#autistic harringrove

[half-oz-eddie]

Steve hated ordering food. He had terrible ordering anxiety. Thank god for DoorDash, kiosks and other various apps the overwhelming world of technology offered, that no longer forced him to talk to complete strangers. He’d been taking speech therapy for months because he mumbled and had trouble enunciating his words. He was terribly insecure about speaking in public. His therapist said he was making progress, though.

Recently, a small coffee shop opened up near his house, likely mom and pop owned. It was never crowded, the staff was a small handful of people—two guys and three girls.

Steve wanted to sit in this quaint coffee shop and read his favorite magazine (a physical copy, of course.) Ebooks took away the stimulating pleasure of page flipping, so Steve had to go out and get a copy on the 5th of every month.

With his magazine in hand, he stood outside of the coffee shop, staring at the specials in the window, then scrolling through his phone, searching for the option to order online.

…There wasn’t one.

“Oh man.” Steve sighed to himself. He really really wanted to go inside. He rocked back and forth, humming and tapping his thumb on the side of his phone…contemplating.

It wouldn’t be that hard, right? Just go inside, order a…well nothing too complicated. Maybe a cookie Frappuccino? Simple enough. Sounded tasty. He loved cookies. They were his comfort snack.

He took a deep breath, told himself to be brave, walked inside and took a look around. It wasn’t too bright, the music wasn’t too loud. It was quiet and ambient. Nothing to trigger sensory overload like the other coffee shops. This was nice.

“Hey, can I help you?”

Steve turned his attention to the barista, following his warm, welcoming voice. His eyes were so blue, he observed, before pointedly looking away.

“Uh…can I get a…medium cookie Frappuccino?”

“Name?”

“Steve.”

“You got it.”

Steve fixated on his magazine, waiting for his order.

“Here ya go.”

Steve grabbed the cup, a disappointed frown forming on his face when he read the name on the cup.

Who the hell was “Stan”?

The barista smirked at him, and he forced a smile in return, before finding a table in the back of the coffee shop.

Maybe his speech therapy wasn’t working. Maybe the barista misheard his name because he’s still mumbling.

Maybe he was just nervous.

The Frappuccino was delicious. He planned to try again tomorrow.

The next day was the same. His name was written incorrectly on the cup again!

This time, the barista wrote “Steele”

‘God, I’m such an idiot. Why can’t I say my name right?!’

The third times a charm, hopefully…

Steve went home and practiced saying his name loud and clearly.

“Steve. Steeeve. My name is Steve.”

He recorded himself saying his name and played it back.

It sounded nice and clear to him. He even called his friend Robin who told him he sounded very clear, then wished him good luck.

The big day arrived. This time, he’d make sure the barista heard him clearly.

“Hi!” He greeted in a slightly raised voice, then glanced at the barista’s name tag. “Billy!”

“Hey…want your usual again?”

“Yes!”

“Ookay…”

“Steve. My name is Steve.”

“I know your name, Steve. Why are you talking so loud?” The barista narrowed his blue eyes.

“Because you kept…writing the wrong name on my cup. I thought I was mumbling. I do that. A lot. Bad habit.”

“No—I heard you. I was just teasing you because I think you’re cute. Thought you’d give me shit for it, maybe correct me and then I could comeback with something sly and give you my number. Had it all planned out in my head but you’d just take your cup and sit down. I figured you weren’t interested.” He shrugged.

Steve furrowed his brows, then laughed. “I had no idea what you were doing. I just thought you couldn’t hear me.”

“Sorry about that. I could hear you. And…I’d like to hear you more often. Maybe we can exchange numbers?”

“I’m really not that good with phone calls. Do you like texting?”

Billy shook his head. “I’m not good with texts. Can’t really pick up on tone that well. I suck at it.”

“But…what if I mumble or-or flub my words a lot? Or ramble?” Steve asked worriedly.

“Steve, you’re so cute, I could listen to you say a whole lot of nothing for hours. Plus, I’m a great listener.” He leaned forward on the counter, making Steve’s heart race when Billy’s hand briefly brushed against his. “And I could hear a pin drop. Just gimme a chance?”

Steve nodded with a wide grin. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Billy was elated.

“Yeah.”

“Still want that frap?”

“I do. It’s really good.”

“Whose name should I write on the cup? Sterling?” Billy teased.

“Stop it!” Steve laughed, relieved to know it was a joke, and not his own fault.

“Hey, can I join you? I’m about to take a break.”

“Sure. I like to sit here and read magazines. I have an extra car magazine if you’re interested.“

“You kidding?” Billy smirked. “I fucking love cars. I’ll be right with you.”

Steve sat at his usual table, excitedly rubbing his hands together.

Turns out, that speech therapy worked a lot better than he thought.

#autistic harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove fanfiction #ivy.doc #caliscoops.doc

[jarviscockerssecrethusband]

Steve managed to accidentally crush his headphones over the weekend, so he reluctantly turned to Billy Hargrove for help.

Steve and Billy hadn’t exactly gotten off to the best of starts, considering they beat the crap out of each other within the week. Billy has mellowed out significantly since Neil had left though, so Steve told himself to grow some balls and walked into the general repair shop Billy worked at.

The death metal blasting from the speakers was obnoxious but there was basically nobody there so Steve was able to swallow down the rising panic creeping up his throat. Billy was just some guy. He’d move back to California come the new year and Steve’s life would be exactly the same as it had always been. At least that’s what he told himself.

