#electric-177

[toburnup]

would you ever write a fake dating au? i feel especially for steddie it’s such a good trope

ooohohoho. in a one shot format, yes. not sure if i'd have the patience to do a full fic (unless they end up hooking up fr fr partway through) but this is just because i like writing smut :( :(

fake dating steddie rec here - throw your dice (take your chance), almost complete. persie's eddie characterization is my lifeblood.

[callieb]

First kiss - impulsive for harringrove??💞💞

You got it, lovely! I’m still taking prompts from this list, so hit me up!

First Kisses - 3. Impulsive

Billy has got ice cream around his mouth, and Steve’s first, stupid thought is that he’s doing it on purpose.

He’s standing in the video store, examining the display Steve just assembled, still chewing on his ice cream cone, and he’s got ice cream around his mouth.

“Billy’s got ice cream around his mouth,” Steve tells Robin in a low whisper.

She gives him a weird look. “So?”

He had been trying to make it into a joke, something they could use to make fun of Billy, but apparently Robin only likes to mock Steve. “It’s distracting,” he says lamely.

She laughs, and rolls her eyes at him. “You’re so obvious, dingus.”

“What’s obvious?” Billy asks, approaching the counter. He’s holding a couple of tapes: Raiders of the Lost Ark, which Steve hasn’t seen, and Ghostbusters, which he has. Robin made him.

He points at the tape. “I’ve seen that,” he says.

“You want a medal, pretty boy?” Billy asks, but he’s got a grin on his face. A grin, and ice cream.

“You have ice cream on your face,” Steve tells him.

Billy barks out a laugh, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He misses the ice cream completely. “You looking at my mouth, Harrington?”

Steve’s heart beats faster for no reason at all. “No,” he says sullenly.

“Is it good?” Billy asks, and for a heart-stopping second Steve thinks he’s still talking about his mouth - but then he realises Billy’s holding out the Ghostbusters tape. Right, because Steve just said he’d seen it.

“It’s okay,” he says, and beside him, Robin makes an outraged kind of sound. “Well, I don’t know! I’m not really a movie person.”

Billy cackles. “You work in a video store,” he points out helpfully.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I know.”

Billy puts his tapes on the counter, swallowing the last piece of his waffle cone. He still has ice cream on his face. “I can swim,” he says, apropos of nothing. Or so it seems, until he goes on: “That was a core requirement of my job at the pool. Being able to do the thing I was hired for.”

Robin laughs; it takes Steve a second to realise he’s being mocked. “You don’t have to know movies to rent them to people,” he says.

“No, but it helps,” Billy says. “What do you do when people ask you for recommendations?”

“Ask Robin,” Steve says, and then wishes he hadn’t, because they’re both laughing at him. “Shut up.”

Billy’s tongue darts out, and he licks his lip, just a tiny bit. He still misses the ice cream. He says: “Is there anything you are good at, Harrington?” There’s an odd edge to his voice, but he’s smiling, so it can’t be bad.

Steve checks out the videos grumpily. “Basketball,” he says. “Babysitting. Girls.” Robin snorts, and he nudges her. “Well, I used to be.”

“Before Nancy,” Robin supplies.

“Right,” Steve says.

“When you were still an asshole,” she adds, and Billy laughs.

Steve nudges her again. “Three dollars and eighty cents,” he tells Billy. “Shut up,” he says to Robin.

Billy hands over a five. Steve runs it through the till and gives him his change. As he’s handing it over, their palms brush; Steve feels a little warm at the touch, though he has no idea why.

“Thanks,” Billy says. It’s just the tiniest smudge, right there above his lip, and Steve’s heartbeat is too fast.

He says, his voice sounding weird and strangled: “You still have ice cream.”

“Do I?” Billy’s voice is husky. He’s pressed right up against the counter; it’s not very big. There’s not very much space between them at all.

“Oh my God,” Robin half-whispers, behind him. 

