#billy hargrove hurt/comfort

[munsonsmixtapes]

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Billy Hargrove x fem!reader

summary: you show up to a party with Steve after calling off your hook up routine with Billy who regrets letting you slip through his fingers

cw: hurt no comfort, assumed cheating

By the time you and Steve got to Nancy’s house, the party was in full swing. You entered the living room and Steve pulled you over to the kitchen to get a drink. He poured you some red wine and grabbed a beer for himself. He handed the cup to you before grabbing hold of your waist, tucking you into his side.

You had only been seeing each other for a few weeks and it had been nice, but you almost preferred the way that Billy treated you. Steve was too nice. Too much of a gentleman for your liking.

You had to admit that he was good, though. He had been the one to suggest your whole fake dating thing to make Billy jealous and admit his feelings for you and Steve himself actually felt that way about you even though he swore that he didn’t. He just couldn’t get in the way so he stayed quiet even though you were the only one for him.

You looked around the room and spotted all the usual people except for Billy Hargrove who was by the fireplace. He was looking directly at you, a cigarette between his lips. He smirked and gave you a wink while he blew out the smoke. Before you had gotten with Steve, you had spent plenty of time between Billy’s sheets. You were just desperate for attention at that point and you usually just settled for Billy which worked for him because he wasn’t (and still isn’t) looking for an actual relationship. But you wanted more and you wanted it with Billy but he wasn’t able to give that to you and despite the fact that he was pissed at you for leaving him for King Steve, he was still trying to get you to come over every once in a while.

“You wanna sit?” Steve asked and you turned back to see him looking lovingly at you. God, he was good. Seeing his warm brown eyes melt at the sight almost made you think that he was really in love with you.

“Yes, please,” you grabbed him by the hand and pulled him over to the couch. Steve sat on one of the cushions and instead of sitting next to him, you placed yourself on his lap, looping your arm around his neck. His free hand rested on your waist as he took a sip of his beer. He was honestly surprised that you were sitting in his lap, but he shouldn’t have been because of how unpredictable you were.

Billy was still watching you as he finished off his cigarette. He would have never admitted it, but he hated watching you with Steve. He hated how he touched you and talked to you. He hated that the two of you were together and wished that he’d asked you out when he had the chance. To him, you were never just a hookup. You were the one he wanted to be with despite the fact that he told you that all you were to him was one of his whores. And he had fucked it all up. Maybe if he had told you the truth, it would have been his lap you were sitting in. Billy stubbed out his cigarette with his boot, smushing it into the carpet before making his way over to you. He crossed his arms over his chest, letting out a chuckle as he did so.

“Hey, (y/n),” he greeted, maybe a little too flirty, but he didn’t care. You turned to him and he hated how hot you looked with that scowl on your face when your eyes locked on his.

“Hey, Hargrove,” you responded, looking like you couldn’t have given less of a fuck that he was there and all he was thinking about was how turned on he was by your behavior.

“Hey, Billy,” Steve greeted, even though he wasn’t acknowledged. Steve had only agreed to the whole mess because of you. He wanted you to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him. He didn’t think that Billy had deserved you in the slightest.

“Harrington,” Billy nodded in Steve’s direction then turned back to you. He didn’t know what he was doing or why he was doing it, but he was there now so he had to say something. “Looking great tonight, (y/n).” He said the first thing that came to mind and immediately wanted the ground to swallow him up.

“Thanks,” you nodded and took a sip of your wine.

“I mean, I usually prefer when you wear nothing, but this works too,” he winked and Steve was close to beating the shit out of Billy. He’d done it before so what was a second time?

“What are you playing at, Hargrove,” you asked, standing up from Steve’s lap. You stepped closer to him and Steve was prepared to hold anything you needed for him to since you always seemed to want to start a fight with someone. This time, he wasn’t going to stop you.

“Nothing,” Billy shrugged. “Just paying you a compliment.”

“Well, cut it out.”

“I don’t think I will. You’re kinda hot when you’re riled up.”

“We both know I can kick your ass so I suggest you put this to rest before it gets ugly.”

“I forgot you had mouth on you,” Billy smirked, stepping closer to you. “And it is doing wonders for my cock.” Before anything violent could happen, you grabbed Billy by the wrist and pulled him through the nearest door which just so happened to be a closet.

You wanted to punch him but also wanted to kiss him, but decided to do neither. Punching him would only make you feel bad and kissing him would have led to other things and you didn’t think he deserved that when he was being such an ass.

As soon as the door closed, Billy’s lips were on yours and you couldn’t help yourself, quick to respond by tangling your fingers into his hair. He pressed you against the wall as he licked into your mouth, pushing your dress up to your waist. You pushed him away, not wanting it to get too heavy and he looked like he was desperate to continue.

“I wanted to talk to you,” you said, fixing your dress, not wanting people know what you had gotten up to. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if people had gotten wind that you had “cheated” on Steve.

“Doll, we both know that I’m not good at talking.” He let out a laugh and you just glared.

“Alright, then maybe you’ll listen.” You pointed at him, stepping closer so that you were toe to toe. He watched your lips move, his dick hardening as he imagined them wrapped around it, licking and sucking as he threw his head back, his hands winding into your hair.

“Oh, I’m a great listener,” he winked.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but cut it out,” you poked his chest and he grabbed your hand but you pulled it away in disgust. This wasn’t the Billy you knew. He was usually so sweet and kind behind closed doors, but always felt like he needed to be a dick whenever you were around other people. As if he was embarrassed to let people see through his fake exterior.

“And what am I doing, doll?” He laughed as if you had told him a joke and you just rolled your eyes.

“You know exactly what you’re doing. I told you that I loved you and you passed on me. Did you forget that?” The look on your face was so pained and Billy felt his heart break a little. He had really hurt you, hadn’t he?

“And now I’m with Steve and you just want to prove that I still love you with your stupid fucking games. But guess what, Billy? I don’t.” Those words felt like a stab to Billy’s chest and he stepped backwards as shock ran through him. So you were really were over him and it was all his fault.

With that, you fled the closet and found Steve before leading him to the nearest bedroom to let him have him way with you until Billy’s name was forgotten. A mere memory in the back of your head that you’d never revisit.

[billlydear]

Hi! This is kinda a heavy topic so feel free to skip if you’re not comfortable! Could you possibly do a writing of how Billy would react to his usually stoic and strong s/o going though something really upsetting and crying to him? I recently lost a loved one so I could use some comfort :( and Billy looks like he gives good hugs.

ROLE REVERSAL - BILLY HARGROVE X READER

W.C 1035 - REQUEST - MASTERLIST - CREDIT TO GIF OWNER

i'm so sorry for your loss, i hope that this is able to help, and if there's anything else i can do to cheer you up, please let me know <3

It's not typical for you to show up at Billy's door crying. Usually it's the other way around, tears gathering in his bruised eyes threatening to slip down his stinging cheeks, waiting in the safety of his saddened gaze until he's in the sanctuary that your embrace has to offer.

He's so familiar with this routine, get hit, fall down, get up, go home, cry, that when it's reversed, when his home comes to him crying, his stomach twists with an uncomfortable feeling.

He meets you on the doorstep, though not because he's afraid of Neil seeing you. The couple is out for the weekend, and Max was supposed to be asleep hours ago, though Billy has a sneaking suspicion she's still up.

It was no trick of the light, there are tears on your cheeks. Something prickles in his chest, hot, angry, sharp, but you butt your head against his front and his heart steps forwards to block it from hurting you. Instead you meet the soft material of his fleece jacket, something that he'll never admit to sleeping in in front of his friends.

"Y/N," He wraps his arms around you by instinct, and you cling to him, so he knows he made the right choice. Your chest is convulsing with sobs he doesn't know the cause of, and every second that he sits there and lets you suffer makes his teeth clench.

"Angel," He keeps his voice low and sweet for the amount of anger brewing inside of him, tilting your chin up with his fingers hooked beneath it, "What happened? Who did this to you?"

Billy sees tears on your cheeks and wants to fight. He knows fighting means crying, and if he can fight back for once in his life, then you won't cry anymore. But you shake your head vehemently, face smearing against his chest and leaving dark tearstains where your eyes rest.

"Talk to me," He pleads, and he probably sounds more brash than he wants to. He's just desperate, he can't fix things if he doesn't know what's wrong.

The second you're able to breathe long enough to stammer out that he can't fight death, his entire body stiffens. He feels it from his head to his toes, the aching realization that he can't fix this. You're going to cry, you're going to hurt, you're going to suffer, and he can't stop it, he can't fix it.

Your sobs are loud and they gush from you in waterfalls, so it's no surprise when Max pokes her head out of the front door, a nervous frown on her face. He knew she wasn't sleeping.

"Y/N?" She starts, but Billy shakes his head.

"Not now," He mumbles, tilting his head back inside, "Go get her a jacket from my closet. And- and brew some of your mom's tea shit!"

When Max follows his directions, only willingly because they're for you, he turns back to you.

"Let's go inside," He prompts you, hunching down to catch beneath your bum, lifting you up slightly to haul you over the threshold. On a typical day, he'd give your ass a cheeky squeeze, but he doesn't think it would be very considerate now.

You seem content to stay buried in his chest the entire walk to the couch, however awkward the shuffle is. When he finally gets onto the couch you're on top of him already, his back sinking against the cushions while you dig your knees into his hips. He keeps you as close as possible, rubbing up and down your back the way you do when he comes through your window at night.

He tries parroting the sweet nothings that you whisper into his ear during those late-night tear-filled meetups, and the more he croons to you, the more natural his words become.

'You're safe,' and 'You can cry,' turn into, 'I'm sorry, angel.' and 'Breathe, baby'. One that stays the same is, 'It'll get better,' and he takes solace in the fact that you won't be sad forever. He knows you need to be sad now, though, so he clenches his teeth and accepts that he can't fix this.

When Max comes back with his hoodie and your mug of tea you thank her tearily, but Billy knows you don't want to sob around her, so he sends her back to bed. He does it politely, though, because he knows she's evading sleep to care about you, not to get on his nerves.

"Careful," Billy murmurs, watching your hands shake as they grip your tea. He cups his large hand underneath the mug to hold it steady, and a gulp of the steamy liquid sends a shiver down your spine. He scratches it away, smoothing hair away from your face where it's been stuck there with tears.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" He tries, careful not to prod where you don't want to be pushed. You blink quickly, teary eyes focused on his chest rather than his face, and he lets you avoid eye contact.

"No," You breathe, scrunching your eyes shut when fresh tears bud at their borders, "No, I just- I just want to.. sit. And cry."

"Okay," He nods, his curls bouncing around his head, freshly washed and formed, "Okay angel. Crying is.. good."

He echoes your vehement sentiments that he hears when he lets himself break down, your encouragements to get it out of his system when it tries escaping instead of holding it prisoner. Because if you don't cry now, you'll just cry more later.

"Yeah," You sniffle, nodding, and though it doesn't make you smile, the familiarity of the words BIlly reassures you with is comforting, "Yeah, crying is good."

"One more sip," He murmurs, tipping the mug back up to your mouth. You gulp down another mouthful, then he sets it on the table.

"Okay, angel." He rubs his hands against your back once more, tucking his chin down so that his cheek meets the crown of your head, "Let it out." He turns to kiss your head, tucking his nose against it and speaking into your scalp as he tugs you closer to him, "Cry, baby, I've got you."

[bigdumbbambieyes]

They used to have sex every single day.

Hot, rough, quick sex whenever and wherever they could.

In their cars, in their rooms, on the recliners by Steve's pool, on his mother's perfectly kept cream coloured couch.

Always frantic, always desperate.

But, that was then, and this is now.

Billy feels shame. And guilt. A lot of it.

He takes antidepressants now and they're helping a lot, but not in other ways.

He can remember the flash of disappointment in Steve's eyes the first time he couldn't get it up for him. The humiliation and shame of not being able to get his fucking dick hard for his hot as fuck boyfriend who loves him and wants him -- it had been too much.

Even the soft touches and whispers of 'it's okay' weren't enough to push those feelings away. He pulled away, ran away, to the bathroom to hide in his shame, tears in his eyes.

Because he's always been good at sex. Always ready to go. It was what people had always wanted from him, what he was good for, and now?

It's been over a month now. Billy doesn't even want sex, which is a startling and unsettling feeling, but he's getting used to it.

He knows Steve isn't, though. Or, at least, he assumes, because Steve will still and try to start things late at night and Billy will tell him that he's 'tired' or 'not in the mood' and he hates the way Steve mumbles a soft 'okay', like he's given up.

Steve had even tried to bring it up one day over dinner, but Billy shut that conversation down immediately. He couldn't even look into his boyfriend's eyes when he did.

He knows he's a coward. He always has been.

But, Steve isn't.

Which is probably why, tonight, he's crawled into bed beside Billy and wrapped himself around him so tight.

Pressing his cheek into Billy's shoulder, and when Billy glances over at him from his book, he sees those big Bambi eyes staring up at him, and those pretty lips part to abruptly say, "Even if we never have sex again, I'll be here."

It makes him blink, caught off guard by it, and he feels that nagging shame telling him to push Steve away or get out of the bed, but Steve wraps his legs around his and holds him tighter, his gaze unrelenting.

His pretty boy presses a tiny little kiss to his shoulder and mutters, "I read the side effects of your meds."

It makes his skin prickle to know that.

"Billy," Steve breathes, frowning, "I love you, y'know?"

Billy nods, swallows thickly and mutters, "I know."

"Then talk to me."

Staring down at Steve, into those earnest eyes, filled with so much love and frustration, Billy knows he should. He owes Steve that much.

"It's," his voice catches, feels a lump form in his throat, "It's hard to."

"Why?" Steve whispers, thumbing over his skin where he's grabbing Billy's other freckled shoulder.

He gives a shrug, wishing he could just tell his boyfriend to drop it, but he can't do that to him. He's trying to be better.

There's tears in his eyes now, he can feel them wobbling on his lower lashes, but he decides to be brave and push past that shame and embarrassment to confide in his boyfriend, his best friend, his goddamn everything to whisper, "It's...so fucking embarrassing."

The tears stream down his cheeks, his face twisting as emotions creep up his throat, and Steve's face softens immediately -- and then he's bringing Billy into his chest, letting him hide there for a moment as he sobs, rubbing his back and kissing his hair, comforting him.

He feels so small like this, whenever Steve cuddles him into his chest, but it's also so safe. He knows he'll always be able to have this because Steve always puts him here, whenever he needs it, and it makes him breath just a little easier, even as he cries.

"What's embarrassing about it?" Steve whispers, his tone soft and curious, encouraging Billy to open up.

And again, Billy fights back the instinct to clam up, to shut down, and mutters into the soft fabric of Steve's sleep shirt, perhaps a little bit too mean, "I can't fucking get it up for you."

"But it makes sense, with the pills," Steve mumbles, not even bothered by the harshness in Billy's tone because he's used to his boyfriend being sensitive, "Like, you still like me, right?"

"Obviously," Billy mutters with a sniffle, furrowing his brows as he continues, "It's just...so frustrating. I--we used to fuck all the time, but even if I try to get hard, I just...can't."

If he wasn't so fucked up he'd fuck Steve all the time.

"It's not your fault, Billy," Steve murmurs, his voice firm, "Not having sex doesn't mean I don't love you. You mean so much more to me than just fucking -- please tell me you know that."

And, he does. Billy does know that. "I do," he whispers, realizing, "It's just...more of a 'me' thing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Like..." he pulls away from his hiding place, just enough so he can see Steve again, in the warm glow of the bedside lamp, and it gives him enough courage to continue, "I've always thought that sex was...all that I was good at. That it was, y'know, what everyone wanted from me. So...when I realized that I couldn't do that, with you, I just...felt so embarrassed and ashamed."

Steve's eyes soften again, his voice just as soft as he mumbles, "Baby--"

Billy can't stop, "I know I'm shit at telling you things and how I feel, so I try and show you instead. And sex was always easy for me, to show you that I love you, because I got to make you feel good and that made me feel good, but...but now I don't know--"

"Coffee."

Billy's mouth snaps shut, confused, as he asks, "What?"