Billy raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Steve tripping over the step on his way up then stammering his way through an apology. His headphones lay sadly tucked under arm, limp and lifeless.

Actually getting the word autism out was harder than Steve anticipated. Maybe it was because he wasn’t used to telling other people or maybe it was because he found Billy very attractive and he knew what happened whenever anyone he liked found out.

The curl of the lip. The sneer. The asking if he was like mentally five or something.

He managed to stumble his way through explaining that they were his sensory aides and they really helped him not get overwhelmed in public and please don’t punch me again Hargrove.

Billy didn’t punch him, much to Steve’s great surprise. Instead he mumbled something about be right back Harrington and disappeared into the staff only area, only to return with a brand new pair which he thrust into Steve’s hands.

“I get it Harrington. Just take these, you busted yours pretty badly. On the house.”

Steve was pretty sure his brain malfunctioned briefly and then attempted to exit the shop after pushing on a pull door.

Billy had been pretty civil with him. So either it was all some great prank that was about to fall on his head or Steve may have misjudged him just a little.

He didn’t risk reaching out again until a month later when he’d really managed to fuck his oven up and gave himself a five minute mantra about being confident before dming Billy on Instagram asking for help.

A message came back in a minute asking what the fuck he’d managed to do. Steve insisted he had no idea then he just got a short, blunt “on my way princess.”

Billy’s tool box was extensive. As much as Steve would have wished, that wasn’t an innuendo. He just had a lot of kit, probably more than was needed for the actual state of the oven.

They hung out a bit while Billy tinkered, threw out jargon that Steve didn’t understand, then declared it was fixed. Steve resolutely tried not to stare at a peach ass in very tight denim. He may have failed.

A comfortable silence fell afterwards until Steve panicked and asked if he wanted a coffee. It only seemed polite. Billy had been working all afternoon pretty much.

How that ended in them snuggled onto the sofa, Steve couldn’t exactly remember. All he could really register was that Billy’s arms were warm and strong and Steve wished he could just stay there.

Then he snuggled in further and Billy stiffened up. Crap. He’d fucked up somehow.

Steve pulled himself back up into a sitting position, self consciously checking his hair. Billy looked slightly bewildered but more at himself than Steve.

“You…………you alright man? I didn’t push you too far right?”

He got a slow blink in response and being pulled back into a muscular chest. Steve just hoped he wasn’t doing his “simp face”, as Robin had named it.

“Steve”

Ok first name was not a good sign. Prepare for a fist.

“I fucking like you ok? Don’t laugh. I’ve liked you ever since I first set eyes on you, you beautiful oblivious bastard.”

And Steve. Steve had always kind of hated romcoms. They were dumb and clishe and the couples who got together by the end never really made sense.

But looking at Billy’s slightly flushed face and after hearing his confession, Steve thought the romcom route might be the best way to go.

Billy really was a very good kisser.

#billy hargrove #harringrove #steve harrington #harringrove ficlet #autistic steve harrington #modern au

[harringroveera]

Billy’s just helping his boyfriend out with the diagnosis

#harringrove #Autistic & ADHD boyfriends #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #billy hargrove x steve harrington #harringroveera #incorrect harringrove quotes #incorrect billy hargrove quotes #harringrove meme #harringrove textpost #harringrove memes #harringrove edit #harringrove + text posts #steve x billy #steve harrington meme #incorrect steve harrington #billy hargrove meme #billy hargrove text post

[manwrre]

It’s bordering on two weeks since Hargrove’s arrival at Hawkins High, when Steve realizes he’s crushing on the guy. Like—‘doodling hearts in the margins of his books and racking up a list of things he likes about him’ type crushing.

They’ve barely interacted after that night at the party. Outside of social gatherings, they just run in different circles; Steve, filling his time with Robin and occasionally third-wheeling Nancy and Jonathan, while Billy hangs out with the more popular crowd.

Their schedules also don’t overlap despite the blonde taking a number of senior-level classes, with the exception of gym and lunch.

The list though, is still so painstakingly long. Ego-stroking-ly lengthy. Embarrassingly indulgent, all on his behalf.

Steve would much rather nosedive into the quarry, than divulge too deeply into it with anyone.

Especially around or to the guy’s actual face, at the risk of Billy’s head becoming too big for his body (even though Steve thinks he’d make an adorable bobble head). Or you know, worse— like him, getting absolutely brained in front of everyone.

Which must say a lot about him as a person because apparently, this is his type. Beautiful, angry, conceited boys.

Regardless, there are some objective mentions on his list though.

Things that the general public would agree on, like Billy’s Michelle-Pfeiffer curls; loose and wavy but so, so golden.

His eyes are a close second, of course because Steve’s seen a lot of bright blues but Billy’s remind him of the vacation he’d spent in Aruba, as a kid. Remind him of a horizon-kissed vastness and warm water lapping at his ankles on a private beach.

The public also agrees that Billy’s got a banging body. He’s thicker than most because he actually gives a shit and ‘works out religiously’ but it’s not all muscle. His abdomen and thighs are firm but his pecs and ass have the right amount of give. A perfect amount of softness.

Steve would know because he’s had to will away many boners at the sight of them.

