#Mean!Billy Hargrove

[buckysgrace]

I need enemy!billy to fuck me stupid and call me a slut :(

CW: Mean!Billy, Unprotected sex, hate fucking

You didn't get along with Billy. Not at all. He was arrogant, annoying. And he was determined to make your life a living hell.

He would pull your bra straps in class, flick pencils at the back of your head and stick his foot out to trip you whenever he got the chance. If you passed him in the hall, he'd shoulder check you. He'd tease you about the length of your skirts, regardless if they were short or long.

If you wore makeup, he'd point out that you were trying too hard, if you didn't wear any he'd ask if you had given up. As if he somehow thought you were trying to impress him.

As if.

The issue was that your friend group tended to overlap, just briefly but enough that you often ran into him. It wasn't like Hawkins was very big either, you saw him more often than not. And that was irritating too. He acted like he was something special, like you should care.

"You don't play hard to get, do you?" He asked you, eyebrows cocked as he brought his beer up to his lips again. His dirty blonde hair curled against his shoulders, the wind gliding it across his forehead as you rolled your eyes.

Ignoring him was best, so that's exactly what you did. You pressed your fingers over your skirt, doing your best to prove that it was plenty long enough. It touched your knees and that was what mattered. You didn't need his opinion anyways.

"On your period?" He tried again, taking advantage of how long your friends were taking to return, "Or maybe it's the stick that's always up your ass."

"I do not have a stick up my ass," You replied quickly, insides burning as electricity strummed through your veins. You quickly stood, desperately needing to put as much distance between the two of you as possible, "And you're the one that's easy." You pointed out before you turned, stomping your way back to the house.

"They went on a run for more beer," He chuckled, lazily following behind you, "It's just you and I." He sang, sounding far too cheery.

"You can fuck off now." You told him seriously as you yanked the door open, wishing you had gone with your gut feeling and taken your own car. Now you were stuck with him.

"You don't like talking?" He questioned as he pressed his hand against the door, keeping you from slamming it in his face, "I've heard you like doing other things with your mouth."

"You're disgusting," You told him as the anger pulsed inside of you, "You're not any better." You pointed out, sure that he had already slept his way through half the school.

You gripped the railing, pulling yourself up the stairs. You needed privacy, your own room to sit and breathe in for a while so you wouldn't end up losing your control.

"Where are you going?" He asked curiously, eyes glazing with mischief as you turned back towards him. You turned into the room, trying to slam the door but to no avail. He moved quicker.

"I'm so tired of you," You spit out angrily, pressing your finger roughly against his chest, "You're an asshole." You told him seriously, letting the fire inside of you erupt.

"Oh," He grinned, looking anything but upset as his eyes flickered over your features, "What else?" He teased, cocking both of his eyebrows as he stared at you intensely. He was amused. Playing with you.

"You're not even worth it." You replied as you crossed your arms, not wanting to give him the benefit of seeing your anger.

"Huh," He continued to wear that stupid smirk, making you wish you could smack it off of him, "That's funny coming from you." He added as he rested lazily against the dressed, sticking his arms out in front of him.

"Excuse me?" You asked in surprise, jaw dropping at what he was suggesting. You were nowhere near as bad as what he was.

"You're boring," He said with a shrug of his shoulders, "A doormat. There's not one thing that's interesting about you." He spoke dryly as he watched you.

"Fuck you." You were seething now, pulse racing as a fire of fury burned deep inside of you. You were so angry that you couldn't decide if you were going to scream or cry. Both seemed like a good option, but you didn't want him to see that.

He stalked towards you, lips curled up into the softest smirk as your feet remained stuck to the ground. You weren't fearful of him, you knew that the best he could do was insult you. But you weren't going to back down, not now.

Your eyes flickered over his features, trying to ignore how pretty he looked at the moment. You hated that he was attractive and even more that he knew it. He was cocky, arrogant. It drove you crazy.

You stalled as he came to a stop in front of you, tilting his head as his eyes remained locked on yours. Your heart flipped inside of your chest, trembling as his minty breath tickled against your face.

His lips were hot against yours, intense and warm as his palms fell to the side of your face. You should push him away, shove him back harshly. But you couldn't. Not when something electric spread through your body, tickling your veins.

You felt something in your brain shift, awaking you from your haze as you bit down harshly on his bottom lip. He grunted, his tongue flicking out against your teeth in surprise as he squeezed at your face.

You let him strip you of your clothes without a fight, his hands rough against your skin as he pressed you over the side of the bed. He pushed down roughly between your shoulder blades, your face falling into the mattress and your ass in the air.

"I knew it," He paraded proudly, a smirk evident on his features as you turned to look over your shoulder, "You're no better than the rest of them. Just as eager to spread your legs."

All insults died on your tongue at the feeling of his fingers brushing through your folds, collecting your slick before you felt the head of his cock against your entrance. You gulped, fingertips falling into a fist as he bullied his thick cock inside of your soaked cunt.

You moaned, eyes fluttering shut and jaw dropping as he stretched your slick walls inch by inch. His girth was thick, thicker than you had ever had as he buried himself inside of you.

"S'nice," He teased as his palms fell across the curve of your ass, small moans leaving your lips as you adjusted around him, "So fucking tight. She's leaking for me." He teased as some of his fingers fell to your clit, rubbing your sensitive bud gently.

"God," You breathed out roughly, mind feeling hazy as your eyebrows furrowed tightly together, "Feels good." You squeaked out softly as the pleasure burned deep inside of you, twisting your insides tightly together.

He laughed from behind you, his fingers electric against your skin as he snapped his hips forward. You whimpered at the sensation, the tip of his cock pressing against your bundle of nerves. You shook, your thighs trembling from the pleasure.

He squeezed at your tits, rolling them in his callused hands before he pinched your nipples. You whimpered at the feeling, overwhelmed as he began to slide his cock in and out of your soaked cunt. Everything inside of you was burning in an intense manner before he yanked your body back towards his slick chest.

Your mind felt hazy as you began to rock your body back along the curve of his cock, savoring his thick girth and the curves that decorated his skin.

The sound of your bodies meeting was dirty, filthy as his cock pressed deep inside of you. You craved the feeling, wanted to feel more of him as you continued to grind yourself back against him.

He groaned from behind you, his breath hot against your cheek as he smacked his palm across your thigh. Your cunt ached around his girth as you rocked yourself back against him, feeling a fresh wave of desperation crippling over you.

"You're so stupid, huh?" He teased, eyes flashing with lust as he tilted your chin roughly in his direction, "Already dumb around my cock. Such a dumb little slut." He groaned as you continued to fuck yourself along his cock, whimpering as words failed to come to you.

He spoke to you in a demeaning manner, insulting you. But you didn't care. Something about it made your cunt ache, your clit throb as he dragged you up and down the length of his cock.

Cries of pleasure left your lips, drool sliding down your chin as he continued to roughly snap his hips forward. You were leaking around the girth of his cock, coating his balls in your slick as you greedily grinded yourself back against him.

The sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, spurring you on as your fingers fell into two fists. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you even closer to him.

"See," He hummed against the side of your neck, his tongue briefly licking at your sweaty skin, "It doesn't hurt to be nice." He whispered gruffly as he kissed at your ear, then biting with enough force to make you yelp.

"I am," You spit out, struggling to breathe as the pleasure burned deep inside of you. He laughed, his sweaty chest rubbing against your back as he dipped another hand between your leg, "Fuck, fuck." You squeaked out, body spasming as he brought a thick finger against your clit.

He bit down on your skin as he continued to fuck into you from behind, his finger rubbing harshly against your swollen clit as your muscles spasmed roughly.

Everything inside of you burned, your mind going blank as the pleasure crashed over you. Your thighs snapped together as you came with a loud cry, whimpering as your cum slid down your thighs.

His groans vibrated across your skin as he continued to roughly grind his fingers against your clit. Your toes curled in awe, bliss overwhelming your cunt clamped down around his girth.

"That's a good girl," He groaned as he pulled out, letting you collapse onto the bed in a pile of good. You whimpered as you turned, watching the way he wrapped his thick fingers around his cock and roughly jerked himself off, "Such a fucking slut." He grunted, leaving no warning for you as he came harshly.

You gasped, blinking roughly as his warm spunk fell against your features. You gaped, feeling it across your cheek, lips and forehead. Some of it dripped across your eyelid, leaving you to quickly wipe it away.

"You're a dick." You hissed, in disbelief to what you had just done. You couldn't believe you had let him back in with no issue. He would think that he was right about everything. Anger boiled in your stomach again.

"And this here?" He questioned, tilting his head as his strong fingers fell against your sore cunt, "Belongs to me."

[wingsau]

I want to talk about Billy Hargrove. I want to talk about a character who was so complex and also such a reality for some viewers. A character who was so angry and vicious, but also a child who was being abused. I wanna talk about how Billy is such a good representation of what it looks like to be stuck in such a toxic life, and how easy it is to let that hate and anger consume you - even if it's not who you are. I wanna talk about how I could have been Billy Hargrove in a different situation. And I want to talk about how they used that to make him a villain and then they killed him. But some of you aren't ready to have that conversation.