Steve smiles gently and reaches up to brush Billy's hair back, "You make me coffee every morning. You cook my favourite pasta whenever I'm sad. You massage my shoulders whenever you see me rubbing them, and even when I'm not. You always give me the blue piece whenever we play board games because you know it's my favourite colour. You're always the first one to reach out when we hold hands."

Oh.

"You do know how to love me, Billy," Steve murmurs, sliding his hand down from Billy's hair and to his cheek, thumbing over it with such tenderness it makes tears well in his eyes again, "I feel loved by you all the time. With or without sex."

Billy can feel his chin wobbling a bit as the new tears fall, because no one has ever loved him like this. He hasn't let anyone love him like this before. He feels stupid for ever thinking that sex would make or break them when they've fought literal monsters together.

"Do I make you feel loved?" Steve asks.

"Yes," Billy answers immediately, even nodding as Steve holds his face, "You tell me all the time and I feel it."

He feels it every time Steve praises him. Whenever Steve buys him a little something just because it reminded Steve of him. Whenever Steve lets him cry in his arms, like this. He feels loved when Steve encourages him to talk to him about how he feels because no one has ever fucking done that for him -- held space for him like Steve has.

"Good," Steve smiles, a little relieved, "And, I'm sorry, that I didn't realize it sooner -- I wouldn't have tried to, like, initiate and stuff. I feel like a dick, like I was pressuring you."

"You weren't pressuring me," Billy mumbles, reaching up to place his hand over Steve's on his cheek, "I felt fucking horrible for even saying 'no'."

"Never feel bad for saying 'no', baby," Steve insists, "It's nothing personal, I know that now."

Billy nods in understanding, the both of them staring quietly at one another, and Steve gives him a small smile that Billy returns weakly.

"I love you," Steve murmurs, scooting forward a little more just so he can brush the tips of their noses together affectionately, "I love you so much, Billy."

"I love you, too," Billy whispers, closing his eyes and nuzzling back, lowering his mouth a little more to press his lips against his boyfriend's in a gentle kiss.

He feels Steve kiss him back, soft and loving, so patient and understanding that it makes Billy's heart ache in gratitude and adoration.

He'll never love anyone else like he loves Steve, he knows that much.

"I'm willing to try, soon," Billy murmurs when they pull away, their hands still intertwined on his cheek, staring into those dark eyes.

"Sex?" Steve murmurs, his brows lifting.

"Yeah," Billy whispers, leaning into Steve's touch.

"Not because you feel like you have to?" Steve questions, worry in his tone.

Billy shakes his head, "No," and adds a little playfully, "I still want my boyfriend to fuck me, even if I can't fuck him."

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at that and leans in to kiss him again, nodding in agreement, "Yeah, we can do that. Whenever you wanna try, I'm ready."

Where there had once been shame and embarrassment is now a soothing feeling of being understood and known, so sweet that it makes Billy kiss his boyfriend again and again, wanting to say 'thank you' but knowing that Steve already knows.

[withlovemark]

all of the moments that led me to you.

warning: steve's black eye (nothing new), violence, mentions of blood, a fight between steve x billy

pairing: steve x reader, light billy x reader (not really, this isn't a love triangle lol)

words: 4.5k+

summary: the title speaks for itself -- a series of moments with steve harrington

an: i was going to post everything as one fic but i kind of hit writer's block in the middle of year 1985 so i'll post this for now instead and hopefully gain some inspiration to continue :)

-

yr. 1984

i. the first meeting ft. dustin henderson

the words “code red” hitting your ears every five seconds, the stomping of feet running around the house, the back door opening and closing several times - babysitting is weird. not one kid is ever the same, some are easy-going, others can be a real pain in the ass. 

you hoped you got an easy kid today. one that just stays in front of the television, binging on crackers and occasionally asking for your help. obviously, you were wrong. 

if it wasn’t for the fact that it pays well while simultaneously allowing you to do some of your own studies and looking good on your college resume, you wouldn’t even be here.

but you are here. seated inside the henderson household. 

“hey y/n, can you please drive me to my friend mike’s house?,” dustin runs into the living room, an exasperated expression on his face, interrupting your reading. 

“are you okay?” you ask, worried about the kid you just met when his mother called an hour ago trailing on about how she saw your babysitting flyer some time back. and even though she knew that she had to book a date at least two days beforehand, she still asked if you could watch over her son. 

“just for today” she said, as she needed to look for her missing cat. her promise of double pay, convincing you to accept her request. 

“i’m fine, i just really need you to drive me to mike’s,” dustin says hurriedly, eyes hopeful that you wouldn’t ask anymore questions. 

“why?” you ask and the boy’s shoulder slumps, doing his best to not roll his eyes at your persistence. he’s obviously not used to  asking for permission. 

“i uhm forgot my book there and i really, really need it to study for my exam tomorrow,” he sends you a toothy grin, trying to convince you that that was all there is to it. you’re no fool. you notice the slight change in his voice, his fingers anxiously playing with his pockets, right leg slightly bouncing up and down - indications that he’s lying.

“you know your mom’s not paying for my gas, right?” you reason, not wanting to give in to his request and hoping you could just have a calm afternoon.

dustin sighs, his smile disappearing, “fine. i’ll just go behind your back and bike there and if i end up missing or in a ditch somewhere then it’ll be your fault,” he counters, personality quickly switching from the boy who said “please.” 

you sat there, flabbergasted, “are you…blackmailing me right now?” an eyebrow raising, you couldn’t believe how diabolical the curly headed boy is. 

“i’m not blackmailing you. i’m simply telling you what's going to happen if you don’t drive me,” he smiles, an almost devilish smile, tone hardening with every word and you truly do not know whether you’re terrified or impressed. 

letting out a quiet chuckle, you shake your head, “alright, c’mon kid,” you say, grabbing your car keys off the table, “but we’re going back as soon as you get it.”

——

you should’ve known not to trust him, finding yourself hurriedly getting into the back seat of the car of the last person you ever expected to interact with - steve harrington. 

pushing his forgotten red roses towards the other end of the car, you take your seat in the middle. 

“wh-what are you doing?” dustin turns from the passenger seat, facing you as steve takes in your presence, eyes on his rearview mirror, a confused expression evident on his face. 

“y/n l/n?,” he questions, finally remembering where he has seen you before, “you’re in nancy’s grade?,” he asks, more a question for himself than you. 

you nod, “steve harrington,” acknowledging his presence for the first time. 

 “why are you with dustin?” he wonders. he didn’t know much about you. only that you and nancy were sometimes studying in the library together. she’s told him before that you always get the top grades in class and she wanted to be around more motivated people like you. 

“i’m his babysitter and i’m coming with,” you simply answer his question, keeping the explanation short. it’s weird enough that you were inside the car of hawkin high’s famous “king.”

“since when did you have a babysitter dude,” steve reverts his attention back to dustin. 

“i'll explain later,” dustin reassures him quickly before turning back to you,  “and uhm, you don’t have to come, i have steve now,” he points to the guy in the driver seat like you don’t see him. 

from what you’ve heard about steve, you’re not sure you trust leaving the young boy with him. he’s known for being notorious, having bad company and overall, just a guy with the money, the looks and the popularity that somehow has every girl wanting him and every boy wanting to be him. you’re not sure how that guy can be trusted with kids.

subconsciously, you eye steve suspiciously, causing him to put two hands up in surrender “hey, i have no idea what’s happening either,” he defends, shrugging nonchalantly. 

snapping out of your daze, you focused your attention back on dustin, “look dustin, steve isn’t the one being paid to watch you right now,” you start to explain.

“hold on, you’re getting paid for this?” the older boy interrupted.

you ignore him, attention still on dustin, “if something were to happen to you, your mom would be looking for me. i’m responsible for you kid, i-,”

“fine! there’s no time,” he cuts you off, obviously in a rush. 

“you can come, just,” dustin contemplates, already regretting the words that slipped from his lips, “just don’t blame me for getting you into this thing.”

at that, steve snaps back to reality, “wait, wait, wait, if this ‘thing’ is about ‘that’ then she definitely can NOT come,” steve declared, his voice laced with a seriousness you didn’t think he could have. 

“well, are you going to drag her out of the car so she doesn’t find out about this thing?,” the younger boy replies, a sarcastic tone evident on his lips. 

“guys, i can hear you,” you piped in, eyes going back and forth between the two boys, having absolutely no clue what they’re referring to. 

“dustin, im not joking ok!,” steve ignores you, “we can’t tell people about this,” a serious expression appearing on his face, one you’ve never seen on him before, “we’ll get in trouble, you know that. besides, we shouldn’t involve anyone else into this anyway!,” he protested. 

he didn’t sound like the steve you would hear about at school. he sounded responsible, protective. he sounded like…a babysitter. 

“i know that steve, that’s why i told her to leave!,” dustin shouted. 

“well, she’s clearly still sitting in the backseat of my car!,” steve’s voice raises with every syllable. 

“can someone just explain what’s happening?” you try butting in, rolling your eyes, completely fading into the background as they continue their bickering.

“i don’t see YOU trying to do anything about it!,” dustin throws the argument back to steve, his patience on thin ice.

“she’s YOUR babysitter!,” steve points out yet again, ears turning red, veins popping and finally pushing the young boys’ limit. 

“fuCK!, we don’t have time for this steve, we really have to go NOW!” dustin shouts, losing his temper. 

steve, ready to reprimand him, before you decide you’ve had enough.

the series of “thing” and “this” has your mind spinning and your curiosity getting the best of you.  

“SHUT UP!” gaining the two boys’ attention, their bodies turning towards you, “both of you. shut. up.” you enunciate, loud and clear.  

“i promise i won’t blame you…or you,” glancing at the two boys, “for whatever the hell this thing is…just put your seatbelts on and drive,” ending their argument as you sat behind the passenger seat, clicking your own seatbelt into place. 

steve gives up, letting out a sigh, “fuck it,” before finally stepping on the gas. 

ii. the babysitters and an angry billy hargrove

you should have never picked up mrs. henderson’s call and you definitely shouldn’t have agreed to babysitting. what was the point of having your own terms and conditions when you didn’t even follow them yourself?

you should, however, have listened to steve and dustin when they told you to leave.

the day isn’t even over yet and you’re already questioning everything you knew. in a span of a couple of hours, you have been introduced to a world you couldn’t even imagine. having to pinch yourself a couple of times to make sure you weren’t just dreaming. 

everything was strange. 

you’ve spent the whole afternoon dropping meat, trying to bait something called a demogorgon. met steve’s spiked bat. got questioned regarding your relationship with billy hargrove from his very own red headed step-sister. came face to face with the said demogorgon, who, by the way, had demogorgon friends and were actually a pack of demodogs. almost died in a junkyard. walked in the dark woods just to end up in a creepy laboratory. felt the awkward tension between steve, nancy and jonathan. understood why will byers was called the zombie boy. stood behind steve while holding a random kitchen knife you grabbed from the byers’ kitchen — and to top it all off, encountered a little girl who flung the finally, very dead demogorgon through the window then unlocked the front door, all using only her mind. 

in conclusion, monsters and superpowers aren’t just a thing people read in their comic books.

“how are you holding up?” steve breaks you out of your thoughts, your eyes snapping to his voice. 

everyone else has left, leaving you the only two teenagers to act as the adults once again. 

the strangest thing of all of this was somehow, steve harrington went from being the popular jock to a guy whose simple presence can provide you comfort. everything you knew about him has changed. 

it’s amazing what shared trauma could do. 

you shoot him a small smile, “well, i definitely wasn’t expecting all this,” you look around the mess around you, “to be a part of that thing” you refer back to the boys’ banter, trying to keep the energy light despite everything that happened. 

he gives you a sheepish smile,  almost like he was sorry, regretting that he allowed you to be a part of this. 

“it’s not your fault. i chose to come,” you say, reading his thoughts and putting an end to them. 

“where did you put the demogorgon?” you continue, changing the subject, reassuring him that you were ok. at least, as much as anyone could be ok in this situation. 

“we stuffed it in the fridge,” he shakes his head, arms crossing, like he couldn't believe it himself, “‘for science’ dustin said,” steve quotes the younger boy with a grin.  

“right, of course, all the important things,” you chuckled, matching his grin as the two of you continued to clean the broken fragments that have scattered around the house. 

you thought it was over, that you could all just wait for everything else to unfold in peace but after a few minutes of silence, the kids were back on their feet, ready to "get off the bench.” you’re not sure how steve has the energy to continue arguing with them when you’re completely exhausted. 

the sound of an engine brings a silence to the house, max running towards the blinds recognizing the car that has made an appearance in the driveway, “shit, it’s billy, he can’t see me,” she says frantically, eyes meeting yours, a silent call for help. 

“i got it, just hide,” you hushly ordered, quickly making your way to the front porch. steve tried pulling you back but you were out the door before anyone could protest, resulting in him looking through the peephole. 

billy’s momentarily confused expression at your arrival wasn’t lost on you and if you were in his shoes you’d probably have the same one on, “hey sweetheart, what are you doing here?,” his husky voice taking up space in the cold, night air.

standing a couple steps away from him, his hand immediately finds a spot on your waist, pulling you closer. you placed a hand on his chest to keep some distance between the two of you, aware of the audience you have, “i’m babysitting a kid, his friend lives here,” you explain, smiling sweetly at him, hoping that he won’t suspect anything and leave as soon as he came. 

“have you seen my sister?” he asks breathily, face inching closer and closer to yours, a smirk on his lips. if it was any other day, you would have enjoyed his attention, maybe even be up for some fun. right now though, you just want him as far from max as possible. 

“no, why would she be here?,” feigning innocence, you hope he believes your lie. 

“she’s been hanging out with a couple of kids here, a bunch of bad influences,” he huffed, eyes quickly glancing around you before pulling you even closer.

“i haven’t seen her, she’s probably at the arcade, have you checked?,” you hope he doesn’t hear the shakiness in your voice. 

“you know what i like about you sweetheart?,” he muttered, placing a harsh kiss below your ear, his grip on your waist starting to dig into your skin. you know he has caught you. 

“you can’t lie for shit,” pulling you away from him, gaze darkening, he howled with laughter as you followed his line of vision, seeing four kids peeking through the window — one, with very bright red hair. 

frustrated curses slip from your lips as you shoot them an angry glance before billy grabs your wrist, dragging you right behind him as he pounded on the door, coming face to face with steve. 

“harrington, am i dreaming or is that you?,” he mocks, his hold on your wrist tightening. 

“yeah it’s me, don’t cream your pants,” steve rolls his eyes, hands on his hips like a disappointed mother. 

steve notices you wince under billy’s hold, “let her go man,” he orders, taking a step towards the wider boy. 

billy focuses his attention back on you, for a second you see a feeling of betrayal flash through his eyes but that was quickly replaced with a snarled expression, like he was completely disgusted with the thought of you. 

“is there a reason why you both are here alone?” his dark voice causes goosebumps to rise throughout your body. 

you’ve heard of how violent he can be but until right now, he has never shown that side to you. 

“what are you saying?,” you almost couldn’t recognize him anymore, breath hitching in your throat. 

“are you fucking him behind my back, sweetheart?,” billy’s voice grew menacing, “you know i don’t like to share,” he continued accusing you, his free hand coming in contact with your neck, forcing you to look at him. 

“dude, no. we’re babysitting,” steve answers for you and motioning towards the kids like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.  

“you’re hurting her,” he emphasized, “just let her go,” gently stepping closer, steve has his arms slowly reaching for you, hands up, a signal that he comes in peace. 

steve hopes billy will focus his attention on him instead, just wanting to get you out of there. he feels responsible for your safety and well-being. 

“gladly…” billy shot him an evil smirk, “you can’t trust bitches anyways right, harrington?,” he scowled, violently throwing you against the wall. 

your head makes a direct impact with the concrete, causing you to fall to the ground, a whimper slipping through your lips. you hear the kids' screams and a punch being thrown as you feel your vision slipping between darkness and light.  

you make out dustin running towards you and grabbing your hand, trying to get you to sit up. a couple of unsuccessful tries, he pleads “i’ll come back okay, just stay alive,” as he makes his way back to his friends. 

the proceeding events were all a blur and it felt like you were watching it through static television. one moment you can hear victorious cheers. the next moment, you hear something break and steve is suddenly lying on the floor a couple feet away from you, bloody faced and barely breathing. billy continuously throws his punches and the kids scream in fear. you try to get up but your body betrays you, only allowing you to reach out your arm towards the brown haired boy. 

somehow, the sound of the punches halted and billy fell to the ground. a sigh of relief escapes from your lips while the slow rise and fall of steve harrington’s chest becomes the last thing you see as you completely fade into the darkness.