And Billy’s funny in a witty, sarcastic way. He grins toosharptooprettytoobright and dangerous. He’s smart too, like taking mostly AP classes smart and he’s smug about it all because he knows he’s hot shit. Of course, the bastard is self aware. Cocky. Steve likes him so much. Wants him so bad that it’s dizzying, sickening.

So yeah, there’s stuff that everyone can agree on but then….then, there’s whatever this is.

This being the two penny-sized indents at the base of Billy’s spine. Symmetrical and just defined enough for average eye to discern.

When Steve sees them for the first time though, he promptly drops the basketball in his hands. In front of everyone. During fucking gym class. Purely out of shock.

He catches himself within the same breath and quickly looks away.

Swallows.

Ignores the pointed look that Patrick sends him for flaking out, mid-pass, like some kind of freak and looks around cooly.

Because Billy Hargrove has dimples of venus.

Affectionately dubbed a sign of beauty by Michelangelo. Famed after the Greek goddess’ simulacrum. Called dimples of Apollo on men, which suits Billy all the more, in Steve’s opinion.

The sun child.

Flushed with life. Deserving of avid worshippers. A being deserving of wax poetic. Glittering, dazzling, vibrant and the Camaro, his chariot.

And he knows this because dimples are like, his freckles. His glasses. His braces. They’re a niche, little thing that he finds just devastating. Achingly cute. Nancy has a pair of them near her laugh lines that he would kiss everyday and prod at, endeared.

So he ambles on through practise a little out of breath and red in the face with his newfound knowledge.

Watches Billy jog over to the locker room with everyone else at the end; skin slick and sweat pooling at the divots of his waistband. Tempting.

He stands back and feigns trying to catch his breath, his hands on his knees. Eyes the younger boy’s retreating form from up through his hair. Imagines hooking his thumbs into the depressions of his flesh.

Relishes in the thought of splaying his hands across the width of his waist.

Feels his mouth go dry and a rush of white heat surging south.

Licks his lips absentmindedly as his cock aches to life and makes the decision to skip the locker room schtick, save anyone realizing he’s sporting a half chub.

Instead, he grabs his backpack and heads out to his car. The parking lot is mostly empty by the time he gets there and devoid of anyone interested in him enough to wave him over. He tosses his stuff into the backseat of the Beemer and speeds off before anyone can catch up to him.

It’s a short drive to his house but he spends it envisioning Billy in all sorts of compromising positions. Thinks about the flush on his skin when he plays and the heat in his eyes— wonders how easily he gives in; loud-mouth turned soft and pliant at the faintest hint of pleasure.

He barely makes it inside before shucking his bag off and stripping himself bare of sweat-sticky clothes. In the same breath, he’s fisting a too damp hand around his cock and hissing at the near painful throb. His only relief comes from the coldness of the door against his back as he slumps against it.

Precum beads at the flushed head and he gathers it all on the upstroke to ease the glide. Squeezes his eyes shut so tightly that honeyed galaxies explode behind the lids and he can’t think.

Can’t think about the consequences of jerking off to someone he sees damn near everyday. Doesn’t care enough to avoid the impending embarrassment.

Why would he? Instead, he thinks of Billy laid out beneath him, all pretty and flushed and glittering; his eyes wet with unshed tears and ruddy lower lip between his teeth as he looks over his shoulder at him. Imagines the roughness of his voice and his muscles all pulled taut as Steve knocks the air out of his lungs with each slam of his cock.

He fucks into the tight ‘o’ of his hand, already so goddamn close and conjures up the image of twin dips. Wants to paint pearlescent white across the bronze expanse of Billy’s back; let it pool where he is favored by the Gods.

The thought has him biting back a moan as he grinds into the slickness of his hold. The heat in his gut expands so greatly, so suddenly, that his hips flex with the intensity of it. Until finally,

it snaps.

Like a star beneath the pressures of gravity; with all the strength and ferocity of a supernova. And he’s spilling all over his hand in a few stiff, jerky thrusts and breathing out a low, garbled “Fuck, Billy— shitshitshit.”

And God, he’s so screwed.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #stranger things #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy hargrove smut #steve harrington smut #harringrove smut #writing #mine #gay pride #autistic steve harrington #pining #crushing #boys in love #my first story #drabble #pretty boys #pretty blonde

[shieldofiron]

They're passing for neurotypical, right?

@intothedysphoria I think you'll vibe this one.

#ShieldofIron #mine #billy hargrove #walking osha violation billy hargrove #Harringrove #Billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #Billy x Steve #Steve x Billy #incorrect Harringrove Quotes #walking OSHA violation Billy Hargrove #Honestly walking HR violation Steve Harrington #autistic steve harrington #ocd billy hargrove

[thissortofsorcery]

@intothedysphoria has inspired me to write about autistic!harringrove, and my own experiences with autism... Max, this is for you! I hope you like it!

tw for anxiety and sensory overwhelm, but it ends fluffy, I promise.

---

It started as a normal day, but it quickly derailed from there.

An asshole at work approached Billy from behind and clapped his hand around the nape of his neck, despite Billy having told him several times he didn’t like that.

Billy didn’t like being touched at all, by most people. And some people had no concept of personal space.

A horrible, painful shiver cut through his spine, icy cold and almost slimy, and Billy held back a shudder. He broke out in goosebumps, and only years and years of practice, of putting on the charm let him pull away from the dickhead graciously, laugh at whatever he said and keep himself together until he could hide away in a bathroom stall.

