his eyes were always drawn to the source of the sounds. the mouth, ever so welcoming, so agape. it would make billy swallow with want. a cold burn in the pit of his stomach that made him unable to tear his eyes away from those lips, rendering him breathless, imagining how much more breathless he’d get if he got to suffocate in those clouds of pink.

he’s a fool for steve, he knows that. it’s not just the lips, but shit, it’s something he can’t resist. steve has the face and the body and the personality that reminds billy that he was just made to break his heart, and billy couldn’t have his heart broken. no, he didn’t want that. he doesn’t break hearts either, every girl knows what he wants and they let him have it. he doesn’t care about them, but he doesn’t break them. not in the way harrington’s able to break him.

those thin veils of makeup are barely visible to anyone, but to billy it is. the lipstick, he notices each change in shade every morning. takes note of how much redder steve’s lips are sometimes, like fire, and sometimes they’re pinker or darker.

naturally, they’re just pink. but a pretty shade of pink. billy thinks red fits, though. those lips are masked with flames, the dirty blonde can’t get close or ever touch, but he can feel the heat and the way they move and look just take his breath away completely. so entrancing. so inviting. they’re fire, in the way they feel near billy’s ears when steve’s coming in to whisper something, in the way billy wants to recoil from how scalding they are just hovering near him, feels like they’ve made their mark, branded him without even touching.

god, he was a burn victim from steve’s lips. he only wishes he could engulf himself in that heat.

can’t get too close. can’t touch. but he watches, and steve never sees.

when billy catches harrington licking his lips, wetting the flames, it only gets worse. with the sheen, the tongue, everything, it spreads the heat throughout billy’s body and the smoke covers any hint of rational thinking. clouds his mind and all he can see is steve, and those mocking lips. even when he looks away, he still finds his words escaping him. and all he can taste is copper. if steve were to just call him over, to just ask him to help him with those burning lips, billy would find his on the brunette’s in an instant. no questions asked. and either the fire will take him whole and he’ll drown in its heat, or the flame will die down and leave a tingly feeling in its wake. he never knew, he just wanted to feel it on him. so damn bad. could never get away. the smoke covered all the exits, he’d reason.

but he was a moth, he was sweating with vapor and he was thirsting to burn so damn good. it wasn’t only steve’s lips, it was his touch, sending electricity up his arm and choking him with shock. it was his body, drowning billy in lust and desire and blurring his vision with air bubbles rising to the surface full of his deepest and darkest secrets and if billy ever dared to stay under its spell for longer he was afraid the bubbles would finally find its way to the very top of the ocean and burst with all of his wants. it was steve’s eyes, tying a rope around billy’s throat and handcuffing him to his side in hopes that maybe someday, harrington would give all his oxygen back from his mouth and look into billy’s eyes again. it was steve’s voice, radiating with toxins anytime he was speaking, leading billy just that little bit closer to going crazy and gets his skin burning and if steve were to just ask with that stupidly intoxicating voice of his, he’d peel his skin off and let himself go completely. it was steve, who brought billy just so much closer to death with every little thing he did. it was steve, who drove his psyche up the wall and made his heart ripe with love and desire. it was steve who tangled him in life threatening situations, made the danger feel like it was worth it and triggered his adrenaline rush just by being there.

it was steve’s flame-masked lips that he got to fully experience last.

and when they pressed against his icy cold ones, the heat engulfed him and steam slipped from between them. the burn was like a coffee, it was hot but it was good and it lent him all the crazy energy he needed so desperately. it melted him, it turned him to ashes, it effectively and most definitely made billy realize he was totally and utterly fucked when it came to steve harrington.

and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things steve #stranger things billy #st3 #harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #fanfic #my fic #:) #i'm getting more into smth else so i havent been posting/updating my current stranger things stories and i feel BAD iahdfgvjnxckmv

[nancywrote]

This may be a bit self-serving, but this would be an excellent time for fanfic readers who don’t normally do so to get in the habit of leaving comments on fics.

If someone’s fic is helping you get through a tough time, tell them. Chances are, the author is going through a tough time too. Knowing that your hard work is helping someone, even if it’s years after you wrote the piece, can be a bigger bright spot in someone’s day than you might realize.

Furthermore, many authors now have more time on their hands, but like everyone else, may be battling through the mental haze of fear and uncertainty. Writing can help the writer as much as the finished product helps the reader.

A bit of positive encouragement may be just what your favorite writer needs to overcome the anxiety haze and instead rekindle their joy in telling stories, at the time when they too need it most.

#this!! #i haven't been able to read much fics with my onslaught of real things to catch up on because of quarantine #but i really do appreciate comments (i check them whenever i'm available #usually after or during writing in my free time) #and i wanna get out of my shell and start commenting on other author's works too when i get the opportunity! #there are so many amazing works by cool people with such intricate details or simple styles that i admire and look up to greatly #and i can't wait to show my gratefulness for them :DDD #especially in a time like this #i dont usually rb things either haha oop #nancy writes in tags

[nancywrote]

i wrote a thing about billy indulging in “dirty business”/a bad industry and steve being thrown into it, but idk if i should post it (even if i should post it here or on ao3) because i’m not quite sure on how i stand on it yet, as well as it feels more like a beginning to a whole story and i don’t think i’d be able to update daily D: but i do wanna bring it out, i just don’t know if i should here or on ao3 first and if i’ll be willing to try and put my time into updating it every day A

just a mindless babble here! still thinking, i’ll probably have it up by the end of the day inevitably because i’m liKE THAT but regardless

#nancy writes #idk K #the premise is just if i should put it here first #or on ao3 #and also if i put it out i'm afraid of being expected to update every day and #reAL LIFE WON'T LET ME DO THAT #HECK #i'm thinkin hard #might delete later

[nancywrote]

do you believe in ghosts?

Steve’s a bit paranoid at times for no reason at all, it leads him to pulling all-nighters pretty often. Billy, on the other hand, stays up in fear of something completely different. They meet in the middle.

(4k words, originally posted on AO3 but I moved it here! hope you enjoy!)

Let’s be clear.

Steve doesn’t believe in ghosts.

Or aliens.

He’s very much a stick-to-the-science type of guy, especially with Dustin’s insistence on facts and just generally he’s been left alone for long enough in his life to know his house isn’t haunted, and there’s not really any factual evidence that ghosts or aliens exist.

But his parents leave him alone a lot, and his house is big and dark and Steve’s never gotten any sort of comfort or reassurance growing up for the dark corners or the rooms he’s never allowed in.

He’s been scared, because he’s been alone.

That’s all.

The dark shadows cave in on him when he’s asleep, they creep into his room from the halls and his window scares him because yeah, ghosts don’t come from windows but aliens do and intruders as well.

But, again, he doesn’t believe in aliens.

Intruders are very likely, that’s all.

Somehow, that thought still scares him. He’s defenseless, he’s weak, he’s young.

And nobody would be there to hear him or find him.

But every night, the shadows come in and Steve refuses to use his nightlight or turn the hall lights on because that’s childish and he’s not a child. The nightlight’s not even supposed to be there, his mom took it away when he was eight because she deemed him ‘brave enough’ when he managed to start pretending he was fine and no longer paranoid after their longest trip yet.

He just didn’t want to disappoint her, he didn’t want to embarrass her and he wanted to grow up and get over it.

But the house is just so big, and dark, and empty.

And Steve’s always alone.

The only people that know of his paranoia are Dustin, Nancy, Jonathan, and Billy.

Dustin found out purely by coincidence, stumbled in at night to creep up on Steve to plan a surprise party for El. Steve was aware he’d come, but he forgot in his tired haze that he gave him spare keys and then Dustin walked in on him curled up on the couch with the TV blasting and blankets surrounding him.

