#billy hargrove trauma

[lithium80writer]

The Fence (Billy Hargrove Short Story)

Chapter one found here

Chapter two: The Basement

⚠️ This is a darker story. ⚠️ Billy Hargrove short story. This story will focus a lot on Billy's abuse from his father and Josephine's mental and sexual abuse from her stepfather. Can these two lost souls find sanctuary in each other? Trigger warnings ⚠️: Descriptions of sexual assault in first person and domestic abuse. Language. Thoughts of self harm and suicide. Disturbing topics. Smut. ⚠️ This story is not for everyone but more an emotional release for me. Thank you for reading. 🖤 Upside down doesn't exist. Max is not Billy's sister. It's just him and Neil.

*******

Josephine's POV

I stare up at my ceiling tiles thinking about him. It had been one day since I heard Billy's voice for the first time. Since I rubbed my thumb across his bloodied lip. One day since I saw those pretty blue eyes.

I was terrified when I came back inside yesterday. I had scrubbed my hands until they were raw, trying to erase any signs that I had been outside. Scrub, rinse, repeat. A vicious cycle.

Luckily the monster was more drunk than usual when he returned. He had made his way into his favorite shit brown chair, passing out quickly. I hated that chair. It always smelled of him. Beer and sweat.

The smell alone made me nauseous. He made me nauseous. The amount of times I have emptied my stomach because of him has to be unhealthy. And part of the reason I was so malnourished.

But as much as I hated the smell of beer, I welcomed the times it made him black out. A night to myself. A night of freedom. A night without his disgusting touch.

Those were the kind of nights I prayed for. Though no one was ever listening. I spent many nights crying and pleading to a god who didn't hear me. And if he did, he didn't care enough to answer.

**** It started young. My innocence was stolen from me before I could even understand it. My mom married him when I was five. And she left me when I was seven. A freak accident at her work. She didn't even make it to the hospital before she flatlined.

I still remember that day vividly. It was pouring rain and I fell in a puddle on my way off of the bus. I started crying because my favorite stuffed animal ended up covered in mud. Little did I know that was the least of my worries.

After that day nothing was the same. My bright and colorful world slowly faded to different shades of gray. My movie turned into an old black and white film. The kind with the static noises and the blotches on the screen.

My trips to school ended soon after and I started homeschooling. Any friends I had were erased from my life. My life as his prisoner began. ****

I count the squares on my ceiling from one end to the other. I think of my name rolling off of Billy's tongue. It was a beautiful sound. His voice was deep with a little gravel to it. I've been replaying yesterday in my head again and again, like a movie.

But this was a new movie. A better one. A happier one, the girl in this one was smiling. She was free. I wanted to hear him again. I wanted to see him again. But I knew I couldn't. It was too dangerous. Too risky. It wasn't safe. I know better.

Billy's POV

"Knocking me out, with those american thighs." I sing along to the AC/DC record, blasting in my room. I hear my dad in the kitchen, dishes being slammed around. I turn up my music and do my best to ignore him.

I take a look in my mirror. My lip had a small scab starting to form and every time I spoke it ripped off and a little bit of blood would drip down my chin. I quickly smear it away with the back of my hand and look back in the mirror. Still hot.

I like to think I get my looks from my mom. We're not gonna talk about her though. My dad wasn't only a piece of shit to me. But she left me. To deal with it on my own. I wonder if she ever thinks about me. Fuck, Billy. Not today.

Today I'm going to see her. Jo. I haven't stopped thinking about her since our weird little meeting over the fence. Her eyes, her quiet demeanor. The way she looked at me with more care than anyone has since.. well.. like I said, we're not gonna talk about her. She left you, Billy. Left you with him.

Jo doesn't even know me. Why did she look at me like that? Like she was sad that someone had hurt me. No one cares that he hurts me. Everyone knows. And yeah maybe I'm a prick sometimes. Most of the time. Can you blame me?

I wasn't always like this. I used to be happy. I can barely remember that feeling. Genuine joy. I have a beautiful car, my girl. I can get any chick I want at any time. But none of it matters. None of it feels good in the long run. It's all temporary. A temporary high that eventually fades into a hatred of myself.