—

the next time you open your eyes is to another set of screams, waking you up from your much needed slumber, if you can even call it that. you ignore the pounding in your head as you try to regain your vision. the first thing you feel are the strong arms in front of you, acting as your seatbelt, as you try to piece it all together. 

a couple minutes of confusion later, you finally recognize what’s happening, joining steve in full babysitter mode. the yelling of “no’s!,” and “stop the car’s!,” filling the tiny vehicle. 

“great, now they’re both awake!, i told you we should have just left them!,” mike cursed dustin annoyingly. 

“we were not going to leave them there, mike!,” dustin retorted, “c’mon guys i promised you’ll be cool, okay? just calm. down,” he softly ordered, like he was the babysitter and you two were his children. 

you scoff, “dustin, don’t fucking tell me to calm down!,” somehow fearing for your life now more than ever. 

“everyone just shut up, i’m trying to focus!,” max yells as lucas yells the directions in her ear. 

max makes a harsh turn causing a chorus of screams to rise. your hand immediately clutching around steve’s arm, face burrowing in his neck, seeking for protection, afraid of the crash that luckily never came. 

you’re not even too sure what happened the rest of the night but somehow you all made it out unscathed, besides the fact that you and steve are probably suffering matching concussions. 

iii. the heart-to-heart

in the tiny bathroom of the byer’s house, you find yourself standing in between steve harrington’s legs. his body feels familiar now, especially after you seeked comfort in each other in the dark tunnel, the two of you thinking it would be your last breaths. in some way, the miracle happened and the screeching demogorgons ran straight past the two of you, like you weren’t even there. 

you remember looking up at his golden, brown eyes. being that close to him, you noticed how beautiful they actually are and finally understood how he has charmed every girl at school. 

‘i guess it wouldn’t have been too bad dying in steve harrington’s arms.’ you thought to yourself.  

brushing those thoughts away, you bask in the moment of solitude within the commotion that is taking place behind the bathroom door. everyone reunited here, checking up on each other.

“does it hurt?” you ask him as you gently pat the alcohol covered cotton pad around his eye, cleaning up the bits of red that have stained them.

he slightly winces, hoping you didn’t notice, “i’m fine, this isn’t my first rodeo,” he assures, sending you a wink before completely regretting the tiny action, a frown briskly replacing his smile, causing small chuckles to slip between your lips. 

“you know, you should really stop getting into fights, i could’ve sworn you had a black eye just a year ago,” you remember it like it was yesterday - steve harrington walking the halls of hawkins high without his two minions for the first time, looking like he had fallen off his throne as the hushed whispers grew louder until they finally made its way throughout the school in a matter of minutes. 

you could tell he wasn’t at all the person he was trying to be and for a second, you saw yourself in him. you wanted to get to know that steve. the steve that may understand you. but that second didn’t last long. 

“so you were watchin me?” he teases, a smirk on his lips resulting in a playful shove and an eye roll from you.

gently grabbing his chin, you stare straight into his eyes, “of course i was. you’re steve harrington,” you remind him, “everyone watches you,” stating the facts before letting go and going back to removing all the dried up blood from his pretty face. 

he clears his throat, shrugging his shoulders, playing it cool, “yeah, i guess you’re right,” he says dumbfoundedly, making you laugh. 

“you’re ridiculous,” you quietly comment, a smile still on your lips. steve focuses on your light touches, trying not to wince every time you get near his open wounds. you notice his knuckles going white, gripping the toilet seat he was sitting on and ever so gently, hurried your actions. 

“there, all clean,” you softly declare as you slip from his space, turning around and putting all mrs. byer’s first aid kit back into place. he quietly thanks you, leaning his head back a bit to rest, his eyes shutting for a second. 

“thanks, by the way,” you break the silence “for protecting me earlier… with billy and all the upside down things,” you explain, looking at steve through the mirror. he nods, not entirely sure he’s deserving of your gratitude. you protected him as much as he protected you. 

“is he always that violent with you?” steve asks, an eyebrow going up. 

you immediately shake your head,  “no, he’s never laid a hand on me, i don’t know what came over him,” you say honestly. 

“why billy hargrove?” he asks, causing you to pause your actions, paying attention to him.

“what do you mean?” you reply, turning around to face him once again, your back against the tiny kitchen sink. 

“well, you didn’t leave dustin alone even though you just started babysitting him today, you care about having seatbelts on, you immediately covered up for max and just now, you took care of me when you should be taking care of yourself,” he points out, “you’re responsible and kind and you care and, well, billy is just a huge dick,” he finished, a hand flailing in the air as you stare at him, stunned at his observations.

you compose your thoughts for a while, not at all ready to have a heart to heart with steve harrington in a bathroom. 

instead, you throw the question back at him, “why nancy wheeler?” 

“you cannot possibly be comparing billy to nancy,” he replies quickly, a disapproving tone laced in his voice.

“i’m not,” you say defensively, “i’m just saying, she hurt you too but you’re still with her, you-”

“i-i don’t know if we’re actually still together,” he sadly replies, cutting you off, eyes dropping to the floor and you think back to the woods earlier that night — nancy emerging with jonathan right by her side. 

“but you still love her,” you continue, “even though she’s hurt you, you still love her,” you finish, trying to make a point.

“so, you’re in love with billy?” he concludes.

you scoff, wanting to say yes and finally drop the subject but the mere thought of agreeing with that sentence makes you visibly wince. 

“god no, i’ve been on a couple dates with the guy, it’s far from love,” earning an even more confused steve to face you. 

“i don’t know if it’s because i got my brains punched out or i really am just dumb but i completely lost you there,” he admit, a tiny smile on his lips and all you could do is sigh. 

heart to heart talk it is. 

“you’re not dumb, i just-” taking a deep breath, you prepare yourself.

“we all have our own reasons why were with someone,” you begin, “i’m just so tired of the perfect good girl image that has been imposed on me, it's like people just see me as that and nothing else,” as soon as you start, the dam breaks, flowing. 

you find yourself entrusting your deepest thoughts to him, “i can’t be fun because good girls aren’t supposed to be, i go to parties and people are confused that i'm there. you know, i even joined the cheerleading team so people can see me as something more? but all that does is fuel the assumption that i can do everything and still get shit done...that im not capable of mistakes and bad decisions. that i’ll turn out to be something great when really i’m just so damn scared all the time,” your voice breaks but before he could comment, you cleared your throat and continued. 

“i guess being with him makes people finally see me out of my stereotype” you confess, waiting for him to say something. the silence becomes overbearing and you feel completely vulnerable under his gaze. 

“oh,” steve responds, before bursting into laughter and you feel like a complete idiot, eyebrows shifting downward. god, you’re so ready to dramatically walk out of this bathroom and slam the door against his face but before you could do that, he notices.

“hey wait,” he says, gently grabbing your arm, asking you to stay as he arranges his thoughts.

“i’m sorry, i’m just relieved that you’re not actually in love with him because you deserve a lot better than billy hargrove,” he says charmingly, his cool facade still on display. 

“i know,” you agree, stopping yourself from rolling your eyes, “is that all?” you ask, still annoyed. 

“yeah,” steve starts, “i-no,” you give him time. you know that he’s having a war in his mind right now, the same one you just had. 

he avoids your gaze, thinking to himself, until finally, he puts his defenses down, “i understand you,” he confesses. 

“if it makes you feel better, it’s not at all greener on this side, i wished people looked at me less, i wish i didn’t have to go to all these parties just for people to respect me,” steve rattled on, feeling the weight fall off his shoulders with every word that falls off his lips, his facade disappearing bit by bit.

“i completely gave up on school because everyone has already expected me to fail and i started to believe them…it’s tiring having to pretend i’m this ‘king’ steve,” he quotes, “when really i am spiraling and have no fucking clue what i even want in life...i’ll probably just end up having a stupid job i hate and being as bitter as my father,” he sadly chuckles.  

“i’m just as scared as you,” he ends with a small smile, eyes meeting yours. he feels lighter after having said it all out loud for the first time and he can’t quite comprehend how he feels so safe sharing his saddest truths with you. 

but as you cast him a kind smile, the words “fuck stereotypes,” making its way to his ears, he can’t help but be thankful for the spilled truths and ajar doors. 

steve mirrors your expression and you’re glad you finally got to meet him. not “playboy” steve harrington and definitely not steve “the king” harrington. 

just steve. 

-

next: yr. 1985

an: a lil bridgerton reference there hehe ... thank you for reading! let me know if you're interested in reading the other moments i had planned :)

feel free to inspire me by dropping your thoughts, comments, suggestions, etc. here <3

[vapekingg]

toxic - billy hargrove x fem!reader content warnings: light sadism, trauma bonding, painful sex, emotional hurt/comfort, angst

Your flight had arrived late the night before at the tiny landing strip in a town you hardly recognized the name of. 

On the drive to your temporary home in that far too familiar Camaro, sleep was disrupted by the smell of cow shit blowing in through the windows. Billy refused to drive with them up; not when he was four beers deep with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Besides, he wanted you awake and ready for the moment he threw that car into park in front of his house.

You were awake now though. Hardly, but awake nonetheless. After a night of long awaited rough housing, your entire body hurt. The air circulating by way of the ceiling fan made you hyper aware of every bite mark left on your skin. You could feel every finger and handprint like a fresh tattoo. A permanent reminder. 

But Billy’s love bites weren’t actually permanent. They’d fade and disappear shortly after you went back to California, just like they always did. This was the way things had gone since the two of you were forced apart three years ago. You’d visit him in the fall and winter and he’d come to you in the spring and summer. It was the only respite offered from the other torturous, lonely weeks in the year.

He cracked his eyes at the same time as you. Such pretty, deep blue eyes. The hair above his lip had grown thicker since your initial separation, but you thought maybe you preferred him like this.

Perhaps you just preferred him, though.

“Sore?” he asked, that smooth voice a little gravely this early in the morning.

And you smiled, “Unbelievably.”

In an instant, his soft hands were snaking around your waist yet again. He slid down on the mattress, down enough to dip his head forward and place his insatiable lips against the curve of your throat. Right where your neck met your shoulder. Right where he knew you liked it best.

“ Ah —” you hissed, immediately placing your palm against his chest to deter him. “I can’t, Billy… I don’t think I can take any more right now.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can, angel.” His hand slipped further down. Over the swell of your ass and to the meat of your thigh where he pulled your leg over his hip. “You always say that, and you always take it so fuckin’ good. Better than anyone I’ve found in this shit hole.” His fingers brushed between your legs.

When you winced again, his ministrations stopped. His teeth scraped only barely against your carotid artery. Billy very well may have been too rough with you most of the time, but he knew your limits. He knew when you truly couldn’t take the brutality of his fucked up, rage filled life, and the two of you had options in place for those situations.

“What if I let you be on top, hm? How’s that sound?”

A smile curled up on your face, and perhaps he could feel it in the atmosphere. Billy grabbed you by the hips and rolled onto his back, hoisting your abused body on top of his in the process but prompting a fit of giggles to spill from your frayed lungs. He was already hard, he always was when he woke up, but you would need some preparation — so you sat up against his lap with your hands on his chest, the old blanket that he’d had since the two of you were in middle school falling away from your naked bodies, and steadied yourself against him.

“What do you need, baby? Anything. Fuckin’ anything , I just wanna feel you around me.” He said, eyes scanning over every inch of your form, searching for any hint of change. 

That change was there. Every time the two of you got together again, there was some sort of change; a new scar or freckle, your hips more pronounced or breasts a little bit bigger. Whatever it was, he didn’t realize he’d been craving it until he saw it on you.

You reached forward and brushed his stubbled jaw with your fingers. He’d have to shave before going down on you again, but for now, you just wanted his attention.

“Tell me how good I am.” You said in that voice so saccharine Billy almost swore his heart couldn’t be completely rotten.

“You’re so good, Y/N. Such a good fucking girl.” He praised, and your soul sang a lovesick melody in response.

“Hm..” You hummed while moving one of his hands from your hip toward the space between your thighs. “I’m gonna need you to be more descriptive, pretty boy. How good?”

Uncharacteristically, Billy moved slowly. His fingers danced along the space where your hip met your heat. Stroking you gently — lovingly, almost.

“The best I’ve ever had. You know no one compares to you. Sex aside… no one comes close to comparing to you.”

He saw the change in your demeanor. The way your eyes glazed over with pure want and hips shifted into his touch. Making love to you was a language he’d created single-handedly. Everyone else… Well, you just had to deal with secondhand translations that didn’t quite make sense. 

Billy’s fingers dipped slightly into your core, just enough to feel that he was making progress. He drew your arousal up to your clit and moved in tiny, wonton circles. 

“No one?” You replied through a shivering breath, “You haven’t found a single chick here to get you off like I do?”

Before he could respond, you saw the answer on his face. Brief, unveiled sadness. Your relationship with Billy was toxic as all get out. It was unhealthy for the both of you to rely on each other so fucking heavily for emotional, mental, and sexual release — but it was all either of you had ever known. Shitty homes breed shitty offspring, and the two of you were bottom of the barrel filth. Ruined from the inside out. But all that rot and decay was at least a little contained if you took it out on each other. 

“They’re just holes, Y/N.” He said, and when you were too distracted by the thick eyelashes that nearly made you jealous , two fingers plunged inside of you. “Just fucking holes for me to get off in. I don’t take my time with them like this…”

He pressed forward, scissoring his fingers against your sensitive walls and working to massage you open. Already, your hands felt weak against his chest. Every time the jut of his knuckle brushed past your opening, a soft, high pitched whining slipped out of your throat, and Billy seemed to love it. 

“That didn’t take long, did it?” He smirked and then pulled his fingers out of you, holding them up in the early morning light that sifted through his blinds. It was almost embarrassing how much arousal clung to his skin. “Looks like you want my cock just as much as it wants you, yeah?” In an instant, his brow dropped. That sweet, caring, paternal voice you’d always craved lowered in octave and mood. “Up. Now .”

His knees crooked up behind your back, feet flat on the bed so you could lean back against his thighs. With one of his hands on your hip, you lifted yourself off of his lap — just enough for him to reach between your legs and grab his cock. 

“Steady? You got it?” He asked. 

To your surprise, when you nodded he let go of your hip and reached for the bottle of lube on his nightstand, working the gel down his length until it was sleek enough to not rip you open again . Billy held his cock by the base and lined the tip up with your weeping hole.

“Take your time, baby. All the time you need.” He said while moving his hands up again to your hips. 

Despite his words of encouragement, Billy put slight pressure on your waist, drawing you down his length by a few inches on his own accord. And the more of him that slipped inside of you, less worry and trauma sat on his face. Replaced by that airy, light expression that only existed when the only thing that mattered to him was you . 

“Fuck!” You hissed, the swell of his cock growing the further you plunged. Thighs already shivering slightly from the residual pain. 

But Billy looked up at you, and good fucking god was he handsome. That open mouthed, canine bearing smile just as heartbreaking as the day you’d met on a beach you still flocked to. Oceanic eyes finding something cathartic in the pain he inflicted on you. 

“You’re almost there, babydoll. Just a few more inches, you got it.” He praised, half lidded gaze stationed on the little space that existed between his lap and yours. 

And you hated him a little bit. Looking down at him like that, completely relaxed at your own expense, you hated how attractive you found him. Hated that he’d shown you his insecurities and that you’d done the same in return. Hated the chokehold he had on your emotional stability and sexual gratification.

“I need—” You choked out, hands folding over his, pushing them down to the fat of your thighs. “— help . Fuckin’ help me, Hargrove! It’s too much…”

“Oh, well aren’t you a sweet thing.” He keened, that cocky side smirk sending you over the fucking moon. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you might be flirting with me, Y/N.”