He was fully decked out, bat nearby as well as his phone and laptop right by his head, and an array of water bottles on the table as well as a good selection of snacks to keep him company.

Nancy, when she and him made up, found him crying in his closet because he felt anxiety creep up his spine when he thought he heard a whisper and his window was a little bit open and he was too afraid to make noise so he jumped in his closet and hid in the clothes and squeezed his eyes and sobbed silently trying to calm his nerves.

He didn’t want to admit how scared he was, he tried to pretend he was just remembering bad things or he fell into the closet, but Nancy saw through it. She was so patient and accepting, she was so caring and even offered to stay some nights.

Some nights, when it gets bad, she does.

Jonathan found out through Nancy, but Steve trusts him now. Jonathan sometimes joins and they’d have nice little sleepovers where they challenge themselves to cook or do arts and crafts or follow DIY tutorials on youtube or something. It’s always fun.

Billy…

That was a hard one.

Steve’s not quite sure how or when it started.

They were enemies at first, anytime they were in a room together it was almost impossible for either of the two to emerge from it unscathed or calm. Billy picks, Steve ignores, Billy pushes, Steve gets angry. Fight ensues.

But that’s not what they really came to be, because now Billy’s the one he goes to a lot more than Nancy on the days he knows the nights are gonna be particularly rough.

Because Billy’s always up at night, always ready for a text or a call and always listening or talking when necessary, never hurting. And they don’t fight, they compromise.

They hated each other, then Steve snapped and ripped Billy apart with words and then Billy didn’t show up for a week and everyone spread rumors that he’d moved back to Cali or that he was too much of a pussy, but Max knew better and by the second half of the next week, Billy was back and biting his tongue whenever Steve was around and even offering him his notes in English.

And then they saw each other at the arcade and Billy gave him a small smile at Max’s side, and Steve went wild with how genuine it was.

It was a slow and subtle development, but Billy got better and Steve kept pushing all the while trying to be as patient as possible. It’s worth it, because now they talk a lot and Billy listens a lot and…

Steve’s feeling scared tonight.

He left a window open and unlocked again earlier, and like an idiot, he left his door unlocked when he left for school and when he came back he damn near had a heart attack.

He searched the whole house (save for the rooms he wasn’t allowed in, they were locked), and spent hours looking through cabinets and drawers and then Nancy texted him and came over to help make sure it was okay. He felt bad, but he was relieved and she had been wanting to come over anyways, it had been awhile.

She made him feel better with jokes and little distractions of hey, what’s this? followed by weird stuff he made as a child that she found littered around in drawers. For the most part, they were alien-related, sporty, or renditions of his parents.

They were very dorky.

And also, he didn’t believe in aliens by the way.

He doesn’t believe in aliens. Obviously.

But tonight he’s alone again, because Nancy had to leave early, and when Steve found that one window unlocked later on all the blood rushed to his head and he nearly passed out because he couldn’t remember if he opened it or not.

He closed it, and it was loud.

So he’s hiding, bedroom door locked, bottom of his bed stuffed with spare pillows and boxes covered with blankets, and snacks and three water bottles by his side. He’s considering buying a mini fridge to keep in every room he uses as his hiding spot.

But his laptop’s there, but it’s charging across the room and even though his closet’s slits have been duct taped and the window’s right next to his laptop shining a sweet moonlight onto it, it’s raining and he’s terrified.

Because he’s also heard of the Boogeyman.

But he doesn’t believe in it, because that’s stupid.

He’s not a child.

And, he doesn’t misbehave. The Boogeyman would never target him.

But, he cussed out some guy in gym yesterday, and maybe karma’s harsher than it is. Maybe he was lucky all the nights before, and he’s just signed his contract now.

But that’s stupid, because he doesn’t believe in the Boogeyman.

But what if the guy sneaks into the house, steals his stuff, and decides he wants more?

But that’s also stupid, because Steve knows that the man’s a sweetheart and probably didn’t even hear his stupid stress-fueled insult.

But also, anybody can come in.

The house is big, it has many windows and doors and…

A shiver runs down Steve’s spine, and he quickly grabs his phone, checking for any texts.

When it lights up all he can see is his background, a picture of him and Robin hogging her neighbor’s cat. No messages.

So he quickly tries to tap on Youtube, but his hands are too sweaty and shaky and they open up his contacts instead.

And Billy’s right there.

And Billy’s always up.

Steve gulps, takes a quick glance around his well-lit room, shudders when he looks at the window and quickly clicks on Billy’s contact.

His fingers work quicker than his brain.

Hey hargrove

It’s simple, it’s quick, he’s taken away all the extra sentences leading into rambles about if he’s sinned recently or not because that’s unnecessary and Steve doesn’t want to drive Billy away.

A few seconds pass of just rain and no response, Steve thinks maybe the other is asleep now. He’s both happy and sad, because he’s happy Billy’s getting the sleep he needs but sad because he really needs Billy and he’s feeling lonely now.

He’s still scared, but he gets pretty lonely and downtrodden when Billy’s not there.

Within, like, total reason.

Because, he’s just good friends with him now, he’d like to think.

Billy comes online, and Steve’s heart stops. He sees the three dots and with every second, he’s taking constant scans of his room trying to make sure nothing’s changed and no shadows are coming.

He wants to block his closet, the duct tape sticks out too much and makes his legs bounce with fear and uncertainty.

tonight must be my lucky night

hey princess

Steve’s heart momentarily picks up, but he ignores it. He’s too scared, and the rain’s getting louder and his windows feel so vulnerable and he feels so naked even though he’s fully dressed and maybe he’s wearing pajamas but he’s grown, he’s fine, just because his parents weren’t there doesn’t mean he didn’t learn to grow independently, he’s okay.

He wipes his palms on the blankets, takes a swig out of his water bottle to soothe his dry mouth and quickly gets to responding because he’s scared that if he doesn’t respond quick enough Billy will leave and he doesn’t want that.

Wyd?? :)

It’s a stupid, half-assed response. He knows Billy knows what’s going on, because there’s never a night when he’s not about to break down crying.

Usually though, he goes to Nancy or Jonathan or Dustin. Billy’s only every other week.

Billy’s still online. He draws his knees to his chest and practically claws at his bedside table through the snacks to get his earphones. Just to muffle the rain.

doin my hair, bored

He smiles imagining Billy curling those locks around his fingers, remembers how he winked at Steve during practice when Steve caught him ruffling his own hair and messing it up.

Can you call??

Billy’s offline for a moment, and Steve nearly breaks down sobbing thinking that that was it, he was done for and all alone and he’s stupid for even trying but then when he places his phone on his lap, it vibrates and lights up with a picture of Billy kissing a dog, smiling at someone behind the camera.

Steve’s heart warms, he himself lights up with this simple picture already and swipes to accept.

“Billy,” Steve whispers, too afraid to speak in the dark of night.

Even though his room is lit up, he knows the rest of the house isn’t. He briefly considers turning the lights off, because what if it stands out? What if they see the lights?

He’s scared of what he means by they.

He feels his shirt sticking to his skin, the dark pattern of gaming controllers don’t make him look any better.

Billy’s voice comes up after a few seconds of shuffling, which Steve can only assume is him reaching for something on his vanity. “Sorry, I’m here now.”

Those words meant a lot. His heart shook with every syllable.

“What’s up?” Billy asks. So, he didn’t really know.

That’s fine, because Steve knows he shouldn’t expect him to, because they don’t talk all the time, only usually with school.

In fact, they’re only school friends, that’s it. This is stupid, and it’s a stupid idea and the rain hits some part of the window particularly hard and Steve jumps and gasps in his bed.