But Jo, that look. It has to be because she knows the feeling. Can she relate? I was obsessing over this girl and it was pissing me off. Billy Hargrove doesn't obsess over anyone. But it wasn't even her body I wanted.

Not that she wasn't beautiful, but I was craving that look again. The look that said she cares. Fuck, I sound like a little bitch. A chick gives me one fucking look and I can't get her out of my head. This is insane.

I light a cigarette and inhale deeply, letting the smoke fill my lungs. Fuck, I love that feeling. I turn towards my bedroom door as I hear his footsteps coming down the hall. Just let me be. For fucking once, just let me be.

BANG BANG BANG

"William!" I cringe at the sound of my full name. That's never a good sign. "Open this door now!" The doorknob shakes violently as he tries to open it. Then comes his shoulders slamming into the door. I don't want to do this anymore.

I make my way to the window and push it open as quietly as I can. He'll get the door open eventually and I'll come back to one pissed off man, but I can't do it. Not right now. Sometimes I just don't have the energy.

Sometimes it feels like that will be the day. The day he takes it too far. Or the day I do. I need to get away for a bit. I creep around the side of the house and slowly make my way around the bushes and to her door.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Josephine's POV

I hear a knock at the front door and slowly creep down the hall. I've mastered the art of stepping lightly. Never wanting to wake him. Never wanting to draw his attention to me.

I hear the monster groan as he pushes himself up from his spot in the recliner. His heavy footsteps make their way across the hardwood floor. He can walk how he pleases. He doesn't need to tiptoe. He isn't scared.

He cracks the door and I hear a voice. His voice. "Hey, um.. is Jo here?" Billy asks politely. Oh no. No, no, no. I take a step back, then another. Quietly retreating back to my room. I hear their muffled voices and then the door closes.

I can't breathe.

I swallow the vomit that is rising in my throat. I grit my teeth and close my eyes, waiting. I hear his footsteps getting closer and closer. Every time his foot hits the floor I flinch slightly. The footsteps stop behind me. He's here.

I cry out as he grips my hair in his hand and pulls tight. "What the fuck did you do?" he hisses in my ear. "N-nothing. I swear!" I yell. My scalp is burning as he pulls my hair even tighter.

It feels like every hair on my head is fighting to stay in it's rightful place.

"Why is there a boy on my fucking doorstep asking for you?" he continues in a disgusted tone. "I don't know. I swear I don't know." I whimper. "Josephine!" He pushes me away from him roughly and I fall to the floor.

"Don't lie to me," he warned. "I. Don't. Know." I sob as I pull my knees to my chest. He crouches down to eye level with me. I hate those eyes. He has no soul. It's like looking into a pit of nothingness.

"You broke a rule. You know what this means." the monster's bloodshot eyes glare into mine. "No. Please. I'll do anything." I beg. Please don't take me there. I feel his large hand tighten on my wrist as he pulls me up from my place on the ground.

I pull against him this time. This time I try to fight. I don't know the last time I tried to fight. Something gave me the courage. Was it him?

I use all my strength to dig my feet into the carpet. I fall to my knees, trying to grasp anything to keep him from taking me there. He drags me across the floor with ease. My knees burn fiercely as they scrape across the carpet.

I lose the battle. I'm not surprised, though I feel the disappointment in my chest. I'm weak. I don't get enough to eat, I don't see the light of day enough. He easily overpowers me and we reach the door. It swings open with a loud creak. The basement.

Billy's POV

It's been a week. I've looked for her. I peek through the fence every day hoping to catch a glimpse of her. I've stared out my window, hoping to see a flash of her light hair. No sign of Jo. Where the fuck is she?