Billy presses his fingers to his closed eyes hard, seeing stars, and rubs the back of his neck vigorously, trying to replace that cold shiver with something else. Tears spring to his eyes, and he feels so fucking frustrated.

Finding out you’re autistic in your twenties is an experience. A lot of things start making sense, and a lot of things you pushed down and convinced yourself weren’t a problem spring back up like a jack-in-the-box, a hundred times worse.

Like the touch thing. It’s not that Billy doesn’t like being touched. He just doesn’t like being touched by people he doesn’t know, and for no reason.

Like, his physical therapist, when she was helping him regain dexterity in his hands after Starcourt, that was fine.

Some dude in the office touching his neck, even casually, not so much.

Billy takes a deep breath, tries to remember the self-care workbook he and Steve filled out together a couple months ago. Tries to calm down.

Three ways I can distract myself when someone touches me, he’d written, glancing back up at Steve with a smile. Happy they were doing it together.

Loud music + puzzle

Hot drink

Yelling

Steve laughed and shook his head (“it’s very you”) when Billy wrote down the last one, but it really did help.

Billy gives himself a few more moments in the stall before he slinks out, heading to the sinks and splashing cold water on his face. The sensory shock helps a little, the cool, pleasant feeling helping balance the sensation of something crawling under his skin.

He checks if the break room is empty before he goes in, and it thankfully is. He doesn’t want to run into anyone. Doesn’t think he has it in him to mask right now.

Billy makes himself a mug full of scalding hot coffee and hurries back to his office, avoiding eye contact with anyone who throws out a hello. So what if they think he’s angry. Maybe he is pissed.

He manages to spend the rest of the day locked in his office, headphones on, and only comes out when it’s time to go home.

Of course, all he wants is to see Steve, wants his comforting presence, even if they’ve been dating only three months. When he walks through the door of Steve’s house, he sees Steve sitting on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, wearing his ugly vomit green socks with raccoons on them, that he’s had since he was 15 and won’t get rid of.

A wave of relief crashes through him, nearly leaving him dizzy. He breathes deep, catches the smell of his clean house, laundry, and Steve.

“Hey baby,” Steve calls, laying his head on the back of the couch to look at him, making his glasses just a little bit crooked. “Bad day?”

“Does my face look that terrible?” Billy grumbles, taking his shoes off at the entryway before he steps into the living room.

“Your headphones are around your neck,” Steve points to them, a smile ticking up the corner of his mouth.

Oh. Billy forgot to put them away. He doesn’t need them in the car.

He sighs and throws himself down next to Steve, a careful, deliberate distance away.

“I’m just ‘whelmed,” Billy mumbles.

“Overwhelmed?”

“Not anymore. Just whelmed,” He says, sighing again. His body sags, melting against the cushions. He doesn’t feel shivery anymore, but he feels tired, like he’s on the bad end of an all-nighter.

Steve puts his hand on the cushion between them, palm up, not touching Billy.

Billy takes a deep breath, watching Steve’s hand. He knows that hand intimately, knows it to be warm and soft and kind, knows how its skin feels against Billy’s, the friction making the shivers good instead of bad.

He puts a tentative fingertip on Steve’s pointer finger, and all Steve does is press back, smiling gently.

Billy slides his fingers in between Steve’s, laces them together, holds his hand palm to palm, and feels the touch of his skin like they’re buzzing together.

Billy knows he can change his mind, and all Steve’s gonna do is smile, sit on his side of the couch, and continue the conversation.

“How’s that book you were working on going?” Steve asks. He rubs his thumb over the back of Billy’s hand once, and stops. When Billy squeezes his hand, he resumes the movement, sending pleasant tingles up Billy’s arm.

“Good. The writer was receptive to what I said. They sent me a couple reworked chapters today,” Billy says, moving closer to Steve, so their arms press together.

As the conversation goes on, Billy presses closer and closer, at his own pace, and Steve accepts it crumb by crumb.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve Steve, or how Steve is so patient with him. Steve loves physical contact. Billy does, too, but he’s so particular about it that sometimes he wonders if he’s even worth sticking around for.

Billy ends up lying on top of Steve, chest to chest, nose tucked into his throat, breathing in his warmth and his scent.

“Don’t touch my neck, okay?” He asks, hunching his shoulders a little.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve says, easy as that. “Can I touch your hair?”

“Yeah.”

Steve turns his head and kisses Billy’s head, right on the hairline, pulling a deep, content sigh from him.

“Thanks, Stevie,” Billy says, squeezing his ribs just a little tighter. “For doing this for me. Being patient.”

Steve looks down at him, frowning slightly.

“‘Course. You shouldn’t— You don’t have to thank me,” He says, earnest. “It’s not a chore, Billy. You’re not…” He licks his lips, trying to think. When he looks at Billy, it's like he's telling him a secret. “You make me happy. All of you.”

Billy’s smile is wide, stretching his full lips and showing his teeth, and Billy only drops it so he can kiss Steve.

They keep it chaste, an unhurried, soft press of lips, enjoying their intimacy and their closeness and their familiarity. Simple as it is, it's one of the best kisses he's had. Steve's the best person he's ever met.

When Steve touches him, he feels safe. Billy wants to keep him.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #autistic billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #billy x steve #sorcery writes #mine

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

It’s hard to be strong, sometimes.