“Woah there. You good, King Steve?” Billy’s voice is in his ears, drowns out the noises, keeps him comfort. Company.

“Yeah-- fuck, I’m sorry. Window was left open today, door was unlocked, scared myself,” he breathes.

He wonders if maybe he should hang up, the silence makes him feel like he interrupted something but he trusts Billy and he’s on the verge of tears.

“I-- I’m really, like--” he can’t quite breathe anymore, he keeps his phone in his lap and his chin on his knees. His thoughts are broken, and he almost feels sad.

He remembers when his mom would hold him, and sing him a lullaby.

But then he grew, and then he became nothing more than a memory to her. And then he was left to fend for himself, hum the words to a lullaby he couldn’t remember at this point and hope she’ll come back one day to stay a few nights and maybe tell him he’s okay again.

Maybe just let him know they’re not real, aliens, ghosts, the Boogeyman.

“Steve.”

Billy’s voice is sharp, cuts through his thoughts and sends him in a mild panic. Billy was speaking, Steve wasn’t registering.

“Wanna see a picture of Max? Susan sent it to me the other day,” Billy asks to change the topic.

It makes Steve’s shoulders relax, not just Billy’s voice but the ability to immerse himself in something that isn’t his room or house or window.

“Sure, show me,” he answers, grabs a chocolate bar quickly and unwraps it. Takes a small bite, even though it’s getting a little soft from how long it’s been there.

His phone dings in his lap and he picks it up, holds it in front of his face and taps out of the call screen.

It’s just a simple photo of Max at her first cat cafe, drinking tea with a cat wearing her sunglasses near her. Trying to look posh.

“That’s adorable,” he mutters, a smile tugging at his lips. The chocolate’s melting already, so he hurriedly pushes it into his mouth and tries to finish it.

“If you think that’s adorable, you should try lookin’ in the mirror, Harrington,” Billy smoothly says.

It’s so casual, so simple and clearly just something Billy just says sometimes. To anyone. He’s probably really used to slipping in lines like that.

But it still makes Steve laugh all the same, and it still warms his cheeks all the same and cools his body all the while. He swallows, tosses the wrapper into the small bin by his side. “You’re looking in one right now, aren’t you?”

The image of Billy just fiddling with his curls at his vanity, talking to Steve so sweetly while still maintaining some focus on his hair just makes the world around Steve calm a little.

But he still feels so alone, so isolated and still a little paranoid.

Because the duct tape is still on his closet, and it stands out against the brown. And the rain is still pattering his window, and even though it’s softer now it’s still showing the far too dark sky and conveniently there tree. He’s effectively locked himself in his room, and his bat is leaning on the bedside table but completely accessible to the bottom of his bed.

But he’s filled the bottom of the bed. It still scares him.

“Yeah, don’t see you though,” Billy remarks, and Steve can hear him hit his knuckle on something (presumably the edge of a table) and the faint noise of pain in the background. He giggles gently, doesn’t dare to close his eyes though.

“Ow, don’t laugh. There was a stupid fuckin’... thing in the way,” Billy says.

“Thing?” The smile shines through Steve’s voice.

“‘s just nailpolish…” he hears Billy grumble, and finds himself giggling again.

There’s the faint noise of crickets, it sends a chill down Steve’s spine. The rain’s stopped by now, just droplets running down his window and it should be reassuring but the silence makes him fear being heard in his own house.

A house is a person’s most vulnerable and personal point.

The best place to attack.

“Well,” Billy starts, and Steve hears him get into bed and possibly kick himself under the sheets, “going anywhere tomorrow?”

It’s the weekends, and Steve usually hangs out with the kids or Nancy and Jonathan.

But no, he has no plans because they’re all occupied with homework, studying, or dating.

“Nope, ditched in the name of love,” he says simply, lies back against his pillow and feels so relaxed. Probably should have done that earlier.

But like, he was just… he wasn’t scared or anything, he just didn’t feel like it.

Obviously.

Billy laughs softly, and Steve knows it’s restrained because it’s late at night and his walls aren’t the thickest, but the laugh is precious to Steve’s ears and he’s suddenly so glad he has earphones in.

“Want me to come over?”

Steve smiles wider, rolls his eyes. “Tomorrow? Yeah, sure, long as you don’t wreck the place.”

He doesn’t really care either way, because if Billy threw something, Steve would throw something too. If he chose suddenly to completely vandalize Steve’s room, Steve would join in without a wasting a second.

He just follows, because he has fun, and he’s very much blind and stupid when it comes to Billy.

Which, he’s fine with.

And it’s just because they’re good friends.

That hung out on Valentine’s Day watching a movie and ditching their plans with whoever their dates were supposed to be that week.

Because, like, those girls were just creepy. And Steve wasn’t about that, nor was Billy.

But then Billy chuckles so richly, and Steve’s fidgeting with the hem of his shirt all giddy and letting himself close his eyes. He still feels tense, rigid in his bed but considerably safer with Billy right there.

“I don’t mean tomorrow, smartass, I’ll be there regardless. I mean tonight,” Billy says.

Oh.

He breathes through his nose, opens his eyes reluctantly and looks around his room. “You can do that?”

Billy’s done it before, he’s not always able to and sometimes Steve prefers he doesn’t just so he can sleep earlier, but any time he does he’s always there exactly when he says he’ll be and he’s always so good at opening Steve up and picking him apart in the nicest and loveliest ways possible.

It’s never really contact, it’s just talking and stupid things like old movies or studying but Steve finds he doesn’t really care if it’s Billy.

And he’ll take what he can get, obviously.

It’s not just Billy. Obviously.

He’s just scared.

But he swears, it’s not of aliens or ghosts or the Boogeyman.

Just intruders.

Only intruders.

“Yeah,” and Steve can hear Billy take a sip of something, could be water, alcohol, anything when it’s Billy but he knows the likely answer is apple juice.

Because Billy thinks he’s badass, but when he’s with Steve all he drinks is apple juice.

“Okay,” Steve says.

That’s all Billy needed apparently, because in the span of a minute he’s already hearing the sound of a car starting up from the other end.

He realizes Billy was probably being quieter than usual because he wasn’t in his room. He was probably in the living room, someplace close to the front door.

He was anticipating going somewhere.

Possibly to Steve’s.

But, that doesn’t matter. Probably.

Steve just keeps the smile on his face, keeps his legs crossed under the blankets now and makes sure his earphones are pushed in. Anything to distract him from his room.

The call’s still going as he hears Billy pull out the driveway, he can tell he’s on speaker now because when he coughs to block a sudden sob of fear, he hears the echo. “You good, Stevie?”

The nickname makes him feel warmer, keeps him safe. The call’s probably still going on because it’s distracting Steve and Billy knows it. It’s only a matter of time before it has to end, though.

“Yeah,” he assures, stretches and yawns.

Freezes when he hears his bed creak a little beneath him.

His body is feeling stiffer by the second.

A few minutes of silence follow. All of it makes Steve think that maybe Billy’s not there anymore, maybe Billy’s not coming, and…

And then the call ends and his throat suddenly closes up at being left alone again and he breaks into a sob.

The earphones make him all too aware of things, and he plucks them out and shoves his phone in the bundle of snacks. Doesn’t bother, he shakes with every second and his sobs are muffled by his hand in fear of being seen or heard. He keeps his eyes trained on both the window, the closet, and his bed. The idea that everything that should hold safety are things that could hold the most danger to him made him quiver.

Billy abandoned him, and he’s so sad and heartbroken by that but he’s even more frightened by the sounds of wind brushing his window and the tree right there and he wonders which version of the Boogeyman would come for him.

His blood runs cold at the sound of a doorbell, echoing through his house.

His skin is pale, eyes fixated ahead distantly until it sounds again and he jumps.