[shieldofiron]

Hello Miss Shieldofiron what do you think about a harringrove one night stand but when Steve wakes up he realises Billy has train bedsheets

The morning light has a golden glow. So do Billy's curls, like spun sunshine.

What can Steve say. The sex was good. Makes him sappy and soft.

He raises his head a little from the pillow and presses a kiss to Billy's cheek, nuzzling him softly.

He smells like cigarettes and cologne and he looks so good wearing nothing. In his sleep he's pulled the sheets up over his chest and it's kind of cute. Billy snuffles, and Steve can tell he's woken up. Maybe they'll go to a diner or something. Maybe they can be on a date all day long.

Steve squints at the sheets for a second before they start to make sense.

He glances up and meets Billy's eyes.

"Are those-"

"Fuck off!"

"Thomas the-" He's cut off when Billy covers his mouth with a warm hand but the muffled sound is pretty damning.

"It's laundry day. They were a novelty gift from Lucas, for secret santa-" Billy's face is so red. "Shut up!"

Steve pushes Billy's hand away, "I didn't even know they made them for queen size beds."

"Shut up!"

"You shut up!" Steve grins. "It's cute. Cute as hell, actually."

"Shut-"

Steve puts his hand over Billy's mouth, and then kisses the back of his own hand, eyes never leaving Billy's.

"Stop."

Billy squirms, but some of the stiffness leaves his shoulders.

"I like you, Billy. I like your Thomas the Tank Engine sheets. Now stop telling me to shut up, or adorable stories about secret santa," Steve smiles. "I can only get so turned on, okay?"

Billy blinks at him, and then goes all soft, letting Steve fall between his thighs.

"Now," Steve removes his hand, grinning. "I hear you like trains. Care for a railing?"

[harringroveera]

That still counts as accessories, Dustin!

[toobusybeingdelulu]

me when I remember that the keg stand thing was basically a game won by those who knew how to swallow better, and both steve and billy had excelled at that apparently

[ihni]

What if ...

... Hopper and Neil Hargrove had been in the army together?

I don't know anything about the army and all I know is that the war at least Hopper went to was the one in Vietnam, but let's play with the thought that the two of them were there together. And did NOT get along, like at ALL; Hopper thought Neil was deceitful and untrustworthy, too proud and manipulative. Overestimating his own importance and competence, and too happy to cause pain in others.

They both survived the war and went back to their own lives, only like 20 years later or so, the Hargroves show up in Hawkins and Hopper meets Neil Hargrove again.

Despite telling himself that they're older now; that they're adults who have had time to grow into themselves, Hopper STILL doesn't like Neil. Like, his skin is crawling when he sees the man, even after all these years. But it's not like he has a good reason to dislike him now; outwardly, Neil Hargrove seems to be just a normal family man, setting down in Hawkins with his family. No one else has had any complaints. And either way, Hopper can't explain it, it's just a feeling. He just doesn't LIKE him.

And the thing is, that the guy has KIDS now, too. Or - as Hopper learns, as soon as he gets the documents he pulled from California - a son, at least (the girl being Neil Hargrove's new wife's kid). And by the file that Hopper has to pull some strings to get his hands on, the kid is shaping up to be a bad seed, just like his dad. Reports on fights, trespassing, shoplifting, underage drinking, reckless driving.

Hopper doesn't want that kind of bad influence in his town. So what, if he wants to nip it in the bud? So what, if he pulls the kid over as soon as he gets the chance, just to get a feel of him? The kid is tense, obviously hiding something, and speaking so respectfully that it borders on sarcasm - strike that, it's definitely sarcasm.

So what, if Hopper feels the need to put the fear of god into the kid? He's here, and his father is not - Hopper can't touch Neil, who never officially puts a toe out of line, but a teenager with a bad attitude? It's basically Hopper's JOB to do something about that.

So he goes hard on the kid. Tells himself it's for the kid's own good; keeping him on the straight and narrow and teach him what's right and what's wrong. And hey, if he gets to bring the kid home to the Hargrove doorstep sometimes and look Neil Hargrove in the eye while he lets him know what his son has done now (Not so perfect now, are you Hargrove?), well, then that's just a bonus. Perks of being the Chief of Police.

It becomes personal, in the way that he will take any chance to gte on the kid's case for SOMETHING. But also the opposite of personal, because the kid - Billy - isn't really a person in his own right in Hopper's eyes. He's just an angry kid. Neil Junior. A chip of the Hargrove block. He is simply a means to an end. The best way to get to Neil in a way that doesn't seem unreasonable, or petty, in the eyes of everyone else.

And of course, I want the Moment of Realization. I don't know where or when; maybe Hopper stumbles over Billy's car parked out at the Quarry, or maybe he nabs him after a party, or maybe he sees him out walking by the side of the road late one night and pulls up next to him.

And maybe that's the time when Billy has had ENOUGH. When he either gets angry and starts yelling, 'What do you have against me, man?? What have I ever done to you?", or maybe he tries to run because he can't do this right now, or maybe it's a Bad Night and he's tired and terrified and he breaks down crying (but tries to hide it).

Maybe it's all three.

And, I don't know, but maybe Billy's hurt and wincing and Hopper notices, and maybe when Billy refuses Hopper (not very gently) demands to see, and -

Maybe there are bruises. Maybe there's a burn scar somewhere on Billy where he couldn't have put it himself (like between his shoulder blades), the one you get from a red-hot lighter. A mark that Hopper remembers from his time in the the army, from when a buddy of his made a bet with Neil and lost, and Neil let his lighter burn for a long time and then pressed the hot metal against the guy's back. That too scarred, and it looked just like this.

And maybe that's when Hopper lets his memories boil over, and his voice is rough when he asks what happened, who did that, and maybe that's when Billy mutters something about Hopper and Neil being army buddies and Hopper doesn't have to worry, Billy isn't a snitch, he can keep his mouth shut.

And that's when things slot into place in Hopper's brain, and he realizes that the kid is just a KID, that the anger comes from hopelessness, that the attitude is a mask to hide his fear. Because even now, he's cowering in Hopper's grip - but still keeping eye contact, back straight, hands to the side. Learned behaviour.

And that's when Hopper realizes he has Fucked Up.

[avalonlights]

this is literally saved on my computer as imsorrydacre.jpg 🤣

[theladycarpathia]

Billy’s not expecting the call from his dad.

“Billy?” Hop sounds distant, the faint sound of an idling engine in the background. Billy blinks, because his dad is at work and as far as Billy knows that usually means sitting behind a desk at the station and arguing with Flo.

“Don’t you have paperwork to be doing?” Billy says and Hopper snorts. There’s the sound of background traffic that’s then shut out by the clang of a car door.

“Don’t give me cheek, I am still the chief,” Hopper says as though that means anything in a small town where the most crime that they get is some drunk idiot attempting to rob the gas station.

“Yes, sir,” Billy quips and changes the channel. No one else is home and he’s bored. Jon and Joyce are still at work, and El and Will are doing weird nerd activities. The diner didn’t have a shift for him today and he doesn’t have a date, so he came home. He’d half expected someone to be here, instead of getting stuck with a protein bar and old reruns.

“That’s more like it,” Hopper says and then clears his throat awkwardly. “I was just wondering…are you definitely single?”

“Dad,” Billy says, attention now fully away from the TV set. Hop’s called him before, to ask him shit like do they need milk and to take the trash out. He doesn't call to talk about Billy's love life. They never talk about that, not after that time Hopper came in his room without knocking. “What is your next question, because this could make the next family dinner a little uncomfortable.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Hopper gripes. There’s the sudden cackle of laughter in the background and Billy sits up.

“Are you with someone?” he asks and then sucks in a breath at the implications. “Did you put me on speaker?”

“I may have done,” Hopper says, sounding sheepish. “I just picked up a young man outside the movie theatre and he’s about your age…”

“I’m nineteen!” the mystery guy hollers from the backseat. Hopper keeps talking like the guy hadn’t spoken.

“I don’t know, I just thought he was your type.”

Billy presses a hand to his temple, unable to believe that his dad has just said those words. “What’s my type?” he asks, wondering if he’s going to combust right here and now. Hopper makes that little awkward throat clearing again, like he can’t believe the situation either.

“You know,” he says stiffly. “Sort of…pretty.”

Oh God. Billy can never look Hopper in the eye again.

“You think I’m pretty?” the guy asks curiously, and Billy can’t blame him for sounding a bit weirded out.

“I think you look like a lot of the doe-eyed pretty-boys my son brings home,” Hopper snaps. Despite his obvious discomfort, Billy can’t help the rush of affection at Hopper trying to be supportive. Neil would have beat the shit out of him. Hopper tries to hook him up with appropriately aged delinquents in the back of the police car.

“A lot?” the guy asks and Billy flushes. He then regrets it because he has no idea if he even wants to impress whatever guy Hopper has picked up.

“It’s not a lot,” he says defensively because Hawkins isn’t exactly big on the gay scene. His last boyfriend he met at Tina’s Halloween party and to be fair, if you wear a kilt and not a lot else to a party in October, Billy’s absolutely going to beg you to rail him in the downstairs cloakroom. The relationship hadn't exactly worked out.