The moment your mouth opened to say something smart in return, Billy dug his fingers into your flesh, hips snapping up between your thighs and burying himself to the absolute hilt. Your mouth fell open, but no words followed as brief pain was quickly replaced by the pleasure he never failed to deliver.

“That’s it, baby, right fucking there!” He seethed through gritted teeth, and oh, how you would’ve killed to feel your skin breaking between them. That pain he insisted on bestowing having become an addiction. An illness of the most deranged form. Billy forcefully dragged your hips back and forth, grinding you against him as he watched your eyes well up with tears. “Feel me inside you? All the way in your fucking guts?”

Finally, an absolutely guttural , disgusting sound rolled out of your throat, head lulling back on your shoulders as you dug your nails into his chest — and Billy fucking loved it . Loved being hurt by you just as much as he loved hurting you. He grabbed for your hands, pulling them above his head until your chest was flush against his, breasts pressed into his sticky skin, face to fucking face so that he could see every change in emotion that washed over your eyes. 

With that, he let you take the lead. Just like he’d promised. You wrapped your hands around his wrists, keeping them stationary near the headboard while you sucked in a deep breath. 

“Ready?” He asked, as if you were just about to jump off of a ten story building with nothing to save your life but his heartstrings wrapped around your ankles. 

You rolled your hips back and felt the drag of his cock against your inner walls. Those thick veins, the jut of his head filling you out perfectly. Like you were fucking made for him — because you were . Perfectly crafted by years of experimentation. You’d molded one another into exactly what the other needed. 

“ Goddamn it,” Billy cursed, and his dark, thick lashes fluttered while watching you take what you needed from him. “You’re fuckin’ good at this, aren’t you? Been practicing without me?”

Oh, did jealousy flare up in those baby blues. You saw it in the way he cocked his eyebrow, patiently waiting for a response. Jaw clenched and face wet with hope. Billy knew the answer already, but it was always fun to rile him up a little. 

“Tons.” You answered, tightening your hands around his wrists just in case he decided to snap back, forcing your hips all the way down and biting back the moan that was dying to follow. “With Ricky and Matthew. Can’t expect me to suffer while you’re here having all the fun.”

“I swear to fucking god, Y/N, if you let Ricky stick his dick in—”

That hollow threat was laid to rest when you lifted your hips, pulling him out and fucking him back into you quickly.

“You’ll what , babe? Stop dragging me out here twice a year?” Your lips ghosted over his jaw, his eyes following you until your face disappeared into the crook of his neck — which was fine by him, as he had the perfect view of your pretty, handprint stained ass moving up and down. A front row seat to depravity. 

Billy tilted his chin up, allowing you to scrape your teeth against his throat. 

“You think I won’t?” He asked. 

And his heart ached when you laughed, airy exhale fogging over his carotid artery. 

“I know you won’t,” you answered. “ ‘Cause you’re a sick fuck.”

Before he could call you a disgusting whore in return, you squeezed your walls around him. Massaging his length and grinning when he was finally at a loss for words. Good god, his moans were sweeter than that of any of your other lovers used to fill his place.

You released his wrists, pushing yourself up to sit straight, putting yourself on display for him like you knew he loved. He’d been right earlier — you could feel him in your fucking guts. Deep in your stomach, ruining you for everyone else. His tip brushing against that spot that made you go cockdumb every single goddamn time your thighs brought you up and then back down. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, as if they could even compare…” You drawled, words almost slurred as you used him to make yourself fucking feel something for once. 

But that finish was just out of reach. You looked down, admiring yourself in such a scandalous state; hips rutting immorally against his lap, sweat shimmering against your skin through a veil of hazy morning light, bruises branding your arms and hips — and it disgusted you that you loved yourself most like this.

“Let me cum inside you, angel.” Billy said, ripping you out of your own narcissistic daydream. You glanced up just in time to see the pink of his tongue darting out of his mouth, coating his thumb with spit before he brought it between your legs, hair sticking to his temples and forehead. 

He drew his thumb in soft, tight motions against your sensitive clit. Barely existent. Feathering over your bundle of nerves just enough to drag you toward that ethereal state that was a constantly attainable goal in your emotionally neglected mind.

“ Billy —” you sighed, more as a plea for him to be the responsible one than a warning that you were cresting that hill.

“Don’t you wanna get filled up? Fuck ,” he asked, breaths growing choppy as he ran his touch along your frame; setting fire to your silhouette. “Dripping out of your sweet little pussy all fuckin’ day.”

His hips snapped up in time with your downward thrusts, matching your movements in rhythm and intensity until you were hanging onto your composure by a goddamn thread. 

And when you looked down at him, well that sealed your fate. His slack jaw and half lidded stare did you in, shoving you onto a set of railroad tracks just before running you over twice for good measure. He looked at you like he fucking loved you, and the fact that you knew he didn’t hurt just as bad as his stretch felt good.

“There you go, sweet girl. Fuckin’ drenching me, aren’t you?” He choked, pride swimming in his eyes as his upward strokes became sloppier. His hips snapping against your thighs wildly, that sound overshadowing your shaky breaths ten fold.

You felt the throb of his release. Regret and irresponsibility gushing inside of you. A problem to be sorted out later, but so fucking fulfilling for the time being. Billy reached up and grabbed you by the back of the neck, pulling you down to rest your forehead against his so you could watch him owning you as that post-orgasm, pink cloud sensation swallowed up your existence. 

“God fucking damnit , so tight—“ He growled, giving you one more deep, probing thrust just to finish himself off.

When he was finally done using you, you rolled your head to the side, nestling your cheek in the hair on his chest.

“All right, I have to ask—“ Billy started, but you didn’t want to hear him speak for as long as you could avoid the conversation. 

“Shut up, Billy. Please.”

“No, you know I have to know, babe.” He continued, arms wrapping tightly around your shoulders as if you had anywhere else to go in this little rinky-dink town. “Who’s better? Me or Ricky?”

You felt his nose press into the top of your head, lips planting long kisses against your scalp. Of course Billy was better, but he wasn’t sustainable. None of this was. And maybe he was secretly hoping that the two of you would make some progress this time. A little bit of headway to the healing that both of you needed but would rather just avoid all together. 

“I let Ricky kiss me on the mouth.” You admitted. 

And with your ear just above his heart, you heard him break a little bit more. Another piece of him falling away. 

“You think we’ll ever cut this shit out?” He asked while slowly drawing the comforter back over your naked bodies. “Finally tell each other to fuck off so we can move on to other people?”

A loaded question. Cutting ties with Billy meant getting better, and getting better meant finally wading through all of the shit and dirt and grime that he’d helped you bury in a shallow grave. 

“Maybe.” You answered quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to his sternum and then looking up at his far too handsome face. “Not today though.”

He smiled down at you and repeated, “Not today.”

[queers-gambit]

Talk Shit, Get Hit

prompt: ( requested ) your high school bully picks the wrong day to taunt you and it's up to an equally hotheaded Billy to calm you down. call it irony.

pairing: Billy Hargrove x female!reader characters are ALL aged 18 years old

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

word count: 5.4k+

note: the reader is aggressive. the reader is violent. the reader’s hands are rated ‘E’ for Everyone.

warnings: you know the drill: author projects instead of going to therapy and uses personal experience as details. there's physical violence, aggressive reader, depiction of shitty home life / toxic family, (somewhat severe) abusive alcoholic parent, parental abandonment, cursing, bullying, Jason Carver's sister is the bully, injury and blood. cursing, threats, brief cigarette and illicit material use (marijuana / weed), i guess this is hurt and comfort, angst, we talk about Billy's abuse with Neil, too, and kinda abrupt ending.

PLEASE NOTE -

this fic will depict parental abuse, both emotional and physical. this fic will discuss an alcoholic parent. this fic will detail physical violence BY the reader.

DO NOT engage if any of these topics potentially trigger you. you will miss nothing if you decide to skip. author implores readers to value and prioritize their own comfort and mental health.

Of all the days Brittany Carver could've chosen, she picked the worst day imaginable to bully you - being akin to a ticking time bomb. To your immense surprise, she'd laid off that entire week, focused on the "big" cheerleading competition she was leading Hawkins High to victory in. It left her no energy to engage in her favorite past time of tormenting you; figuring that after 6 years of her brutal behavior, she had grown up and lost interest. You weren't someone who people bullied easily, but this thing with Brittany, it was some kind of twisted pissing contest; competition brewing in elementary school that boiled over during middle school and now lasted into high school.

However, God seemed to have a sick sense of humor because on the week your bully had temporarily forgotten your existence, things at home had escalated to a new height not previously known. It was true what they said: if it wasn't one thing, it was another.

The entire week, your mother had only been sober for - well - none of it. She was found morning, noon, and night slumped over in various locations around your home with different bottles of liquor in her grip. The house grew messier each day, a direct result of a checked-out parent refusing to do any chore and destructive little monsters that took form as your twin little brothers. You couldn't keep up, playing mother, sister, housewife, personal maid, and full-time student all at once; pushing your stress levels higher, making you bitter and short tempered. The times your mother was conscious, which was typically to find a new bottle of alcohol, she was a right nasty fuck.

Her bark matched her bite; not only yelling at you, belittling you, and gaslighting you - but also using physical aggression to "teach you a lesson" for being "disorderly" or "a waste of semen" - and yes, that is a direct quote. Her hands were dainty from malnourishment, bulging veins prominent, and despite your father abandoning the family ages go, she still wore her diamond wedding ring that left small cuts wherever she struck you. The times she wasn't sober enough to really "get" you, she put out cigarettes on your arms and thighs; leaving tiny, circular burn scars you coated in Neosporin. She’s been known to break a few wooden cooking spoons over your head, steal the money made from babysitting, even cashed-in your inheritance - pawning all of your dead grandmother’s jewelry. There were plenty of other examples, but dwelling on those instances wouldn't change the past or alter your future, so you stuffed them way deep down in your soul.

Naturally, you didn't say a Goddamn thing; under the impression that everyone had shitty family members they tolerated and that your home life was normal enough to not report to the police. You didn't know any better, you didn't know that your mother downing fifths of alcohol daily was cause for concern. You didn't know that abuse wasn't the standard - emotional or physical. It took years for you to learn that love wasn't supposed to hurt, that love wasn't supposed to scare you, that love wasn't selfish, that your mother didn't actually love you. It took years to convince yourself that you were worthy of love and acceptance, never receiving it from your mother - not knowing you could get it from anyone else.

And then, William fucking Hargrove - or Billy - breezed into your small hometown with a sweet denim-clad ass, golden, curly mullet, and a bad fucking attitude that rivaled your own.

It was a match made in heaven. Or hell.

You both suffered at the hands of your parental figures, turning abrasive and foul-mouthed as defense mechanisms. You and Billy developed hardened exteriors in an effort to protect your soft insides, and when you met officially, it was as if you two could see past that hard shell - straight through the bullshit. You recognized much of the same in one another - like looking in a mirror - and grew impossibly close in an incredibly short amount of time; grateful to have a second half who understood without ever needing explanation.

He just got you. Able to identify common threads between you. Billy understood you, having more empathy than you thought he could muster. He protected you. He loved you. He took care of you - and you did the exact same, considering you two were cut from the same cloth; wanting to assure him he was just as worthy of love as you.

Billy was known around Hawkins for being a womanizing jock with anger issues, and yet, when you finally agreed to go on a date with him, he never even looked at another girl twice. He felt as if dating his best friend, understanding that nobody else would truly understand him the way you do - so he did what he could to keep you.

He did his best to defend you, but there was only so many tangible things the star basketball player could protect you from. Gossip and petty cheerleaders, prime examples. Yet Billy still tried, even taking the liberty to confront Brittany's brother, Jason Carver, about leaving you alone. Unfortunately, it was as if Billy's concern spurred on the cheerleader's bullying, calling you pathetic for hiding behind a man and sending him to fight your battles. You told Billy to stay out of it, that you could handle the situation by yourself, that he would just make the situation much more sticky.

So he did. Billy backed off, letting you deal with the situation as best you deemed; offering his support in return, being a shoulder to cry on for the days your frustration peaked.

That entire week Brittany didn't bully you had been extraordinarily tiresome due to your mother's abuse, wanting to confide in Billy but refraining when you rationalized not bringing him into your bullshit. He had enough of his own. So, while, yes, it was a comfort to have him on your side, you never indulged Billy on the woes of your life. He was meant to be your escape, not your savior; the burden of shouldering your abuse while enduring his own feeling terribly unfair.

You kept quiet, even though you were silently begging for someone to save you. Yet you weren't a damsel, there was no Prince Charming, brave knight, chosen champion to slay the dragons terrorizing you.

However, your boyfriend was much more intuitive than you realized. You always prided yourself on your acting skills, convincing everyone around you that you were indifferent to your mother's temperament, even when showing up at school with a casted wrist, black eye, and split bottom lip. Turns out, parents in Hawkins gossiped much more than the kids, and soon, it felt like the entire town knew about your abusive alcoholic mother and runaway father. Nobody did anything to help you, they just tiptoed around the knowledge and stared at your injuries. Brittany Carver was the only person stupid enough to make the mistake of weaponizing your home situation.

It was a tepid spring afternoon, the sun peaking through the clouds and the first flowers sprouting from the thawing ground. The bell rang to dismiss for lunch, the hallways filled with mingling and milling students all grateful for the midday break. Some gathered in gaggles of friends, some headed directly for the cafeteria, and others, like you, utilized the time to exchange morning class books for afternoon materials. Your fractured wrist had long since healed, but there was a long, straight scar present as a result from the surgery you required; currently, a scabbing cut over your eyebrow, lips stinging from where the flesh split, with a collection of bruises turning different colors to represent various healing stages.

Today simply hadn't been your day.

After a week of constant alcohol-fueled battery, you felt your frustrations finally crescendo after being assigned 3 separate essays; doubling your stress, shortening your fuse, and creating heavy leaded dread as the minutes ticked by. Everyone else felt giddy for the spring-tastic weekend, wanting time to go faster so they could go home - but not you. You might've been the one teenager in the city - no, no, the county - no, wait! The state - WAIT, NO... The country, who didn't want to leave school. You didn't want the day to end and be forced out of your safety zone; anxiety twisting your stomach and prickling your skin at the thought of returning home.

Truthfully, you spent several nights a week at Billy's, being snuck in through his window; feeling unsafe in your own home and wanting to remain close without voicing your need for his proximity. You felt stronger with Billy, as if you could take on the world; as if your safety and wellbeing were (finally) a real priority. He took great pride in being that safe haven for you, thinking it a nice change of pace as he often never seized opportunities to prove himself compassionate and caring. Billy was known for being a brute, someone aggressive and commandeering; nobody associating "safety" with him - except you.

However, this wasn't one of those weekends you'd be able to sneak out, being forced into caring for your two wee brothers; them needing you, dependent on you, relying on the care and love you provide them.

As a result of your shitty week, you had been a right, foul bitch to those unfortunate enough to engage you. Being well aware of your attitude, you tried to avoid everyone, not wanting to lash out at innocent peers - labeling yourself a bitch because of your impeccable self-awareness. Though, no matter the labels you assigned, you simply couldn't rein your emotions into check given your anxiety over returning home overpowered your brain.

Knowing you'd be forced to defend yourself against your own mother set your teeth on edge, projecting your horrible mood onto anyone in your vicinity - making most keep their distance.

Keyword: most.

Much like her brother, captain of the basketball team, Jason Carver, Brittany Carver wasn't the brightest bulb of the bunch. She never picked up hints, she didn't bother reading the room or in-between any lines; she held little to no regard for those around her or their emotional state. Brittany just wanted to assert herself as Queen Bee and thought the best way to achieve that was by bullying those she deemed lesser then she. It gave her a power trip, made her feel swollen with importance, boosting her ego because in her mind, she'd rather be feared than loved.

Brittany was dressed in her pretty, pressed, and bright cheer uniform; her obnoxiously blonde hair tied in a high ponytail that swished dramatically with each step. She wore cherry flavored lip gloss, her make-up caked, skirt hiked higher than school regulation permitted because she suckled at the teat for attention - good or bad.