“Nothing’s gonna fix me.”

Billy can do the heavy lifting. Can pull the freight with nothing but the sweat on his back to show for it.

“I’m jus’ gonna hurt forever.”

But this?

He isn’t strong enough for this.

“You aren’t,” he coos. “I won’t let you.”

A strained little sob hiccups out of Steve, and he simply shakes his head. The veins running up the length of his neck thump fast with his pulse, rising to the surface of his flushed skin. Tense and angry, like his eyebrows, pinched together harshly no matter how much Billy shushes and croons at him.

He’s got Steve’s face buried in his chest, shirt completely damp around the collar, and Steve’s fists tangles weakly at the sides.

Right now is probably the calmest he’s been all afternoon since this started.

Billy buries his nose in Steve’s hair and closes his eyes, arms wrapped softly around him. Grounding him in place. Smoothing carefully over his back, wary of pressing lest he cause another river of tears.

“Why does something that’s supposed to help hurt so bad?” Steve whines.

As much as Billy wants to squeeze him as tight as he can, he doesn’t. Instead settles one of his hands against Steve’s head, holding his cheek to his chest and gently stroking his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t know,” Billy admits. “Sometimes stuff doesn’t work, and you find out the shitty way.”

Steve huffs and makes a frustrated, pained sound into Billy’s shirt that’s followed by a warm wetness soaking into the fabric. Billy shushes into his hair again.

He wishes he could take the ache away. Wishes he could, even for just a moment, see what it feels like.

What could hurt so fucking bad that it has Steve crumbling into a mess of throaty sobs? Steve, who has been knocked around like a ragdoll and simply dusted himself off after?

“‘M gonna hurt forever,” he whines again.

Digs his forehead into Billy’s chest, shifting and rocking himself softly on top of him like he’s trying to physically shake the pain off, and Billy urges him to lie still with a gentle hand on his back.

“You won’t, it’ll pass.”

He tries to say it with certainty, but there’s a slight rasp in his voice to match the mist gathering in his eyes. Even when he gets Steve to fall still again.

“It hurts.”

“What hurts?”

A shaky sob leaves Steve’s lips as he curls his fingers tighter in Billy’s shirt at his sides.

“Everything,” he urges.

Presses himself down hard, muscles tense, like he’s trying to smother himself. Billy keeps his hand smoothing delicately up and down his back.

“I know, baby. Just breathe, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Steve’s muscles shake from the effort, but he eventually listens. Inhales a shallow breath and sighs it out, drawing another one in as slow as he can manage with his elevated heart rate.

It takes a few moments, but his grip eventually eases again. He sniffles and nudges his face against Billy’s ruined shirt, huffing softly.

“It hurts,” he rasps, voice just above a whisper.

“I know, Stevie.” Billy noses a kiss into the brunet’s hair. “I know.”

They lay there like that for a while. Steve eventually tires himself out, nodding off on top of Billy even though he’s still crying. Too emotionally and physically exhausted to stay awake through the pain.

Billy just holds him. Lays his head back on the pillow once Steve’s breathing finally evens out and exhales a long sigh.

He might not be strong enough to fix Steve, because most medications aren’t even strong enough for that.

He supposes that being strong enough to love Steve will suffice, though.

Then at least he doesn’t have to suffer it alone.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #disabled steve harrington #autistic steve harrington #chronic pain #meltdown #hurt/comfort #anyways always read the side effects on your meds guys #who knew pain killers could *cause* pain? I sure didn’t #vent fic #ficlet #unedited #my writing

[hargrove-mayfields]

My Harringrove Relay Race Piece!

Word Count: ~700

Pure sfw romantic fluff 💕

@harringrove-relay-race

_________

Carol got a flat tire and can’t make it in time.

So here Billy and Steve are.

Sat on the floor, ice packs in hand like weapons, the two of them working as a tactical team to keep Heather's brain from overheating. That's not how it works, but Billy’s ocd brain heard that cold helps her feel better after seizures on a hard day, and sort of ran with it.

Their best friend is epileptic, full time under the care of their other best friend. The boys are no medical professionals like Carol, but they’re functioning off of enough practical knowledge to be trusted to keep her safe.

Heather, however, doesn’t like feeling crowded.

Now that she’s responsive and relaxed again, propped up on some pillows, she complains, “Really, I don’t need babysat, you guys.”

Steve instantly backs off. He understands the feeling of overstimulation, comparing in his head the feeling of having a crowd around after a meltdown, blurry forms of faces getting too close.

Billy would. But his instincts are screaming at him to hold it in place. Keep her cool, or something bad will happen. Something he doesn’t even wanna think about.

He swallows his nervousness thickly, “We’ll stay ‘til Carol gets here to help you out.”

“You’ve said that a million times, bub.” Heather smiles softly, understanding, at the same time really trying to get Billy to understand she’s okay.

That makes him sort of sheepish. Embarrassed by the part of himself he always wished he could control. He forces a little smile too, “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

“Of course not, sugar lump. But Steve looks like he’s going to faint. And you look tired.” She gently pushes on his cheek to make him look at Steve, and yeah, he does look worn the hell out. Damn it. He’s spent too much energy caring for everyone else again. Billy would be drowning in guilt, if not for Heather’s reassurances, “I don't feel seizure-y anymore. I’ll be okay. I promise.”