Immediately, Steve rolls off the bed and unlocks his door. He doesn’t know what’s gonna happen, it feels like it’s a long way to the front door, but he walks anyways.

Quick, long and silent steps. Careful to avoid the parts of the floor he knows will make too much sound. He’s timed how fast it would take for him to get from his door to the front door or any other exit, he’s carefully made out each step in the ground that could lead his fears to him, he’s mapped out safe spots that are really just empty or random enough rooms for whatever to not look in first.

But that doesn’t matter, because his front door’s right there and he’s hoping it’s Nancy, Jonathan, or fuck, even his parents.

And he opens it, crying, and it’s Billy.

Billy’s dressed in his usual cool kid get up, but the moment his eyes land on Steve’s face, he shrugs his jacket off and wraps it around Steve’s shaking body, runs in and closes the door behind him. “Hey, hey, baby,” he coos.

Steve practically locks his arms around Billy, starts full on sobbing with relief and his heart just kicks in in the right way again. “Billy,” he hiccups, muffled in the shirt of the dirty blonde’s.

The other wraps his arms around him, squeezes him reassuringly then starts leading them to the living room.

It’s gentle, the way he drags them both down to the couch and turns the TV on. It’s caring, the way he rubs his thumb on Steve’s temple while he fiddles with the remote. It’s real, it’s raw, and it’s nothing supernatural or scary or mean.

Billy was never really any of that, and Steve understands.

But right now, as he crumbles in Billy’s arms, he doesn’t want to understand anything, because he just wants to be safe and okay and now that Billy’s here his house has never felt safer.

It’s like once Billy stepped in, his house exploded with color and meaning and safety.

He can’t deny that.

Billy pulls Steve up so that he’s effectively trapped against Billy’s chest, wrapped in the safety of his arms and jacket acting as a blanket against the cold living room. Billy smells like roses, it brings Steve some feeling of okayness.

He just sobs, head buried in the crook of Billy’s neck while Billy tenderly rubs his temple and back. The TV is quiet, but it’s there. He can hear the opening to Spongebob. It’s stupid, but it keeps Steve awake.

“It’s okay, I’m right here, princess,” Billy whispers, tangles his fingers in Steve’s hair and rubs at his scalp so reassuringly. He believes him. He trusts him.

“I thought you were-- I thought--” Steve practically wheezes, nuzzling Billy’s collarbone with his chin trying to regulate his breathing, “I thought you left--” his voice trails off into an almost-whine, drags out in the worst and most broken way possible and he feels weak and vulnerable and childish.

And Billy,

Billy nods, tries his best to keep them both on the couch and then hums, and fucking…

Kisses Steve’s temple.

His breath catches in his throat, his heart thrums in a different kind of way now and he grips Billy’s shirt tighter. His sobbing is effectively slowed, silenced, interrupted.

“I know. I’m sorry, Steve. I won’t leave you ever. Promise,” Billy says, keeps his cool despite his action and rubs circles into Steve’s back with one finger so caringly.

Steve closes his eyes, fully lets himself get encased by Billy’s arms and nods. He feels a little childish, until Billy tenderly pushes him back a little and he lets out a confused noise.

His face is red, lips plumped and cheeks wet. Billy wouldn’t like to see that.

But Billy smiles at him, and Steve sees his eyes are glassy, and he wants to kiss his eyes or him and then Billy holds out one hand.

One pinky.

“Pinky promise.”

Steve’s mouth drops a little, surprise and warmth filling him. Happiness.

He raises his pinky and entwines it with Billy’s. Lets it sit for a bit then just envelops Billy in an immediate pounce of a hug.

Billy gasps a happy ‘oh’ at that and hugs back, smiles against Steve’s shoulder.

They’re not childish.

They’re not kids.

They’re them, so fuck whoever thinks that pinky promises are lame. It’s their pinky promise.

The hug definitely drags out, it’s definitely not a hug by the time Steve’s dozing off in Billy’s neck and it’s definitely not a hug anymore when their legs are intertwined and Billy’s arm is right beneath Steve’s head, providing a much better pillow than the armrests of the couch.

And Billy hums, and Steve damn near starts sobbing again. Almost.

The tune of a lullaby.

“Sleep pretty darling, do not cry…”

His voice is shaky, unused, but it’s beautiful and it hits the notes just the way Steve’s mother used to but so much more genuine and loving.

“... and I will sing a lullaby…”

Billy’s voice isn’t the most gorgeous singing voice, but it’s raw and it reminds Steve of playing in bands as a child and rocking the guitar. It’s not tea-flavored, but it’s rose-colored.

“Golden slumbers fill your eyes…”

The lyrics, spot on and everything Steve never remembered. But he doubts he’ll forget ever again, because Billy’s never sung before and maybe he’s singing it right now because…

Because Steve would hum it in practice, because Steve would talk about his mom singing him songs whenever it came to poetry in class, because Steve loved to listen to songs with a similar enough tune in a desperate search for it and Steve would mutter the words incoherently trying to remember it.

Because Billy knows Steve, and they’re good friends.

Because Billy notices these things about him.

And he cares about him.

“Smiles await you when you rise…”

Steve raises his head, finds Billy with his eyes closed drifting off as well, but can feel his thumb still rubbing circles in his back.

“Sleep pretty darling, do not cry… and I will sing a lullaby.”

And when Billy’s fully off into dreamland, Steve places a long, tender peck on the ridge of his jaw.

Because he cares too.

#stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things steve #stranger things billy #st3 #harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #my fic #fanfic #if you're reading htis... #my prompts are open! i'd like to practice different methods/styles of writing #or just generally writing as well as getting out of a small writer's block #so feel free to leave harringrove requests/prompts in my ask!! <3 #thanks for reading!

[nancywrote]

kindergarten creep

so basically billy’s obsessed w/ steve in this one and vbdhsfgvk Yeah im sorry !

tw/s: suicide, murder, typical creepy stalker stuff :/

Steve’s got a sweet smile.

Pretty pearly, straight teeth and pink lips that look no less plump stretched than they are relaxed. It drives Billy’s stomach into knots. His heart does twirls, twists, everything inbetween.

And Steve has soft, long brown hair.

Not too dark, just the right shade of chocolate like his big doe eyes-- flawless and styled in every gorgeous imaginable way.

But he’s so honest, despite how he gels his hair and puts on a fake charming smile around women.

Billy hates seeing Steve grin at ladies, hates how he styles his hair for them and not him.

But he’s so sweet, so tasty and wrapped up all pretty with a sugar coating. Billy’s thrust into a whole ‘nother reality around Steve, just so caught up in the cherry drops of his lips and the honey pools of his eyes.

Steve’s just so pretty and handsome and charming and Billy’s a snake.

So when Billy hears that Steve’s with Nancy now, he grinds his teeth and clenches his jaw and bites his tongue until he tastes blood, smiles tight-lipped at his best friend’s dreamy talks about his newly acquired girlfriend.

The copper’s a delicacy, it runs down his throat so warm and stains his teeth with reminders. But it’s not a lot of blood.

Just a drop.

A lovely little cherry drop.

But Steve’s so happy and giddy and smiley.

Billy used to be the one who made him laugh like that.

And then after that day, all he sees is Steve and Nancy together, inseparable. Like they used to be. It makes him want to grind his teeth into dust.

His fingers twitch anytime Nancy touches Steve, his eyes harden into icicles when Nancy’s looking their way and his body feels all too tense when Nancy’s near.

He wants to touch Steve, he doesn’t want Nancy to look at Steve, and he doesn’t want her near Steve.

Things will never be the same.

So when he sees Nancy and Jonathan walking together after school, far too close for comfort, he all but closes in on this opportunity. A simple snap of the camera.

