#dacre montgomery x poc!reader

[shanakin-skywalker]

Bruh Billy fucking you doggy style on the floor of your bedroom with one had clamped over your mouth because you snuck him into your room through your window in the middle of the night and your parents are in the next room 😩🥵

[munsster]

Can I request Billy x reader? Just soft moments with him. Like he goes to their house in the middle of the night with cuts n bruises and reader's like "let me patch that up for you. Can't have your pretty face getting ruined" or sum. And he's super (kinda...?) Into them bc they never ask or pry. And they treat him so gently and with such love he's never experienced before? 🥺🤲🏻

thick-skulled

A/N: i’m melting I’M THROWING A TANTRUM! he deserves so so much

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x GN!Reader

Summary: Billy’s not sure he’s ever felt the way he does around you. 1.3k words.

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, mild gore/a few scrapes, mutual pining,

If Billy's shallow breathing is any indication of his dignity, he's sure you're the last person who wants to see him considering the tissue blooming from his nostril and the dried crest of blood above his brow and the gash along his tense jaw. He should not have come to you. He wouldn't have. But in the single moment of clarity he's had all night, he found you're probably the only person who'd let him in.

And you did it so gracefully, all the sweetness warm at your honeyed fingertips, instinctual in the path to your bathroom. He had laughed at the shag toilet cover before flattening it for the next twenty minutes.

"Careful 'bout tilting your head back," you coo, hips squared against the porcelain counter, wringing a damp rag in your winding palms. And he groans, dropping chin to chest. Trying not to look at you because he knows what it'll start. A war, truly, in the pit of his belly, stoking up the front line flames until he coughs up bullet casings and scrap metal and splinters.

"Sorry," he grumbles out.

"Oh, no, it's not a problem, just don't want you hacking up anything too unsavory," you say with eyes sparkling and set on the red smeared across his upper lip. He looks like hell, and you're pretty sure that milky button up is ruined.

You didn't know what to say when he slumped against your doorframe, raggedy in his beat up Levi's, red in the face and panting like prey. But he blinked the sheen from his eyes, and you helped him set up camp in your empty halls for the night. He still thinks his Camaro looks best sitting pretty on your curb.

"Alright," you whisper, two fingers flat under his chin, steadfast when he swallows hard. Just to keep him from hanging his head like a dead man. Knees to knees, he's hunched over, peering through his lashes at your focused frown. "Might sting."

He closes his watery eyes with the towel dragging over his mouth; you thumbing his rough skin through the thick fabric like he's not doused in it. Blood, that is, snd it's always been there. Under his fingernails or swelling his eye or rushing in his ears.

He hisses, but it doesn't hurt all that much. You still pull away, hands off at the scare even though he shakes his head like the pain doesn't matter to him. Or you.

"Need a break? Some... water or... we've got sweet tea downstairs—?"

"'M good," he hums, pushing a wisp of a golden curl behind his ear. "Don't worry about me."

You click your tongue and tilt your head to the side. And he welcomes you between his legs this time, palms gripping the lid of the toilet, trying his best to keep his head level.

"Easier said than done," you tease only to keep him occupied while you sponge at the litter of bruises and knicks by his chin. Flaking the dried blood away, giving way to smooth patches of clean skin. After a while, he gets a little desensitized to the raw and scraping feeling, and suddenly it's all you. Just his big blue eyes and your fingertips feeling the plump of his warm cheek.

"You're too sweet to me, sugar."

You scoff.

"Well, somebody's gotta look after that mug'a yours."

He stands when you shuffle back to the sink, plopping the wet towel over the drain, and running the faucet while you grab a box of bandaids from the cabinet.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

You smile down at the thin paper packaging as you fuss with the loose adhesive and nod him over. He nearly lunges for you, tripping and catching himself with his hip shoved against the edge of the counter. He'd blame it on the head rush. The adrenaline or blood loss or something like that.

"Wouldn't want to ruin such a pretty face."

He's too busy to take you in like he usually would. With a subtle down and up. He’s breathing so deep in his tight chest it aches, air twisting down his throat because he doesn't get it. Why you're like that. Why you're nice, and no less, to him. Of all people. It catches him so off-guard he forgets his own damn charm.

"Alright, come here."

He grins with the side of his face that doesn't burn. "Bossy."

"Kinda hard to patch you up if you keep dodging me," you tease, splitting the wax paper seal of the bandaid and aiming it for his jaw, "come here."

He goes quiet. All nerves, choked up, and leaning for you. Turning his head away from the mirror to give you a good angle. You lay two more on him, and it makes him feel nice when you pat down the edges to be sure they won't peel up. Even though that much is inevitable. He thinks you're underestimating how much he smiles around you.