Steve, ignoring this, says to Billy: “Yeah.”

Then a completely unfamiliar confidence sweeps through him unexpectedly, and he gets up on his tiptoes, leans across the counter, and presses his lips to Billy’s.

For a moment, Billy is totally still, and then he drops the tapes onto the counter with a clatter. His hands reach up to grasp Steve’s upper arms.

Steve draws back, but not very far.

“Is it still there?” Billy asks.

Steve looks. Billy’s upper lip is clean.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning forward again. “Still there.”

Send me prompts from this list!

[the-darklings]

hi!! so I uhh, adore the way you write Quentin beck?? I might be a bit late on this train, but your writing is just so beautiful and flows so well. I legit adore all your ficlets!! I was wondering if you had any headcanons for him?? maybe when he’s not scheming, like what his hobbies are or what type of pet he’d have or idk stuff like that. thank you!!💞💞 have an amazing day hun xx

Hiiii! Thank you so much, love! So everything has been pretty COA lately and I have missed my scheming fishbowl man, so sure!

A foodie. Likes eating out a lot, so expect lots of meals out, and often. It also leads to a lot of adventurous times between you (great food, weird food, bad food) and has helped to create some of his favourite memories with you. 

He’s very ambitious (clearly) so he’s definitely a workaholic. He can be grumpy because of it since he gets almost obsessive with whatever he’s working on. It usually takes careful coaxing from you to finally make him stop, but chances are if you’re fighting, it’s because of his work. 

Can be pretty possessive. If you’re out and about likes to have his arm around your waist, his fingers occasionally tugging on the loops of your jeans or just the flesh of your hip to keep you close. Will whisper sweet nothings into your ear if he sees you get flustered by it. 

Will 100% tease the living hell out of you. In general, has a silver tongue and is not afraid to use it to get his way. 

Definitely enjoys bragging which also includes you. Like mentioned above, he’s ambitious, so the idea of you achieving your goals is pleasing to him because it appeals to his driven nature and because it makes you happy. 

Hates surprises but enjoys surprising you. Expect spontaneous everything because he gets bored pretty easily. It also has nothing to do with his control-freak ways. Nope. :)

Absolutely vicious in an argument. Good luck winning even the smallest of arguments against him. He has counters for your counters and then some. 

Enjoys working out so goes to the gym on a semi-regular basis. Both because he’s vain but also because he believes staying on top form and healthy. 

Grumpy in the morning but can and will wake up early if necessary. Prefers the night though (especially when working) because the world is quiet and he can focus on work in peace. 

Not a pet person but if he had to choose then a cat. They require less maintenance (especially when he’s busy working) and many give off that similar bastard energy he’s known for. 

Likes it when you sit in his lap. Just the weight of you, against him, his arms around you. Perfect. Also easy access to your neck and ear. ;)

Likes keeping you in suspense. Will he kiss you? Will he not? Touch, no touch? He indulges in little games often, and if you play along? All the better. The price at the end is always worth it, and all the sweeter if he has to work for it. 

[keroujack]

#2 from the dialogue prompts + harringrove please? Love your writing!!

@electric-177 aw man thank you so much!! hope you like it <33

2. “Close the door.”

Billy was an asshole. Max had learned that quickly.

Figured it out the first time she was late by a mere three minutes and the Camaro tore out of the movie theatre parking lot without her. Killed any and all hope that she’d be gaining a sibling, maybe a friend through the disaster that was her parents’ divorce, her mom’s quick remarriage.

Billy was bark and bite and broken glass that cut her with one look, one word. Jagged. Rough. Sharp.

Billy was an asshole, but it didn’t mean that she liked the fact that he fought monsters now, too. 

Usually, he was more than able to hold his own, like he’d been doing this longer than the rest of them. She watched him tease Steve about it on more than one occasion, watched Steve roll his eyes despite the smile that pulled at his lips. The smile that always seemed to pull at his lips when Billy was around, didn’t when he wasn’t.