“Look, I get the feeling I’m never going to hear the end of this so here’s the situation,” Hopper says, sounding tired. “This is my son, Billy. He’s about to finish high school, he likes cars and burgers and loud music. He has shit taste in men even though he’s attractive, clever and a smart mouth. Billy, this is Steve. I was on my way back from the mayor’s office when I caught him peeing in an alley. Judging by his big brown eyes and the fact that public nudity doesn’t seem to be a problem for him, I thought of you.”

“Aww,” Billy drawls, sitting back on the couch. There are lights in the drive so someone has just arrived home. Which is good because he needs to tell everyone this story so they can give Hopper shit about it over dinner. “Pops, that’s so sweet.”

“Don’t say I never do anything for you,” Hopper says, like he hasn’t already done everything for Billy by getting him out, giving him a home. “I’ll take an extra polaroid when I process him.”

“I had to take a leak!” Steve protests and Hopper sucks in air through his teeth.

“There are public bathrooms, kid, I’ve heard those work pretty well. Billy, help your mom with dinner when she gets home.” Sucks for Hopper, it’s Jon heading up the path, keys dangling from his fingers. Billy can’t wait to tell him this story.

“Or what, you won’t bring me any more dates?” Billy asks, but he’s only half-joking. Hopper means well and kind of fucks it up a lot but this time he might have hit it right on the money. He thinks he might like Steve.

“Do I get a picture?” Steve asks. “Or does the Hawkins Police just pimp out young innocent men with full bladders?”

Oh yeah. He’s definitely going to like Steve.

“I have a picture on my desk,” Hopper admits grumpily. There’s the jangle of keys in the door as Jonathan lets himself in. “You can look at it if you’re good.”

“And what if I’m not?” Steve asks and Jonathan walks in just in time to raise his eyebrows at Billy.

“I can help punish him, if he’s not,” Billy suggests, and Hopper hangs up the phone just as Steve begins to laugh.

This has probably been done before because it's based on that famous tumblr post but it's so dull during school holidays I have nothing to do but write. And I have no in progress Harringrove fics which is probably a problem I should fix.

[lazybakerart]

THEE billiam

[weird-an]

Steve is lost in a stupid dumb forest on an even more moronic quest to protect the realm from ugly monsters that come straight out of hell.

And if it couldn't get any worse, now there's noise coming from the direction he's walking to. Maybe he'll get eaten by wild animals and that's it, the end of Prince Steve Harrington, the heir who was never seen again - not that his father would notice.

He walks further, because maybe he’s not a coward or does have a bit of a death wish, and comes to a clearing. The noise gets louder. It’s not an animal.

It's a man. A blond man yelling at a motherfucking dragon.

It's roaring back and while it's the first dragon Steve has ever seen in his life, it seems to be young. It's only a little taller than the man in front of it, blue scales shining in the summer's sun. It's magnificient.

Steve steps on a branch.

Dragon and the madman in front of it turn around, staring at him.

Shit.

"Camaro," the guy grunts. He's wearing a black leather vest and leather pants, blond curls shoulder length. He's attractive, but the creature next to him steals the show.

The dragon tilts its head. Their eyes got the same colour, Steve notices somewhere between his racing heart and sweaty hands.

"You shouldn’t be here," the man says. His voice sounds rough like he isn't used to talk - maybe yelling is all he does.

"I'm Prince Harrington," Steve says, because seriously, who is this guy? "Pretty sure these woods belong to my father."

The dragon, apparently Camaro, snorts, a little flame coming out of its snout.

"Alright, King Steve," Billy growls, side eyeing Camaro like they got an inside joke. "I'm Billy. Welcome, your majesty, to my home."

These words could have been respectful, but the tone certainly isn’t. He gestures at something behind him and Steve stares at his toned arms for a moment, before seeing what he's pointing at.

"You live in a cave?" Steve can't believe it. He files away the lack of a last name (everybody got one, even if you don't want it) for later.

"You don't need to stay for dinner," Billy scoffs.

Steve's stomach churns loudly. He swears the dragon is laughing at him.

"… I wouldn't mind that," Steve mumbles.

"This isn't an invitation," Billy grumbles.

"I'm lost," Steve admits.

"Figured," Billy sighs.

Camaro bumps its snout against Billy's cheek.

"No," Billy shakes his head.

Camaro bares its teeth.

Billy rubs his face and makes a rather displeased noise. "Apparently we'll help you."

Camaro's tail waggles like its more dog than dragon. Billy pats its snout.

"She likes you." It sounds like an accusation. "Don't act stupid."

"Promise."

"There'll be rabbit for dinner." Billy purses his lips. They're very pink, Steve thinks. "You can gather wood for a fire."

There's a pile of wood next to the cave. Steve can see it. Apparently he needs to prove himself to Billy.

[bigdumbbambieyes]

omegaverse nsfw for @shieldofiron 🤍

Steve always tries to pretend he’s not into the shit Billy does to him — he pulls faces, gives the weakest complaints, glares.

Like that time Billy bent him over his desk in his bedroom and ate him out until he was a sloppy little mess, arching his back and baring his neck and bitching the entire time until Billy pulled him onto his lap and onto his knot.

Or whenever Billy’s shoving his face into his omega’s neck to nose at his scent glands, nuzzling and licking and biting at them so Steve stinks of him and Steve tries to act bothered and annoyed — but Billy’s rubbing at the crotch of his boyfriend’s jeans to feel the tell-tale bulge there.

Steve never really means it. He’s just a bitch. And a brat.

Like now, when it’s late at the quarry and he’s shoving the pretty boy into the back seat of the Beamer, Steve settling against the leather and glaring up at him.

Billy doesn’t say anything, just smirks as he shuts the door behind him as he settles on top of Steve, pressing his heavy body down onto him, his nose going for those scent glands again and inhaling the bittersweet florals there.

“You don’t have to fucking push me,” Steve huffs just above the music playing from the tape in the deck, his hand weakly shoving at Billy’s shoulders, like he’s making a show of it.

Billy licks across that gland, tastes sweet honeysuckles on his tongue, and Steve goes still — goes sweet for him and only him, tilting his head with a soft sigh, parting his thighs obediently.

“I know I didn’t have to,” Billy hums as he settles between Steve’s thighs, “But, you like it.”

“No I don’t,” Steve pouts, his cheeks burning hot.

Billy moves his mouth up, noses at Steve’s temple as his lips press to his omega’s ear, playfully growling, “Then why do you smell like a bitch in heat, hm?”

He can smell Steve’s slick already, hears the pleasured little whine his pretty boy makes as he ruts his hips up against Billy, the hard press of his cock trapped in his jeans making Billy’s mouth water.

“S’your fault,” Steve gasps as Billy hurriedly pushes his boyfriend’s shirt up and presses kisses to his chest, sucking little bruises there just to feel the hard grip Steve gets on his hair.

A fistful of blond curls in Steve’s hand is a powerful thing. Billy feels the pull, directing him lower, and it’s like his scalp is directly linked to his cock with how he’s twitching in his tight jeans as Steve pulls on his hair again.

“What, you want my mouth?” Billy breathes as he tugs Steve’s jeans open and down, letting the other kick them off towards the front seat.

“Yeah,” Steve nods, watching Billy pull his briefs down, his cock slapping almost wetly against his lower stomach once it’s free.

“Where, baby?” Billy asks with a soft moan as he wraps his hand around Steve’s fat cock, so fucking big for an omega it drives him crazy, “Right here?” He asks as he smears the pearl of precum with his thumb, swirls it in little circles just to watch Steve’s jaw drop.

“Fuck,” he moans, looks so pretty like this, so needy. Billy loves it; Steve will beg with those big brown eyes of his whenever he really wants something but doesn’t want to say it.

Like now. Billy knows what Steve wants. He knows he’s gonna be burying his face between Steve’s cheeks and lapping at his hole, fucking him with his tongue until he’s crying, but he waits.

“Yes or no,” Billy chides him gently, stroking up and down so slowly, driving his baby wild as he stares up at Steve and asks, “You gonna be good for me?”

It works like a charm. Steve’s eyes glaze over a bit, that honeysuckle scent filling the car, and it’s so thick Billy could almost choke on it. Almost.

He breathes it in deep, feels a pleased little rumble in his chest on the exhale, a sweet little sound for his omega — who chirps in response, his cheeks flushed with pleasure.

Steve nods and whispers, “Yeah.”

“Then grab the back of your knees and show me that pretty little hole, baby,” Billy hums, watching as Steve scrambles to do just that, grabbing and spreading his legs as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

And despite the bitching and moaning that Steve always does, or how stubborn he can be, he’s still a good omega. The best, really. Always presenting himself for his alpha, just like this.

And in other sweet, non-sexual ways, too. But Billy doesn’t want to think about that.

No, instead he gives Steve another little rumble from his chest and grabs the back of his thighs, squeezing them as he lowers his mouth to lick the flat of his tongue from Steve’s hole and up to the tip of his dick.

The moan his boyfriend makes is fucking filthy, taps at something a little primal in Billy’s brain, makes him want to knot his pretty boy and bite his neck, claim him for all to see and understand just who he belongs to.

So, he does.