Masterlist 🖤

[manwrre]

headcanon steve is super ultra mega overprotective of his boyfriend, billy. this, i know for a fact because he told me so literally today.

i feel like he’s one of the few people who truly acknowledges and remembers that billy’s actually younger than him?? and younger than he looks in general. outwardly, he kinda gets it— billy’s a bit above average height and has honed his body into something solid and firm. his voice carries and his attitude is reinforced by his ability to pack a freaking punch, so yea, he knows what it looks like. he knows what it feels like.

but even when billy’s all wound up and angry, all steve sees is a boy who’s had to be anything but himself for as long as he’s been alive. he sees a boy who hasn’t had anyone in his corner ever since his mom died and has been forced to fight all of his battles alone; without the comfort of support or solace.

and this remains true, even after starcourt, when billy is admittedly more vulnerable; even when he’s back on his own two feet and his sonofabitch father intends on making his life a living hell. and steve remembers the hell that billy had been put through that night—how cold he had been in his arms and logically, threatens the beat the shit out of neil hargrove.

okay, he doesn’t but he does remind him, rather pointedly, that he knows “hopper, the chief?” just to watch the smug expression bleed off of the older man’s face. he takes advantage of neil hargrove’s terse silence and helps billy pack most of his things evenly into the camaro and beemer.

and living away from neil does wonders to billy. he’s a little bit shyer, a little softer but it’s much like a child who’s been gifted this wonder and is waiting for the other boot to drop.

everyone still anticipates the blonde’s sneering and spitting but he’s the only one looking for the barely perceptible shake of his hands. he’s the only one who knows, privately, that billy’s only storming out because he’s staving off hot tears.

so when the party comes over to steve’s house for game night and billy makes himself scarce, steve knows it’s because he’d rather disappear, than possibly face their rejection or be the root of their discomfort.

he understands that billy knows how important time with the kids is for him; how much he adores them. and as the night goes on, steve realizes just how much he’s missed having them around at his. he’s glittering, gleaming— happy.

that is, until their game runs a little too late and eventually, steve hears footsteps padding downstairs.

he’s not the only one that does, though and there’s a pause in their shouting, as everyone’s heads swivel in the direction of the noise.

and there he is, halfway down the stairs and rubbing at his eyes.

billy’s pretty and groggy and steve can just barely make out how sleep-swollen his cheeks are; how soft and sweet he looks. god, he’s so in love with him. he wants to kiss him so badly— “what’s he doing here?”

and that’s all it takes for the smile to get wiped off of steve’s face. his expression shutters and he can feel it happen, knows he must look furious. “you—“ he points a finger at mike and hikes it over his shoulder. “kitchen, now.”

there’s a different kind of silence now in the room and steve doesn’t even look at billy to see exactly what his face is doing in response right now, not when he’s too busy staring mike down. and poor mike, he’s still indignant and defensive about it all as he splutters out a, “but we were all thinking it,” which just makes things worse.

and so, right then and there, he’s all, “you don’t get to come in here— into our home and make him feel less than. things are different now and you don’t have to be his biggest fan but that, you won’t do that,” clearly speaking to everyone in the room. anyway, billy’s touched, it’s all so very sweet because steve’s in his corner and they live happily ever after like all the gays should.

[harringroveera]

And they’re boyfriends

[hellfirekitten86]

New Harringrove story in the work. With the help of @thedemonicpup. This story is called Trauma Bond.

[intothedysphoria]

Billy really connects with Mr Harrington.

It’s something that absolutely mortifies Steve, who has a love hate relationship with the dad jokes and the 1930s model train sets but Billy loves it.

He’s very quiet, both of Steve’s parents are, and very friendly. There’s constantly a smell of food that Billy is never quite familiar with but grows to adore. A culture Steve had tried to scrub from himself in public, but in private is jubilant about.

They make him matzah ball soup. Invite him to temple. Mr Harrington is a Rabbi at the nearest reform synagogue and Billy found out that Steve spends most of his spare time there. Helping out.

Billy asks if Steve ever feels damned for being queer. Steve responds that Judaism doesn’t really have an idea of Hell and no, never.

There’s always a bit of the green eyed monster around when Steve never says he’s part of a religion that feels like it’s choking him. Billy is immensely proud of being Catholic and would never envy the antisemitism Steve deals with regularly but still. It feels different.

Then sometimes they’ll lie on Steve’s bed, getting ash on the mattress while holding hands and all Billy can focus on is how right it feels.

They both have their complicated relationships with their religions but sometimes it’s just Billy and Steve. And that’s when it all makes sense.