Tonight, though, Billy had been taken by surprise. Steve had been at the front of the group, Billy at the back. Just far enough back that the demodog that jumped from the woods had been able to tackle him without hitting anyone else.

Steve was quick to get to him, swing at the goddamn thing like he was trying to hit homeruns, push it off Billy when it went limp after his third Grand Slam.

Billy had his left arm clutched tight to his chest when Steve stood him up, jacket ripped all the way down, shoulder, collarbone bloodied, torn where the demodog had taken a bite, maybe two. It didn’t have to be said that they needed to get him back to the house. They all just followed when Steve secured an arm around his waist, followed in the tracks where Billy dragged his feet through the dirt, went off in the direction they came.

Max could tell that Steve was speaking, could hear the hum of his voice, low beneath the leaves that crunched beneath their feet, the wind that shook the branches on the trees. She couldn’t quite make out the words, but his tone was unmistakable. The pitch of his voice. The cadence of his speech. 

Billy was an asshole. Why did Steve sound like he was scared?

Max didn’t stop in the living room like the rest of them did, chose instead to follow a few steps behind Steve as he pulled Billy down the hall and into the bathroom. She stopped a safe distance away, careful, stared at the half open door, the light it allowed into the hall. 

Billy’s breath was loud in her ears, a slow, labored wheeze. She could picture the way his teeth were gritted when he said, “Close the door,” between a harsh inhale and something that sounded like a groan.

“Sit down first,” Steve said, soft, easy. A sharp contrast to the way he had said the same words to Dustin the week before, when he’d fallen off his bike and gotten road rash all the way up his leg. Sat him down at the table, smacked him on the side of the head for being so dumb.

Billy must have listened in the way the door moved a few seconds later, a lazy slide against the tile floor that only managed to close it another inch or two. Max took another brave step forward, ears perked again at the sound of Steve’s voice.

“Baby, you gotta breathe.”

She had half a mind to hold back the gasp that threatened to fall from her lips.

Billy was an asshole. She needed both hands and both feet and all the bones in her body to count the number of times she’d heard him be called as much.  

No one called him baby.

“Hurts,” Billy mumbled, another hurt, broken sound.

“I know. I know, but just,” the floor creaked like someone was moving, creaked again when it settled a second later, “try, okay? Follow me. Like we did the other night.”

On the drop of a dime, the room went totally silent. The air felt heavy, thick without any noise to fill it.

Three more short, quick, curious steps found Max at the edge of the door, holding onto the frame, tilting her head to peek in, just slightly.

Billy was sat on the edge of the tub, Steve on his knees in front of him. Steve’s hands were high on Billy’s neck, holding him steady, keeping him close, their foreheads tilted together.

“There you go,” Steve whispered, calm, soothing, let his thumb hover over the shell of Billy’s ear. “Just like that.”

Billy’s eyes were closed, eyelashes a thick fan across his cheeks, breaths long, slow, even.

Max had never seen someone so at peace covered in so much blood.

Had never seen Billy at peace ever.

Billy was an asshole, but maybe he was something else, too. Just maybe.

[mustardprecum]

18 ‘surprised kiss’ for Harringrove cause you know it’s gonna be good x

“Pretty boy like you s’got nothin’ to worry about,” Billy drawls as Tommy walks away. He is barely bothering to rinse, since this is the last class of the day and he prefers to shower at home. He only followed Steve into the showers to stick a bunch of thinly veiled insults and power moves into a conversation. 

Steve is rinsing the suds from his hair. For a moment, Billy wonders if Steve actually heard that comment. Then Steve flips his hair back, sending water droplets everywhere before he turns off the tap. 

He’s finally looking directly at Billy. It highlights the fact that they’re standing naked in the gym showers with the sound of their classmates seeming far away. Billy doesn’t have time to throw out a carefully prepared line about ‘plenty of bitches in the sea’ before Steve is leaning in and kissing him soundly on the mouth. 

