Steve has always enjoyed giving pleasure.
He likes being wanted, being desired, and—even just for a moment—desperately, selfishly needed. He likes figuring out what makes them tremble, what makes them gasp, moan, call out his name, and he loves watching it all happen.
His favourite thing to do to Nancy was finger her. Make his palm slick and his wrist cramp and her mouth fall open in a perfect o around a silent cry. Laying between her legs and looking into her pretty blue eyes while she rutted against his hand, slowly but surely getting hazy with pleasure, losing that layer of self-consciousness that always shrouded her. He loved her like that. Loved what he imagined as walls between them crumbling, seeing her raw and bare.
But she lied to him. Left him. And he wasn't sure he'd ever feel like that with someone again.
Billy's strange, at first. Too wound up all the time, too much, too aggressive. He's a whirlwind Steve barely keeps up with, but he learns to love the chaos too.
Still, he yearns. Fantasizes. Billy's walls are stone and iron, seemingly impossible to scale, but Steve still wonders what's on the other side.
And one day he finds out.
One day Billy lets him keep the lights on. Lets Steve use his fingers.
Billy looks away, at first. Lays his forearm over his eyes and bites his lip, splayed out on Steve's bed but not vulnerable in the ways that matter. He muffles the tiny sounds trying to escape him. Clenches around Steve's fingers, tense, embarrassed. Holding back.
It tugs at Steve's chest in worrying ways, plucking at strings he hadn't noticed til now.
He persists. Working his fingers in gently, slowly, finding just where to press, his free hand wandering, exploring less vital places. It settles on the side of Billy's neck, thumb stroking the underside of his clenched jaw. And piece by piece Billy crumbles.
He's flushed, everywhere, pink on his chest, his cheeks, his throbbing, untouched cock, leaking pre, streams pooling in the crease of his trembling thigh. And the sounds. Small ones, quiet, urgent, whimpers bitten-off, Steve could listen to him for hours.
The best part is when his arm finally drops. When his hand slips to clasp Steve's, press it more firmly to his throat, a demand Steve barely registers because his head is spinning and full of crystal blue eyes. Thick, damp eyelashes. The sheen of fresh tears gathering in the corners. And warmth. Heat. Affection shining out of Billy Hargrove like sunlight shimmering through tropical waters.
He's beautiful. More than that, he's fucking perfect. Every frizzy curl stuck to his forehead and bit of uneven stubble on his jaw and freckle fading on his nose, he's prettier than a painting and he's all Steve's.
--tag list peeps @growup-thatbeautiful @spreckle @prettyboy-like-you
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💫 Steve Harrington's House 💫
So, after this post, I couldn't let go of this house. I decided to rebuild it in The Sims and then I had so much info I felt the need to share it. Other than commenting on some crazy aspects of this mansion, I think it can give some input/ideas for possible scenarios in fanfiction! (for one, I'd like to know what Eddie thinks about half of the features of this house lmao).
My process was: canon information > actual house information > gaps I filled the best I could
Disclaimer: keep on describing Steve's house however you want to!! I'm sharing this in case you wanna be as close to the actual house as possible!
Listings: Zillow | Trulia | Homemetry
Credits: Sticky notes by rawpixel.com | Washi tapes by rawpixel.com | background paper by starline all on Freepik
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Abandoned by the man whose legacy you helped build, whose reputation you defended in the face of scrutiny and scorn from everyone you knew, whose dream you believed in even when he himself doubted it, whose family you safeguarded without complaint and with the utmost loyalty. A man you looked up to, a man you held so high he blotted out the stars, your man, your Albrecht.
Not knowing why he left, why he asked you to make sure he never comes back, why he didn't say those simple words, not once.
Why, why, why.
But knowing that he didn't take you with him. He left you behind, alone and burdened by all the responsibilities you've shouldered for him in your long years together, so everlastingly committed to him that you would not dare betray him, even in your bitterness. Waking up to find your entire world gone, and needing, despite everything, to still be in service to him, his plan, his ideals.
Were you ever good enough? Or were you just useful?
But you still fought for him, for what you built together and what he-you believe in, you fought for that one sliver of hope that one day, somehow, he'll come back, and tell you he loves you. You devoted every fibre of your being to upholding that legacy, that dream. His and your dream.
And then you find out he left because of you. Albrecht loved you so much that he chose to sacrifice himself, the one you hold most precious, so he can save you. And it still wasn't enough. You are worlds apart, fighting the same foe, with no certainty that it'll be enough, no guarantee of success. But you still have to try.
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