[travelingtwentysomething]

🌚Am I The Asshole?🌝

🤘Touch anything underlined to be linked to the fic🤘

This is the ask I sent around to a few people who reblogged @dynamic-power post about Spideypoolverine x Harringroveson crossover which inspired me to write a one shot which I posted under that post. I wanted to spread the word a bit, share it with some people who might Reblog it.

But it seems like I offended someone bad enough that they're in my dms lecturing me on it. And I responded just a tad sarcastically but I don't feel like it's anyone's place to police how you share and build community here. As long as you're not bothering anyone and not spamming people.

Clearly, I accidentally sent the ask to this person twice, and they were bothered. So I apologized and I thought that was that. But am I in the wrong here? What do you think?

Btw thanks @sex-drugz-rockroll for sharing the link and answering the ask I sent you🤗

[queenie-ofthe-void]

The Babysitter Chronicles - Mayfield pt 1

Steve POV 5+1 (immediately follows s2) || wc: 1.9k || cws: check tags || full fic ao3

Henderson || Mayfield pt 1 / Mayfield pt 2 || Sinclair || Wheeler || Byers || +1 Hopper

~~~

Steve can’t believe he’s willingly knocking on the Hargroves’ door. As if his own anxiety wasn’t problem enough, the shrill sounds of two people arguing over the thrashing volume of metal music sets his teeth on edge. After a few seconds of waiting, he knocks harder. The arguing stops abruptly, and he hears a woman’s voice call out to wait a moment. 

He hopes the woman opens the door, assuming it’s Max’s mom. He doesn’t know her stepdad, but if the man is anything like his son, Steve wants to avoid him at all costs. Since Billy’s Camaro is missing from the driveway, hopefully he can avoid both of them.

To his relief, a woman with bright, copper hair and freckled skin opens the door. Her yellow cleaning gloves are almost dry, but there are still wet spots scattered on her pink t-shirt and jeans, as well as a few bleach stains. Large, blue circles halo her green, bloodshot eyes. Steve pretends not to notice the dried tear tracks striping her splotchy red cheeks.

“What can I help you with?”

“Hi, Mrs. Hargrove, I’m here to talk to you about–”

“Oh no, hun,” she interrupts him, “I’m sorry but we aren’t interested.” 

Steve looks down at himself, wearing a normal blue windbreaker and jeans, and wonders what she thinks he’s selling. Before she can shut the door, Steve catches the edge to hold it open. He sees her flinch at the force of his grip, the flash of fear behind her eyes reminding him of Max’s two weeks ago. He lets go, taking a step back to give her some space.

“No, ma’am, my name’s Steve Harrington and–”

“Susan,” the man screams from inside the house, loud and angry and too similar to the sound of his own father’s voice after a few drinks. They both flinch, Mrs. Hargrove faster to recover. Even though she’s standing straight, seemingly filled with confidence, Steve can still spot anxiety in the thin line of her mouth. “Who the hell is it?”

“It’s no one, Neil, just some boy selling magazine subscriptions,” she shouts, moving back inside. 

Steve turns to leave, hopes dashed, when he feels a hand wrap around his wrist.

She leans close, lowering her voice. “You’re Steve?” He nods. Mrs. Hargrove chances a glance over her shoulder, then looks back to him again, absentmindedly chewing on her bottom lip. “Wait around the side of the house, I shouldn’t be too long, ok?”

The door shuts in his face, almost grazing his nose. Steve wonders if he shouldn’t just leave, if she’s the kind of person to set him up and send Billy or Neil out to greet him instead. Except she seemed genuine, and this might be his only chance to win her approval. 

He waits for almost twenty minutes before she finds him leaned up against the siding underneath what he assumes is Max’s window, since he’s pretty sure Billy isn’t reading last month’s issue of Tiger Beat. She pulls out a pack of smokes from the pocket of her sweater, and he frowns when she doesn’t offer him one.

“So,” she says after a long exhale, “you’re the boy Billy and Max won’t stop talking about?” She ashes her cigarette, giving him enough time to school his stunned expression. “Can’t seem to shut up about you, surprised you’ve never been around before. Smart that you haven’t, though. Don’t blame you at all.”

“What do you mean?” Steve prods.

“Well Billy’s been bitching about you all year, practically. Saying you’re the reason he ain’t captain of the basketball team. Neil didn’t care too much for the excuses, though. Hasn’t let the poor boy forget it.” She takes a step closer to him and he watches as she looks over his split lip, the stitches, and his black eye. “Figured there was more to it than that.”