You heard the second bell ring and finished shoving books in your locker, trying to stuff notebooks in your bag when your locker was suddenly violently slammed shut. Flinching at the quick movement and aggressive bang, you glared at whoever dared interrupt you; a manicured hand flat on the metal to keep the locker closed.

"The fuck you want, Brittany?"

"Awh, someone's already got their panties in a twist," she mocked, two of her cronies giggling their support. "C'mon, babe, I was just stopping by to say hello - missed you this week!"

"Oh, for sure," you sneered in a sickly-sweet tone, "of course you missed me, your life is so much more boring without me in it, huh? Wow, seriously, Brittany, I'm flattered to be the main character in your life, too."

Her eyes rolled and one of the other cheerleaders at her flank, Jennifer, popped flavorless gum. "I'm surprised you still have this level of spunk and cheek to talk like that, would've thought Mommy Dearest beat it out of you by now - she hits you often enough, right? Doesn't she? Hmm, well, maybe she needs to hit you a little harder."

"Excuse me?" You snapped.

"You heard me!" She laughed. "Obviously your mom isn't teaching you any lessons since you still have this whole emo-attitude going on. But I can't say I blame her, you're such a bitch - I'd smack the shit outta you, too."

You nodded slowly, not realizing several students had paused themselves to watch the exchange; knowing this was a longtime coming and didn't want to miss the inevitable drama. Dropping your backpack, you asked, "You sure? You really wanna hit me?"

"Is it that hard to believe? I mean," she smirked, "your own mother does - of course, I do, too. Like, seriously, it's not a secret why she hits you - just look at you! No wonder she hates you, you're just a waste of space, resources, and money. Damn shame Billy doesn't see it yet, but don't worry, he will." She laughed again, "He'll get tired of reopening your lip every time you kiss. It's so pathetic and ugly, he'll start to crave what you can't offer. I mean, seriously, what guy with any self-respect wants to date a girl as broken as you?"

"Know what, Brittany?" You growled, balling your fists at your side. "I'll give you one free hit."

"Excuse me, what?"

"Yeah," your head nodded, "go ahead. One free, clean shot. Hit me if you want to so bad, but you'll only get just this one shot."

Her eyes rolled, "I don't need to, your mom's got that covered."

"Free hit, Brit," you taunted, gesturing, "c'mon, go 'head, lemme have it. Since I'm so insufferable, go right ahead - get your clean hit."

Jennifer and Jasmine shared strange looks, the latter nudging, "Just do it, Brittany, shut this stupid bitch the hell up."

"Yeah, Brittany, shut me the hell up."

She looked to her little goons with a smirk, shrugged and handing over her backpack. When Brittany turned again, she dramatically wound her arm back and used her full strength to swing her fist into your cheek; only making your head turn a fraction from impact. You hummed and nodded, the cheerleader laughing with her girls as if she had "shown you" - but her amusement died when she noticed you barely reacted.

You smirked, cracking your neck, "My turn!"

Your knuckle cracked the bridge of the cheerleader's nose - sick sound of a snap ringing in your ears and jolting the girl's head backwards; momentum forcing her to stumble. Brittany shrieked in pain, holding her nose, unable to defend herself as you launched your attack; first slamming her back into the lockers before jabbing your fist into any vulnerable spot you could.

Similar to the movies, you held Brittany by her hair to keep her in place; wailing your punches repeatedly, each hit making Britt bang into the lockers. Jennifer and Jasmine tried to pull you away but both earned their own punches or elbows to the face for the interference. You focused on Brittany, instantly curating a flock of students all eager to watch.

"FIIIIIIGHT!"

"GIRL FIGHT!"

"BEAT HER ASS, Y/N!"

Brittany sobbed as blood dribbled down her front, staining her pretty uniform, but you were just getting started. The hallway turned noisy, a circle forming around you four as all three cheerleaders were staved off; you running on pure anger, adrenaline, and overflowing frustration that encouraged your foot to kick Britt's gut. You'd never admit it, but Brittany's mocking had hurt you past words, made you feel vulnerable, disarmed, as if you were damaged, undeserving goods. With each punch or kick or stomp, you remembered a different instance of your mother's abuse, seeing her face instead of Brittany's; spurring you on with unrestrained force.

In the parking lot, Billy was leaning on his car with a few teammates from the basketball team and enjoying a hearty nicotine-filled break. Though they'd never label it as such, the boys exchanged idle gossip; listening to Conrad Jones detail his latest conquest, sneering about how "easy" Kennedy Stephens was. They were interrupted when Kyle Lambert sprinted up to them, sneakers skidding over asphalt, panting dramatically, "Billy! Billy! Y-You gotta come see this, man! You gotta help!"

"What?" He asked, taking a drag from his cigarette.

"I-It's your girl - it's Y/N!"

He pushed off his car that was supporting his weight, demanding, "What about her?"

"You gotta come quick, man, you gotta see this! It's fucking wild! Brittany, Jennifer, and Jasmine tried jumping her - "

Billy was surging across the carpark instantly, tossing his cigarette away before yanking the school doors open. He was instantly greeted by the chaotic sight and sounds of a fight, peers gathered in a large circle; screaming their support and hollering encouragement.

"Billy! Oh, thank God!!" Chrissy Cunningham cried, waving him closer. "You have to help! You have to do something, it's 3-on-1!"

He didn't acknowledge the strawberry blonde, just started instantly shoving through the crowd to reach the edge of the fight. It wasn't the sight he was anticipating - fearing the worst, now pleasantly surprised (and a little turned on).

Blood was splattered on the linoleum floors, a single streak smeared on the lockers. Jennifer was left on the ground with her back against the metal, sporting a busted lip as Jasmine was trying to coax her to her feet - sporting a ruddy face and disheveled look. Left in the center, to the entertainment of the crowd, was you on top of Brittany Carver, heaving your fist time and again into her face.

"Shit," he breathed, intending to step forward to stop the fight but needing to shove Tommy H. out of his way when he stepped forward.

"C'mon, man! It's a girl fight! Don't break it up!" Tommy begged, but Billy bullied through.

"All right, that's enough," he grunted, wrapping his arms around your middle and heaving you up and back a step - needing to engage his core and arms when you wriggled in an effort to free yourself. "Hey, hey, hey - "

"Lemme go! This bitch needs put in the ground!"

"Jesus Christ, when did you get this strong?" He grunted, your feet slipping on blood but still being restrained by your boyfriend's impressive strength.

"Talk your shit again, bitch!" You barked at Brittany, who was sobbing in pain and curling into herself. "Lemme hear you say another Goddamn word, you'll need more than another nose job! Fake ass, plastic bitch!"

Jason joined the center and knelt at his sister's side, helping her sit up, glaring at you and Billy. Your boyfriend grit his teeth when Jason snarled, "You need to muzzle your bitch, Billy!"

"I'll fuck you up for talkin' about her like that, Carver, don't provoke me. Watch yourself," Billy snapped in warning, successfully managing to get you behind him.

However, you dodged around him with only enough time to spit hatefully on Brittany, warning, "You wanna talk shit, you'll get hit! Don't let me hear you again - don't you ever dare say another word about my mama! I'll put you in the ground, bitch, fucking try me! I dare you! Try me again, say shit about my mama, and see what the fuck I do!"

"All right, all right, you made your point," Billy stiffly told you, pulling you away by force to avoid you actually killing Brittany. He got a look at her injuries, thinking there must've been more than a broken nose from the way her uniform was stained and her entire face bloodied. "C'mon, we gotta get outta here, come with me - c'mon, baby, you can't touch her anymore, you made your point, you'll end up killin' her or some shit," he panted, shoving through the crowd and effectively ending the fight.

Billy didn't let go of your form until finally outside - letting you rip yourself away as your blood boiled, adrenaline making you much stronger. He watched you pace; huffing, puffing, seething, all but gnashing your teeth hatefully. "That fucking bitch had it coming, Bee, it was self defense!" You finally explained.

"Oh, yeah, princess, totally looked like it," he scoffed, blocking the doors in case you tried to go back. He lit another cigarette.

"It was, you condescending asshole!" You snapped, eyes ablaze and anger tangible. "She approached me, she ran her mouth, and she hit me first!"

"Well," he sighed, "whatever the reason, it's not worth jail time for beating her to death."

"Might be."

"Ain't nothing worth throwing your life away," he offered you the cigarette, but you refused. "Why don't you just tell me what happened? What'd she say?"

"It doesn't matter, Billy."

"I think it matters when she looks like she's gonna need a blood transfusion to replenish what she's lost."

"Whatever - let it be a lesson that you shouldn't throw stones if you're scared of a boulder."

Billy sighed, smoke blown from his mouth, "C'mon, doll, tell me what happened?"

"Doesn't matter, it's done, it's over, it's in the past."

"Baby, I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

"You can't help, period, Billy! There's nothing you can do!"

"Well, you're not even letting me try!"

"'Cause it's redundant!"

"Obviously not when you look like a raging bull!"

Your eyes rolled, head shaking, "I handled it."

"I saw," he scoffed. "So, 3-on-1? How'd that happen?"

"I told you, they approached me."

"Well, I'm gonna need a little more to go on. C'mon, pretty girl, the fuck just happened? You know you can get suspended!" This made you freeze, muscles clamming up, looking purely petrified as if the thought hadn't occurred to you. "I know you don't want that, but if you talk to me, maybe I can help lessen whatever punishment."

"Oh, whatever, like I care about being punished," you snipped, hands twisting together - telling Billy you were beginning to get anxious.

"I think you do, it'd put you in the house with your mom alone," he trailed, pushing away from the doors to approach you like a baby deer. "C'mon, I know you don't wanna get suspended, so just tell me what happened."

"I'm sure you'll hear all about it from your little basketball buddies."

"I don't fucking care!" He snapped with the cigarette trapped and bobbing between his lips, making you look at him in mild shock. "There's gonna be a hundred different rumors, whole fuckin' school watched you beat the shit outta those girls - but I only care about what you have to say."

"There's no point - "

"Oh, Jesus Christ," he growled, snatching the cig between his knuckles, "I just saw three bitches on the ground, all injured, beaten up, bleeding - so stop being so Goddamn stubborn and just tell me! I'm tryna help you!"

"You pulled me off of her, you've helped plenty."

"I'd like to understand how this happened."

"It won't change anything."

"No, it won't, but you have a side to the story. Tell me what went wrong? What happened?"

You sighed, no longer pacing, planting both hands on your hips. Your head shook as Billy tossed the filtered cigarette butt aside, muttering when he exhaled the last of the smoke, "It seems so stupid now."

"Hey," he soothed, crowding into your space and taking one of your hands in his. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it wasn't stupid. You're forgetting, I know well enough to understand you wouldn't throw a punch unless absolutely necessary. Whatever got you riled up like that ain't stupid, sweetheart."

Like a glazed donut, your eyes turned glassy. Billy frowned and took your other hand off your hip, forcing your attention on him. "I swear, I didn't start it," you whispered.

"Only matters that you finished it," he smirked. "Tell me, what the fuck was all that?"

You sighed deeply, offering meekly, "Guess they had it comin'..."

"I know they did," Billy chuckled. "Nobody's that stupid to provoke you, except Brittany."

"I was at my locker... They approached and slammed it shut."

"Right, okay..."

"There were words exchanged, but Brittany, she - " You paused, swallowing thickly, "she started talkin' shit about my mom, about, you know, what she does..."

Billy understood instantly. "You fuckin' serious?" He growled, seeing you nod and fill him in on what was said - unable to look him in the eye as you relived your anger. By the end, you were trembling in emotion and adrenaline loss, Billy sighing deeply and yanking you into his chest for a tight embrace. "All right, yeah," he mumbled, "should've put them bitches in the ground."

"And now," you sniffled, "I'm gonna get suspended, forced to stay home with Ma all next week."

"We'll get you outta it."

"Can't, the school doesn't tolerate fighting on school grounds."

"You said she swung first?"

"Technically, yes. I might've - allegedly - prompted her into it."

"It's still selfdefense, toots, no matter what you or anyone said - if she swung first and hit you, you were only defending yourself."

You shrugged, resting on his chest, "You see the damage? Admin won't care who swung first - not when they're beat to shit."

"Yeah, there's my li'l hothead," he smirked, chuckling slightly before pecking the top of your head. "But you gotta admit, it's impressive how you took on all three."

"I guess, doesn't exactly feel like an accomplishment."

"Nah, princess, seriously," he pulled you back to look at him again, "that's fuckin' hot. I mean, they approached you and still got their asses handed to 'em. That's straight skill."

"Or just a lot of anger with nowhere to go," you frowned. "Think I should go find admin?"

"Nah, they'll probably find you - "

The doors opened and your name was called, the principal's secretary waving you to her. "Fuck," you whispered, releasing Billy.

"I'll come with you," he promised, lacing your fingers together when he took your hand. Billy had to admit, it was a little weird being in the principal's office but not being the one in trouble; waiting without patience in a fraying chair, picking at the exposed stuffing with his leg bouncing. He'd been there 45 minutes, skipping the last half of classes, just waiting as you were behind a closed door with the principal, vice principal, and the disciplinary officer.

He looked up when the school nurse lead Brittany, Jennifer, and Jasmine inside - glaring at them but admiring the scattering of cuts and bruises with dried blood on their precious uniforms. A few minutes later, you were exiting the office with a passive and neutral expression settled on your face. Your lip curled only slightly when you clocked the cheerleaders - hating how smug they all looked - approaching Billy instantly.

"You all right?" He checked, standing and adjusting his jeans.

"Mhm," you nodded, keeping your voice low as the principal called the three cheerleaders into his office. You waited until the door was closed, then informed with a smirk, "I'm not suspended."

"No?"

"Nope," you confirmed. "Apparently, they asked a couple other kids what happened and my story matches theirs. I was minding my business, they came up to me, they started mouthing off, and Brittany was the one who hit me first. So," you shrugged, "guess your idea of selfdefense held strong."

"See? That's good, huh?"

"Yeah," you sighed, nodding absently, "but he said the girls were gonna lose their spot on the cheer squad for this. Listen, I don't think I feel like goin' back to class - kinda just wanna take a nap."

Billy hiked up his jean jacket sleeve, consulting his watch for a moment. "Wanna head to mine? Neil's got the evening shift and Susan has bridge club for a few more hours - we'd be alone."

Your eyes rolled, "No offense, Bee, I don't feel like fucking right now."

"I'm not sayin' that, I'm sayin' let's go nap at mine," he chuckled, picking up your backpack that you forgot about. "We can come back to get your brothers but you know you're not gonna rest if you go home."

You gulped, sighing sadly, "Yeah, well, about that..."

"Something else happen?"

"Apparently... The school has an obligation to call the police if a student reports abuse."

"You reported your mom?"

"Not on purpose," you rushed in defense, "just that... I had to explain what Brittany said to me - so I had to admit what Ma did - or does."

Billy frowned, "Jesus."

"Yeah, so... Maybe going home isn't the smartest idea right now. I wouldn't wanna be there when they conduct their wellness check."

"You wanna stay at mine?" He offered.

"What about Neil?"

"He's a lot nicer with you around," he admitted. "Won't care too much if you stay the night. Plus Max has that club thing after school, then she's going to the arcade; so, she won't need a ride, we can just go."

"You know what? Sure, all right, I'll come to yours," you accepted, your lover boy whisking you away without a second thought. "Thank you, baby."

Your hands were stiff, and when you looked at them, noted split skin and stained blood as a reminder of your aggression... Wondering why the fuck people pushed you to these limits and acted surprised when you reacted? If they wanted a punching bag, they picked the wrong one - but you were willing to remind them.

When you got to the Hargrove residence, you were silent as the grave; stewing in your anger that rolled off you in projected waves. Billy was terribly disarmed, unsure how to properly comfort you - wondering how he would want to be comforted, realizing he'd want to be alone, not subject to anyone's bullshit advice. So, he did what he knew and after handing you a bag of frozen peas for your split knuckles, comfortably stripped and crashed in bed with the window cracked and a rolled joint between his fingers.

You rested on his bare chest, sighing deeply while watching the end of the spliff come to life in a smoldering ember. Billy took the first inhale to make sure it was lit and instantly handed it to you, his arm snug around you and the silence hanging in the air like the swirls of stale, exhaled smoke.