Billy freezes, but Steve leans back and cups his face. His face is soft. 

“Thanks man,” Steve says, smiling for the first time since the Halloween party. “I really needed to hear that.” 

He leaves Billy standing there, staring after him.

[prettyboyporter]

Hi!! If you’re still doing prompts could you do 38 for Harringrove? Thank youuuu xx

Whispering “I love you” before a chaste, delicate kiss.

The Sinclair’s house was thick with the aroma of turkey and sweet potatoes, apple pie and roasted corn. They’d arrived an hour ago, having spent their morning watching the Thanksgivng Day parade on TV in Billy’s little apartment, nestled under a blanket on the couch with coffee and eggs and toast. 

Billy helped set the Sinclair’s table, placing leaf in the middle for the extra company, carefully arranging the tablecloth, plates, knives, forks, spoons and napkins so that everything lined up just right. Last week Mrs. Sinclair had suggested that if he wanted, Billy could help set the Thanksgiving table, and when Billy relayed it to Doc Owens, Doc told him it would be good for his fine motor skills and that he should do it.  

Steve broke away from the living room, where Mr. Sinclair, Lucas, Max, and Erica were watching the Bears play the Lions, and joined Billy at the table. Quietly he stood back and observed -- placed a hand to Billy’s lower back. “Doing okay, babe?” 

“Yeah I think so,” Billy said. He stood back to observe his work -- and that’s when he noticed a fork at an odd angle. Irritation pricked at his nerves because this was a simple task and this recovery has been four and a half months and he still can’t set out a fucking place setting correctly. He breathed in deeply and reached out to straighten them, but then knocked the form to the hardwood floor with a clatter and thought about how much he hated his clumsy ass fingers with nerve damage. 

“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth. 

“Sweetheart,” Steve said gently, and pulled Billy close. He was tense against Steve, anger boiling over at the sight of the fork on the floor. “Billy, hey.” Steve whispered into Billy’s hair, his breath ghosting over Billy’s ear. “S’alright. That shit’s gonna happen. There are other forks. Okay?” 

Billy let his eyes fall closed and leaned into Steve -- remembered their first kiss, at Family Video, after Steve had closed the store, Billy sitting up on the counter. Steve’s hands on Billy’s knees. Steve let Billy lean down to take the kiss, just stood there, patiently looking up, lips parted, letting Billy set the pace. 

He always let Billy set the pace. 

Billy recalled the first time he spread his knees apart and let Steve settle between his thighs -- let the weight of Steve’s body ground him down, the feeling of Steve’s dick inside of him making him feel present. Vital. 

And now Steve’s arms tugged him closer. “Alright?” 

Billy pulled back and pressed a small kiss to Steve’s lips. “I love you.” 

Steve touched the spot on top of Billy’s blue sweater where a massive, jagged scar lie underneath. “I love you too, Billy.” 

[biillyhargroves]

10 for Harringrove xx

hold me tight or don’tsteve harrington & billy hargrove + “you’re burning up”(fic requests open)

Steve wakes to the sound of running water. He groans when he rolls over and grabs the alarm clock perched on his nightstand. His hangover makes all the numbers look the same, but he can tell by the blurry little ticking hands that is far too early to be awake. He shoves his face into his pillow with a heavy sigh and squeezes his eyes shut as hard as he can.

He stretches his arm out beside him, reaching for the warm empty spot where Billy had slept. He frowns at its vacancy, rolling towards it and stealing the pillow that Billy had borrowed last night. It smells faintly of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne. Steve breathes it in and drifts off into a hazy kind of twilight, not quiet asleep but not quite awake, far enough removed that he is genuinely startled when Billy falls back into the bed.