Caught between two sides of his own thinking, Billy starts to chew the inside of his cheek. Not even noticing he’s doing it.

Until Steve interrupts, quiet to show he isn’t mad, just observing, “Bad stim.”

He always carries at least two chew necklaces for that reason. Usually his favorite cloth one, and a rubber one for Billy. The chewies hurt his own teeth, but he wears it anyways, just in case his Billy needs it.

It’s romantic really.

And it is as well when Steve loops it off of his own neck, and places it over Billy’s, giving him an easy fix to the harmful chewing.

Appreciative, Billy kisses the palm of Steve’s hand as he puts it on him,

Watching the moment, Heather snorts a little laugh at them. “You two are so lovey-dovey. It’s disgusting.”

Billy rolls his eyes back, “Aw, you’re just saying that.”

In the short stretch of silence that follows, Steve decides to scoot a little closer and lay his head on Billy’s shoulder. At first, he thinks he might just want some affection, but the action suddenly reminds Billy of something.

“Do you wanna tell her?” He asks Steve, trying to be quiet about it.

She hears anyway. Propping herself up, Heather wiggles her brows, “Ooh, tell me what?”

“Promise not to have another seizure?”

“You know that’s not the way it works.”

“I don’t know… this is pretty big.” Alright, so maybe he’s nervous and stalling for time. So what?

Heather’s voice gets squeaky in frustration, “Just tell me, William!”

The anticipation is too much. Steve declares it himself, tapping his hands excitedly, “We’re getting married!!”

Grocery bags and car keys are dropped to the floor behind them. Carol’s home, and she has Tommy with her.

Billy and Steve will be the first of their friends to get married. It might help that they don’t have college or kids or budding careers in the way, but Billy’s proud of the achievement anyways.

Tommy flashes a signature cheeseburger smile and gives a thumbs up behind Carol, who herself shrieks, “What?! Tell. Me. Everything!!”

Everything including Billy dropping the ring under the couch and losing it, or Steve crying so hard he got the hiccups, and couldn’t eat the cookies Billy baked to celebrate?

He won’t say no, but they’re going to be here for a while.

________

Hope y’all liked this little snippet! And if you enjoyed this, I bet you’re all gonna love what our next poster has in store! So excited and thrilled to announce the very talented, very inspired- @nymphwriter!

#harringroverelayrace #harringrove relay race #harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #heather holloway #carol perkins #tommy hagan #my writing #ocd billy hargrove #autistic billy hargrove #autistic steve harrington #epileptic heather holloway

[imsodishy]

Ok, thanks for sharing.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #dishy edits #know how i know I'M autistic? the continuity error of the hand holding in the middle of this photo set bugs me ✌

[creaturecosmo]

Steve who gets super excited about a song that plays at a hang out with the party and flaps his hands for a second before realizing what he's doing and stopping. But Billy saw and with a confused little smile he mimics the movement. And it gives another burst of excitement from Steve when he realizes he's not being mocked, and starts stimming again.

And now every time Steve gets embarrassed about a stim, Billy will mimic it. Billy doesn't quite know why Steve is doing the motions, but it's fun to replicate and seems to make him happy, so he doesn't mind.

The kids also do this all the time. It started with El and Dustin stimming and the others mimicking and when Steve naturally started stimming around them as he got comfortable, it extended to him as well.

#autistic!steve harrington #autistic!steve #autistic!eleven #autistic!dustin henderson #autistic!dustin #harringrove #steve harrington x billy hargrove #steve x billy #steve harrington #billy hargrove #stranger things #creature.txt

[passivenovember]

More Autistic!Billy. A request from a couple of anons and my pal Mia, who asked for Billy, learning how to give and receive gifts as a method of showing love. I hope you all enjoy!

--

Billy imagines that the Harrington’s bank account is a two story room, nestled far in the chrome-finished backdrop of the brick and mortar building on Park street where all the money in Hawkins lives.

And Billy imagines that when Mr. and Mrs. Harrington need to pay land taxes or dip into the Christmas Gift Fund, they have to make a call to a telephone that beeps red with urgency, and whoever answers has to be shot as soon as the instructions are given:

Two grand for Christmas this year, Jeeves, Steven raised his Chemistry grade from a C- to a C+.

The secret room that holds the Harrington family’s never-ending supply of fifty dollar bills is Wonka-esque, in Billy’s mind. A glittering hideaway that can only be reached by secret agents who wear dust gloves. 

It’s an ordeal to retrieve money from the bank and yet Steve never seems strapped. Whatever they want to do, anywhere they want to go and anything Billy looks twice at while they’re walking, Steve somehow gets his hands on.

Stuffed animals, cassette tapes, leather-bound journals, flowers in brightly colored pots, and Jewelry.

So much jewelry that Billy never notices Steve ordering from Cartier, but.

Steve’s sneaky. Somehow hides those precious gifts in the glovebox of Billy’s Camaro, folded into the pocket of his leather coat, or wrapped neatly in bright gold paper labeled “Billy,” under the Harrington Family Tree that first Christmas when they knew but couldn’t say I Love You.

Steve, saying, “Ooh, there’s one last gift to give,” and ducking under the foliage only to pull away with big brown eyes and jacked shoulders, grinning as Billy picks at the taped-down edges. Tries to save the wrapping. Steve says, “I don’t know where the jewelry box came from,” When Billy holds the new earring awkwardly in one hand. “Musta been Santa.”

