#harringrovemicrofic3

[katyawriteswhump]

(i'm still) watching you—harringrove microfic

my first attempt at harringrove and probably totally weird like my usual shit, so… yeah, nervous. but I love prompts/challenges too much to resist… Pls be kind 🙂 

WC: 914. For @harringrovemicrofic prompt, green (I also got a passing mention of Jason Carver in for the additional prompt.)

CW: None. Tags: angst, pining, chronic illness (Fibro/Chronic fatigue), enemies to lovers, h/c, no Upside Down AU, slightly soft Billy? Rating: M.

…

Steve hated sitting in the stands watching the Tigers win without him.

Hargrove rained all over the hoop, right until the full-time whistle ripped through Steve’s skull. Simultaneously, Billy ripped his vest off—shouting, thudding his chest, scanning the crowd.

His crazily soft-blue eyes rested on Steve. That smug grin faltered, and Steve’s heart gave a crazy little squeeze.

Billy’s attention snapped away. His teammates carried him on a lap of victory, and Steve shaded his eyes. Too fucking much. Since he’d got sick, the doctors had droned on about Steve having to pace himself. Today, that’d been a bust—all for the torture of watching Hargrove play.

Even though Steve hated him.

And he’d chew on that image of shirtless Billy for goddamn weeks.

“Stop bawling, Harrington.” Steve startled, squinted into the suddenly too-bright light. Tommy H waggled a stuffed tiger in front of his nose: “You can be team mascot. This one’s got even less backbone than you.”

“Jesus, I’m gonna punch your stupid face in!”

Steve pushed himself up. Despite his dumb threat, it took all his strength to stumble away. Halfway to the exit, he collapsed onto a seat, slumping forward with his head in his hands. The crowd stomped by, sending shockwaves through his aching bones. Nobody offered to help. Probably figured he’d bite their heads off…

A hand landed on his shoulder. “You okay?” asked Billy.

WTF? Steve flinched away. Up close, he couldn’t handle those stupidly long lashes and gorgeous eyes. “M’fine.”

“Want a ride?”

“You leaving already?” Steve gawked at Billy’s pecs. “Guess there’s only so much showboating even your fat ego can take.”

Billy arched his brow. “I’m sick of this shit. Your ex-teammates are fucking losers, you know that?”

Uh… Yeah?

“Whatever, dude. I’m leaving with Nance.” Steve had just spotted her with freshman golden-boy, Jason Carver, scribbling madly in her notebook.

“She’s writing an essay on that asshole. Couldn’t bag me. Seriously, I need space. Figured you might too.”

Space with me? “Jesus, you still never stop talking! You hate me. What’s your game?”

Billy shrugged. “I don’t hate you, man. It genuinely sucks you had to be benched. Don’t have to believe me, but I actually miss you.”

Miss humiliating me? Miss me rubbing my ass against you while you shoved me around!?! Guess I enjoyed touching you as much as I hated you. I mean, uh, I STILL hate you…

“I don’t need your fucking sympathy, Hargrove.”

“Not offering fucking sympathy.”

Steve’s heart repeated that crazy squeeze. He’d grabbed the hem of Billy’s green shorts before he knew it.

Don’t leave. I honestly can’t get up without help right now. Won’t ask for help, either.

Billy harrumphed vaguely, casually offered a hand. Steve clasped it—since when did he dig slippery palms?—let Billy draw him up and sling an arm around him. Even with Billy’s help, the effort of walking consumed Steve completely till he sank into the Camaro.

Billy winked at him from the driver’s seat. “Don’t worry, I’ll go gentle.”

“Jesus, I’m not gonna break.”

“You wanna go home?”

Yeah, I totally should. “No fucking way. Anywhere but this dump.”  

With minimal wheelspin, Billy tore from the school grounds. He didn’t play loud music. They didn’t talk much either. Seemed Billy did occasionally shut up. Only Steve fizzing nerves—WTF AM I DOING?—kept him awake until Billy slammed to a halt.

Steve blinked. “Where are we?”

“One of the few places in this shithole that’s not a shithole.” Billy hurried around and helped Steve from the car.