"Good as new." You look at him like he's worth more than his bargain market price tag. Like he's saddled with antiquity. Like done healing and finally safe. "Did you wanna stay over? House is free for the weekend, you're welcome to stay as long as you want."

And maybe that's all he's ever wanted to hear from you. That he's welcome. All threadbare and sporting violet eye bags, just to be allowed to stay is enough.

The rest is easy. Easier than it ever has been for him. To accept the hand you give him, the seat waiting on the edge of your bed, and the cool glass of water you slip between his thumb and fingers. Easy to let it flow through his tightly wound body like lifeblood.

He doesn’t try to sneak a sly peek at you when you change into a pair of drawstring pants. And the pale light spattered across the soft green walls flicks out, leaving only the lamp on your bedside table. The only light in the house. It’s warm over your pillows, barely tucking beneath your thick comforter and drifting off into darkness.

He likes how much you know without having to ask. How all you do is look at him to see.

And you don’t ask him to lay down or tell him your trust him enough to meet him halfway. But you don’t face him, and you both know it’s for the better. He can feel something small and shocking radiating from the static along your wrists and thighs and the way you don’t flinch with his heavy arm draped over your ribcage. And his nose buried against the nape of your shoulder and neck.

“Like it when you do that,” he whispers, tucking his knees up behind yours, his boots staining your mattress, but you’ll change the sheets tomorrow anyway.

You sigh out a laugh.

“Do what?”

“Dunno,” he says. And his mouth is so close, each syllable purses against your skin and tastes its sweaty cologne. “Just… whatever it is—it’s you, and it’s nice.”

You’ve learned not to laugh when he rushes his words. When things are particularly difficult to stomach, he spits them all over with a glottal headiness you’ve grown used to. You nod.

“And I get it—I get stubborn about you and about this”—he shudders in his chest before continuing—“but I… it’s nice to have you… around.”

His eyes are shut when he shifts closer, but yours are wide open. Feeling the fault bust apart and rattle your once fortified walls.

You lick your dried lips and say, “not so bad yourself,” while drawing your fingertips over his softening knuckles.

He snickers.

And you yank the chain of the stained glass lamp with two fingers before settling back into his embrace. And he smiles.

masterlist

taglist:

@itsmoonyhere / @milkiane

[witchychanel]

Stranger Things

Series

Billy Hargrove

Eddie Munson

Robin Buckley

[ca-kie]

billy hargrove.

tldr: reasons arent excuses

hi pls explain why people like this man. genuinely curious.

its very heavily implied (if not said too) that billy is racist. he's also misogynistic.

it really bothers me that x reader authors say theyre inclusive but then reader dates/dated billy hargrove, or that he's interested in them so that theres like tension between reader and love interest. like it doesnt make sense for poc.

reasons arent excuses.

yes, billy had a so very shitty childhood/upbringing, im not trying to disregard that/pretend it didnt exist. but thats not an excuse for his behaviour. yeah it makes sense for that era, but that doesnt change the fact he's RACIST. he wanted to beat LUCAS TO A PULP. if steve wasnt there who tf knows what wouldve happened.

dacre montgomery is hot, i know (power rangers movie <3). but billy hargrove is not. as a person of colour i just cant.

[rhaegarsruby]

billy hargrove moodboard

— where billy’s girlfriend back in california is a latina bookworm obsessed with art and fashion

[buckyscockring]

italian boyfriend!dacre montgomery

[ethaninyellow]

For the love of GOD please someone write a Dacre/Billy x pocReader! Fic! Please! And thank you in advance x

[mcustorm]

In Defense of a Black Cyclops

In case my username didn’t make it clear, the single most anticipated visual project for me is the MCU’s interpretation of the X-Men, which hasn’t even been announced yet [officially]. And ladies and gents, I have found your Cyclops:

Good ol’ Alfred Enoch, who we all know from Harry Potter and How to Get Away With Murder. If you’re not familiar with HTGAWM, know that his character goes from the de facto leader of the ragtag (murderers) and most cherished protege of Viola Davis’ Professor X to taking more of a grimdark turn after his girlfriend’s death. Sound at least somewhat familiar?

Enoch also embodies the physicality of the character well, seeing as to how he’s “slim”, 6′4(!!), black, and notoriously lanky. Wait, one of these isn’t like the others.

In general I hate fancasting. Everyone generally picks from the same pool of about 30 actors (Peeps, neither Taron nor Daniel is a good Wolverine choice. Argue with your mother!), and most all of it is based on physicality, except when it absolutely should be (like say, choosing a ~5′10 dark-skinned black woman for Storm).