Once Nancy’s alone later in the week, he corners her and shows the photo. It’s not enough to be considered romantic, but it’s enough for Nancy to feel scared because everybody’s scared of Billy because he’s a snake.

And then the days after that, Nancy doesn’t touch Steve, look at Steve, or go near Steve. And Billy is far too pleased, because Steve’s lovely lithe body is crying into his arms later on while intoxicated and Billy gets to hold him so close and so tight knowing Nancy’s no longer in the picture anymore.

But apparently the photos weren’t enough, because Nancy’s back less than a month later with a half assed apology and a shitty excuse. Clearly, Steve’s angry.

But Steve still goes on a date with her.

And Billy, like the snake he is, like a kindergartener, like a fucking kid, gets Tommy H. and Carol and the other kids and breaks into Nancy’s locker. And they put up photos of her half-naked getting changed, pictures of her and Jonathan during her and Steve’s “break”, spread the rest of the pictures all around school. Spray paint truthful and harsh words all over the walls and lockers.

And it’s back to heartbroken Steve, back to Billy’s Steve.

Nobody questions where the photos came from, all they do is laugh at Wheeler while Billy gets to hold Steve close to him in front of them without a care in the world.

But Steve’s stopped smiling like he used to.

It’s all charms and witty comments and fake grins. It’s all King Steve.

But it isn’t Billy’s Steve.

To Billy, that doesn’t matter anymore though. Because now all Steve knows to do is grin at him like he does with women, and Billy’s heart still flips with the sight of it. Even knowing it’s fake, even though some small crushed part of him fills with anger and pity at not being given the right attention, he still gets weak in the knees.

All Steve knows how to do now is stick close to Billy and stay silent around women, because they’ll all hurt him. When he nearly got with someone else after Nancy, Billy made sure to expose that slut for the whore she was.

Even if it wasn’t real. Even if it was just Tommy H. spreading lies because Billy asked him to.

Steve believed it, the girl couldn’t counter it, and Steve was his again.

All Steve knows is to get away from women and stay with Billy. Because Billy’s never done him dirty, Billy’s never lied to him or done him wrong. Billy’s the safest and best bet.

Billy’s his best friend.

And even without the honesty, even with the distance, Billy makes sure Steve’s always close to him, always hanging out with him, always with him.

Because Billy loves making him laugh, loves hearing him giggle at something stupid, loves it when he sees Steve walking towards his car after school, and his stomach’s all twisted when Steve’s crying and hugging him some nights.

Everything Steve does just makes his heart beat faster.

No matter how unreal it is now. How fake it all is.

Steve has no reason to leave Billy.

And Billy wants to tell him how he feels, because they hug much more now, they always hang out, they’re always talking (even if it’s really just Billy) and Billy’s feelings have only gotten more sugary and sweet as the weeks pass.

The party’s the day, Steve’s birthday party, that’s the day Billy will tell him. Because there’s no way it’s not meant to be.

And Steve’s all smiley and genuine on his birthday when the kids are there and some of their school friends are there, Steve’s all daisies and dandelions and peaches when Billy comes over with a neatly-wrapped gift consisting of hair gels and necklaces that Billy just knows the brunette will wear without hesitation afterwards.

Steve’s all cute and pretty and honestly happy again on his birthday.

And Billy feels disgusting.

Disgusting, because he took that smile off Steve’s face the same way he used to put it on him. Disgusting because Steve’s happiest on the day he’s surrounded by such a small amount of people because he’s learned to rely on kids and Billy and nobody at their actual school all because of him. Disgusting, revolted, and appalled because he’s the one who’s done this to Steve. He’s the one who fucked him up.

But then Nancy’s there and he completely forgets why he felt disgusting to begin with.

All he tastes is sugar, too much sugar, and cherry drops. He’s biting on his tongue again.

Steve is the sunshine, bright and golden and loving and warm and bringing light into Billy’s world. Being the reminder of his past life in Cali. The beacon of hope that keeps his skin tan, keeps him healthy. Reminds him he’s not different, he’s the same as he always was.

And Steve’s not there when Nancy steps into the living room, and everyone treats her kindly but Billy still tastes sugar and copper and doesn’t see the sun.

Nancy looks at him bitterly, he looks at her coldly, and they rotate around each other on different planets.

It’s all too dark when Nancy’s left to find Steve. And it’s all too perfect when Billy knows Steve’s not where she’s going.

Cherry drops, and then strawberry juice far too red for its own good. Like melted chocolate, puddled beneath her head. That’s what he envisions.

Not what he gets, though.

Because then Nancy’s on the ground after her mouth’s stuffed full of pills in the bathroom, wrists bleeding and pictures placed so perfectly accidentally by her pockets spilled along the tiles.

It’s all so perfect, because Tommy’s at the party and Tommy loves lying for Billy.

And Steve’s all his again, because now he really has nobody to love but Billy.

Because the camera’s placed so perfectly accidentally on Steve’s desk that afterwards, everybody avoids him and every girl gets scared of him.

But not Billy.

So of course, when Billy says he loves him, Steve cries and lies through his teeth and says he loves him too.

But Billy pretends it’s happy tears, and kisses them away. Even with his tense muscles and scared rambles when they make love later on, Billy knows how to make it feel good. Nobody else would love him the same.

Steve’s not broken, he reassures himself.

It’s all Nancy’s fault.

Billy’s a disaster around Steve, always so flustered even if Steve’s stopped smiling. Because when he asks, he smiles. Tight lipped and clenched jaw and everything.

It’s not good enough.

It’s all Nancy’s fault.

Billy’s weak in the knees and completely vulnerable and bare with Steve, lets himself get used even if he’s the one begging Steve to use him. Even if he’s the one who gets the most out of it nowadays.

It’s all stupid, but he’s addicted, his brain doesn’t work when he gets to cuddle with his soulmate and when his dad’s finally gone from a little car accident with a malfunctioning engine, Billy’s completely free and ready to wake up to Steve’s gorgeous face every day.

The whole thing went further than he originally planned. But that’s not his fault, it’s Nancy’s.

But it all crashes down, and his dark bruises from his father’s past treatments are all the more prominent when he walks into Steve’s room to find a husk of a man with a crushed windpipe from the pressure of a rope.

It’s all Nancy’s fault.

It’s all Nancy’s fault.

It’s all Nancy’s fault.

When he bites his tongue, he realizes he’s got his lips on the cold chapped ones of Steve’s and tastes far more cherry drops than he should. Is he the snake? Is he the venom?

It’s all his fault.

#stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things billy #stranger things steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #bad ending #my fic #fanfic #i'm so sorry

[nancywrote]

Billy in the afterlife

I had a thought, of what Billy would be thinking or feeling if he finally got to have some down time and freedom in the afterlife. It just made me really sad and I’m gonna try and, jot them hecks down. bc its just sad :(

Billy would probably be stuck first having some sort of out-of-body experience the moment he’s “awoken”. He’d probably be zoning out and disassociating hardcore trying to figure out where he is and what happened. Because he never really knew, he was never really in control, and he never got to take that time to understand why Max knew so much when he knew so little.

And it makes him feel like he’s done the wrong thing when he’s back and he sees Max crying and screaming over him. Because she’s not supposed to care about him, she’s supposed to be scared of him, for fuck’s sake.

But she’s not.

And he’s so afraid of people seeing something in him. He’s afraid to snuff out that fire with what he really is; unwanted and disappointing. Left behind. Abandoned.

Amidst these thoughts of just... sadness, longing for something he could’ve had if he wasn’t such an asshole that pushed people away-- he realizes it’s far too late. He’s not there anymore.

But he can’t cry, because he has no reason to.