But not before he’s licking into Steve with purpose, stuffing his tongue as deep as he can into his omega, listening to the cute little whimpers and whines and ‘fuck’s and ‘Billy’s that leave his mouth as he eats out his sweetheart.

Steve’s hand is in his hair again, trembling from pleasure as he rocks his hips down, gripping and pulling as he gasps and moans, “I’m gonna—Billy, I’m—”

He licks his omega through his orgasm, as he always does — as any respectful alpha should. He can feel Steve tense, his chirping so soft as he goes a little limp, totally spent.

Billy fucking slurps the slick on his tongue, because he knows it makes Steve’s nose scrunch like the princess he is, and surfaces to look his fill.

Steve’s catching his breath, his hands still gripping his thighs, his stomach covered in cum with his cock untouched.

That feeling washes over Billy again. It starts low, at the bottom of his spine, and it crawls up and up and up until all he can think is mine, all mine.

Steve must see the look in his eye or smell it on him, because he tilts his head, baring his neck.

Billy’s immediately there, smearing the slick on his mouth across Steve’s scent glands, breathing in deep and growling in delight.

Honeysuckles and something sharp, citrus. Orange juice.

“Need you,” Billy groans, moving his mouth up to nip at Steve’s jaw, kissing across it and up to his chin, “Been so good, Stevie, hm?”

“Kiss me,” Steve whispers, so desperate for it, ducking his chin and finding Billy’s mouth, licking the slick from his tongue with a trembling whimper.

Steve always gets like this after he’s cum. So clingy. Needs Billy to kiss him or he’ll fucking die.

Which is kinda sweet.

Billy sucks on his omega’s tongue before pulling away, shushing the whined protests he immediately receives as he opens his jeans and pushes them down, grabbing the base of his cock and sliding the tip through the mess of slick and spit at Steve’s hole before finding his lips again.

He pushes his tongue into Steve’s mouth just as he slides home inside of him, groaning at the familiar wet heat of both.

Steve’s stuffing his hands under Billy’s shirt, fingernails digging into skin as his alpha bottoms out, stuffing him full until his knot teases at his rim.

“Want it,” Steve pants into his mouth, his brows furrowed as he begs, “Please.”

“It’s all yours, baby,” Billy groans as he pulls his hips back, his eyes rolling a little at the way Steve’s body clutches at him, doesn’t want him to move, just wants his fat knot and nothing else.

He begins to move again, lets Steve seal their mouths together again as he fucks him, one hand pushing a thigh back while the other steadies himself, feeling the car rock and shake as the music gently plays over the filthy sound of their bodies meeting.

The air is thick and hot and Billy never wants to stop. He wants this forever.

He feels Steve tense under him again, notices how sloppy his kisses become, his nails scratching lines down Billy’s back as his moans get higher.

No fucking way.

“You gonna cum again?” Billy grins, presses his mouth to Steve’s ear again when his boyfriend turns his head, “Feels that good, huh, princess?”

“Shut up,” Steve whines, his voice soft and small and so telling.

“You don’t gotta pretend,” he can’t help it, he loves teasing Steve, “We both know you love it — you’ve cum on my knot enough times to prove it.”

Steve fixes him with the weakest and cutest little glare, but it wavers as Billy ruts his hips deep, presses his knot against Steve’s rim again, like a promise.

“You want it?” Billy growls low, pressing his face against Steve’s neck, licking over his scent again.

“Please,” Steve sobs, so close now, teetering on the edge, “Billy, please.”

He feels his balls draw up at the sobbed little begging and ruts his hips again, pushing his knot inside and locking them into place just as he bites down on Steve’s neck hard.

Steve cums with a cry, spilling between them again as Billy tastes copper. Not a lot, nothing like the first time he’d claimed Steve, but the taste of it woven with the scent of his omega finally soothes that need inside him.

Mine, all mine.

He relaxes with a soft huff, licks over the bite affectionately, nuzzling at it with the tip of his nose as Steve chirps happily.

Lifting his head, Billy spots the happy and soft little smile on Steve’s face, and watches him chirp again, their gazes held.

Billy rumbles, nearly purrs, and Steve’s smile grows.

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy smirks, “So happy on your knot.”

Steve shrugs with a matching little smirk, like the cat who got the cream, and Billy loves him.

[shieldofiron]

Harringrove x My New Favorite Phrase

[harringroveera]

Protective boyfriend Billy x pretty boyfriend Steve

[toobusybeingdelulu]

Oh god I just saw a tweet that said that probably the reason Steve told Dustin and Eddie to “not try to be cute, be a hero or something if anything goes south” is because BILLY DID EXACTLY THAT last season, he went and played hero and then died and STEVE WAS THERE!! HE SAW HIS SACRIFICE WITH HIS OWN EYES!! and he did not want that to happen to anyone else oh I’m unwell

[hellfirecvnt]

It's Personal

Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

TW: Violence against Y/N (not via Billy), farfetched for the plot, Billy is mean, angst, possible cringe idk. We're all friends here. THE VIOLENCE IS DESCRIBED IN DETAIL FOR THE MOST PART. A little bit non-canon Billy, but if you're reading his dialogue as sassily and as dry as I'm writing it, it's not quite as jarring to his personality.

Notes: I literally just learned about the "Who did this to you?" Trope and now I'm giving it an angsty go. This is not smut, womp, womp. Also, I did the gifs like a picture book so you can kinda see the expression or energy I was going for. Summary: Billy's been an ongoing bully/ nuisance in your life since you met. He's acting a little different after finding out you've been hurt.

"Can you try not to take up half the lecture dick-riding the professor?" Billy catches you as you're making your way across campus. He's always been an issue for you, ever since he moved here your junior year in high school. Now you're both freshmen in college. He'd taken a year off to pursue other outlets, but sometimes you're convinced he did it just to be able to torment you in college, seeing as he was always a grade above.

"What are you talking about, Billy?" You ask with an exasperated sigh. Already too exhausted from studying late the night before to deal with his endless harassment.

"I'm saying every time we have this course, you ask a million fucking questions the whole time," his voice is low, but filled with a palpable hate. Why does he dislike you so much? You've never known. You've never asked. "Try to save your desperation for after class, cool? It's hard to watch," He jabs, speed-walking ahead of you.

Most days, you'd say something back. A quip just as hateful, if not worse. You were his rival in every sense of the word. The two of you even shared the same genre of fashion sense. You stole his spotlight, and he doesn't like it, so he notices when your venom is running low. You're silent the entire lecture, not because of what Billy said to you, but because you're tired.

Your study session only ran so late because you and your boyfriend spent most of the day arguing. The gaslighting is constant, and his moods have become more and more unstable and harder to navigate. You tell yourself over and over that you love him. You've loved him since you were young. He's your high school sweetheart. Andy was on the basketball team in high school and while that type usually didn't take to a hair-metal gal like you, he seemed so smitten when you met.

The room is dismissed and you try to file out long before Billy can make it to the door. He laughs at your desperate attempt to get away. Like a cockroach scurrying away from a suddenly illuminated bulb. You're not fast enough and as he passes you before you reach the exit to the building, he leans over and taunts you in your ear.

"It's about time you listened," he hisses and walks away laughing. You're indifferent. Nothing he says could hurt the way Andy's words do. You tune everything out to make room for your insecure thoughts to take over. You blame yourself for Andy's rapid change in personality. What could you have done to make him feel like this toward you? Your mind is far too occupied by these untrue concerns, that you barely feel the anxiety settle in until you get back to your dorm. It was a bit more pricey on your tuition, but your scholarship allowed you to have a dorm room for yourself. Instead of another bed, it has a small "living room" area.

With a deep, grounding sigh, you reach for the door handle and step inside. Things are fine. Andy greets you with a smile and kisses you sweetly as you set your things down by the door. You're pleasantly surprised, allowing all the toxic thoughts circling your mind to melt away under his gentle touch.

"How was class?" He asks.

"It was fine. Nothing spectacular," you giggle, smiling warmly, overtly relieved that he's not still upset with you. You can barely recall what he was angry about, to begin with. You snuggle into him as you both relax on the couch. He stares straight ahead as he opens his mouth to speak.

"One of my buddies said he saw you talking to that Steve guy," Andy's voice becomes colder, and you realize it was all a trap. You're wrapped in his arms, feeling his body go rigid as you hesitate to answer. "Y/N." He finally looks down at you, meeting your anxious gaze.

"Oh, uh," your throat goes dry. "I did talk to him. He was a little late and just needed the notes from the first section. I charged him five bucks." You begin to ramble, hoping to defuse the situation before he explodes. "He's still going steady with that Debra girl, too. She's in my journalism class. I bet those cookie-cutter losers end up married, honestly."

"You know I don't like you talking to other guys without me." Andy clenches his jaw.

"I know! I completely understand, too. You know I love how possessive you are, babe. It's hot," you're desperate and hopeful that stroking his ego will put this anger to bed. "There were so many people around, so I was thinking nothing could happen." You furrow your brow at your own words. "Your friend was even there to make sure!"

Andy's grip around you tightens, nearly cutting off your ability to fill your lungs just using one arm.