And I think there’s some malarkey afoot. I think there needs to be some serious consideration on part of fancasters and actual casting agents alike to rethink race when it comes to the [white] X-Men, especially since they’re the X-Men of all teams. So I’ll make the case for a black Cyclops: 

1. There is no quota on Black X-Men: There’s a bug in your ear that’s been whispering lies to you for years, it says something to the effect of “We need a black person on the team for diversity. How bout Storm?” And you’ve gotten complacent. Storm does not have to be the only black person on your X-Men roster.

2. The X-Men represent diversity: Iceman is gay, Cyclops and Prof. X are disabled (sorta), there are plenty of women, oh and everybody except Storm is white. Of the A-List X-Men, there is only *one* POC character. I’d argue that an MCU X-Men needs to champion diversity like never before.

3. The X-Men represent minority struggle while being mostly white: There’s a cognitive dissonance in the metaphor that has always been there, and for the most part, nobody cares. To appeal to the white readers of the 60′s, the X-Men were all initially white. That way, the message of the mutants could be related to the audience with a familiar face. We don’t need to approach the problem that way in 202?

4. Just because that’s the way it’s always been, doesn’t mean that’s the way it should be: The first line of defense. Sorry, that will never be a good justification for literally any idea. It’s time for some more critical thinking.

5. We don’t all want to be Bishop: So say you’re white and you have a kid who for his birthday having a costume party. You’ve bought some X-Men costumes and you want each kid to pick one. 9 white kids and one black kid show up to your house. As the kids deliberate who gets what costume, be it Cyke or Wolvie or whatever, you yell at everybody to “STOP!”, point to the one black kid and tell him “You’re gonna be Bishop. That’s it, end of story!” 

We don’t all want to be Bishop. The black child could have the best Cyclops interpretation within him, but you’ll never know if you don’t let him try. And that’s no different from the Black actors of Hollywood. There’s no reason why all of the black talent should *have* to compete for the role of Bishop or Storm, which I’ve discussed, while Joe Schmo can walk up and audition for literally anybody he wants.          

Jharrel Jerome is 23 and has an Emmy to his name. He needs to be in the MCU in some capacity, period. Stephan James is another. How bout Damson Idris. Ashton Sanders. But no, no, let’s fancast Dacre Montgomery or Ansel or Joe Keery again as [Human Torch, Wolverine, Iceman, Angel, I’ve literally seen it all.]

6. Nobody wants to see the B-team if it comes down to it. The next line of defense from your racebending naysayers after “That’s the way it’s always been!” is “Well, what about Psylocke, Bishop, Forge and Jubilee?” who are otherwise known as B-tier X-Men. The problem is, we’ve got limited time and limited spots.

So since the X-Men is all about wonky metaphors that make half sense, let me give you another: Let’s say somebody approaches you and says “Hey buddy, I got two free concert tickets for ya! You can either see Michael Jackson Sings the Blues, or you can go see Justin Timberlake. Free of charge!”

Now, are you used to MJ singing the blues? No! Do you have a problem with going to see Justin Timberlake? No, he’s fine on a Wednesday! He had that one little diddy we liked that one time. We’d love to see him eventually! But are you gonna say, “fuck that, I’m going to see MJ Sings the Blues” regardless? Hell yes, because that’s still Michael Jackson. He’s gonna give the same amazing performance he always does, it’s just gonna be the blues. And speaking of blues...

7. Black is not Blue, Brown is not Blue: Raise your hand if you’ve ever heard this one: “I don’t care if you’re black, white, purple, or green, I’m going to treat you all the same!” I will not say all have this intention, but some fancasters have noticed that the racial diversity is kinda low within the A-List X-Men, so they oh-so-generously give the following roles to a black or brown person: Iceman, Nightcrawler, Beast. 

Notice the pattern? It’s a microaggression, and it’s bullshit. What these fancasters are implicitly telling you is that, yes the actors will be black or brown, but when the action starts we can ignore that. They’ll be blue by then. In other words, you in fact do care if they’re purple or green. Nobody will cry foul if Dev Patel gets to play Nightcrawler (because that’s a common one I see), but should Anna Diop be Starfire or Michael B. Jordan be Human Torch, I bet there’d be backlash. Oh wait. If that’s you, please stop acting like you actually value diversity. You don’t want to see black or brown skin, period. Unless of course, it’s Storm (refer to point #1).

But wait, there’s more! When brown characters get whitewashed in these movies, it’s crickets! So eventually it’s revealed implicitly that proclaimers of point #4 only care about it one way.

8. Professor X should not be black if you’re not willing to change anyone else: The next line of defense is that some people say the professor should be black, if anybody HAS to be racebent. Something something MLK Jr., Civil Rights or some shit. Number one, I’m not reducing Professor X to being a magical negro for 9 white people (and Storm!) who for all intents and purposes get to have all the action. Number 2, the Professor X/MLK/Magneto/Malcolm X comparison is an oversimplifying disservice to ALL FOUR of those people. I hate that line whenever I see it, please watch a documentary my friends. 