Bills drip from Steve’s fingertips like crystalized honey, coating Billy’s skin in a sticky sweet show of love, and it takes him a while to recognize it.

What it means, at the ooey-gooey center.

That when Steve gets Billy a stuffed bear to keep over at his place because Billy can’t risk unshelling Mr. Sandman from his hiding spot with Neil breathing down his neck, or when Steve orders the entire Ender’s Game series, signed from the author himself, and especially when he offers to put Billy’s new earring in for him, kissing the lobe and pulling back to smile with a pleased, warm blush blooming across his face--

That’s how Steve says I Love You.

Billy never relaxes into it.

--

“I can buy things for myself,” Billy says. 

Steve startles on the couch next to him, sock feet tensing a little as he blinks himself awake. “Huh?”

“I have my own job,” Billy says.

His finger is stuck in the hole by Mr. Reginald Sandman’s ear. Billy worries at it, wondering what Reginald’s husband would say if he saw him now, sitting in Billy’s lap in a mansion, high on the hill. 

Steve rubs a hand over his eyes, sitting up a little straighter. “Baby, what are you--”

“At the swimming pool. I have my own job.”

Steve nods. He’s still not fully awake. His hair is a mess from working such long hours to pay for California, and Billy wants to run his fingers through it, wondering if it smells like chocolate chip ice cream. If the texture’s a little slippery and soft like it gets when it needs to be shampooed. 

He doesn’t, through, because Steve is frowning, the collar of his shirt rumpled from falling asleep in front of Wheel of Fortune. 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Billy clarifies after a long, languid pause.

Steve waits for more. Gives the thought acreage to take root. Waits so patiently, pink lips soft and expectant, that Billy feels bad for stalling in the speech he had prepared with Max for a moment just like this one. 

“I’m not worried about you, baby,” Steve says gently, cast in liquid silver from the light of the t.v. “I’m never worried about you, you’re stronger than I am.”

“This isn’t about who’s better at carrying heavy things.”

When Billy doesn’t continue, distracted by the hole in Mrs. Reginald Sandman’s ear, Steve frowns. “What is this about?”

Billy fiddles with Mr. Reginald Sandman’s other ear. Takes a deep breath. 

“It’s about me being able to take care of myself,” Billy admits. When Steve doesn’t interrupt him, he shrugs. “I know how to do a lot of things. I can change the oil in any car produced from 1934-1987, and I can count by tens all the way to 1,450,330 in under five minutes, and I can save money to buy the things I want to.”

“I know you can, Billy.”

“Then why do you buy me everything? Why do you never let me figure out how to do it myself?”

Steve sits up straight, then, eyebrows lumped together in confusion.

He looks upset. Hurt.

Billy clutches tighter at Mr. Reginald Sandman, not liking that he’s the cause of this. “I like the presents,” Billy says. 

Steve shakes his head and tells him, “It’s okay if you don’t.”

“But I do, though.”

“So, wait.” Steve sits up straighter. Mutes the television. “You do or you don’t like when I take care of you?”

“I like it. No one does it better.”

“But you want me to stop?”

Billy frowns at the stuffed bear in his hands, realizing that maybe he didn’t stick to the script Max had given him. He pokes Mr. Reginald Sandman’s eye, and thinks he can apologize for that later. 

“I don’t want you to stop, I just.” Billy takes a deep, steadying breath. “I don’t understand why you want to spend your money on me. You work so hard for it, and you should use it to get a new T.V. or--”

“I’m spending my money exactly how I want to,” Steve tells him. He sets the remote on the coffee table, then, leaning forward until his knee his pressed into Billy’s side. “Will you please look at me, baby?”

Billy does.

As always, he’s blinded by what he finds. The beauty on his lover’s face. The devotion that shines clear as the summer sun over the sleepy town where the two crashed together. 

Steve smiles. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Billy nods. 

Steve’s hand, when it curls around Billy’s jaw, is warm. Just like the rest of him. Chocolate sprinkled, fresh from the oven, made from scratch warm that lights Billy up inside. 

“I’m spending my money exactly how I want to. On the man I love.”

“Steve--”

“No, it’s okay.”  Steve’s thumb rubs circles on his cheekbone. Tethers him in the truth when Steve says, “You make me so happy, Bill. Everyday you give me something to look forward to. You make me feel like Saturday morning and spring break and Christmas rolled into one dough-ball that annoys the shit out of Robin because I never stop talking about you--”

Billy laughs, thick and wet. 

Steve’s eyes are amber waves Billy could get lost in. Drown. 

Steve would never let that happen. 

Steve pulls him close and says, “I like taking care of you.”

And maybe, for the first time in his life, Billy can relax into the thought. That, honest as the spread of sun-soaked land, someone could love him.

#harringrove #autistic!billy #it honestly means so much to me that yall connect with these lil ficlets #so happy i can be this island for you! #please let me know if you'd like to see more from our boy #love you <3

[half-oz-eddie]

Billy has an emotional support balloon and Steve hates the sound of Billy rubbing the balloon, but when the emotional support balloon starts to deflate, Steve blows up a new balloon for Billy to come home to.

It comforts Billy after a long day. So it’s fine. Steve just wears headphones.

a little thought for @intothedysphoria and my other fellow autistic mutuals.