"I don't ask you for a lot, Y/N." His free hand reaches up to your face, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look into his eyes, though you weren't looking away to begin with. "Don't make me look like a fool." When he loosens his grip, your lungs inflate with a loud gasp and his shift in position slides you off the couch, into the floor with a small thud. Now you're angry. The two of you have screamed at each other plenty of times, but how dare he act so bold?

"Andy," you stand, hovering over him where he remains on the couch. His arched brows frame his bright eyes with anger. "Get out." He smirks, and it fills you with unease. Standing from the couch, he takes one step forward, nearly chest to chest with you, if it weren't for the dramatic height difference. He towers over you, stealing the feeling of power you thought you were cultivating.

"What'd you just say to me?" He asks with a sociopathic smile.

"I said," You swallow hard. "Get. The fuck. Out." You barely get a chance to speak the last word of your sentence before a fast, hard open hand meets your cheek, knocking you to the ground, and almost sending you across the room, it felt like.

"Do not ever talk to me like that just because you got caught," Andy's words are full of anger. You stare at him with wide eyes, arching your brow in an expression that asks him who the fuck he thinks he is. He storms out of the dorm, but you know he'll be back. And after these events, you're scared to try and stop him. His college teammates are at every corner, it seems. It's as if ever since Jason went out of state for college, they all bend to Andy's will. Losers. Andy doesn't come home until after you've fallen asleep. You stayed up as late as your body could take, but he wasn't back in bed until 5 AM. You have no idea where he's been.

The next day, it's your misfortune that you and Billy share yet another class. This one was early in the morning rather than yesterday's afternoon lecture. You're running on very little sleep, and the trauma of Andy snapping and putting his hands on you. It's just something you could never even fathom. The way he would kiss the ground you walked on when you first met, how could he? You're more than distracted, staring directly at the floor as you walk until you run flat into someone else in the hall.

"I stood here, completely still, to see if you'd notice. I guess other people don't exist to you, huh, princess?" He mocks you. It's not long before he notices the dark bags under your lifeless eyes and the speckles of red that have risen in the hazy shape on the side of your face. Assuming it's an allergic reaction like you had back in high school, he didn't hold back. "Jesus Christ, Y/N. You look like shit."

"Still look better than you could pull, pussy," you sneer, shoving past him. "Don't fucking make me late." He steps in front of you again, knowing neither of you is late because he's on the same schedule.

"What happened to your face? It looks like your boyfriend had to tell you twice," he bursts out laughing at his distasteful joke. You can feel your blood begin to boil. You no longer wish to exchange hateful comments. Now you want to hurt him. You want to hurt Billy the way Andy hurts you. You can't swing on him, so you take your next best shot.

"Yeah? How many times did your mom have to tell you before she just gave up and left?" You boldly stare Billy in the eyes, hoping so badly that none of Andy's henchmen see the two of you going at it. Billy's jaw is rigid, and you can see it tighten as he grinds his teeth, subduing his emotions. You've never come at him like that, it wasn't expected. His taunting smirk is long gone.

"Are you trying to get your fucking ass kicked, Y/L/N?" Billy's disgusted with himself the minute he says it. Of course, he doesn't mean that. He'll drive you into an early grave, but it's never been in his moral compass to hurt a woman the way his father hurt his mom. He wants to rescind the rhetorical threat, but his ego just clamps his lips shut. Your eye twitches as you wonder what else you've got to lose. Or would Andy hit you again for letting another man kick your ass? Your thoughts are exaggerated and full to the brim with frustration. You finally explode.

"Fucking do it then, Billy! Swing! Hit me, motherfucker!" You drop your belongings and stomp toward him and he's unsure how to react now that you've called him on his bluff/ intrusive thought.

"Calm the fuck down. You look ridiculous," Billy takes a cautious step back.

"No, let's go outside. Let's see how hard you can hit someone half your fucking height, pussy!" You're nearly causing a scene, but the building is empty for the hour. Tears well in your eyes and you refuse to let up, demanding he act on his "big, scary" threat. He won't. He stares at your watery, red eyes. Your face is flushed and only your cheeks, nose, and around your eyes hold any pigment. He essentially waits until you tire yourself out.

"You've gotta do something about that shit, Y/N. You're fucking losing it," he shakes his head.

"I'm not losing any-fucking-thing, Hargrove. Don't ever mistake me for a bitch you can scare off with an empty fucking threat," you spit, grabbing your things and taking off, leaving Billy standing confused in the empty hallway.

"What the fuck was that?" He questions aloud. He has no idea you've been drained with no way to recharge. You've been hurt with no way to heal. To him, you're losing your goddamn mind. After that, he's not even angry at your comment anymore. He's just, concerned? Maybe just curious, really. After all, he's supposed to be your burden. Anything else takes the attention off of him.

The class is long and just like yesterday, you're quiet when you usually never stop engaging. Even the professor notices, and she asks you to linger behind after the lecture is over.

"Hey, Y/N. What's up? You were so quiet today," the professor's soft voice is sweet to your ears.

"I've just been, um, tired." You shake your head, barely convincing yourself.

"Is that a bruise on your cheek, honey?" The kind, older woman asks with two hands resting on her coffee mug. Just outside the open door, Billy waits for you to pass by before he realizes you're staying behind. He scoots as close to the door as he can, flat along the wall, listening.

"A bruise," he whispers to himself, recalling what he thought was a rash. His stomach almost attempts to simulate the feeling of guilt as he remembers the joke he made at you. The one that set you off.

"Oh, no. It's a reaction. New laundry detergent fucked me up," you stop yourself. "Messed me up, sorry."

"Y/N, you're an adult. I can't make you do anything you don't want to do, but it's very clearly not hives," the professor sighs, her eyes full of concern as she stares at the ever-developing bruise as it slowly takes the shape of a hand. "Is it another student at the University?"

"Ma'am, with all due respect, I'm dealing with a lot right now. I will see you on Wednesday. Goodbye." You snatch your things up and zip toward the door, holding your breath. The wind from your speed walking blows your hair back, giving Billy a perfect view of the hand-shaped bruise yellowing on the side of your face. You're too determined to get out of there to react to his eavesdropping, so the two of you just share a look, and you keep going.

Billy furrows his brow. He's unsure you even have a boyfriend, so who exactly is leaving bruises like that right, front and center on your face? After his last course of the day, Billy congregates with his friends at a nearby frat house belonging to a different college.

"Hey, Tommy," Billy calls his friend's attention. Tommy pulls himself away from the group of guys he was laughing with and sits across from Billy. "You know that Y/N girl? Lots of denim, nice ass?" It's not until the last two descriptors that Tommy recalls who you are. Figures.

"Yeah, what about her?"

"What's her deal? She dating anybody?" Billy asks, innocently enough.

"I don't know, man. Why do you always ask me about shit like that?" Tommy laughs.

"Because you gossip like a woman," Billy smirks, standing from his slouched position on the couch and grabbing a beer from the large, ice-filled cooler in the kitchen. "She's some annoying broad in a couple of classes with me. I thought I'd ask around and see if there's a reason she never shuts her goddamn mouth." Both of them laugh at his hateful remark, but it's true to him. You get on his nerves, but it's less what you say, and more so the fact that you do "him" better than him. The men drink irresponsibly and cause a ruckus until late, late at night where they then wander back to their campus/ dorms on foot.

You wake up in the morning finally feeling well-rested for the first time in a while, despite the sudden changes in your relationship. You look over to see Andy's side of the bed is empty. You assume he slept over at the frat house after getting too fucked up. You know he likes to party.

Sitting comfortably on your couch, watching an episode of your favorite show, though it's a rerun, you involuntarily flinch when you hear the door open. Andy slightly stumbles through, laughing with messy hair. His clothes seem disheveled, but you chalk it up to drunken hijinks.

"Hey, babe! Did you have fun?" You ask, smiling, beaming, really. Hoping the sound of his laughter is a sign he's in a good mood this morning.

"Huh?" He looks over at you as if he didn't notice your existence until you spoke.

"I was just asking if you had a good time. Sorry I couldn't go with you, I was just too tired," you laugh.

"Oh, no. It's cool. I like it when it's just me and the guys, actually." His confession makes you a little sad, but you try to understand.

"Got any plans for today?" You grin, letting your guard down.

"For the love of God, dude. Can I get in the door first?" He snaps.

"Okay... Sorry," you quieted yourself down at first, but then quickly realized that's not who your daddy raised. You're getting ready to confront him again despite the smack until you notice something that makes your stomach drop, a small trail of three faint hickeys along your long-term boyfriend's neck. "Babe. Where did those come from?"

"What are you talking about?" He groans, throwing himself on the couch next to you, gripping your thigh possessively.

"I'm talking about the hickeys on your neck, Andy. Where did they come from?" Your voice is low and shaky. "Just you and the guys, huh?"

"Don't start with this shit again, Y/N. I'm too hungover." He dismisses you entirely, and all the rage you'd been holding back to be the "cool girlfriend" comes pouring out.

"You knocked me to the floor for looking at Steve Harrington! You put your hands on me for some made-up story you formulated in your own head and now you're coming home with hickyes?!" The longer you scold him, the darker his expression becomes.