9. The Candidates for Racebending: For me, the A-List X-Men are Cyclops, Jean Grey, Iceman, Angel, Beast, Wolverine, Storm, Gambit, Rogue, Colossus, Nightcrawler, and Kitty Pryde. Now, who should be exempt from the racebending? Storm, she’s our designated minority. Gambit, he’s Cajun and they’re white (generally speaking, that’s a fun bit of research). Wolverine, Colossus, and Nightcrawler, because their nationality/ethnicity was the whole point of the Giant-Size premise in the first place. Angel, because his character embodies a privileged white male. Beast and Iceman, I don’t care one way or another (Point #7).

That leaves Cyclops, Rogue, Jean Grey, and Kitty Pryde. Now Jean Grey is a redhead, and we all know that every time a redhead is racebent people sharpen their pitchforks (Mary Jane, Wally West, Iris West), so I will cede the ground on Jean if only so that my ginger friends can get their rep. Kitty Pryde is Jewish, but Jews of color exist. Rogue is from the South. And Cyclops is, well, just Cyclops. That makes those three characters good options for more diversity. But allow me to make the case for Cyclops, specifically.

10. It’s not just diversity for diversity’s sake: If you had to pick who the main character of the X-Men is supposed to be, most would say Cyclops. And so in a series that highlights racial discrimination in society, it makes sense that our main character be black. While changing Cyclops’ skin color should not change who he is as a character, it *should* recontextualize it. Now, as an eventual increasingly radical leader of the X-Men, Cyclops would evoke real life figures such as Colin Kaepernick or, shall I say, Martin Luther King, Jr.

Not that most X-Men fans and writers truly think about what it means to be black anyways. Storm’s minority status is almost always put through the lens of her being a mutant and not her being a black woman. In other words, you can’t argue that making a character black will fundamentally change his or her character when you haven’t even analyzed the racial context of the black character(s) you already have. Another concept that the MCU X-Men should tackle: intersectionality.

11. Representation matters: I have to say it: Chadwick Boseman’s Black Panther hit different. And now he is tragically gone. At the end of the day, the MCU moving forward is down its most prominent black male superhero. Which has implications beyond just the movies themselves.

The women are in good hands. Shuri, Okoye, and Nakia are badasses in Wakanda, Valkyrie is ruling Asgard, Storm is almost assuredly on the way, RiRi Williams has already been cast, and Monica Rambeau is here and she’s not even at her most glorious yet. That doesn’t even include variable Δ, or the number of characters who can and will be racebent. And I’ll note again that to me, Gamora doesn’t count, because she’s green (#7 really pisses me off because it’s so blatant. I hate it). Of course from a behind the camera perspective we love black women getting work.

The men are a completely different story. Imma just go out and say it, I can’t stand Falcon and War Machine [in the MCU] because they’re not characters, they’re just two of a slew of MCU minority sidekicks who have essentially been at the beck and call of Captain America and Iron Man, respectively. You cannot tell Falcon’s story without mentioning Cap. The reverse is not true. There’s a whole essay that could be and have been written on “Minorities in the MCU, pre-Black Panther”. Remember, there’s a reason BP made so much noise in the first place.

So excluding those two we have, let’s see, M’Baku, Blade, and Fury who aren’t exactly the most superheroic superheroes, Eli Bradley is proooobably coming, I doubt Miles Morales is coming (because he’s just Peter Parker in the MCU), Luke Cage(?) Bishop(??), Sunspot(???), Blue Marvel(????). Not only are they not A-List, I would not put money on any of them being in the MCU any time soon.

Cyclops is thee Captain America of the X-Men. He’s the frontman. He’s the poster boy. He’s the “boy scout”, which in other words means he’s the hero, if there has to be one. It would mean a lot right now, and specifically *right now*, if he were to be black. The MCU needs it. It NEEDS it.

12. The X-Men is the Summers Story: I’ll even make the case that if just one character needs to racebent, then it should be Cyclops, because that of course implies that other related characters need to be black because half of the X-Men universe is in fact a part of the Summers family. 

So now Cable is black. Corsair is black. Havok is black. And one of the most central stories in the X-Men mythos, the Summers family drama, is now a black family drama set in space or the future or where the fuck ever. The concept is boundary pushing. When white families have drama in the media, it gets to be Game of Thrones or Star Wars, while when black families have drama in the media, it has to be black people arguing in a kitchen or living room about their various earthly traumas (I’m @’ing you, Mr. Perry). I mean, that’s all fine and good often times, but I want my black family drama in space, dammit.

And again, this is the X-Men, the series that’s all about *minorities* and their struggle, so again, why not?