“I’m not a fucking princess,” Steve bitched.

“Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

“Screw you.” Steve’s glare melted into a laugh that he almost felt.

They’d arrived somewhere in the hills, which smelled of spring grasses. Steve slipped from Billy’s warm grasp—not without a dumbass pang—lay flat on the soft turf. Beyond the trickle of a stream, it was so quiet, he dozed almost instantly.

Then, through the blur of his lashes, he spotted Billy stripping his shorts. Christ, that ass!

Billy headed for the stream. His smirk was as mind-blowing as his body. “I skipped showers.”

“Fucking show-boater.” Steve snickered.

He watched Billy wade thigh deep, splash sparkling droplets over that lick-able, lithely muscled torso. He wished he could watch this a billion times over, ached to join Billy, then his eyelids grew too heavy, his fatigue winning, and… Shit!

Deep inside, something snapped. He slung an arm across his face and cried, drifted, then cried again, shamelessly sniffling. A brush against his arm stirred him. Billy lay stretched beside him, towel around his waist, chin rested on a fist.

“Tears are cathartic, huh?”

Steve rolled to full-on sneer at Billy. Ended up fixed on Billy’s lush mouth, fretting his own lower lip. “Quit mocking me.”

“I’m not. Tears help. Apart from when they’re too damn painful. You don’t have to say which those are.”

Billy reached out, as if to push hair from Steve’s damp eyes, then hesitated. Steve grabbed Billy’s fingers, like he’d grabbed for his shorts. He barely breathed. He clasped Billy’s stream-chilled knuckles to his own burning face, like his life depended on it.

“Meant what I said about missing you,” murmured Billy, as Steve drowned in those adoring eyes. “None of those dicks are half-decent rivals. It sucks we never got a chance to work through that tension and…"

This is a dream, right?

Billy’s fingers slid up through Steve’s hair, gently drawing him closer, and they tumbled into a kiss.

#harringrovemicrofic3 #harringrove microfic #harringrovemicrofic #harringrove #harringrove ficlet #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington whump #steve harrington hc #steve harrington #billy hargrove #billy x steve #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #i can't believe there's not a tag for bitchy steve harrington #no upside down au

[harringrovemicrofic]

Harringrove 3 challenge 15 April - 15 May

The prompt for the next Harringrove Microfic Challenge is

Green Word count: 914

Optional suggestions Song: Green tinted sixties mind by Mr. Big Character: Jason Carver

Ao3 collection

Remember that now we are opened to art too!

Let's be creative and imagine whatever you want for our baby boys. It's the color of the letterman jacket? Or the plants they have in their first apartment? Someone is green with envy? Is really not so easy being green? Be wild and make me proud! Remember to tag @harringrovemicrofic and use the tag #harringrovemicrofic and #harringrovemicrofic3!

#harringrove #harringrove ficlet #stranger things #harringrove microfic #harringrove prompt #harringrovemicrofic #harringrovemicrofic3

[chickensoupleg]

Prompt for @harringrovemicrofic Green Month! 914 words of something that has been on my mind ever since I saw the prompt.

No warnings. Sweet Potato is back though.

--

“So, should I ask?”

Steve’s shoulders jump, turning around with an expression he thinks is supposed to be the epitome of innocence.

Billy doesn’t believe it for even a second.

“Hey Billy, you’re uh.” Steve sniffs, looking away from Billy. “You’re home early.”

Billy hums, nodding slowly as his gaze stares at the green jacket in Steve’s hand. The name emblazoned on the side read ‘Jason’.

As did the seven other identical green jackets all folded up neatly around Steve’s feet.

Unless Billy has been blind for the past year, the brunet in front of him is clearly not Jason.

Steve turns the jacket around with a reddening face.

“I can explain.”

“Uh huh.” Billy walks over, taking the jacket from Steve’s hands and flipping it back over. “So you’re the one stealing Jason’s jackets?”

“He has a lot of the exact same jacket, did you know that? Like, why does he have eight letterman jackets.”