"I'm giving you one fucking chance to get on your fucking knees right now and apologize," Andy's unsettlingly calm. You're frozen. Too scared to be openly defiant, but too angry to fold at his command. "One... Two..." He stands, softly placing a hand on your cheek and sliding it up into your hair, gracefully scraping the tips of his fingers behind your ear. It's so soft and soothing, that the sensation causes goosebumps to rise on your skin. Your eyes flutter shut and just as they're about to open again, he closes his fist around a large portion of your hair and forces you to the ground.

"Andy!" You scream, both terrified and in pain.

"I'm so sick of this, Y/N. I'm sick of you," he growls through gritted teeth, holding you painfully at his side like a heeling dog.

"God damn it, stop! It's fucking over! Fuck whoever you want!" You cry, shifting your position against him in hopes of loosening the pull against your scalp.

"And let you whore yourself out to every other guy on campus? Fuck off. You're mine." He finally releases your hair, tossing you forward in front of him. He kneels down to get closer to your face, speaking lowly. "I heard Hargrove's been asking about you. Think you're safe with your playboy side-piece?"

"He's not my side-piece! Please, Andy. Why are you being like this?" You hold a hand up to defend yourself.

"You think I don't see you two whispering to each other? You think you're smart enough to hide anything from me?" Andy's voice is slowly rising in volume. You worry the other students will hear the commotion. You don't want to lose your solo dorm rights seeing as men aren't supposed to "live" with women in the dorms.

"He's a dick, dude! I fucking hate the guy, please stop!" Your makeup is trailing down your face as you continue to cry for mercy. He shakes his head at the scene.

"I tried warning you. I tried getting my point across to you, but you won't hear me," he sighs as he snatches your hair back into his fist in one, quick, snake-like action. You wail at the aching tug, squeezing your eyes shut from the pain. Just as you go to open them, you see his hand flying toward you. It starts with open-handed smacks, knocking the wind out of you from how bad they hurt, but he progresses until he's landing blow after blow, all over you. Anywhere he can reach as you try to block him.

Eventually, you're badly roughed up, and Andy stands to look at what he's done. The remaining alcohol seems to clear from his system as the reality of his actions sets in.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck," he mumbles, tearing his shirt off as it's stained with your blood. He shoves it deep into the trashcan and disappears to wash the evidence of the horrors against you off of his hands. He returns to where you lie in the living room. He's wearing a fresh shirt and his breath heaves as he stares at your seemingly unconscious body. You're awake though, barely. Holding your breath as long as possible, only allowing the shallowest of breaths, basking in the stillness after the abhorrent beating.

Andy bolts out the door and after a few moments of silence, loud sobs of relief and pain emit from your sore chest. You roll over into a ball, holding yourself close as you process everything. You mourn who you were before the person you trusted most betrayed you. You mourn your relationship, regardless of the last few days. You mourn your own face as you imagine the recovery process will be long and draining. You lie there for a while until night falls.

Once it's dark out, you sneak to the old gym building to use the showers there, hoping to avoid running into anyone and having to answer any questions about your battered appearance. No one uses the old gym because it's full of spiders and has a terrible draft, but it's still open to the students 24/7. It's your run-of-the-mill college basketball court with a weight room and showers.

You get inside the building and listen to the silence of the empty halls. Peace. You're numb now. You've cried all you can, and the pain has become a dull hum. Now you just want to shower and try to find yourself beneath all the blood. You scale the walls of the dark hallway, searching for a light switch. You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel what you can only imagine is human flesh.

"Oh fuck!" You and the mystery person exclaim in unison, startled by each other's presence. Still on edge, you duck down, covering your face. The light flips on and you recognize the sweaty figure who stands before you. Billy. He comes to this gym for privacy in the weight room and always has. Not as confident as his demeanor would lead you to believe.

"Had to be you, didn't it?" He rolls his eyes. "Did you come here to- Oh fuck, Y/N." His uncreative insult is cut short when you lower your arms, revealing the massacre of swollen features and bloody skin that used to be your face. His mouth hangs open for a moment. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up. Like you fucking care, Hargrove. Get out of my way," you're angry, and it feels like you'll be angry forever.

"Hey," he stops you from walking past him by stepping in your path. "I said what happened?" His voice sounds different. Like you've never heard before. Uncharacteristically concerned, but don't let that fool you. It's still not a lot of concern and it's quite monotoned. His eyes search yours for any kind of answer and it's the least arched his brow has ever been. He's being so... Quiet. You're silent too, stunned by his behavior.

"Thought you were gonna kick my ass too, Billy. You scared now?" Your remark is meant to be a bold taunt, but your voice cracks as you fight for your life to hold back tears.

"Y/N, I'm serious. Who did this to you?" He asks sternly, losing patience by the minute. You still can't seem to trust him enough to open up, so you look down at the ground in silence. "Fuck it. Come on." Billy's long legs float him swiftly down the hall and you hesitate to follow, ultimately deciding all these years arguing with Billy have at least felt better than the last three days with Andy. He leads you to the empty men's locker room where he retrieves an old first-aid kit and a bottle of water from the coach's office, then he makes his way to a locker and retrieves a clean shirt. It's soft and worn in and has the name of your university written across the front.

"Thanks," you mumble, taking the box and other supplies from him. You douse the shirt in water and begin to try to wipe your face clean. There's no mirror, so you can't quite tell what you're doing, causing you to scrape over your open wounds and flinch.

"Just fucking," Billy snatches the damp shirt from you. "Let me do it." He's careful and thorough as he gently works the soft, wet fabric across the new and old blood covering your identity. You can't help but stare at his eyes as they focus so intently on each section of your face that he wipes clean. Just as he's finishing up, his eyes meet yours for a moment. It's a short, little second, but it felt so drawn out. Billy breaks the eye contact when he sets the shirt to the side.

"That should be okay, for now." He reaches for the kit in your hands.

"I can do it, Billy," you remind him, yanking the box away, rejecting any more gentle touch. It doesn't feel like you deserve it right now.

"Let me help," he demands softly, popping the little tin box open and rummaging around for bandaids and antibiotic ointment. He patches you up and while he's working, you're watching his intense face. His brows are arched and his lips every so slightly pursed. You can't clock what emotion he's feeling. Obviously, he's expressing some sort of sympathy, but he hates you. He always has. So maybe he's just having a human moment.

"What's the matter with you, man? Are you fucking with me?" Your guard begins to rise again. You don't trust your own intuition anymore. You tighten your grip around a plastic pair of scissors from the first-aid kit. Billy notices and releases a laughing sigh.

"No, I'm not fucking with you." He places one final bandage. "You're insufferable as fuck, but I don't think you had this coming." He looks you up and down. That's as close as Billy can get to "comforting" anyone. "Don't stab me with those." He points to your hand and you blush, a little embarrassed by your overly-cautious behavior.

"Why do you hate me, Billy?" You ask, point blank as you release the scissors, catching him off guard.

"Because you're the worst. You're loud, you're egotistical, you're an ugly crier," he chuckles, all too quickly, being put on the spot.

"You're just describing yourself," you knit your brows, quickly wiping the tears from your eyes after his ugly cry comment. "I'm serious. You'd think we'd have so much in common. You hated me the second we met. Why?"

"I don't hate you, Y/N. I'm putting bandaids on your split fucking eyebrow. You're just fun to get a rise out of." Billy closes the kit and tosses it aside with the bloody shirt. It's not news to him that he torments you because of a mix of annoyance and attraction, but you have no idea. What started as his catty attempts to pick you up turned into an all-out rivalry when you were the first girl to tell him to shut the fuck up instead of batting your eyelashes at him. To you, he's just a mean dude. But right now, it's like he's someone else entirely. When he's acting like this, you're finally able to see what makes him so irresistible to every girl on campus. Your rivalry kept you blind to it, but now, you can see his brilliant teeth in his wide, warm smile. You can see his sunflower eyes, framed by long, thick, dark lashes. His jawline, his shoulders, everything about him seems so beautiful to you now.

"Thank you, Billy," you smile weakly. He scans your swollen features and something in him awakens. A possessiveness. Rage ensues. Every opinion of you he's ever had melts away except for his attraction to you. Your voice, your mannerisms, everything he's ever absolutely torn you to shreds for, suddenly he admits to himself that it never bothered him. In his eyes, you're his, even if you're just a target for his teasing, a bit of banter around the school, you're still his.

"You never said who did it," Billy chews his inner lip, trying to keep calm until he gets the information he needs from you.

"It doesn't matter-"

"It matters. Who was it?" His voice is stern and sharp. He's still knelt close to you even though he's done tending to your wounds.

"It just... Happened so fast..." You flinch as you recall opening your eyes to his incoming hand.

"Start from the beginning," the sternness in his voice softens. You give him the full run down. Billy's face remains stone, motionless, but his eyes twitch and flutter with each gruesome new detail dragging him further down to the point of no return.

"We've been together so long. I never thought..." You hold your hands up in confusion, dropping them hopelessly in your lap.

"A name. Now." Billy stares deep into your eyes as he makes his demands. You can almost feel a heat coming off his gaze as it bores into you. It's clear he will not relent until he gets the answer he's asking for.