Because he died when his mother left him, that’s what it felt like. Billy left when his mother did, she took his heart and soul with her.

Yet still, he’d be overwhelmed. Confusion, anger, sadness. Where was he? Why did he do those things? Was Max in danger? Why did she know anything? Is she gonna remember me as the asshole brother that yelled at her and threatened her friends?

He was just holding her back.

But he still believes in something, just not for him. He believes she’s got something, she’ll get better and over him as though he was never there to begin with. Because he never was, was he.

He hurt people, he brought them down, didn’t he? Those were his hands bringing them down? He didn’t cry, he didn’t do anything, he couldn’t. He just watched.

So he’d blame himself, for everything. Because he still wouldn’t know what happened to him, what he was, who the real enemy was.

Because for all he knew, the biggest enemy was him.

He fed that monster with his own hands.

That’s what he believes.

That it’s all his fault, and he deserves it.

But still, he wants to be missed. He aches to be cared for, thought of, even though his memory was nothing but bitter. He should’ve said so much more things before he was gone. An I’m sorry didn’t cover any of it.

Seeing Max in his room mourning would make him cry, finally.

Because his heart wouldn’t take it well, and he doesn’t want to see her go and move on from him-- he wishes he held her earlier, close to him. Tell her she’s badass, jam out to shitty music together and do things that siblings do. Things that he never thought he was allowed to do.

But he doesn’t know anything.

All he knows is that once she’s found the thing she’s been looking for, he’ll be gone again. Forgotten. He should’ve held her near when he was scared of Neil touching her, he should’ve told her he was the reason Neil never went to her so that she’d feel safer around him. But maybe that was selfish, because she wouldn’t understand.

But Jesus, he wants her to know he tried something for her, he went and did something because he cared-- even if he wouldn’t have admitted it at the time.

She still cried and mourned him though. For reasons he doesn’t know.

Because he just.

Doesn’t know anything.

He never did.

He’s been wandering lost since the day his mother left him to walk on his own feet.

(and he’ll never stop blaming himself for the things he never knew he had no choice in, because he’ll never know what it was)

#stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things season 3 #stranger things billy #st3 #maxine max mayfield #billy hargrove #kind of a canon complaint?? #might delete later idk #angst #my fic #-ish #fanfic #stranger things max

[nancywrote]

“i love you”

Billy says I love you, Steve looks at him cold. He swears, it’s just a joke.

But maybe it isn’t really.

(angst with a happy ending :D)

It was just… a joke.

That’s what it was.

It wasn’t true, it was a lie. Completely thrust in the moment, but with no meaning at all.

But then Steve looked at him like it wasn’t, or maybe like it was.

With furrowed brows, a smile, and this look in his eyes that said what did you just say?

He really, really didn’t mean to say it. But the moment seemed so perfect, them stargazing in a nice place not too far in the woods after sneaking into the school to vandalise some poor kid’s locker who looked at them wrong.

It was a moment of serenity, freedom, and Billy felt like he could breathe. Like maybe something was supposed to happen in the silence that followed the bittersweet laughter.

And like the laughter, the response was just as bitter.

I love you.

And Steve, leaning against a tree, looked at him with that same smile that looked more stretched and thin now, no longer reaching his eyes.

And Steve, smoking a cigarette, chuckled awkwardly and nodded, grinding the cig into the ground and looking away.

And Steve, with pretty brown hair and gorgeous matching eyes, with a lovely laugh and a prettier smile and a much too working charm, got up and said he had to go.

And Billy, with his stupid butterscotch, blonde hair and vacant blue eyes, nodded and grit his teeth and said bye.

And Billy had to watch Steve go, watch him leave adjusting his shirt and never looking back.

And Billy, with a weak heart and a neverending mantra of what ifs echoing in his head, stayed there until morning time looking at the clearing Steve escaped to and formed new tough loving bruises and burns when he came back to his home.

The pain had never felt so numb before.

It wasn’t supposed to go that way.

It was wrong, it was a joke, it didn’t mean anything.

Right?

When he’s back at school, it all feels far too big and sketched. Black and white, a rough draft of something incomplete, with an endless blank canvas outside the lines.

And he feels like he’s trapped, but all at once he feels like he’s been freed.

Because now, there’s nothing to care about anymore.

The bruises forming on his back meant nothing, the reopened scar on his shoulder held no value and the uncovered bags under his eyes made him feel naked. But not scared.

Not anymore.

He closes his locker delicately, stares at the red (or blue? he’s far too dizzy and sick-feeling to trust himself) for minutes until something slams into his back and snaps him out of his haze.

When he turns his head with an inkling of hope, there stands Tommy H.

The boy rambles about something, but all his words drop out of his mouth and onto the ground. Billy catches nothing.

Tommy shrugs and nods, says something about Carol then walks past Billy. Bumps his shoulder on the way.

Feels like air just breezed past his shoulder.

Class starts, and Billy’s back in the corner again. Far from his friends to avoid talking, and close to the windows to try and bring some dimension back to the world again.

I love you.

What if he didn’t?

What if he didn’t say that, or feel that, or… or what if he didn’t know Steve?

That would’ve been so much easier.

But he feels far too fortunate to have known the pretty boy, because Steve’s just so sweet and…

And he got up seconds after and said he had to go.

Minutes pass, and the teacher’s loudly pointing at things on the board. Billy doesn’t look.

Steve comes late.

Stumbles in with messy hair, bags under his eyes and a nervous expression. Billy sees him spare a glance at him. A short one that he catches too easily.

Then the bell goes off, and Billy storms out. But he hears footsteps and they don’t belong to a herd of students, just one. And in the light way they travel, it’s far too familiar.

He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to hear it, he’d rather his world just stay an incomplete work in progress and leave it at that forever.

Until he’s suddenly shoved through a door, and he finds himself in the old boy’s bathroom all alone with…

With Steve.

Billy flinches, backs himself up next to the sinks and not too far from the door. “What do you want?”

His voice shakes. It’s weak. It hurts.

Steve crosses his arms, huffing.

“Did you mean it?”

His heart drops to the pit of his stomach, a knot forms in his throat. He wants to break, he wants to cry, he wants to bleed and get out.

“No,” he says through a clenched jaw.

Steve closes in, walks until he’s trapped Billy against the sink and blocks the only escape. “Billy.”

Why does he want to know?

It’s useless.

It was a joke.

It wasn’t true.

It was---

“I’m sorry,” he whispers like a whistle and bows his head. Slumps his shoulders in defeat.

The tears come out far too easy, he puffs his chest counting the seconds until his inevitable rejection or beating or mocking or something.

He’s ready, he’s already still aching and sore from his father, he’ll take it all again. The words won’t mean as much, they weren’t the ones who raised him and knew his habits well. Even if Steve noticed more about him than his father ever will, even if Steve taught him how to be kind when his father wouldn’t and how to do things he never knew he could, that all meant nothing.

The words will hurt so much.

His wet cheeks keep him in reality. He feels his tears pour down and drop off his cheeks, but they don’t drop.

Because suddenly, when he opens his eyes and sucks up some ugly snot, he feels Steve’s hand on his cheek, rubbing his cheekbone. His heart won’t work, his brain can’t catch up.

“Steve…” he chokes, tries not to break down sobbing from just that little bit of contact. He doesn’t want to… doesn’t want to look, at Steve. Doesn’t want to know what’s going on in that head of his.

But he looks up anyways, and Steve’s looking at his lips and is red-nosed and puffy-lipped and biting his bottom lip and, and Billy’s disgusted by that inescapable thought that always enters his mind in moments like these where he wants to be the one to bite Steve’s lips.

Steve’s face is far too close, far too within reach.

He doesn’t want to fuck it up again.

Please.

Go.