Oh, and I’ll even throw out a Havok fancast for you: How bout Jharrel Jerome?

[shanakin-skywalker]

Sweet (Billy Hargrove x AFAB!Reader)

*Plus Size and POC Friendly; No use of Y/N*

Based off of this blurb:

Word Count: 3,799 (oof)

Summary: Billy and Reader are best friends. Best friends with benefits…and feelings and that makes Billy very jealous.

Warnings: Mean!Billy, Dom!Billy, Possessive!Billy, Unprotected Sex (wrap it before you tap it besties!), Choking (sexually), Fingering, Name-Calling, One Face Slap, One Pussy Slap, Honestly This Is Just Fucking Filthy, Every Part Of This Is A Warning

*Only description of reader is that she is shorter than Billy*

Please let me know if I’ve missed any warnings I should include!

18+, MINORS DNI

By clicking KEEP READING you are confirming you are 18+.

No one has permission to repost my work on Tumblr or any other platform. Plagiarism, stealing my work, etc will not be tolerated. By clicking KEEP READING you are also agreeing to the above terms.

It was late, her entire house dark except for the yellow glow seen through her window. Her parents had long since retired to their room neighboring her own. Bruce Springsteen’s album, The River, was playing softly in the background and her finger tapped along to the beat of Hungry Heart on the worn, hardcover of Stephen King’s Pet Sematary. She mindlessly chewed on a Cow Tail, the sweet candy hanging out of her mouth as she went to turn the page.

Tink. Tink. Tink.

Her head snapped up toward her window, startled. Her heartbeat slowed once she realized it was Billy.

Billy Hargrove and she had an…unusual dynamic one could say. Definitely more than just friends with benefits and feelings were without a doubt involved but nothing official. Billy’s life was too complicated, the stress of a relationship not one he wanted to add to the equation. And she understood. Well, she understood to a certain extent. Billy told her very little and she never pried or pushed. Of course she wasn’t stupid. She put the pieces together like his relationship with his dad. She accepted what was and what he was willing to give. It was one of the things he lo- no, liked, about her. He refused to use that word, especially in regards to her. They had a good thing going and why would he want to ruin that? She was constant and stable and after everything he clung to that. She was his anchor.

Billy couldn’t help but find her startled expression absolutely adorable. Her eyes big and wide, lips slightly parted and candy hanging out, and fuck, his thoughts quickly became much more sinful. It was too easy to picture something much thicker stretching her mouth. Her eyes looking up at him, instead of straight on through her window, and welled up with tears, wetting her lashes and running down her face. He clenched his jaw, making his hard expression more intense.

She pulled the Cow Tail out of her mouth and set it on the wrapper on her nightstand along with her book. She stood up and her lacy little nightgown tickled the tops of her thighs as she quickly walked to her window, sliding the pane up.

Silently Billy climbed in, towering over her. She shivered, goosebumps erupting on her skin. She didn’t know if it was from the cool night air or Billy’s intimidating frame as his pretty baby blues bore deep into her eyes. He looked tightly wound, wild.

“Billy?” She breathed out but before she could continue his firm hand came to rest around the column of her throat and with big steps he pushed her back, her stumbling until her back hit the wall with a thud. She quickly looked to her wall that separated her and her parents rooms.

“Why did you give him your number?” He hissed out. It was a demand not a question.

“Wha-who?” She floundered, his scent and his warm, firm hand on her neck made her dizzy. He squeezed a little tighter and that seemed to jog her memory.

“Oh! He-,“ she swallowed and wet her lips with her tongue. Her eyes fluttered up to look at him.

“He wants me to tutor him. Help him with an English paper.” She explained but his gaze didn’t soften. He slid his hand further up her neck, right below her jaw, so her head was tilted up and back, exposing her throat.

Billy crowded over her, leaning down so she could feel his hot breath against her ear.

“He was eye fucking you.” Venom spewed out of his strawberry lips. No one attempted anything romantically with her since Billy came to town. There was an unspoken claim. Unfortunately this shithead either didn’t care or had a death wish.

“And that doesn’t work for me.” He growled and the sound sent shockwaves straight to her core. A whimper escaped past her lips.

“What do you- Are we- I-,” she couldn’t form a coherent question, all jumbled and buzzing like bees. He was so warm, smelled so good, was so firm, and oh! He’s so hard.

“My sweet, dumb baby. Do I need to spell it out for you?” His tone was condescending. Her thighs clenched together to relieve the ache. Billy released a huff through his nose and used his right foot to kick apart her legs. He brought his knee to the juncture between her thighs. He could feel the heat radiating as he teasingly brought his lower thigh forwards and backwards. Billy pressed himself against her stomach and she could feel his own arousal, hot, thick, and throbbing through his jeans. She gasped at the feeling. He pulled his head back to stare down at her in her blissed out state.