“He’s got the spot now,” he lets out a self-deprecating scoff, “can’t exactly play with a concussion.”

Her l brow creases as she frowns at him, tilting her head to the side. “You know, Max never really told me what happened that night two weeks ago. She got home almost an hour before Billy did, dropped off by God knows who–”

“The Sinclair’s, ma’am,” Steve interrupts. He second guesses whether or not he should bring up Lucas at all, realizing too late the problems that could cause, when Mrs. Hargrove smiles.

“Is that the young boy she’s been hanging around lately– him and his friends?” She ashes again. There’s a light in her eyes that’s been missing since he first met her, and she shines with it. 

“Yes, ma’am. Lucas Sinclair.”

Genuine concern laces her question when she asks “is he sweet to her?”. But her small smile tells him maybe she already knows the answer, just looking for confirmation.

Images of the worst day of Steve’s life flash through his mind, and in them he can spot the soft moments. Max and Lucas comforting each other, always searching the other out across a crowded room. Lucas’ poorly concealed admiration and Max’s fondness masked under a layer of sarcasm as thin as tissue paper.

“Yeah, he’s sweet to her,” Steve replies, answering her smile with his own. “Lucas is a great kid, Mrs. Hargrove. One of the best.”

Her eyes water and she smiles again, but it’s strained this time, as she looks towards the house where screaming music filters through the walls. Steve sees the weight on her shoulders, the burden of living with someone like Neil Hargrove. He feels sympathy on the fringes of his conscience when he thinks of being married to a man like that, or being raised by one. How that kind of anger could turn a kid into someone like Billy, or scare someone enough to stay in a bad situation.

The sympathy fades into a bitter aftertaste when he thinks of Max. He knows all too well what it’s like to live in a home with a scared mother and an angry father. How it feels to have a mother who will rock you in her arms and say everything’s ok, only to stand behind her husband when the belt comes off. 

He looks at Mrs. Hargrove and notices small bruises lining the inside of her right arm. The noise permeating from the house forces its way into Steve’s pores. All he can smell are stale cigarettes and motor oil. There’s empty beer cans sticking out underneath the bushes along the house and he kicks at one, harder than he should. He can’t help picture matching bruises on Max’s small, frail arms, and suddenly it’s all too much.

“Mrs. Hargrove, I came here to tell you I want to be Max’s babysitter.”

She frowns, clearly taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. “Oh, well it’s usually Billy’s job to–”

“Billy is the one who did this, ma’am.” He gestures to his face and attempts to reel in his frustration. “To be frank with you, Billy almost killed me and one of the kids I was with that night. He’s dangerous, especially to her. And you know that. You have to know that. Right?” 

Mrs. Hargrove sighs, dropping her cigarette into the grass to wipe the tears at the corners of her eyes. She pulls down the sleeves of her sweater, crossing her arms over her chest as she folds in on herself. Makes herself smaller.

She hesitates before saying, “Neil will be upset if Billy isn’t the one bringing her places. Says it gives him responsibility. Accountability.”

“Good thing Billy won’t have time now that he’s captain of the basketball team. And isn’t that what his dad wants?” Steve will counter every argument she has if he has to. He refuses to let another kid grow up in an angry home, scared and alone, even though Max’s is so much louder than his own. Somehow he thinks that might be worse than his own, empty, quiet home.

“We can’t pay you.”

“I’m not asking for any money. I’ll do it for free.”

She shakes her head, frustrated and out of objections. “You think you can keep her safe from them when I can’t, is that it?” Her voice cracks, and it cuts through him.

Steve tries to relax, opening up his stance and softening his voice. Hoping that she just hears him out. “I know you don’t know me, and that you and your family are new around here, but the Harrington’s are a big name in this town. My parents are well connected to lawyers and local politicians. I’m close with Jim Hopper, the police chief–”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” She snaps. He notices she’s shaking and he raises his open hands up higher.

“No, ma’am. It’s not a threat.” Steve looks her in the eyes, tries to convey everything he’s so bad at saying and everything he’s probably missed along the way. “It’s a promise that she’ll be safe with me, no matter what, and I’d do anything to keep that promise. Please, Mrs. Hargrove.”