You’re gonna leave again, right?

You’ll have to go now?

It’s time, right?

Please.

And Steve is the one to lean in and press his lips against Billy’s.

His chest tightens.

His breath catches.

All at once, he feels so many things mix together and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

But he’s not kissing back, and he feels that’s wrong but Steve never said I love you back so what should he do here?

When Steve pulls back though, looks darkly at the ground, Billy grabs him by the hair and crashes his lips against his.

But it’s so gentle and soft and delicate, and they’re both kissing each other and it’s not just one sided anymore.

“I made a mistake,” Steve says when they pull back for air.

Make up your fucking mind, Harrington.

Billy thinks with venom, angry and hurt all over again and pissed.

He starts, “You--”

“-- I should have said it back.”

Just as quickly as it came, the anger left. The tears are coming to the surface again, even if they never really left.

Steve breathes, looks at Billy and rubs his cheek again. “I was confused, Billy. I was -- really scared. I didn’t know if you were joking or not, I didn’t know if I liked you the same and I was so scared of what I was feeling and that was stupid and I-- I,”

He takes a deep breath of air, closes his eyes.

“That was a mistake, not saying it back.”

He opens his eyes and looks into Billy’s, wipes his tears gently with his thumb.

“Because I, I feel the same too. I’m so sorry I hurt you, Billy, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Billy hiccups, feels the sob rising in his throat and whines, throws himself into Steve’s arms crying. His shoulders shake with every sound he makes, and Steve holds him so tight.

He’s so happy and hurt and cured and safe and okay because nobody’s ever done things like this for him, nobody’s ever cared about him like Steve has and nobody’s ever… nobody’s ever loved him, or said sorry to him and meant it.

Steve’s arms keep him safe, they’re locked around him like a close blanket and this time Billy knows he won’t go. He doesn’t want to go.

“I love you,” Billy sobs into his neck, fear tugging at his heart that maybe he still shouldn’t say that but he says it anyways because… because he does.

And Steve chuckles wetly, mutters an insult to himself and squeezes Billy tighter.

“I love you too.”

#stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things billy #stranger things steve #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #fanfic #my fic #angst with a happy ending #heghfdvsdnfv

[nancywrote]

“razorblade” | Harringrove (2k words)

TW: self harm, mentions of past abuse

---

Billy thought it was over, he thought he could leave it all in the past and forget about anything he’s ever done to himself as a result of his father’s mistreatings.

He doesn’t realize how wrong he is until he walks in on Steve shaving.

---

When Billy lived with his dad, he wasn’t the most mentally okay. Or emotionally.

Of course, all in fair reason, but he really fucked up.

His dad was abusive, that wasn’t new knowledge, but Billy would take after him unintentionally. He’d hurt others like his dad would, say things his dad did, and when Tommy H. pointed out how he sounded like his dad (Tommy knew nothing about the abuse, only some words), Billy felt his skin turn to ice and gut wrench in disgust and realization.

He hated it.

So, so much.

And then he indulged in a habit he never thought he would. Which he’s shameful of, even if only done so few times, he still sees the discoloration on his arms.

It was just… so much at the time.

He would get hurt, or yelled at, and he’d retreat to his room or the bathroom. He’d grab something, anything sharp, and he’d begin its descent. It was all he was in control of, it gave him an escape, it distracted him and it made him feel like he was punishing himself in a way for ever saying or doing anything similar to something his dad’s done.

The red.

The red speckles that ran down his wrist. At first, not much came out of it. But he learned after the second try that he had to wait after some cuts, because he didn’t have anything quite at his disposal yet that was sharp enough or deep enough. He knew that after waiting, he’d see red, and he’d feel the sting and the heat and it made him feel so… something.

He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it was something that comforted him.

The warmth, like a heater just on his arm. Never quite spreaded throughout his body. He’d cover them with his sleeves, always made sure to bring a leather jacket for extra measure and for his usual bad boy get up. Became practically inseparable from that jacket afterwards. Sometimes the sting remained even during school.

The first time he did it, he felt shameful that he had. He felt almost weak and powerless and like he’d ruined himself even more and just overall corrupted and rotten.

But then his dad called him out on wearing an earring to school and called him a queer, and then while in his car he found a way to scratch at his arms enough to induce some form of heat before Max would come. His nails were sharp enough to dig into his skin just right. After that, he’d bring a razor with him to school just in case he wanted to have a little break in the bathrooms.

That’s how he learned of the waiting game; the second time.

He only ever did it because of his dad though, but one time, he saw Harrington on the verge of tears during practice and that sight alone sent him into a spiral at home. He felt like he was to blame, like he was stupid for not reaching out, and like Harrington will never like him for the things he’s done. Ever.

But now, he’s different.

Billy is so much different.

He’s distanced himself from razors, sharp things, never gets them close to his arms or wrists and never thinks about them. He’s moved in with Steve because Steve’s always alone and Steve knows about his dad now. They have bedrooms right next to each other just in case Steve’s feeling paranoid or alone or Billy’s scared of his dad or thinking of his mom.

It’s nicer, to live with Steve. Because Steve understands him.

The blank paper at his desk mocks him though, because Steve’s done so much for him, called him strong countless times and told him he could do it, but he’s still not able to write the first fucking words.

Writing a letter to his mom just… made no sense.

He couldn’t even find her.

They’ve been on the search for two weeks now, since Billy’s moved in, but no progress was made. Still, Steve asks him all the time to write a message to her. Billy just doesn’t know what he should say.

Maybe it’s better he doesn’t.

He feels so much more content just waking up to Steve’s voice every day anyways. He’s so much happier now that he has the freedom to wake up anytime and do whatever he wants. He’s happier with Steve, he doesn’t really need to know if his mom’s still out there, because she left him. Steve should be his priority, and he is.

A small crush, an unimportant one. Billy doesn’t wanna ruin their friendship.

He slaps the desk tiredly and gets up, willing his eyes open with as much energy as he can muster in the early morning. He usually is more of a morning person than Steve, but that’s within reason for the two.

Steve likes nighttime because he can pretend his family’s still there and asleep. Billy likes mornings because he’s just used to waking up really early to get things done and over with before his dad tells him to drop Max off. He’s just used to it, finds the sunlight calming as well.

Max actually visits every weekend, Billy’s been trying his best to be a better brother and it seems it’s working.

Or she just likes Steve, like the other kids.

Billy stretches and rubs his heavy eyes, opening the door into the hallway with his free hand. He wants to call out for Steve, but he knows Steve’s probably asleep anyways. Might as well check in.

He ducks his head under the lights hanging from his door frame that Steve used as decoration for his room. Billy thinks it’s unnecessary, but he likes knowing Steve put all that up just for him to feel at home. It’s cute.

Opening the door to Steve’s room as quietly as possible, Billy peers in to find the bed empty. He does, however, hear a faint buzz coming from the bathroom. His heart stops momentarily.

Without thinking, he leaves Steve’s door open to run in and throw open his bathroom door. His heart’s racing, all the energy he’d lost before returning. He fears what he’ll see but finds himself able to breathe again just a little when his eyes land on a surprised and sluggish looking brunette with shaving cream slapped onto his face.

“Billy?” Steve questions, voice raspy.

“Holy shit,” Billy breathes. His heart’s coming to again, but it’s hard when he sees that razor in Steve’s hand. “Put that-- can you- can you put that down? Please?”

He doesn’t usually ask for things like that with Steve unless he’s being paranoid of his dad.

“Yeah- sure, of course!” Steve quickly turns off his electric razor and places it next to the sink, turning the water on to quickly wash off his cream.

It’s sloppy and completely half-assed, but the moment he’s done dabbing off the excess with a towel with Billy just looking at the razor like it killed somebody, he’s quickly pushing Billy out the bathroom and closing the door behind himself.