"I'm sorry it got to this point, pretty girl," He offered awkwardly, his other arm bending to prop under his head. Both of you stared off aimlessly, stereo filling the space dully in the background.

"Not your fault," You inhaled and held your breath, handing him the joint. He casually flicked the end in an ashtray resting on the window sill.

"No, but I could've done more."

You chuckled, smoke seeping through your lips and teeth, "Oh, yeah? How? You gonna beat up three girls?"

"Nah but I could beat the shit outta Jason."

"What good would that do?"

"If he didn't want a weekly black eye, Jason would control his sister."

"It's always about control with you, isn't it?"

"I'm just saying," he handed the joint back, lungs pinched to hold the smoke, "I could protect you."

"You already do, baby."

"Let me do more, princess."

"You can't fight every battle for me."

"You could let me try."

"You'd be fighting on two fronts," you frowned, exhaling slowly. "Can't fight for me when you're defending yourself against Neil."

"Might be easier to deal with your shit than my own," he chuckled without humor, accepting the spliff. "Look, I know you don't want me involved, but that's kinda what a boyfriend's supposed to do, right? Protect their woman?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Never had a boyfriend before?"

"Nobody was worth dating until you. Nobody could understand me the way you do so effortlessly."

"'Cause we're one and the same, baby girl. You don't have to do everything by yourself," he inhaled, handing the spliff over again, "don't always have t'be strong."

"Ain't no other choice."

"You could let me in more..."

"You're one to talk."

He sighed, smoke billowing. "You're right. Can't expect you to open up if I don't, so why don't we both try to let the other in more? Yeah, I get it, the shit we deal with ain't pretty but at least we understand each other, right? We're the best for each other to lean on."

"I don't wanna drag you into my bullshit, baby."

"I want you to drag me in, princess. I wanna help you."

You sighed, "Well, Brittany and her cronies are getting suspended and kicked off the cheer squad - they'll be looking for reason to take it out on me."

"Say the word, baby, and I'll beat Jason black-and-blue."

"You're so romantic."

"Only for you - so don't tell anyone. I got a reputation to protect."

You both snickered as the weed you indulged in took effect, lulling you two into a state of ease. Your knuckles had stopped burning, resting your injured hand under the frozen peas, reminding yourself to remain grateful in this turbulent period of life because now, you had someone on your team. Someone who wanted to help carry your baggage. Someone without alternate motives. Someone who was willing to withstand the storm in the hope of feeling the warmth of the sun again.

requesting rules and masterlist

Stranger Things masterlist

[weird-an]

"Love isn't a thing," Billy scoffs and it's like he's putting his hand right around Steve's throat. "Grow up, Harrington."

Steve shakes his head, his breath still taken away. He tries to inhale, but he's choking. He said it too early, he's too much, he fucked up.

"You'll get over it," Billy says, not looking at Steve. He makes an absent gesture at himself. "There's nothing to love here."

Finally, Steve finds his voice again. He's still strangled, but even now he can't let Billy believe this. He can't let Billy say these things about himself. He can't let Billy think like this.

"I love you," he repeats. "I don't wanna get over it."

Billy just glares at him, a line on his forehead, like he can't figure Steve out.

"Steve," he says, his voice cracking. For the first time, he sounds unsure, like he's a child that got lost. Steve's heart skips a beat. "I'm not… good for you."

Steve sees it, then. Billy doesn’t talk much about home. Only once he said something about his mother who just left him behind. Behind with a man that's supposed to be a father but only knows violence and anger.

"You're right," Steve says. Billy seems to shrink a little.

"Loving you is hard," Steve continues. He cups Billy's face with his hands, plants a kiss on his nose. "But it's worth it. You're worth it."

Billy shakes, eyes red. "Don't say that," he begs, the kid that got left behind. "Steve, don't."

"You're worth it," Steve says again. "I love you. Even when it hurts."

"Shit." Billy sniffs.

"I'll say it until you believe me," Steve threatens - or promises.

"That will take a while," Billy mumbles.

"That's okay." Steve kisses him. Billy kisses back.

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Steve is normally pretty good at bouncing back from things. Minor inconveniences and catastrophic disasters alike, and then some.

Today is the fourth day in a row that Billy has come home to find him tucked into bed before five o’clock has even come to pass, when the sun is still a while off from setting and the crickets have yet to chirp.

It’s safe to say that whatever he’s hit must be sticky, because the bounce back isn’t coming anytime soon either.

Billy goes about his routine as usual. Unlaces and kicks his boots off by the door, empties his pockets on the entryway table, and makes for the bedroom.

The first tell-tale sign that something’s wrong is the darkness in the kitchen — nothing heating on the stove or in the oven, no spices lingering in the air or onion skins piled on the counter. Steve will open the windows and busy his hands washing vegetables in the sink, listening to the sounds of the neighborhood as he pours through one of several cookbooks, trying to make something new and interesting.

It’s part of his evening routine. Helps him decompress, in a way, because he can focus on the words on the page and using his hands without having to talk or listen to anything but the calm sounds around him.

Then once Billy gets home, he blabs on and on about whatever comes to mind, and Billy listens as he eats whatever’s been made.

It makes for a good night when Steve cooks.

When he hasn’t, like tonight, a significant ripple disrupts Billy’s routine. Only he couldn’t give two shits about the food being ready when he gets home.

He gently knocks on the doorframe before he pushes the door open, letting a rectangle of light spill into the room. A sliver of it touches the bed, enough to highlight a partial figure under the covers, and Billy’s brows crease together as he slowly approaches.

“Hey, Stevie,” he coos. Sits on the edge of the bed and reaches a hand out to feel over the blanket, palm resting against Steve’s bicep. “Long day again?”

“Mm,” Steve hums.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t beg for a kiss like he usually does, and Billy frowns.

“You okay?”

“Mm.”

“Did I do something? Feel like I haven’t seen you all week…”

For a few beats, Steve just lays there. Then, he sighs.

“No.”

“Then what’s wrong? I’m walkin’ on eggshells here because I’ve felt like you’re pissed at me.”

“Didn’t ask you to,” Steve grumbles.

Billy furrows his brows.

“Well, shit, Harrington, I’m glad we cleared that up. Next time I feel like caring about my boyfriend, I’ll just go fuck myself instead.”

He stands up and steps toward the door, stopping before he’s crossed the threshold. Behind him, he hears a sniffle, and sighs as he rubs a hand over his face. Turns back around and makes his way to the bed again.

“‘Kay, I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry,” he says. Sits back down and fiddles with his ring on his middle finger. “I’m worried about you, baby, but I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.”

It’s quiet between them for a moment. Steve sniffles again, and there’s movement under the covers — presumably him lifting his hand to smudge the tears away from his eyes.

Billy scoots closer and sets his hand on Steve’s arm again for reassurance, rubbing softly up and down.

“I’m just— I feel useless, I guess. I don’t know,” Steve says.

His voice is low and raw. Vulnerable. Billy wonders if he’d been crying before he came home.

“Feel useless how?”

“I don’t… I don’t have anything. I’m nothing.” Steve lets out a shaky sigh and curls closer to himself. Billy’s expression drops. “I’m not smart enough to go to school and make a future for us, and, like, I know working minimum wage isn’t bad, but I want to… I want to have more for us than this, y’know? I’m a failure at everything I fucking try, and I’m scared this is it.”

The brunet chokes out a hushed sob. Turns his head to bury his face in the pillow to muffle the sounds of his strangled breaths.

Billy leans over his partner in a half-hug, laying his head on his shoulder and pressing him down into the mattress. It has Steve taking a somewhat slower, somewhat calmer breath. The first of more to come.

“How long have you been feeling like this?”

Steve swallows thickly, and his throat clicks.

“A while,” he manages. “I try not to think about it.”

“Sweetheart, not thinking about it isn’t gonna help you. Trust me, been there.”

Below him, Steve huffs.

For the first time in a while, Billy’s mind wanders to places he thought were forgotten. Closes his eyes and nuzzles his cheek against Steve’s shoulder as he rubs over his back.

“Y’know, I never told you this before, but I used to think I was unlovable. Wasn’t anyone’s first choice for my whole life ‘til I met you,” he murmurs. Steve’s breathing slows, and Billy spreads a little smile. “If you don’t have anything, Steve, you have me. I’d choose you and our shitty apartment over some sugar daddy with money and a mansion any day of the week.”

Steve sniffles.

“Yeah?” he rasps.

“Mhmm, and you’re not a failure, and you aren’t stupid. Just ‘cause you have hobbies that you don’t make money off of doesn’t mean you aren’t talented either — your customer service skills are honestly scary and I think I’d gain five hundred pounds if you got any better at cooking.”

Billy cracks a grin when Steve snorts. Turns his face downward and kisses his shoulder.

“Five hundred pounds, huh?”

The blond quirks a playful brow.

“How many servings do you have to make when you cook for us, Bambi?”

“I dunno, like, four?”

“And how much do we usually have leftover?”

There’s a short pause, and then Steve chuckles.

“None.”

“Uh-huh, exactly.” Billy props himself up on his hands and gently pushes Steve’s shoulder until he rolls onto his back. “You’re smart, you’re passionate, you’re somebody, okay? If anyone ever tells you otherwise, I’ll buy a gun.”

Steve laughs, and Billy leans down to kiss just below his jaw.

“You’re a dork.”

“No, I just love you.”

Arms slide out from beneath the covers and drape around Billy’s neck, guiding him closer.

“I love you too.”

Steve tilts up into a kiss when Billy lifts his head. The blond hums against him, chewing his lip when they part.

“Wanna come heat something up and cuddle on the couch?”

Steve shrugs, his eyes lingering on Billy’s lips in the short distance.

“How about we order out and take a shower? You smell like motor oil.”

“You like it when I smell like motor oil.”

Fingers card into Billy’s hair, and he exhales a small sigh when they tug lightly.

“I like scrubbing it off of you even more, though,” Steve lilts.

Billy snickers and brushes their lips together again, melting down into his partner like sugar in a sun-warmed glass of tea. When they part, he lingers close, mere millimeters away from sharing another kiss.

“Lead the way, pretty boy.”

[munsster]

bedhead

A/N: I needed a sleepy boy on this sleepy day. and billy H needs a damn haircut >:) gif cred: @julie-thefatones

Pairings: Billy Hargrove x GN!Reader

Summary: Billy wakes with the desire to get rid of his hair eating away at him. 0.7k words

Warnings: fluff, minor angst, established relationship, implied night terrors, messy haircuts, anxiety/insomnia, scars, mentions of bullying

Everything Billy can touch is cold and dark. The sheets, the hard wood floor, the bathroom light switch, the porcelain counter. The water that pours from the faucet and the silver rings of the trimming scissors you keep in a soft plastic case in the cabinet below the sink. The only noise he can reasonably detect is the whirring of the ceiling fan. And if he listened carefully enough, paused his thundering heart for just a moment, he could hear your breath as it fans across your pillow.

But he came in here for a reason. Wielding the cold metal shears like Goliath and his sword. Marching into battle at six foot something, only to find himself in the mirror, damp with sweat and pale with insomnia. Deep purple cresting his edges and the thin crescents of skin beneath his baby blue eyes. Though the bathroom gives him a sickly green tint.

The first chunk of hair hits the floor with the faintest thud. So faint, it shouldn't be classified as a thud. But it's more the weight of the change than the handful of dark gold curls itself.

He's lopsided now. Now there's no turning back. But he couldn't proceed forward with any strength and confidence looking how he's looked for years. How he looked beating up his friends and calling girls sluts. How he looked on the verge of death.

Billy used to wear his head of sun kissed, West Coast hair like a helmet. Now it feels like a burden. You'd still fawn over him if he buzzed it all off. You'd call him stupid, sure, but he'd still be yours. And right now, that's all he's concerned with being.

Because you peer into the bathroom and coo his name like you don't see the growing pile of hair writhing around on the floor.

"Hi, baby," you whisper, cradling the scissors when he drops them into your hands, "little early for a haircut, isn't it?"

He shrugs, but he doesn't look at you. Like a child guilty of putting a piece of gum in his sister's hair. Only he's the one with the choppy locks, uneven chunks missing by his ears and the back of his head.

"Want help?"

Oh, and there are those baby blues, surrounded by soft pink sclera and nearly drooping from their sweetened places above his flushed cheeks.

Billy straddles the toilet lid backwards, arms crossed and settled on the ledge. He lets you turn his head side to side, up and down, and the pattern becomes soothing. Especially as the extra weight accumulates below his socked feet and over his sloped shoulders.

He thinks he must’ve passed out to the sound of the clippers, because he wakes with a tap on his shoulder. Your manicured pointer on his warm midnight skin rousing him from a dreamless sleep.

“Hmm?”

“All done,” you whisper, kissing his temple when he turns his head, “come look.”

Billy’s fingers feel heavy as he drops them between yours. You can hear the exhaustion in how he slumps to a stop in front of the mirror. He takes his time, a few deep breaths, and a while to admire the cropped cut. The way he hasn’t looked in years. It’s refreshing.

“You look really handsome, Billy. Was about time for a trim.” There’s a lilt in your voice that’s hard to take. It lightens his chest, straightens his shoulders, widens his tired eyes. Because there’s this sort of mischief clear on your face from where you stand behind his shoulder. He can feel it through the mirror. Intoxicating and delicious. Makes him feel beautiful as if he ever has before.

Billy whips around and twists his arms tight around you, collapsing into your embrace like a lovely paper doll. The room is cool like a nice glass of water. Even with the sun hinting at the morning and cars whizzing by down below, the light blue of five AM settles over him like a blanket.

You run your fingers up the exposed back of his neck, and he groans. The hair is short there, his neck is hot, his teeth sink into your shoulder playfully.

“Back to bed.”

He nods and does not let go, just waddles you to the bed, tucking the both of you back under the duvet with a big sigh.

masterlist

[static-fucking-mess]

Eddie couldn't help himself. He stared at Billy Hargrove sometimes; the gorgeous curls and wild grin lit something inside of him the first time Eddie had ever laid eyes on him.

Billy's plush lips sucking in the smoke from his Marlboro reds, broad shoulders, tight jeans. Eddie couldn't help himself from focusing on the way Billy's tongue flashed out to wet his lips as the smoke billowed off into the sky from his nose.

Billy washed into Hawkins and Eddie's life like a hurricane from California. His loud car, crashing music, and Eddie knew just from catching sight of him once that he wanted to know everything about him. He imagined if he got close enough he'd still be able to smell the ocean air on his sun kissed skin. He wanted to know his favorite bands, his thoughts on media, God he'd even sit through talking about cars if it meant Billy would look his way. (It wasn't like he wasn't interested, just that his own knowledge was limited to keeping his dinosaur of a van alive, and he didn't want to sound like an idiot. Not in front of Billy.)

Everything about Billy attracted Eddie to him. Eddie Munson had never considered himself shy. Fuck, he was a bit awkward about social boundaries, but he'd never felt shy before. Then, there were rarely ever new people that came to Hawkins to stay. And Billy made it clear that he had no intention of staying. Hawkins was small, and desperately choking on its shallow gene pool, in Eddie's opinion. Fresh faces were hard to find, especially ones that were willing to look his way, after all.

Billy hadn't been willing. To look his way, that was. He took to the social hierarchy like a wrecking ball, and sent it all asunder. King Steve seemed no more, Tommy and Carol seemed to fight more amongst themselves these days instead of making biting remarks at others. But Billy? He still wouldn't spare a breath on Eddie the Freak Munson.

Eddie had tried once.

He'd been utterly tongue tied in approaching Billy, picking at his sleeve. The two stood awkwardly behind the school dumpsters as they had their smoke break. Eddie's hand shook as he rolled his wrist, searching for the right words that refused to come.

"I really— I mean... fuck— sorry. Hold on. Uh—"

Billy's cool gaze slid up from where his zippo burned the cherry of his cigarette. He flicked his wrist to close his lighter before he tucked it away, utterly unimpressed. Eddie would probably be unimpressed with himself too. But damn; Billy Hargrove was a God carved of marble and gold, blessed by California sun. Eddie was a home grown weed from an Indiana backyard. His brown hair frizzy, unkempt, and his skin a touch oily from his aversion to water. It wasn't like he skipped showers because he wanted to. But in that moment Eddie felt painfully aware that Billy Hargrove was miles out of his league.