“Jesus,” Steve mumbles. Billy says nothing. He gathers up his half of the blankets, tugging hard enough that part of Steve’s half fall from Steve’s gap, and burrows beneath them. Steve tries to curl up to him, but Billy turns his back. Steve reaches an arm around Billy, but Billy squirms and shakes him off, and Steve settles for tucking his head near Billy’s shoulders. “You’re warm,” he murmurs, and Billy grunts.

Hours later, Steve wakes up fully, but Billy is still fast asleep.

He hasn’t moved an inch since the early morning. He lies on his side, his hair fallen over his face, lips parted and eyelids fluttering as he dreams. Steve inches out of bed as carefully as he can, wincing with each dip of the mattress, but Billy doesn’t seem to notice. His breath hitches once, and Steve stills, but Billy does not wake.

Steve breathes a sigh of relief and slips silently out the room.

As he makes his way upstairs, Steve tidies the remnants of the night before. He plucks Billy’s jacket off the railing, kicks two pairs of shoes into the hall closet, tosses spent beer cans into the trash.

The phone rings once, and then twice, and Steve flinches and swears as he hurries to answer it before the third ring, eyes on the stairs and only half-listening to Robin as she says, “We still on for tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “Billy’s sleeping.”

“What the hell?” Robin asks. “It’s past noon. Get his ass up!”

“It might be a while,” Steve says. “He’s pretty hungover. I think I heard him throwing up this morning.”

“Shit,” Robin says. “I didn’t think he got that busted up.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says. “I barely saw him drink. I mean, we had some beers after, but-”

“Well shove some greasy carbs in him and get your asses moving,” Robin says. “I’m not hanging out with your children all by myself.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Steve says. “Listen, just give me a few hours, okay?”

“I’m picking you up at three,” Robin says. “Be ready.”

“Right,” Steve says. “Okay. Yeah.”

When he hangs up the phone, and in the absence of Robin’s voice, Steve half-expects to hear movement upstairs: rustling sheets, or bare feet on the floor; creaking floorboards or the rush of the shower head. But there is nothing. The house is silent.

“Hey, Billy?” Steve calls. He hauls himself back up the stairs and wanders toward his bedroom, where the door is still open a crack. Golden rays of sunlight spill out into the hall. “You up yet?”

Billy does not answer, because Billy has barely moved. Perhaps his arm has shifted, or he’s turned his head slightly to the left, but he is otherwise exactly as Steve had left him.

“Hey,” Steve says, voice soft. “Come on, man. A couple of weak ass beers can’t take down the Hawkins High keg king, can they?”

He rounds the bed and kneels at Billy’s side. Billy is sleeping deeply, and Steve feels guilty for trying to wake him. He touches Billy’s shoulder and frowns; Billy’s skin is hot to the touch. Steve brushes this off, thinks it is from being wrapped up in the bedding, and he gentle nudges Billy. In response, Billy snorts, and his eyelids flutter. He blinks a few times, and his brow creases as he takes in the room in quick snapshots. They settle on Steve, looking weary and out-of-focus.

“Hey,” Steve whispers, and Billy grunts. “We’re supposed to take the kids to the movies.” Billy hums, but offers no words. His eyes slip closed for a moment and Steve leans toward him, his fingers gently brush Billy’s hair out of his face. He stills when his fingertips graze Billy’s forehead. “Woah, shit,” he says. “You’re burning up.”

“Get off me,” Billy mumbles. He tries to roll away from Steve, but he barely makes it onto his back before he groans and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Are you sick?” Steve asks.

“You’re loud,” Billy says.

“Were you sick last night?” Steve asks. “Is that why you weren't drinking?”

“Go away,” Billy says.

“Hey,” Steve says. He lifts himself onto the bed, hovering  on the edge, and he gently pulls Billy’s hand away from his face. Billy keeps his eyes closed tight and he turns his head away when Steve tries to feel his forehead. “What can I do?”

“Leave me alone,” Billy mumbles. 

“Besides that,” Steve says. “What do you need?”