“I’ve barely even touched you, sweetheart. You’re already so gone. No one could ever make you feel like this. You know that, don’t you, baby?” She doesn’t think she’s ever been this wet. She could hear her slick as he rubbed her with his thigh. All she could do is let out a pathetic whine and nod. Not satisfied, he brought his free hand up and lightly smacked her cheek. Not enough to hurt her, but just to make it slightly sting and get her attention. Her eyes snapped open wide and a soft moan slipped past her lips.

“Don’t. You.” He all but commanded.

“Yes. Yes, only you make me feel this good.” She mumbled out. It made Billy warm with pride. A sweet, pretty thing all his, completely devoted.

“Yeah, ‘cause you belong to me. You’re my girl. Mine. And I’m going to make sure everyone knows it.” He smashed his lips to hers and quickly shoved his tongue into her velvet mouth.

She tasted sweet. She’s sweet. She’s sweet, and warm, and soft, and the complete opposite of everything he was. But you know what they say about opposites? They attract and Billy was all but wielded to her. You would have to pry her from his cold, dead hands and even then, he would rise from the grave. Not even ‘til death do us part. She was his forever and although he didn’t want to admit it, he was hers forever. She owned him just as much, maybe even more, than he owned her.

Billy trailed kisses down her neck, harshly sucking and biting marks, letting everyone know she was taken. He usually left them under her clothes, where no one could see but his jealously became a wildfire. They all had to know.

She gasped loudly when he bit down hard where her neck met her shoulder. He soothes the marks with his tongue and trailed the wet muscle to the front of her neck, between her collarbones. He lavished his mouth up the center of her throat to her chin and followed the path up her jaw to her earlobe where he suckled on the fleshy bit. He released it with a pop but kept his mouth next to her ear.

“Be quiet. You wouldn’t want mommy and daddy waking up to their precious, darling girl moaning like the slut she is.” Oh he’s so mean but it made her even wetter. She’s sure she stained his jeans with her juices.

“No, sir.” She breathed out.

“Good girl.” He brought his leg down and took a step back. Oh yeah, there was definitely a puddle in her panties.

“Look at the mess you made.” Her eyes trailed down and sure enough, a large spot, shining in the low light, stared back at her. She looked back up at him, cheeks heating at her desperation. Billy raised an eyebrow.

“Well, aren’t you going to be a good little slut and clean it up?” He backed up to the center of her room, standing in the middle of her rug. She vigorously nodded her head and took a step forward.

He brought his hands to his hips in a stance that radiated domination and he narrowed his eyes at her. She stopped.

“Crawl.” His voice was low and gravely. She could feel her wetness seap down her thighs as she got to her hands and knees. They made eye contact and slowly, she crawled across the hard wood of her bedroom floor and then finally across half of the rug.

Billy was smug. He knew she would never let anyone do this to her, speak to her that way. His erection was straining uncomfortably against the metal zipper of his pants but he couldn’t find it in him to care. Not when heaven personified was kneeling in front of him, looking up with glazed eyes and tongue running over her bottom lip.

Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned forward, her tongue flat and wide as she licked up her own arousal from bottom to top. She moaned softly and brought her face away to look up at him, a string of her juices connecting her bottom lip to his pants. Billy’s beautiful blue eyes were almost completely eclipsed by his pupils, clouded with lust. She went back to lapping up her mess, eyes half lidded.

When all that was left was wetness from her tongue, Billy tangled a hand in her hair and yanked her head back. Her lips were red and swollen from the roughness of his jeans. Fuck, she looked so pretty like this. So fucked out and he had barely touched her.

He brought his hand back out of her hair and pushed on her shoulders, making her land on the pastel rug. He quickly followed her, settling in between her legs and once again let his tongue invade her mouth. She went to wrap her arms around his neck in a desperate attempt to pull him closer but before she could even reach his broad shoulders Billy had her hands pinned above her head in an iron grip.

“Be. Good.” He gritted out In between kisses. He pulled one hand away, taking both of her wrists into his large palm. He hiked one of her soft thighs over his hip and brought his fingers down to play with her through her panties. A loud squelch could be heard and he broke the kiss to look at his now soaked fingers glistening in the low light. She held her breath as she looked at him.

Without hesitation, he shoved his fingers into his mouth and sucked. So sweet. His sweet girl. Her thighs closed around his hips and a moan escaped her. His eyes flashed down at her.

“What did I say?” He ordered.