"Beat it," Billy grumbled at him. "I'm not in the business of making friends with people like you," he hissed. Those beautiful blues steeling into something dangerous that made Eddie's insides go cold. He swallowed back his words and the shaking in his hand seemed to intensify.

"No um... no that's. Fair. People like me?" Eddie inquired, head tipping a bit. He wanted to know just what part of his stigma had reached Billy first. He'd seen the saints necklace dangling in the open neck of his shirt. "The Satan worshipper? The freak?"

"Queers," Billy snapped. He looked at Eddie like a hostile and wild animal. Like his smiles were more reflective of the animal kingdom than the humanity he bore to charm others. Eddie swallowed dry air and dropped his gaze? Putting his cigarette out under his shoe.

"Right," Eddie affirmed. Billy had seen the way the guy looked at him. It was impossible to miss those dark, chocolate doe eyes when they lingered on him. It tickled the inside of Billy's ribs something real funny when he noticed Eddie in class. Distracted, but gazing his way like he was looking at art in a museum.

Billy was used to people lusting after him. He was hot, and god he knew it. He utilized it more often than he probably should have, but his good genetics in the physical appearance department had gotten him into, and out of a lot of trouble.

But Eddie wasn't lusting.

Eddie looked like he was trying to figure him out. Wondering at him. And that was dangerous. Because Billy had caught himself wondering too. What calloused hands would feel like holding down his wrists, or what those pouty lips would feel like stealing the breath off his. Thoughts like that were what had led to them having to leave California. Thoughts that turned to action, action that had made Neil so angry that he gave Billy two options:

Leave California, and the boy behind...

Or go to Summer Camp.

The two seemed like impossible evils to wrestle with. And in the end, with defeat, Billy had chosen to leave his home behind. It had hurt more that the boy had moved on before Billy could even explain himself. He swore, man or woman, he wouldn't date. Dating just brought trouble. Laying roots was dangerous. Ripping them free just hurt more.

So, he broke Eddie's heart before it had the chance to bloom. So he thought.

Nearing the beginning of November, Billy struggled one morning to light his cigarette. Shivering from the cold, and possibly the pain in his ribs. The pain that curled up through him and reminded him that defiance tasted like iron and copper on every breath in.

"Here—" the voice was steeped in sweet honey. Eddie lit his cigarette for him, and Billy flicked his eyes up to meet with Eddie's.

Eddie cupped his hands around Billy's while the cigarette dangled from his lips. Eddie rubbed his rough hands over Billy's to warm them, breathing softly over them to fight away the frost and chill in the air. Billy stood stiff and still like the early frost had taken root in him.

Eddie gazed up at Billy and offered him a smile, almost sheepish as he stepped away. He mourned the loss of that warmth as soon as it was gone, the fleeting action stirring something inside that Billy didn't want to fan the flames of.

"Shit, sorry," Eddie snorted. "I'm kind of a touchy guy, and uh. Social boundaries? Not my strong suit."

Billy chuffed, shaking his head before he took his cigarette loosely between two fingers and spat onto the pavement.

"Don't fucking touch me, freak," he hissed to Eddie. His frustration sizzling as his voice lacked the ire he wanted it to have. He wanted Eddie to flinch and run. But he didn't. Instead he just... shrugged his shoulders, unbothered, and turned away to smoke his own cigarette.

The next time Billy had contact with Eddie, it happened so quickly that Eddie wasn't even sure what had happened. It was just something small. Something... simple. But as they passed in the hall, Tommy had shoulder checked Eddie hard enough to knock him on his ass, laughing like he was looking for Billy's approval. That was not what happened.

The loud crash against the lockers had startled Eddie back to himself from the position he was in on the floor.

Billy had Tommy pinned to the lockers, speaking to him in a low and deeply venomous tone.

"Hands off, Hagan. The only person who gets to mess with the freak is me," he snarled.

Eddie wondered what that meant, but it felt like stepping closer to a warm fire in a way. He knew Damm well it might be dangerous to get too close. But Eddie didn't mind the way Billy burned. He wanted to be caught in the rush of Billy's storm.

Eddie had held that warm feeling in his chest for a while. It felt like a glow, and it was something that made him look Billy's way, even when he was shoved against lockers, shoulder checked in the hall, or had his books knocked out of his hands. Eddie always caught it.

The smile that wasn't mocking, even when Billy would insult him. It was like he couldn't put the same vitriol in it that he used to.

"Freak" felt more like a term of endearment. "Loser" felt like an invitation to squabble. And God did Eddie take every chance to bicker with Billy Hargrove.

Mid December, their words had turned into a tussle.

"You wouldn't dare—" Eddie had invited, grinning at Billy who had every intention of dumping Eddie into a snowbank.

"I think you need to cool it," Billy had snarked back, looking less than threatening with his red beanie on his head, puff ball and all. It had been Eddie's. The beanie. But Eddie hadn't said a word about the gloves, scarf, and hat he'd left in Billy's locker after he had noticed that the boy from California didn't have clothes suited for Indiana winter.

"Don't do it, Billy," Eddie laughed.

"Do what? I don't have any idea what you're talking about," Billy said back, casual as he took a step closer.

It happened, in a crash of flailing limbs and shrieking laughter. Billy saw Eddie for the first time. He saw the bright smile that was punctuated by dimples on either side. He saw the way Eddie's fuzzy hair fanned out in the snow as he was dumped into the snow bank, and god he couldn't help but notice the way flakes stuck in his eyelashes. His cheeks and ears red from the cold; Eddie wasn't wearing gloves, a hat, or a scarf. He'd given up his warm clothes to keep Billy warm.

And that sure made something inside Billy warmer than the sun in California ever could.

It was mid January when a knock resonated number 12 at the forest hills trailer park. It brought Eddie out of dozing. The alarm clock read an ugly 2am back at him that made him groan.

He pulled himself up and out of bed as the knock grew more irritated and insistent, swiping his hands down over his tired face.

"Jesus christ, I'm coming! Fucking relax!" He bellowed. Eddie shoved his feet into his slippers and shuffled to the front door, ripping it open.

"My hours end at 11 pm on week... nights..." the irritation in Eddie's voice gave way to a shocked whisper as he was met with a ghastly sight before him.

Billy Hargrove standing on his porch, braced against the side of the trailer to stop any swaying. It looked like he had bruises littering half of his face, and Eddie imagined it was worse, with the way the bruises on his neck seemed to bloom down under his jacket.

"Hey," Eddie whispered, unsure if he could say more. When he reached to push a curl out of Billy's face, the man flinched like Eddie was about to put a knife to his throat.

Instead, Eddie put his hand on Billy's shoulder and guided him to come inside.

That was the night that Eddie learned about Neil Hargrove. It was the same night that Eddie slept, curled around Billy. Like he could protect him.

Billy slept with his nose pressed against Eddie's collarbone, sinking into the scents of cinnamon and cigarette smoke. Eddie was warm, and even though he was more elbows and knees than plush and soft... Billy felt like he fit perfectly with his head tucked under Eddie's chin. Eddie gave good hugs. Great hugs even. Enough of them that Billy felt drunk on the scent of cinnamon and the comfort of his best friend's arms.

They continued as best friends for a long time. Until the Tragedy of Starcourt. Nobody called Eddie. Nobody had thought to at first, really. With the chaos and the news of Russians under the mall— not to mention how the last week or two, Billy had been avoiding Eddie like he was a Germ.

"Get the fuck away from me—"

"Stay away from me Munson."

"Get the fuck out of my face."

"I won't warn you again, if you come near me, I'll break your fucking neck."

Eddie had been sulking about it. Well. More than sulking if he was honest. Had he cried on Wayne's shoulder? Absolutely. Did he get a speeding ticket on his way to the hospital once Max had called him? Absolutely.

Eddie stood in the doorway of Billy's hospital room, looking in on his best friend like the universe had put a knife through his heart. Billy looked barely alive. Fragile.

Eddie was one of the very few visitors that Billy got. Neil Hargrove hadn't shown his face once. Max had told him in a hushed voice that he had packed his things to leave town. Billy was a hero for saving so many people in the mall fire, and Neil still hated him. Didn't want a disabled son.

Billy woke up alone. He wasn't surprised to wake up alone, in a hospital room without a single card on his bedside. Sure, he wasn't surprised... but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. It hurt like being cracked open from the inside out. A glaring statement that told Billy Hargrove:

'You don't matter.'

Even alone, Billy stifled his sobs so he wouldn't be noticed.

"Easy tough guy," the gentle voice came from the doorway, making Billy's heart jump up into his throat. Eddie came in with the nurses, who checked his vitals and pain levels. But Billy barely noticed them. He was focused on the boy whose smile cleansed the tar clinging to his heart.

"Thought I told you to piss off," Billy snorted through his tears, managing a shaky smile.

"I've never been good at listening," Eddie replied, rubbing his hand through Billy's bed messy curls. "Can't shake me that easy, sweetheart. I thought you'd have learned that by now. That grouchy bullshit isn't gonna shake me," he assured. Eddie was determined enough to stick out the hurricane.

"You're annoying," Billy spat at him, pushing his hand away.

"And I'm determined to continue to be," Eddie replied as he snatched Billy's wrist. He slid his hand up to lace their fingers and squeeze.

"Give it time," Billy said, seemingly unimpressed. He refused to look at Eddie, only because the idiot was gazing at him like he was someone precious.

"I've got time," Eddie replied, unshaken.

"Jesus, Munson, why don't you just— just leave me the hell alone?! Why are you always," Billy's breath hitched as his voice broke. Eddie was always there. Like a balm to his wounds. He didn't flinch when Neil beat him. He opened the door or answered the call no matter how late. Eddie Munson was a rock in the hurricane, ready to weather his storm.

Billy thought back to the memories El had shown him in that pit of darkness. His mother, the beach, the waves... and the snowy December day that Billy had fallen in love with Eddie Munson.

Billy didn't resist when Eddie placed his hand on his neck, thumbing his jaw like he was brittle. Fragile. And Billy supposed he was.

"God damn," Eddie whispered, smiling at Billy with tender eyes.

"What? Quit fucking looking at me like that. Like— like... pity. Jesus or like I'm gonna break. I don't need your bullshit sympathies, or your God damn coddling, Munson."

Billy felt like a wild animal, backed into the corner of a cage. Snapping and growling at the tender hands that wanted to hold him. Especially if that monster still lurked inside him somewhere. Ready to hurt.

That fear washed away when Eddie kissed Billy's knuckles, something soft. Endearing. Billy could only hitch a sob as his forehead thudded in to rest on Eddie's collarbone. He squeezed Eddie's hand, and to his relief... Eddie squeezed back. It felt a whole lot like someone saying:

'You matter. I love you.'

And for once, Billy wasn't afraid of it being a lie.

[wild-lavender-rose]

Freak

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x fem!reader

Category: Hurt Comfort

Summary: When Billy saves you from your abusive ex, you slowly realize that he is much more than the arrogant bully you first took him to be. 

Warning: toxic relationship, physical and verbal abuse sequence (if this bothers you at all please scroll on), sexual abuse insinuation, description of injuries, cannon typical swearing 

“Hey, angel.”  

    You jumped as Billy banged his shoulder against the locker next to you, looking up from where you had been twisting in your code sequence.  

    “They tell me you’re best friends with the king,” he crossed his bare arms and looked you up and down. “May he rest in peace.”  

    “He’s still king,” you gave him a look before returning your attention to your locker. “Steve’s just had a change of priorities.” 

      “Yeah, a ball and chain’ll do that.” Billy smirked.  

    “They say you’re gunning to take his place.”  

    “Actually I’m going for the title of god.” Billy leaned closer, his voice lowering. “Most of the girls already call me that anyway. Shouldn’t be too much of a stretch.”  

    “You mean most of the cows?” You opened your locker door so fast he barely had enough time to pull away before it smashed into his face. “Word travels fast, Mr. Tight Pants. I know who you’ve been fooling around with.” You began to absently paw through your locker. “Get the opinion of someone who actually has standards, then we’ll talk.”  

    “Yeah well, they say that you could be queen of the school if you weren’t such a freak.” Billy scoffed, waiting for you to respond, continuing at your silence. “Must be hard, wanting to get with Steve and him going off with a little miss prim and proper which you clearly can never be.”  

    “Get lost, Billy.” You breathed, gaze fixed on your locker.  

    “But getting under your skin is just so damn fun, baby. Are you Stevie’s little guard dog, defending his title? The king is dead,”  

    “Get away from me, I mean it!” You slammed the locker door so hard it banged shut and flew back open.  

   Billy caught it, brow furrowing. “Did I strike a nerve or something?”  

    You didn’t respond, fists clenching as you looked back at your locker. Billy followed your gaze, taking in the thing that had made you so upset. There, half-hidden among your books and jacket, was a piece of torn notebook paper. On it, scrawled in pencil, were the words ‘Tonight at nine’.  

    “Well, well, well,” Billy looked between you and the note. “You’re freakier than I thought.”  

    “Shit,” you grabbed your books and closed the locker, making sure it clicked into place this time.  

    “Hey, hold up,” Billy grabbed your arm before you walked away. “Are you bein’ blackmailed or somethin’?”  

    “And here I thought you were stupid.” You jerked away from him. “Leave me alone, idiot.”  

    Strangely, Billy obeyed, staring after you as you hurried to your next class.  

                                                      # # # # #  

    “Let me go, Brandon, let go!” You squirmed and thrashed, desperate to get out of his hold. “I’m sick of this, I want out!”  

    “Aww, you’re so cute when you play hard to get.” Brandon released you, smirking as you fell to the ground. “Why’d you come if you don’t want it, baby?”  

    “I came to tell you I’m done, Brandon.” The leaves crunched under your hands as you tried to crawl backwards, never taking your eyes off him. “I’m done with the drinking, done with the parties, done with you!”  

    “Turning soft just like Steve, aren’t ya?” Brandon grabbed you by the front of your shirt and yanked you back up, grinning when the fabric ripped under his grip. “Too bad he’s not here, baby. Maybe he’d get some lessons on how to handle a girl like you.”  

    You gave a muffled cry as he smacked your face and jerked you around so that your back was pressed up against his chest. “We’re done, Brandon,” you clawed at his grip on your hips. “We’re done,”  

    “You’ll be screaming for me to keep you in a second.” Brandon pushed your hair aside and bit your neck, hard.  

    Your cries echoed through the woods, fighting to run in a place you had once met Brandon in for fun. It was dark and too cold for hunters to be out. No chance for anyone to hear you. Before this had been the reason you had chosen such a private spot in the woods. Now it was nothing but the biggest mistake in your life.  

    “Taste so good,” Brandon took a hand off your hip to wrap around your neck.  

    You took your chance, twisting around and punching him in the face.  

   “Shit!” Brandon released you and stumbled back with a hand to his nose.  

   You broke into a run, heart pounding in your ears louder than Brandon’s yelling. You headed for the road, dodging trees and jumping over roots and rocks. Just get to the road and find the car, you told yourself, forcing your panicked thoughts to focus even as you ran at breakneck speed. Get to the car, get to the car, get to the car.  

   You burst out onto the road and fell, knees throbbing painfully as you scraped yourself up from the gravel. This wasn’t where you had parked the car. Brandon was close behind, you could hear him crashing through the trees. The moon was bright but not bright enough. You looked around, trying to figure out which way to go. A car sounded in the distance, coming fast. You started towards the sound, only to scream as Brandon grabbed you from behind.  

    “I’m gonna kill you!” He whipped you around to face him and grabbed your hair, slapping you hard. “You broke my nose, you little freak! You’re dead!”  

   “Brandon, stop!” You raised your hands up, shielding yourself from his blows.  

    Car headlights shown on you both, causing Brandon to release you instantly. You stumbled away as the car you had heard in the distance now screeched to a stop in front of you both, headlights staying on as the driver stepped out and slammed the door behind him. “What the hell are you two doing?”  