“I swear to God, Harrington,” Billy warns, but the threat doesn’t fall so heavy when his voice sounds so tired and weak and he’s flinching at the slightest bit of sunlight creeping between the blinds. Steve pushes Billy’s hair back, and Billy lets him. They sit like that for a time, Billy half-asleep and Steve playing with his hair, the minutes ticking along on the clock. 

“I think we have, like...Campbell’s or something,” Steve offers eventually.

“Not hungry,” Billy murmurs quietly. He looks weak and small, Steve might even say pathetic, and everything about it seems wrong. 

“You should eat something,” Steve insists.

“Steve,” Billy groans.

“Are you thirsty, then?” Steve asks. “Can I get you water?”

“Stop,” Billy says. His voice gets softer and softer with every word, and Steve thinks he’s drifting off again. He waits until Billy has fallen asleep to get up from the bed and ventures back into the house. He finds Tylenol and he fills a glass with water, he sets cans of soup on the counter for Billy to pick from later, he finds a thermometer that he knows Billy won’t let him use but he takes it with him on the off chance he might be able to sneak it under Billy’s tongue. When he goes back upstairs, Billy is no longer in bed. Steve leaves the Tylenol on the nightstand, but takes the water to the bathroom. The door is open a crack, but he still knocks.

“Billy?” he says. “You wanna let me in?”

“Fuck off,” Billy groans, his menace lost in a hacking cough that sends him heaving again. Steve winces, but waits outside. He listens to the flush of the toilet and the trickle of the tap. He hears Billy swear under his breath and he shuffles backwards when the door swings fully open. “The hell are you doing?” Billy asks. 

“I just,” Steve stammers, and then he sighs. “I want to help, okay? You look like shit.”

“Thank you,” Billy scoffs. 

“Just go to bed,” Steve says. 

“Mhm,” Billy hums. 

“Take the Tylenol,” Steve says. 

“Yes, mom,” Billy mocks. He shoves past Steve to get to the bedroom, and Steve trails after him. Billy isn’t exactly steady on his feet, but he uses the wall as a guide, and Steve stays close just in case this fails him.

“I’m serious,” Steve says. “You’re hot.”

“I know,” Billy says.

“I mean your temperature, asshole.”

“Sure,” Billy says. He sits down on the bed, and Steve stands over him, eyes crossed. Billy rolls his eyes and grabs the pill bottle from the mess on Steve’s night table. He pops off the red cap and shakes two pills into his palm. He tosses them in his mouth, holding up a hand when Steve offers the glass of water. He dry swallows the pills, which makes him cough, which makes him white-knuckle the mattress until he can catch his breath again. When he’s done, Steve is still holding out the water. “Screw off with that,” Billy says, swinging his legs back onto the mattress. 

“Drink it,” Steve says. Billy tries to ignore him, but Steve is insistent. Billy swipes the glass from him, water spilling the carpet when he does, and he downs in one gulp.

“Happy?” he asks.

“Thrilled,” Steve replies flatly. He sighs, and Billy rests his head against the wall behind him. Eventually, Steve sits beside him and rests a hand on Billy’s leg. “I’m gonna call Robin back. Cancel for today.”

“You should go,” Billy says. “I’ll go home, sleep this off.”

“Is your dad home?” Steve asks. Billy’s silence is an answer in itself. “You’re staying here. At least for tonight. Get some sleep.”

“You don’t have be there for that,” Billy tells him.

“Yeah, well, I want to be,” Steve insists. Billy stares at him for a long while, and then he sighs. 

“You want to be?” he repeats. 

“For you,” Steve says, and he squeezes Billy’s leg. “Yeah, Hargrove. I’m not going anywhere.”

[starriider]

hey!! for the Drabble thing, 13 for Harringrove? love your writing xx

13. Kiss me.

Steve was really fucking drunk.