“T’a be good. ‘M sorry sir.” Came stammering out of her mouth. Billy set his jaw and exhaled through his nose like a raging bull. Without saying another word he released her hands and grabbed her by the backs of her knees, bending them back until he was able to take both of her ankles in one hand while the other grabbed her panties by the crotch and yanked them off of her legs leaving her on full display. The cold night air from the still open window chilled her dripping core. He dropped her ankles so they fell on either side of him. She opened her mouth but Billy shoved her sopping, ruined panties into her mouth, her wetness filling her tongue and nose. It was so filthy, so dirty, and she loved every minute of it. A smack against her pussy brought her out of her head.

“Now shut up.” Billy went back to playing with her now exposed cunt, running his fingers up and down her slit, gathering the surplus of her arousal and bringing

it up to her swollen clit. She whimpered as softly as she could and bit her underwear, the wetness gushing from it and her eyes rolled back, swallowing it down.

Once Billy grew bored of her clit, he traced his fingers down to her hole, slipping his middle digit in. He had to bite back a moan of his own. How could she be this wet and still this tight? Her pussy sucking his finger further in until it’s entirety was encased in her warm walls. In an agonizingly slow pace, he began thrusting, taking his finger all the way out, swirling it slightly around her entrance and then plunging it back in. Her fingers dug into the plush carpet and she clenched her teeth down into the wet fabric to keep from crying out.

Billy added a second finger and started thrusting faster. She really hoped the faint background music covered the embarrassingly wet sounds of her cunt. He scissored his fingers against her walls in an attempt to stretch her out. It felt so good, so wet. Her pussy tingled at the sensation and her saliva was running out of the corners of her mouth. He curled his fingers upward and her eyes rolled back again. She was completely delirious with pleasure. Again, Billy added another finger and began thrusting into her as hard and fast as he could. The force causing her back to rub against the carpet, making it burn. It only added to the sensation. He was so good, making her feel so good. How could she possibly want anyone else. And then he curled his fingers again and immediately found the spongy spot that brought her to new heights. He could feel her clenching around him.

“You close, baby? You gonna be a good girl and cum for me? All for me?” He grunted out. She looked at him and tears welled in her eyes and she nodded. It felt good, too good, so good. And then Billy took his thumb and rubbed harsh circles on her clit. She exploded. Her walls clenching down on his finger and stars flickered across her vision. Her body convulsed and she let out a low moan.

Displeased with the continued sounds he glared down and harshly rolled one of her nipples between his fingers through the thin fabric of her nightie. She made a startled noise and he ripped her panties out of her mouth.

“‘’M sorry sir! ‘M trying. You just make me feel so good. Can’t help it. Please don’t stop!” She cried out, tears running down her cheeks. He thought about choking her on his cock but the last rational part of him knew it was already risky enough with her parents in the next room and although there was music playing, it could only drown out so much.

“You’re so lucky I’m so good to you, princess. Keep disobeying me and I’m still gonna give you my cock. What do you say?” He unbuckled his belt.

“Thank you, sir.” She panted out and before she knew it, he had flipped her over and put her onto all fours. She could hear his belt slide out of their loops in a quick whoosh and then it was around her mouth. A ‘mmm!’ Sounded at the back of her throat.

“You didn’t think I’d let it slide? Are you already fucked stupid? You’ve only just had my fingers.” He goes to buckle the belt behind her head, careful not to get any hair tangled in the buckle. She opened her mouth all the way to show her obedience and she felt him slide the buckle into place. He turned her 90° to the left where she had a mirror propped against the wall. She looked fucking wrecked.

Huge, dark bruises scattered down her neck and shoulders, tear tracks ran from her eyes, her lips were raw, chapped, red, and swollen, stretched around leather, drool still running down the corners of her mouth. She was so far gone. Her only thoughts were of Billy.

Billy. Billy. Billy. Billy. Billy.

She stared at him through the mirror. His own eyes were crazed, wild. He whipped off his jacket and white tshirt that was now wet with sweat. His chest heaved and he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them and his underwear down just enough for his cock to spring free. He looked down to see his angry, red and swollen dick, dripping precum from his tip onto the rug. He could feel his heartbeat in it every time it throbbed. Billy looked back in the mirror and made eye contact with her. He took her in, completely ruined by him, for him. And that thought alone sent him off the deep end.

He rubbed himself up and down against her slick and when he couldn’t take the waiting anymore, he roughly shoved it into her weeping cunt. The force took her arms out and she fell face first against the carpet. His pace was brutal and unforgiving, immediately punching her cervix. She bit down on the leather and turned her face sideways on the rug. A whimper escaped again.

“Can’t even help yourself can you? Look at you!” He hissed as low as he could. Billy buried his hand in her hair again and forced her to look at herself in the mirror.