"His name is Andy." That's all Billy needs before he's standing up and exiting the locker room without another word. "Billy?" You call after him, still sitting on the bench. You finally stand to follow when you don't hear a response from him. "Why do you care?" This stops him in his tracks. He turns around for a second as if he's going to explain, but he never does. He tilts his head with a small shrug and disappears. "Wait!" You call, but the exit door is already closing behind him and he stalks off into the dimly lit campus. He sparks up a cigarette on the way, exhaling a large cloud behind him. Andy better have life insurance.

Billy ponders your question as he makes his way across the courtyard. Regardless of any flirtatious feelings he has for you, this comes down to wishing he could've defended his mother in this same way. He was too small then, he's not now, and Andy's about to face the full extent of that rage extending all the way back to his childhood. For now, it's personal.

You take the time alone to have a quick shower to wash away the blood in your hair and hopefully make yourself feel a little better. You're careful not to get your face wet and ruin Billy's careful doctoring. Once your shower is finished, you grab your bag and head back to your dorm. It's still dark, so you keep close to the dim, yellow street lamps that lead to the student housing. There's a dull hum that vibrates from each light post, it's all you can hear, all you can focus on to make yourself stop thinking about Billy.

Back at your place, you lock the door as many times as possible before shakily taking a seat on the small couch. You flip the TV on, just to have something to fill the silence. Every time someone passes by your door, your heart rate leaps and you lose control of your breathing. After the third or fourth time it happens, you seem to desensitize. Billy's new demeanor he has toward you is all you can think about. The softness of his words, his touch. You didn't think he was capable of it. You curl up, pulling your legs to your chest as you snuggle into the plush cushions, nearly dozing off, trying to remember the way his shirt smelled when he was using it to clean you up.

Billy's hell-bent on getting his hands on Andy, tonight. Crossing the lot, he reaches his car and slides inside. His face is blank as he stares ahead, with only one objective in mind. He follows the sound of blaring house music to a nearby frat house and angrily tears the door open. Wasting no time, he walks right up to the first person he sees.

"Where's Andy?" He asks, yelling over the music. The first few people have no idea who he's looking for until he comes to Tommy. "Where's Andy?"

"Andy from Econ? He's upstairs. Dude's super stressed about something and took a bottle up there. Finals, man." Tommy laughs, but Billy's already walking away before he's even finished his sentence. The entire party becomes muffled beats in his ears as he climbs the stairs in pursuit of the man who made you look like a bad Halloween decoration.

First door, nothing. Second door, nothing. Third door, Billy slings it open and a stressed out, curly-haired brunette man jumps out of his skin.

"Fuck, dude! You fucking scared me!" He exclaims.

"You Andy?" Billy asks, already breathless with anticipation.

"I- yeah? Why?" Billy answers his question by crossing the room in the blink of an eye and scooping him up by his shirt. He slams Andy against the wall, eyes wide with unbound rage. "What the fuck are you doing, man?!" The commotion can't be heard over the party below. It's just the two of them.

"You know how much of a pussy you gotta be to beat up on someone half your height?" Billy strains through gritted teeth. This is a thin reference to what you said to him when he let his emotions cloud his judgment and threatened to kick your ass.

"Wait... Y/N? She's alive? Jesus Christ..." Andy's eyes nearly roll back with relief and Billy looks at him disgusted.

"What? You thought you beat her to death? Then, you just left her there and went to a party?" Billy raises his eyebrows, almost seeming to smile. "That's fucked up, man." He slams Andy against the wall again, harder, to accentuate his point.

"Come on, dude. Whatever she told you-"

"I'm not here to talk about her." Billy silences your cruel, long-time partner. "Right now, we're not gonna talk at all."

"Dude-" Billy tosses the guy to the floor, cutting off his futile begs.

"I think right now, I'm gonna beat the living shit out of you," Billy kneels at Andy's side. "And then I'm gonna go fuck your girlfriend."

Billy lands punch after punch, unintentionally mirroring the way Andy laid into you. The only difference is that Billy's got a lot more size, muscle, and strength training than Andy. He lays into him, pummeling in any way he can figure out to mimic all the bruises and blood he could see on you. Billy grips Andy's shirt by the shoulders and forcefully pulls him to his feet just to uppercut him in the stomach, over and over. Blood and saliva fly from Andy's mouth as Billy hooks his fist up against his stomach.

When he's finally done, Andy's no more than a gargling mess on the floor. Properly bloodied just like he left you. Once again, Billy kneels down to Andy, establishing dominance and reminding him who he's fucking with now.

"If you come near her again," Billy inhales and exhales a shuddering breath as adrenaline continues to surge through him. "I will hurt you. I will hurt your family. There is no hiding, I will fucking kill you." His threat is no more than a low whisper before he stands and leaves Andy to wallow in his filth.

Billy's drive back is short and sweet, but he doesn't trust Andy or his entourage of prissy jock boys, so he rolls his eyes and pulls into the lot in front of the women's dorms, and makes his way to yours. He's always known which one you stay in, though finding out was an accident while he was being snuck in by one of his one-night-stands. It was common practice, hence why Andy pretty much lived with you since he had a shared dorm on the men's side.

He raises his hand to bang on the door, but hesitates, knocking softly and even calling your name through the door so you'd know it was him.

"Y/N, it's Billy." You smile with relief, still steadying your anxiety from his initial knock.

"Billy? How did you know which dorm was mine?" You question as you pull the door open.

"I knocked on every single one. And asked for you by name. At 11 PM." He looks at you, straight-faced, annoyed that you think so little of him.

"Are you fucking serious? They'll crucify me," you sigh, unsure if you can even feel any more stress at this point.

"I'm fucking with you. I know where your dorm is because I pay attention."

"And here I thought I was so annoying," you chuckle. There's a short silence between you, something unheard of for you two. "Do you, um, wanna come in?" You step to the side, inviting him in. Nervous, but not sure why. He's never had that effect on you before.

"No, you're coming with me."

"I am?" You raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah. I just stirred up a lot of shit, probably. I don't like the idea of you sleeping here alone." His words are compassionate, but the delivery is so blank, that you'd think he didn't actually care at all.

"Oh, alright. Let me grab some stuff." You gather your things and follow Billy to his light blue Camaro. He opens the door for you, but even he's wearing an expression that says this is a foreign act of kindness for him. He closes the door and takes his spot in the driver's seat. Billy glances over at you, but you're peering out the car window, searching the shadows for movement. The copper-colored light shining from the street lamp illuminates the high points of your face, exposing your expression as he watches the anxiety dissolve into comfort. Something about being the cause of it strokes his already inflated ego.

"You know what?" You break the silence, turning to meet Billy's gaze.

"What?"

"Contrary to the way my face and body look right now, he really can't hit that hard." You raise your eyebrows and nod, reassuring him that you mean that with your whole chest.

"I wouldn't know. I didn't give him a chance to swing." His grip around the steering wheel tightens, but he grins proudly.

"Don't worry, I took enough for the both of us," you joke, earning a shocked laugh from the curly-haired man you positively loathed just a day or so ago.

"I dunno. I think you could've taken him if the circumstances were different," he smirks at you, chin up.

"Oh, absolutely. If the emotional ties weren't there, we'd at least have gone a round or two," you mimic boxing the dashboard. It's obvious to both of you that this is not the case, but making a joke of a bad situation is a lot easier than crying. Billy's relieved, as he would have zero idea how to even approach you if you were crying. He's the "tell you you're not a pretty crier and then wonder why you cry harder" type of guy.

"Matter of fact, put me back in coach," you chuckle, accidentally reopening the split on your lip. "Oh, fuck," you mumble, pressing a finger to the wound, worsening the mess.

"Shit," Billy grabs a napkin from his glove box. "Don't touch it," he snaps. You quickly pull your hand away from your face and for just a moment, your breath hitches in your chest. You don't mean to react this way, you're not scared of him, you hope he knows that. He gives a small smile and a nod, almost like a silent apology for scaring you. He holds the napkin to your lip for you as he pulls into the Men's dorm parking lot. His family, much like yours, paid the extra fees to have a large dorm room all to himself. It was sort of a necessity for Billy considering his short temper and inability to compromise.

"How's your lip?" He asks as you set your overnight bag on his small futon in the tiny living area the solo dorms come with.

"It's fine. I think the bleeding stopped and everything," you smile, keeping it small so as not to pop open another split.

"You can take my bed. I got the futon," once again, his words are so kind and generous, but his tone is flat and bare.

"Don't be stupid. I'm your guest. You've..." You sneer at yourself in disgust as you prepare your next sentence. "You've done a lot for me already."

"God," he stares at you with wide eyes.

"What?"

"It looked like you were gonna be sick from saying that out loud."

"Came pretty close, bud." You squint your eyes. It's clear to both of you that this is weird. It's awkward and even a little uncomfortable. He's done so much for you, yes, and you do feel it outweighs all the innocent hell you gave each other, but where do you go from here?

"So, now what? I sleep here. We go to tomorrow's lectures. Then, I just go back to normal?" You don't want to insinuate that you expect him to play bodyguard forever, but it would be kind of nice. You lie the futon into its flat, bed position as you ask.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there. 'Night." Billy climbs into his bed.