He thought it was an appropriate response to watching the boy he’s in love with make out and dance with just about every girl at this stupid fucking party.

He didn’t even want to come. Nancy and Jonathan told him that staying home alone for days on end isn’t healthy and then stuffed him in the back of Jonathan’s car and dragged him here despite his protests.

But still, he wasn’t surprised when they ditched him before the clock hit 11 o’clock.

So, Steve was really fucking drunk and really fucking stranded.

He huddled himself into a corner in the living room, moving only to refill his cup with whatever the fuck was in those bowls in the kitchen.

His eyes was burning holes into Billy Hargrove’s back from where he was making out with Tammy Thompson across the room. He was silently glad Robin couldn’t come.

This was how it was the whole night. Billy would make out with a girl with his arm around another, then switch. Steve pretended the warmth spilling down his face was because of the alcohol wafting up to his face.

Deciding he’d rather drag his drunk ass across Hawkins towards Loch Nora than watch the boy he was in love with advertise just how much of a raging heterosexual he is, Steve wiped his tears and staggered across the cup strewn lawn to the sidewalk.

The farther he walked, the more his tears seemed to appear.

“Fuck you!” He cried towards the sky, screaming at no one in particular. He kicked empty trash bins and stomped at stray cats until they fled before he heard the faint sound of someone yelling his name.

“God?” He whispered, staring into the sky he just called out to.

“Harrington!” He heard again, this time he turning around to find one Billy Hargrove, cruising beside him in his car, and not God, but honestly, close enough.

“Jesus fuck, Harrington, I heard you all the way from the party.” He continued, stepping out of his car to stabilize Steve who has completely forgotten the mechanics of his legs. 

“Okay, come on Steve. Get in the car.” And honestly, Steve would at least try if he wasn’t so distracted by the fact that Billy Hargrove said his name.

“You said m’name.” He mumbled and stared up at Billy, who had his hands around his waist in an equally distracting grip.

“I always say your name, what else am I gonna call you.”

“No, you said Steve.” He repeats, slurring his words. He pushed up against the car and closer to Billy. So close he could count his eyelashes if he was sober.

Standing here, with Billy’s arms around him and his face inches away, Steve realized that Billy Hargrove is the most beautiful boy he has ever seen.

“You’re s’pretty, Billy. You-you have…light blue eyes and a pretty face. It’s-it’s so pretty and…” He knew he was rambling and he knew he should stop, but his hands made their way up to cup Billy’s face on their own accord. “You’re not bullshit.”

“Steve, what are you say-”

“And I just wanna-i just wanna kiss you, Billy. So bad. But I can’‘t, because you like girls like Tammy Thompson and Carol and Tina and that’s okay but I just had to tell you-”

“Steve.”

“-that I love you, and it hurts so fucking bad all the time-”

“Steve!”

“-and I’m sorry-”

“Steve shut up and kiss me already you fucking idiot.”

“What?” Steve replied, breathy and uneven because there was no way-

“Kiss me.”

And Steve would rather fight a hundred demodogs than deny that request.

The kiss was messy and wet with clanking teeth and sloppy tongues and if this was anyone else Steve would’ve cringed and left but this wasn’t anyone else.

This was Billy Hargrove. And that was enough to make this the best kiss Steve has ever had.

“I’m gay.” Billy blurted when he pulled away. Steve followed a trail of red spreading from his chest to his cheeks.

“But-” Steve began.

“They’re all for show. The girls.” The words are rushed and quiet when they leave Billy’s mouth. “To make sure no one knows. So my dad doesn’t know.”

“Oh.” Steve whispers. Then, “Oh.”

Because now it all makes sense. Here Steve was thinking he was alone in Hawkins, Indiana, pretending to be someone he’s not when there was someone else fighting the same battle he was, right next to him, all alone too.

“Well,” Steve runs his fingers through Billy’s hair. “At least now you’re not alone…neither of us are.”

give me a prompt and a pairing!