“What happened?” Steve asks, dusting Billy’s shoulders as gently and caringly as possible.

It brings Billy some comfort, it makes him feel a little fluttery inside, but he’s still distraught with panic. His eyes don’t feel like they’re in the right place.

“Are you-- uh. Are you okay?” Billy stupidly asks, completely ignoring Steve’s initial question with how hard his heart is still beating in his ears. It’s distracting, the fear’s slowly bringing him back to when he had a razor in his own hands. It makes his stomach twist in all the wrong ways.

Steve’s mouth opens momentarily and then he gently pushes Billy onto the bed, kneeling on the ground right in front of him and looking up at him the way Billy does sometimes when Steve has nightmares. “Billy,” he says, hands on Billy’s knees and brows woven together in concern, “What’s wrong?”

Billy doesn’t know how to respond, he’s frozen in place and the warmth on his knees bring back so many memories he wants to hide. So many memories suffocating him.

It’s not long before he finds his cheeks wet, and Steve immediately jumps up a little to brush Billy’s curls out of his face as carefully as possible. “You’re crying,” he says disbelievingly.

Billy’s not much of a crier. He gets more angry or unresponsive, tears aren’t his thing. Steve’s more used to yelling back or holding him until he’s back in reality again.

He always tries to avoid thinking about how nice it feels to be held by Steve.

He really wants to not be held right now, because he’s afraid of being warm. He wants to be cold.

His throat closes and he stutters a choke, covering his face with his hands. His shoulders shake with his sob, and he feels Steve staring at him.

He feels shameful, disgusting, he hates that he ever hurt himself. Steve’s gonna hate him, leave him, kick him out, think he’s fucked up or something--

“Billy, please talk to me. Did I do something?” Steve’s words come out rushed, but he’s still there, right by Billy, not yet leaving which means so much, “I want to know, please, tell me. I want to help you.”

Billy’s so scared, so disgusted and relieved but Steve’s scared too. Steve has helped him so much, maybe... 

Maybe Steve can just.

Help him.

But that feels like a stupid thought, because he’s already done it and Steve can’t turn back time.

“I’m fucked up, Steve,” Billy rasps, muffled by his hands. He can feel how wet his face is and is so relieved by the coldness of his tears. It keeps him grounded.

“Why?”

“‘cause I… fuckin’...” no matter how much he wants to trust Steve, he just can’t say it. He feels like somebody’s holding him by the tongue, it just won’t come out even if he wants it to and he can’t even imply it. Steve’s gonna leave me, he thinks. Steve’s gonna go.

Steve gently wraps his slender fingers around Billy’s wrists and tugs a little. It’s not so much a request to show himself as much as it is an invitation to open up.

It’s Steve saying that Billy can deal with it himself, or Steve can deal with it with him. It’s Billy, or trust.

He really trusts Steve.

So he lets Steve’s wrists act as the weights to his hands and drops them a little insecurely. He avoids looking at Steve, knowing his face is a mess but unable to hold in the sobs and tears.

His eyes keep shut, unable to look anywhere. He doesn’t want to see anything with an edge, anything to remind him he’s alive. He just feels so shameful and broken and wrong.

“Billy…”

Steve’s hand comes up to Billy’s face and wipes a tear, “Look at me, please.”

He opens his eyes and stifles a croak of ‘I’m sorry’. Bites his tongue, not willing to dig the hole even deeper.

Steve’s looking at him with furrowed brows and serious eyes. They’re glossed over, his cheeks and nose are red and Billy realizes he’s trying not to cry too.

He wonders how many times Steve’s had to hold back from crying anytime Billy screamed at him.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Steve asks, shaken. He keeps his thumb rubbing Billy’s cheek. Even though his palm is so warm, Billy feels like his hand keeps him up. A different kind of warmth that keeps him grounded in a new way. A way that makes him feel okay. In a healthy way.

He takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes for a moment and looks Steve dead in the eye. He knows his lips are quivering, he knows he looks a fucking wreck, but he owes Steve this much.

“I did it.”

That’s all he can say.

And then the wetness leaves Steve’s eyes in the form of tears, and Steve breathes and places both his hands on Billy’s face and leans in to press their foreheads together for a moment. And then Steve runs his fingers along Billy’s jawline then wraps his arms quickly around Billy and brings him in for a hug.

But it’s not a hug. He’s holding Billy, and he’s not letting go.

He’s keeping Billy safe.

Billy cries harder, burying his face in Steve’s neck and letting himself be held. He keeps his arms dropped, knows he doesn’t need to reciprocate for Steve to know.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay,” Steve whispers. His voice is delicate and shaking, but so full of emotions. He holds Billy tighter to him and tangles his hands in his hair, “It’s okay,” he repeats.

It’s not an it’ll be okay. It’s an it’s okay.

And Billy forgets his arms, and he feels like maybe it can be. Maybe, it really is.

Maybe nothing about him has changed, at all. Maybe he’s still okay. He stopped for a reason.

Steve keeps whispering that it’s okay into Billy’s ears, getting weaker every time with his own tears. Their tears almost mix together on Steve’s neck.

They sit there for a moment, close to each other, crying, and Billy feels himself taken more and more by Steve’s warmth. Not the razor, never the razor. Just Steve.

He feels so much safer. This is his reality now. He doesn’t ever want to escape it, and he thinks that maybe he does have more control than he thinks he does.

So he brings his arms around Steve as well and pulls them closer together, closes his eyes in his neck and lets himself breathe.

He’s alive.

The air is fresh, entering his lungs.

He’s not abnormal.

He’s not wrong, rotten, or different because of this.

He changes because he wants to.

He changes when he wants to.

And he’s changing by being nicer, by being a better person, by being the him that his father never wanted him to be. He’s changing by being Billy.

Finally, it’s silent save for their breathing and silent sniffles. The sobbing’s dulled with every second, until they’re just holding each other like they’re all they have.

In a way, they are.

Steve shifts and quickly pulls back. Billy doesn’t get a good look at his face but catches a glimpse of sheen on his cheeks, it makes his chest tighten. Steve sits up on the bed next to Billy and then pulls him in again.

This time, Billy’s head is on his chest, almost like he’s on his lap, and he’s just being cradled.

Steve seems to take a breath and hesitate, unsure if he should say something. He finally, nervously, clears his throat. “Do you want me to throw it away?” he asks.

Billy shakes his head.

“I can grow a beard, you know. Most I get is a stubble anyways.”

Billy chuckles weakly but keeps his head on Steve’s chest. He feels so safe and warm and okay.

“I’m sorry,” Billy says.

Steve rubs his thumb on Billy’s shoulder, letting his chin rest on his head and closing his eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But I--” “-- You’re here now. That’s what matters to me. That’s what should matter to you, that you lived. And you’re okay.”

Billy keeps his mouth shut and feels his cheeks redden. A good kind of red, not a blood kind of red. A red that’s nice, a rose red. Nothing close to a stinging red. A comforting red.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

They stay there for most of the morning, with Billy lying on the bed and Steve sitting cross legged with both arms holding Billy to him as sweetly as possible. Billy falls asleep eventually, and Steve almost considers leaving him alone but then throws the blanket over the both of them and finds sleep tugging at his lids as well anyways.

So maybe they do cling to each other for the rest of the afternoon.

But one thing’s made clear to the both-- no matter what, no matter why, no matter how, they’ll always stay true to their word and care for the other. Steve will never kick Billy out, and Billy makes a solemn vow to himself to never yell at him again.

One can imagine the surprise Steve gets when he wakes up to Billy waving a letter in front of his face grinning.

#stranger things #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #fanfic #my fic