“If I knew, I’d tell you.” Billy folds the sleeves in, easily folding the jacket and tossing it down to join its brethren. “Also, you’re avoiding the question.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are. Why are you stealing his jackets. They’re not even that comfy.” Billy would know. He’s felt letterman jackets before, when he was still back in California and stole some senior’s jacket just for the fun of it. It was worn in, sure, and huge on his then freshman body, but it wasn’t something Billy would have willingly worn.

Steve does a long, slow blink.

Billy copies him, even slower.

“So.”

“So?”

Steve inhales, then starts speaking. “I was thinking we’d hide them all over school. Just put them in really weird places that Jason would go to and freak him out.”

“You know he’s been all preachy about how stealing is bad. And here you are, with the stolen things. The graduate.” Billy lets out a whistle. “Who would’ve guessed it was the Steve all along.”

“Not Jason?”

“Oh, he’s been on Eddie’s rear end the entire past week. Eddie has been baiting him after public attempt number.. Three?” Billy shrugs, snickering softly. “His current excuse is he’s using it to fix up his throne on Mount Vesuvius.”

Steve squints. “Is that a fantasy thing?”

“The Pompeii volcano, pretty boy.” Billy pats his shoulder gently. “That Vesuvius.”

Steve nods slowly. “Ahh… Got it.”

Billy walks around the jackets, stepping over Sweet Potato lounging on the ground to get to the kitchen. Steve follows him in, Billy grabbing a can of beer and cracking it open.

Sweet Potato comes happily rolling in at the sound, jumping up onto the counter.

“No Potato, not yours.”

Sweet Potato plaintively meows at him. His little paw taps at his arm, Billy giving him a kiss with the bottom of the can.

“So run the plan by me, princess.”

Steve grins, and starts rambling on, his feet taking him with as he paced around the kitchen. Billy sips at his beer in the meanwhile, watching without much remorse or discretion at the movement of Steve’s hips.

He only looks up when Steve snaps his fingers, grinning behind the can.

“Are you even listening?”

“Bright and open, cocoa bean.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “So as I was saying, we sneak in there in the morning to set everything up, get everything in place and leave. When Jason gets there he’ll see the first one just in front of his locker, I have a spare mannequin that we can dress up as him. Then we scatter others in the gym, put one in Science class, the bathroom, common Jason places?”

Billy hums. “Sounds perfect. Anything else?”

“Well I was also thinking we just fill his pockets with beans but maybe that’s too much.”

Billy snorts loud and ugly, putting down his can. Sweet Potato paws at it, Billy scooping up the orange cat and letting Sweet Potato cling to his arm as he squished his little cheeks. “No absolutely fill his pocket with beans. I want to watch him get bean’d.”

Steve grins, already heading to the cabinet to grab a bag. Billy leans down to toss Sweet Potato back on the ground, grabbing his can before the cat could jump up and try to get a sip of the forbidden liquid.

He follows Steve back into the living space as he sets the bag of dried beans down on the ground, opening the jacket pockets and shoving handful of beans in.

“He’s gonna be so surprised,” Steve says, amusement in his voice.

“I bet.”

Sweet Potato comes trotting in, sniffing at the open bag of beans. Steve takes a handful and sprinkles it on top of him, Sweet Potato going into hunting mode and batting at the fallen beans.

Steve and Billy both watch in amusement as Sweet Potato plays with the beans for a good couple of minutes.

Once all the jackets were full, Steve stacks them up and sets them on the couch for the next day.

“We can put them in my car. Makes the job easier.” Billy tilts his head towards the front door, Steve grabbing the stack once more and following Billy outside.

Billy unlocks the Camaro, pulling the passenger seat forward for Steve to put the jackets down. A bean falls out from one of the pockets, Billy taking it and shoving it back in.

“There we go, all ready for tomorrow! You think a mannequin could fit in here too?”

“Don’t push it.”

#stranger things #steve harrington #billy hargrove #jason carver #harringrovemicrofic3 #harringrovemicrofic #as far as i am aware you can't have duplicates of a letterman jacket but for the sake of hilarity jason has 8 of them