It was too good. Too much. The feeling of his big, thick cock deep and stretching her pussy, the feeling of his heavy balls slapping against the drenched skin of her upper thighs, the burn from the carpet on her knees, she couldn’t help but let out a cry at a particularly deep and angled thrust against her g-spot. Billy’s big hand slapped over her mouth, clamping down to silence her as best as he could. His other hand wrapped around her waist and brought her up flush against his chest.

“Look at you. Fucking filthy slut. Just for me. All for me. No one will ever see you like this. No one could ever make you feel like this. You’re mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.” Each thrust punctuating each point. He was unraveling as she clung to him, as she squeezed him. He was so close and so was she.

Billy let her go as she fell forward and he unbuckled his belt before bringing her back up to him. He turned her face so he could sloppily kiss her and trailed more down the other side of her neck. One free hand went down to rub her clit. Now that her mouth was no longer filled she babbled mindlessly.

“’M yours. All yours. Only yours. Only want’a be yours. Fuck. Y’make me feel so good. Never felt this good b’for.” She slurred.

“Fuck, sweetheart. ‘M gonna cum. Gonna cum so hard you’ll feel me inside you for days. Y’uh gonna come too. Can feel it. Squeezing me so tight. Fuck. Fuck, I love you.” And then they both came. Her wetness came squirting out, further soaking his lower abdomen and jeans. She kept coming and coming, milking every last drop from him. He fell forward, catching them both before he crushed her, continuing to rut inside her. They laid there quietly, Stolen Car playing and heavy breathing all that can be heard.

Billy slowly, carefully pulled his softening cock from her and she whimpered at the feeling. He quickly tucked himself back into his underwear and cracked open her bedroom door to make sure her parents door was closed and their lights turned off. He heard faint snoring and let out a sigh of relief. He was surprised but didn’t question it.

He swiftly walked over to her and picked her up. Cradling her as he silently snuck into the bathroom a little down the hall. Billy gently sat her down on the counter, the cold tile soothing her sensitive pussy and she sighed, head fell back against the mirror. He grabbed a clean towel and washcloth from the linen cabinet and wet the smaller towel in warm water. He softly, lovingly cleaned her. She whimpered when it brushed against her clit.

“Was I too rough?” Now with his head clear he looked over her, covered with bruises and handprints. She hummed and cracked her eyes open slightly.

“Liked it. Y’uh always make me feel good.” She sighed out.

“I-,” he paused briefly before continuing, “I don’t like the idea of you being with anyone else.” He murmured quietly, she almost couldn’t hear his confession. He took the towel and started drying her off, keeping his hands busy, his eyes busy. Her hands went up to cover his and waited for him to look her in the eyes. She gave him a soft, angelic smile. A complete flip from how sinful she looked just minutes before.

“I love you too.” He froze, quickly remembering what he admitted in the throes of passion.

“Yeah?” He asked not quite believing someone as sweet, soft, gentle, kind, and countless other adjectives could love someone like him.

“Mmhmm. Y’a wanna be my boyfriend?” The word boyfriend didn’t seem deep enough for what he wanted to be. Maybe soulmate but Billy had his limits with the mushy stuff. He huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah, I wanna be your boyfriend.” She grinned.

“Good. ‘Cause I wanna be your girlfriend.” He smiled back, an actual, genuine smile and picked up the washcloth and lovingly wiped her face with the clean side, and then patted it dry. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips and then peppered them over any place they could reach. She giggled and Billy felt his heart swell.

So this is what love feels like. He thinks he could get used to it.

He quietly snuck back into her bedroom, picking up some of the mess they made, closed and locked the window, and rolled up her ruined rug, placing it to the side to be dealt with the next day.

On wobbly legs, she brushed her teeth and used the bathroom before sneaking back into her own room as well. He had set out one of his large tshirts she had stolen and a fresh pair of underwear for her to slip on and he found a pair of his sweatpants, that she also had stolen, and tugged them on. He turned off her music and crawled into bed next to her. She followed suit and cuddled into his side, basking in his warmth and scent.

“I love you.” Her voice sounded slightly muffled against his skin but it made his heart soar just the same.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” And with that, he turned off her lamp and then fell asleep.

Early the next morning they awoke to thudding against her wall and very questionable noises coming from her parents room.

“You don’t think-?” Billy trailed off.

“Probably.” She groaned out and pulled her pillow over her ears.

“Your parents are cruel.” He looked at the clock before doing the same with his own pillow. 5:17. Oh yeah, this was revenge.

Tags: @moe1 @stranger-kinkslol

[shanakin-skywalker]

No but Billy blowing his cigarette smoke into your mouth while kissing 🥵

Also, if you’re chewing gum he would absolutely make out with you and steal the gum right out of your mouth and start smacking it with that cheeky grin of his

Or OR both at the same time 😭

[rhaegarsruby]

billy hargrove moodboard

— where billy’s girlfriend back in california is latina