#autistic harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #hg thots

[jarviscockerssecrethusband]

Thinking about Billy who has a special interest in trains and Steve who has a special interest in WHAM and both of them mask the absolute hell out of it. It’s not appropriate or right and Neil would take a significant issue with his son not being right in the head.

And at first they’re wary of each other. For good reason too. But eventually they lighten up. Gradually. Because there’s just these tiny hints that maybe the other boy is like them.

Billy wanted to go on a train on a cross country journey back to California. That’s the last thing he told Steve before he died.

For a bit at least. Then he came back.

And Steve started thinking about being with someone who didn’t think of him as so much of a freak.

So he decided to plan something for Billy. Something romantic.

Maybe a train journey would be nice

@thissortofsorcery ❤️❤️❤️

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #autistic billy hargrove #autistic steve harrington

[all-or-nothing-baby]

when you're neurodivergent and reply to like six ao3 messages consecutively and feel as if you're passing through earth's atmosphere sans spaceship and naked as a j-bird

#the ringing in my ears has increased by 74% #which means it's now at a premium of 173% #last seen orbiting the moon #ao3 #ao3 comments #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #writers of fic #writing problems #autistic problems #autism #adhd #neurodiversity #neurodiversesquad #fandom shit #destiel #sterek #geraskier #harringrove #cherik #aaaand #jimlock #i think? #wild #http://cassidy.shitpost

[manwrre]

new harringrove wip where steve just loves skincare.

like, growing up, he’d watch his mom use all of these expensive, imported products from italy because she’s a snob and she’d spend hours at her vanity or something guasha-ing and jade rolling because “it reduces puffiness and gives you glowing skin, steven,” and he’d just be enraptured by all of it; the scents, the science behind it and routine of it all.

and obviously, she would NOT allow her son to be someone who uses dial 3in1 body, hair and freaking face wash because ew. so she’d get him his own kid-friendly products and they’d bond over it before bed

it would kinda fall off once they leave, duh because he’s a teenaged boy and he’s more interested in girls and sports and his douche-y friends

but after the instability that the upside down brings and the nightmares making him a damn near insomniac, he goes back to his roots one night. his memories of simpler times ease the ache of loneliness and the routine yk, helps him establish a bit of peace.

so now, he’s one of those people who has an intense 23 step skincare routine or some shit. and when he starts dating billy?? yea, no, it doesn’t change. billy doesn’t make fun of him or think it’s girly or anything. he doesn’t tease him about it and just likes the fact that steve allows him to see something so private. allows him to see such vulnerable parts of himself.

it becomes a thing of theirs, too; face masks on the weekends and steve ordering new products for billy’s combination skin and teaching him the order of application whenever he’s at his house. and it’s SO cute, they’re just soft skincare loving bfs

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove x steve harrington #autistic steve harrington #boys in love #skincare #mine #blurb #ideas #writing wip #stranger things #soft steve harrington

[neonponders]

can you write an autistic Steve fic being bullied for being autistic, but they say retard instead, maybe hurt comfort, maybe Steve fights back? idk I'm not picky

I don't know enough autism or the autistic spectrum to do Steve justice here, but I know there are many who already have or are willing to write autistic Steve, so I pass this onto them <3

The only things I can really add are events around Steve. Like if someone openly, verbally harasses him, Dustin overhears it. But Dustin isn't a fighter. He can get mouthy and his eyes fill with tears because he's just so angry on Steve's behalf, but it would be Max who decks the high school senior in the face. Maybe she doesn't know Steve very well yet, but she knows Dustin, and she knows slurs. That punch was a long time coming, even if it wasn't the target she had hoped for.

Maybe the teachers would throw her a bone and, instead of calling her mom/stepdad, they call Billy to the front office to deal with his sister throwing hands.

Obviously Billy's more impressed than judicial lol but if she goes home with bruised knuckles and he doesn't have something damn good to say to their parents, this will really blow up in a bad way.

"I have to break your board for this. You know that, right?"

"Wouldn't be the first time."

Billy's not happy with that remark, but she's right. So instead, he says, "So what the hell did Herbert Cowshit Smith do to piss you off?"

"It's not like you care."

"You're right. But whether we like it or not, we're family now, which means I'm stuck looking after you. We're ball and chained together, so while I'm getting grounded for a month because of your bullshit, you better make it worth my while."

Max sighed, figuring Billy had to know already. Not like it could get worse when both the middle and high schools knew Steve Harrington was different.

Billy's lighting a cigarette when she tells him. His eyes flick up to see the same Harrington walking out of the school with the rest of the student body. He's got something in his hands, some toy Billy had noticed a while ago but figured the boys here were either old enough to not steal it from him, or already had and had long since gotten bored of childish antics.

Now he sees that it's a yo-yo, because Steve does the 'walking the dog' trick on the way to his car. That BMW had smelled like weed more than once since they'd moved here. Billy didn't know why he found Steve eccentric or downright odd, but it hadn't particularly bothered him. If anything, his traits made Steve the only interesting person in this whole white bread town. Billy knew he mellowed out on the days he lit up before school; dulled his personality into a foggy-eyed, drunk smile that Billy hadn't yet admitted he wanted to see pointed in his direction.

This might be worth his while, after all.

#harringrove #autistic!steve #neonponders #anonymous #tw self medicating #i've read some drabbles about autistic traits being masked?? #i probably didn't do it right but I tried haha