    Your beating heart twisted into your stomach. It was Billy, his tall figure monstrous in the light of his car. Before you could think you were limping towards him, pretending that it wasn’t a bad idea, knowing that you had no other choice. You could see his face in the headlights, see his eyes slowly take you in. Your face was bleeding. Your clothes were ripped and covered in dirt and blood. Tears blurred your vision. Your body trembled.  

    Billy’s expression softened with surprise and something you hadn’t seen before. Something like pain. Then it hardened and he was pushing you behind him as he stepped between you and Brandon. “The hell did you do to her?”  

    “You know how it is, Bill.” Brandon shrugged as if his nose wasn’t dripping blood. “Dumb cows need training.”  

    “Well she’s mine now, so get lost.” Billy looked over his shoulder at you. “Get in the car.”  

   You blinked at him for a second but obeyed, looking at Brandon as you limped over to the passenger’s side and got in.  

    “That’s my girlfriend, Billy, you can’t just take her!”  

    “I can take whatever the hell I want, and you’re gonna stay out of my way!” Billy growled before turning away.  

    You watched as he slid back behind the wheel. “You’re gonna run him over.” You weren’t sure if it was a question or a statement.  

    “Damn right I will.” Billy gunned the engine and slammed down on the gas, giving a war whoop as Brandon just barely jumped out of the way.  

    You shivered and scrunched down in the seat, thoughts spinning so fast it made your head hurt. You were in Billy Hargrove’s car. This should not make you feel as safe as it did. Where was he taking you? Why had he been driving out in the middle of nowhere to begin with? Why was he alone? You pressed a hand to your head and made a small noise, looking to see your fingers covered in blood illuminated by the moonlight.  

    “Are you all right?” Billy’s voice sounded rusty, as if he was unused to asking such things. “Let me see.”  

    You tensed as he touched your chin, allowing him to shift your head so he could look you over.  

    “Jesus, he did a number on you.” Billy’s thumb brushed over your cheek before he pulled away, gaze flicking between you and the road. “I’m gonna kill him.”  

    “Not worth it.” You rubbed your hands together and shivered again. “But if anyone could get away with it, it’s you.”  

    Billy smirked at that, reaching over to crank up the heat and shift the vents towards you.  

    You looked at him, taking in his slicked back hair, his unbuttoned shirt, the smell of expensive cologne. “You’re going on a date.”  

    “Not anymore.” He glanced over at you. “We gotta get you cleaned up.”  

                                                 # # # # #  

    “Come on,” Billy opened the hotel door and flipped on the light, stepping back so you could walk inside. “You’re all right, I promise.”  

    “You want me out when your date shows up?” You regarded the double bed before looking up at him.  

    “I’m gonna call her and tell her to beat it.” Billy shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto a chair. “You wanna shower or somethin’ while I go get the med kit? Maybe get something to eat, there’s a diner right down the-,”  

    “I’m not sleeping with you, Billy.” You hated the tremble in your voice as you said it, knowing full well that you were too weak to resist should he make a move.  

    “Eww, gross.” Billy grimaced. “And you say I’m the one with low standards? You’re not doing anything you don’t want to ever again, not with me or anyone else.” He pointed to the bathroom. “Now go shower.” 

    “What if I don’t want to?” You asked, giving him a look.  

    “That doesn’t apply to self-care shit.” Billy pulled his keys out of his pocket and left, closing the door behind him and leaving you alone.  

                                                    # # # # #

    The shower felt amazing. You kept making it hotter, hot enough to wash the dirt away, hot enough to burn the open wounds. So hot that you couldn’t think about the way Brandon grabbed you and pushed his body into yours. About the fact that you had been stupid enough to meet him in the first place. You hated him so much.  

    “I put some soap on the ledge.” Billy’s voice caused you to jump.  

    You peeked out around the shower curtain to see him close the door behind him, giving you the privacy you needed. Accepting the bottle, you couldn’t help but smirk as you realized it was Billy’s personal soap. Of course he would have soap, and everything else needed for a sexy overnight. The silky suds filled the room with a warm, fresh, musky scent. You slipped your hands over your skin, enveloping yourself with him, pretending it didn’t make you feel safe. That the scent of the man you had despised from day one was calming your racing thoughts.  

                                                 # # # # #

    You walked out dressed in Billy’s shirt and a pair of his sweatpants, trying not to limp when he looked up at you. “Thank you. For the soap.” 

    “Not a problem, sweetheart.” Billy smirked as he looked you over. “You, uh, you look good.”  

    You looked down. “Thanks.” You crossed your arms over your chest.  

    “Here, come sit down.” Billy moved the first aid kit he had been sifting through and sat on the edge of the bed.  

    “Why do you have a med kit?” You did as he asked, easing your aching body down with your back resting against the headboard.  

    “Susan wanted me to have one in case Max fell off her skateboard.” Billy noted the way you flinched when you moved your legs up onto the bed.  

    “Smart of her.” You watched as he tore open a packet of antiseptic wipes with his teeth.  

    Billy grimaced. “Pretty much the only smart thing she’s done.” He moved to sit on the edge of bed next to you, gaze focused on your cut lip. “Hold still.”  

    “What do you mean?” You cringed as the wipe touched your cut, fingers curling into fists in your lap.  

    “Easy,” Billy’s voice was soft, softer than you ever thought possible. “Well, she married my dad, and that was dumb. She moved us from Cally, also dumb. There’s a whole list.”  

    “That’s why you’re mad at everyone.” You watched as he finished with your lip and got another wipe.  

    “What’re you, some kind of shrink?” Billy scoffed and pressed the wipe to the cut on your cheek. “What’s up with you, dating scum like Brandon?”  

    “Wasn’t always like this,” you hissed at the pain.  

    “Almost done.” Billy’s hand pressed over your fists, his ring cool against your skin still hot from the shower.  

    You didn’t push him away. “It was fine starting out. Then he started pushing, asking for things I didn’t want to do,” Your throat tightened as the events of the evening flashed through your thoughts. “Not as bad as tonight.”  

    “What was different about tonight?”  

    “I broke up with him, like the idiot I am.” Your gaze fell to hide tears gathering in your eyes.  

    “Hey, he’s the idiot here.” Billy squeezed your hands before pulling away to get a band-aid. “And it’s over now, you’re gonna be done with him.”  

    “That’s easy for you to say, Mr. Tight Pants.” You gave him a look.  

    “Didn’t I tell you?” Billy tucked your hair behind your ear and held your head still as he pressed the band-aid over the cut. “We’re dating now.”  

    “What the-,” you cut yourself off with a hiss of pain.  

    “I’m done, it’s okay, I’m done now.” Billy caught your hand as you reached up to touch the band-aid. “Don’t mess with it.”  

    “I’m not dating you, I can’t.”  

    “Mmhmm, yeah you are.” His attention averted down to your knuckles, thumb brushing over the bruises starting to form from where you punched Brandon.  

    “Why?”  

    “Gotta keep an eye on you.” Billy’s eyes met yours as he brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently. “If you want me to.” Another soft kiss. “I’m not gonna force you to do anything.” Kiss. “Your choice, angel.”  

    God that made your heart stutter. You looked down, heat flooding your face. No wonder he had charmed so many girls into one-night stands that they talked about for days. But this, what he was implying, sounded long term. It sounded like a relationship, one that felt safe and warm and what the hell was this man doing to you?  

    “Look at that,” Billy was smirking proudly. “The freak is speechless.”  

    “You can’t call me a freak if we’re dating, Billy.” You looked up at him.  

    “Don’t call me Mr. Tight Pants and I’ll think about it, baby.” Billy’s hand moved down to rest on your leg, expression softening once more. “How’re your knees?”  

    “I got most of the dirt out in the shower.” You bit your lip, careful to avoid the cut. “I think…I think my ankle is twisted or sprained or something.”  

    “I’ll look at it, angel, don’t worry.” Billy slowly pushed the fabric of the sweatpants up to reveal your bruised and bloodied leg. “I’ll take care of it.”  

    “I don’t…Never had anyone say that before.”  

    “Oh yeah?” Billy grinned. “Well get used to it.”  

                ��                                # # # # #  

    “Hey, angel.”  

    You looked up as Billy leaned against the locker next to you, smirking as he looked you up and down. “How’re you feelin’?”  

    “Better.” You nodded, glancing around at the people watching you as you closed your locker. “Brandon’s been talking, telling people I’m a…I’m a,”  

    “Don’t worry about it.” Billy pulled you close and draped an arm around your shoulders. “Brady and I’ve got a little hangout planned for after school. He’ll make sure to set everyone straight.”  

    “You’re not going to kill him?” You started to walk to class with Billy beside you.  

    “Do you want me to, princess?” Billy looked down at you, smiling as you bit your lip and took a second to decide. “Nah, I won’t. A little freak I know told me he isn’t worth it.”  

    “God you have got to stop calling me that, baby.”  

    Billy chuckled. “Love it when you call me that.”  

    You came to the doorway to your class and stopped. Billy wasted no time in leaning down to kiss you right in front of everyone. “See you later?”  

    You nodded with a smile. “See you later.”  

    Billy was grinning like a fool as he walked away, you and several other girls in the hall staring after him.  

    “I can’t believe it.” A blonde girl looked between you and Billy. “You? Billy chose you? What do you have that makes you so special?”  

    You shrugged. “You know what they say, Delores. I’m just a freak.”  

And with that you turned on your heel and walked into the classroom with a smile on your face.

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Special shout out to @billysbabyy​. Our conversations inspired me to write this <3

Writer’s Haven Taglist: @alexxavicry @captainsophiestark

[billlydear]

Hi :) Just finished reading "Basic Biology" and I loved it ! Please tell me you're doing a part 2 (and even a part 3 and perhaps a part 4 as well) : It had me crying. I wish I could just give him a hug : the most loving hug ever.

Could I request a Billy Hargrove x Reader fic in which he is brushing reader's long hair to comfort her because he can feel she is too anxious and he knows that having her hair played with calms her down sometimes ? It's a bit short so maybe you can include other elements as well. Maybe a completely different fic but with that specific scene in it ? I'm not sure I just know I'd love to read something with this scene in it. I trust you in this !

Many thanks ;)

LITTLE THINGS - BILLY HARGROVE X READER

W.C 564 - REQUEST - MASTERLIST - CREDIT TO GIF OWNER

A/N: i'm so so so glad you enjoyed basic biology! i'm not gonna lie i was really nervous to post it, so feedback makes my day! there will definitely be more parts, i've got them all planned out :D and me too, he deserves an opportunity to heal :(

It's rare that you're at Billy's for the evening. You don't typically spend time at his house, because you're just as scared of his dad as he is, but his parents are out for the night, and Max is out late with her friends.

The threat of Neil and Susan coming home early probably contributes to your anxiety, but it's not the sole cause, and Billy can tell. He reaches over from where he's flipping through a magazine, muscle cars displayed on the thin, waxy pages, and pulls gently on a strand of hair by your ear.

"Hey, you," He murmurs, using the piece of hair he's tugging on to turn your face towards him, "Something on your mind?"

"A lot," You admit, nodding as soon as he releases his hold on your hair, "I'm just.. anxious, I guess. Nervous."

"About anything specific? Or just anxious?" He bites the inside of his cheek, jawline sharpening at the movement. You shake your head, rubbing messily at one of your eyes, "Just anxious."

"Don't be," He knows it's not that simple, but it's all he can say in the moment, "You'll be fine, babe. Go get my brush."

"What?"

"Just do it," He pushes gently at your shoulder, urging you up and off of the bed in search of the bathroom, "The wide one, not the comb!"

Billy's bathroom is definitely his. It's littered with various curl products, a lot of hairspray, and a razor at the side of the sink. You find the brush easily, and you love him so you won't complain about the strands of hair that you pull out of it first.

When you get back to his room he's cross-legged on the bed, magazine shut on his nightstand. Your book is laid out waiting for you, though, bookmark in place just in case the spine snaps shut.

"Sit down," He prompts you, gesturing to the space in front of him.

You take your seat trying not to get your hopes up. Logically, why else would he ask for his hairbrush and then sit you in front of him? But the offer seems too good to be true, so you feign cluelessness.

"Just relax," His voice is calming and smooth, a sound that loosens the knot of anxiety in your chest, "Read your book, and try not to think about it."

The first scrape of the brush through your hair is intoxicating. It sends a shiver down your spine that he chases, the prongs of the brush rubbing against your t-shirt and folding it strangely against your skin. He lets out a low chuckle at your response, and redirects the brush to your scalp.

"Why are you doing this?" You wonder, eyes drifting over the words on the pages of your book but not actually taking them in.

"Because I always see you play with your hair when you're nervous," He hums, soft and sweet by your ear, "I figured it made you feel better, or something."

"It does," You breathe, “It’s just soothing, I guess.”

“Good,” He presses a kiss to the shell of your ear, moving the brush through the strands of hair there right after, “Don’t stress, baby, you’ll get through it.”

And as Billy’s fingers comb through your hair alongside the brush, meticulously covering every inch of your scalp in ticklish, tingly lines, you’re confident that you will.

[harringroveera]

Now Billy’s the one that got away

[chrisbitchtree]

Steve woke slowly, his eyes first registering the snow still falling heavily from the sky before anything else going on around him. They were in the middle of the biggest snowstorm that Chicago had endured in years.

Snowed into their house and forced to close down the small garage they co-owned for a few days, Steve and Billy had taken full advantage of the time to do nothing but watch movies, play board games, drink endless cups of hot chocolate, fuck, and sleep in late. They were having the time of their lives.

Steve turned, tearing his eyes away from the snow, only to notice that the bed next to him was empty. Sometimes, Billy, the earlier riser of the two of them, would go out onto their back deck for a few more minutes of quiet and a smoke before waking Steve for another busy day.

It was still dark out, and Steve next focused on the quiet rustling on the far side of the room. His eyes adjusting to the dark, he could see Billy yanking on a t-shirt, his jeans still undone, his hair a wild mess.

“Babe, what’s going on?” Steve called softly.

Billy turned, his eyes wide and scared. “I have to go, Harrington. My dad’s going to kill me. I can’t believe I fell asleep. I have to get home before he wakes up. Will you help me shovel my car out?”

Shit. Billy had made so much progress in the ten years since he’d last seen his father.

When he and Steve had first moved in together, Billy had woken like this all the time, panicked and sweating, shaking as he mumbled about how much trouble he was going to be in for sleeping at Steve’s house.

Over the years, with the help of a great therapist, the episodes had trickled off, and he hadn’t had one in a couple years now.

It was hard for Steve to watch Billy panic like this, but on the advice of Billy’s therapist, Steve approached him slowly, careful not to make him panic so bad he’d run, like the time Steve had to physically remove the keys from Billy’s hands as he attempted to get in his car and drive all the way back to Hawkins while not even fully awake.

“Hey, Billy,” he murmured, placing a gentle hand on Billy’s back and rubbing slow circles. “You’re ok. You’re at your house, in your room. You live with me now, and your dad can’t get you here. I promise.”

He could see the tension slowly drain from Billy’s muscles as he relaxed under Steve’s touch. His breathing started to slow, and Steve was able to guide him back to the bed.

Steve undid and slid off Billy’s jeans and pulled the blanket off of him before walking around his side of the bed and sliding in beside the other man.

Billy let Steve wrap his arms around him, spooning him from behind. They would talk about it in the morning, but for now, Steve was happy to hear Billy’s breathing even out. He kissed the top of his head and closed his eyes, letting Billy’s gentle warmth lull him back to sleep.

[stervrucht]

Steve’s all by himself.

It seems to be that way ever since he broke up with that chick. He walks the halls alone, class to class, and Billy never sees him at lunch. Always leaves right after class too, if they don’t have training.

King Steve.  

The name doesn’t sound all that powerful anymore and there was little Billy had to do for it. Sure, he beat Steve at some of his games, replaced him in the team, but Steve did most of the work himself. 

Billy aches for some fire — the kind that Tommy talked about. 

This Steve is little more than a smolder.

Occasionally he can see it, just behind his eyes. When Tommy pushes too far, or when Billy shoves him just right. It’s that fire, and it shines more beautifully—far brighter—than Tommy’s words do justice.

Billy thinks he can pull it from him. Open him up and lay him bare. 

He wants to see Steve break and unleash an all-consuming inferno. 

Read on AO3

[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.