"Goodnight, Billy," you say, lowering the tough-gal front you attempt to keep up, usually when you aren't dealing with shit like this. Your voice sounds different when you let your walls down. It's sweeter. And the sound of it makes Billy's chest light.

In the safety of Billy's dorm, sleep finds you swiftly. You're out like a light, but Billy can't say the same. He lies with his eyes plastered to the ceiling. His mind is incoherent, bouncing all over from the possibility of the entire college sports program jumping him to the thought of you and him going back to "normal." It all started when he saw you, thought you were hot, but learned pretty quickly how self-assured you are. You would never be the easy catch he was used to and it pissed him off, igniting a multi-year feud between you. What if that feud were to end?

Billy lies on his back, his two muscular arms propped beneath the back of his head. He glances diagonally in the direction where you sleep. You're peacefully out, features slowly healing from the damage. He could stare at you all night, and that pisses him off too. He rolls his eyes and expels an exasperated sigh before rolling over, hoping that keeping his back faced in your direction will help shield him from the ambiguous thoughts invading his mind.

The next day, you're awake long before him, and to avoid overstepping, you rush through your morning hygiene routine and begin to reset the futon. You're as quiet as possible, but the second your fingertips graze the doorknob, Billy stirs.

"No," he says, wiping a hand over his face to rub the sleep away. "Just give me a minute. We'll go together." He sounds annoyed. You shake your head, dropping yourself down onto the futon while you wait for him to wake up.

"It's really no rush. I gotta get back across campus to get ready anyways." You call to him as he brushes his teeth in the small bathroom.

"I know you do. I'll drive you, just give me a minute," he waves away your excuses to leave without him, his voice becoming a little harsh as he repeats his request for more time. You know walking across campus isn't a treacherous walk. It's long, sure, but not unmanageable. What's really at stake is you running into anyone from the basketball team. And while that's your main concern, Billy has his own selfish reasons for wanting to keep you around. She's nice to look at, he tells himself, but it's more than that.

He walks from one end of the dorm to the other, wearing nothing but a dark grey pair of boxers. He's so lean and huge with well-toned muscles. He must spend a lot of time in the old weight room. You begin to wonder if Andy's in the hospital or not. Your eyes travel from his broad shoulders down to the V shape at his waist. You're unsure if it's your newfound ability to see him as a person, or maybe a trauma bond, but this man has you feeling out of character.

"Alright, car." He points out the door, using his primitive two-word command to instruct you to get into his car. He's still waking up.

"Billy, you know I could've just come back by myself, right? You didn't have to get up so early." You're the first to break the sleepy morning silence in the car. He looks at you like you've suggested possibly the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard.

"I know that. That's stupid. You're too trusting." Billy stares straight ahead through his black sunglasses.

"I guess," you shrug, not taking anything he says too seriously. How could you after all these years? He pulls into the Women's dorm lot and the two of you approach your personally decorated dorm room door. To your horror, the doorknob opens with ease. You forgot to lock it. A wary breath falls down your chest as you squeeze your eyes shut, grounding yourself before opening the door. Billy's confused until he finally sees inside. It's just as you suspected. The entire room, top to bottom, is trashed- thoroughly.

"What the fuck?" Billy inserts himself in front of you, taking a few steps inside to further assess the damage. His eyes narrow in anger as he catalogs every broken picture frame and demolished knick-knack. You seemed to have had a lot of curiosities and oddities, all of which were destroyed on your equally ruined floor.

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, I'm gonna lose it," you whisper, exasperated. You place your fingers on your temples and apply gentle pressure in hopes that it'll do any fucking thing for the way you're about to break the fuck down right now. "They want me to fuckin' lose it." Your voice is nearly inaudible.

"Hey, okay. Don't... Lose it. Let's go find 'em and beat the fuck out of 'em." Billy grins, still bloodthirsty. It's as if defending you almost feels like having you.

"I'm gonna get dressed. I'm gonna fix my fucking hair and makeup. And we're gonna go to our goddamn morning classes. This afternoon, we will figure out which one of them is getting their mom's severed middle finger in the mail."

"Sure thing, Killer Klown. That's not at all an overreaction." Billy shakes his head, laughing at your misfortune, though he does feel for you. You disappear into your restroom. It's miraculously, for the most part, untouched. You do a quick version of your usual big, glamour hair and slap on your makeup. It feels good to look like you again, even with the scabs and colorful bruises threatening to peek through the foundation. When you return to the common area, looking and feeling more like yourself, you radiate a type of glow. Billy catches himself in the very initial stage of staring but quickly nips that in the bud. You hardly notice.

"I guess I'm ready. You walking me to class, big guy?" You ask, teasingly.

"I am."

"Listen, I really appreciate everything you've done for me, but this isn't nes-"

"Y/N, have you looked at your dorm? Do you see how every single thing you own is destroyed? Stop being an idiot." His harsh words carry an air of motivation with them as he scolds you.

"Fine. But you're gonna have to pick up the pace or something," you snap your fingers repeatedly, in a circle to show him it's time to leave, now. He sighs, standing and leading the way out the door.

He walks you to your first lecture and waits outside for the entire hour. You don't know, but he actually doesn't have any classes today. He just knew you'd make a big deal out of it if you knew he was going any more out of his way than he already is. All 60 minutes drag by painfully slow, but all the while, Billy notices a few familiar faces casting passing glances into the building, only to suddenly change direction when their eyes meet his. He huffs out a satisfied sigh.

"Don't even think about it," he whispers, staring out the small door window. He glances at the clock, and just a moment before the lecture hall dismisses, he steps outside and waits for the crowd. After a handful of peers pass by, he then walks inside, keeping up his ruse.

"Oh, just in time, I guess," you say, meeting him in the middle of the breezeway as if he'd come from the other end of the college.

"As always," Billy sighs, unbothered, indifferent. You don't mind. It's a peaceful shift from his usual behavior before everything went down. The two of you step out the door and immediately, your eyes meet Andy's. He is standing around his car with his goons. They're all staring, not at Billy, at you. An intimidation tactic that might've worked before, had you not been walking next to a brick wall of a man. As the two of you strut past the bitter sportsmen, you hear Andy decide to pipe up.

"Told you she was a slut. It's already happening," he laughs and his teammates join in. You are unfazed by this sort of insult. Before the trauma at the hands of Andy that you'll now have to work through, you've always been a confident, self-assured person. At least that's all you'd allow anyone to believe. You shake your head at the insult, but when you look beside you, Billy's nowhere to be seen.

"That's pretty bold Andy. How're you healing? Doctor already tell you it's safe to get your shit rocked again?" Billy smiles sadistically as he stalks up to Andy. His crew of bench warmers seems to tighten up, taking a few steps closer, surrounding Andy. Billy can't hold back his laughter.

"Are you guys gonna jump me?" He asks, taunting, grinning as he does. "You think it's gonna be easy because there are so many of you?" Billy's only getting closer by the second, and the confidence of most of the players begins to waver. "Do you think I'll stop if I get my hands on you a second time?" Billy's icy blue eyes are dark with rage, almost black in the right lighting. They bore into Andy's and the two men fall silent.

Eventually, Andy's the one to back down. As expected, of course. And from the look on his face, you'd think he'd just been mugged and told his mom died. Billy smiles, tongue between his teeth as he watches the team climb into their cars. They have a visitors game, so you won't have to deal with them for the next 48 hours at least. As Billy returns to where you wait for him on the sidewalk, he wraps a protective arm around your shoulder. You're visibly jarred by this action, but Billy just stares straight ahead, leading you back to your dorm. He's wearing a self-satisfied grin as each and every busybody on campus whispers when they see the two of you.

Billy's a known bachelor and you're a known bitch. Even his more reoccurring hookups never got the public treatment. And you, fuck you're mean sometimes. Andy liked that about you. You'd be mean to anyone but him, but you guess it just stopped being enough. Even you and Andy weren't exactly "public" with your opposing schedules. You'd only ever been seen together at parties.

You finally reach your room and Billy leans against your counter, silently smiling at you as if he expects you to say something.

"What?" You ask, already starting the clean-up process.

"Just thought a 'thank you' would be in order." He shrugs.

"Thank you, Billy. Please hand me the broom," you groan, pointing to the tiny closet in the kitchen area. He rolls his eyes and carries the broom over to you. You're picking up the larger pieces of shattered glass and placing them into a small trashcan, hoping to make sweeping easier.

"Careful," Billy says as he notices a crack in the shard you're holding. His warning didn't reach you in time though, and the piece snapped, catching the upper part of your palm, slicing it open. "Jesus fucking-" Billy drops the broom and you follow him to the counter where he tears a wad of paper towels off the roll and shoves them into your hand. He stares at you with a straight face, almost like a disappointed parent. You stare back, blinking.

"What?" You ask, daring him to give you a hard time or risk being kicked out of your domicile.

"Nothing. Just getting tired of having to play doctor for you all the time." You release a huff and he smiles, a little sweeter than before.

(Do we want a part 2? Do we still read angst or are we all into smut rn? Maybe sex next chapter. idk.)

[runraerun]