He thinks it’s the please that gets her. Steve can see the moment she caves, heaves another great, heavy sigh as she wipes her sleeve across her eyes a final time before tucking it back under her arms. The quiet eventually settles between them. She pulls the pack of smokes out again, holding one out to him in offering. He takes it.

“She needs rides to and from school,” she starts, staring at him as she speaks. Steve doesn’t know what she’s hoping to see, but he feels himself light up inside, excitement beaming out through his wide smile and crinkled eyes. “Neil gets home first, usually around five. I work shifts, so sometimes the latest I get home is after nine.”

“Max can stay at my house as long as she wants,” Steve says, not bothering to keep the enthusiasm from his voice. “Even if it has to be overnight, I’ve got a spare bedroom that we never use. I’m also more than happy to bring her home after nine when you work late, so you don’t have to drive across town when you’re done.”

Steve knows his implications are obvious. He’s willing to do whatever it takes to keep Max out of the house when her mom isn’t home. He can’t help how desperate he feels at the idea of her being alone here anymore than she already has been, and how he’s so close to making sure that it never happens again. 

He can already picture Max’s muddy shoes in the entryway on a Friday afternoon, and hear her bitching about his cereal choices on a Sunday morning. She’ll wrestle with Dustin over the remote for Saturday morning cartoons. Steve’ll even learn how to cook for three, standing in the kitchen over a hot stove while the two kids do homework at the counter, posted up on the barstools that’ve never been used before.

He’s practically choking on the idea that he’s not just giving these kids a place to hang out, but that they’ll be hanging out with him. In his own house. For the first time in almost four years, Steve’s house will have people in it. People who like him and actually want him around. Kids for him to watch out for, and take care of when they need it.

“Alright,” Mrs. Hargrove sighs, “let me go grab a pen and paper, I’ll give you my schedule for the month.”

[buckysgrace]

The Sinner

You're more than willing to help Billy Hargrove find his faith. The only problem is that he wants you on his knees for a different reason.

Billy Hargrove x Religious!FemReader

CW: Smut, some corruption, religious themes, Reader is holier than thou type, and Billy likes to break things.

Is this a result of my religious trauma? Absolutely.

"Hey,” Billy cornered you one day at the end of school as you were grabbing your books from your locker, “I wanted to ask you something.” You felt yourself staring for a moment, wondering what you had to offer for Billy Hargrove. You did your best to avoid gossip, but it still found you at times. You were smart enough to know that Billy had one thing in mind if he cornered a girl alone.

“You’d have to ask my father if you want to take me out.” You responded nervously, shoving the books into your bag. He chuckled, his charming smile lighting up the hallway. You could feel your hands shaking at the sound. You had never had him actually speak to you unless he was making fun of you reading your bible. He thought your devotion to your religion was something to make fun of. You always reminded yourself that he was lost and would one day hopefully understand. You always prayed for him when he would tease you about it. You didn't think anyone should have to burn in hell for eternity, especially when they were so young and could switch their ways. Then again, maybe that was your father's words inside your mind.

“I wasn’t going to ask you that actually, but noted,” You felt a warmth spreading through your body as you grew embarrassed. You hadn’t actually thought he’d ever be interested in you, but there was only one question Billy ever asked girls, “I doubt I’d get daddy’s approval anyways.” He muttered correctly.

The truth was you did like to imagine yourself going out with Billy. He was attractive, popular. It would be like one of those cliche movies. Maybe that was why you prayed for him so hard. You wanted him to better himself so you could dream of being with him. As much as you liked to pretend that you were, you weren't any better than the girls in your grade. You wanted him all the same. Late at night when you would toss and turn, dismissing the naughty thoughts that weighed in your mind. Those were the nights that you would pray and pray until you were too exhausted to think anymore. Your father would never allow you to go out with Billy, however much the boy could change. So, you pretended that you weren't interested in him. You'd still sneak glances, but you never told anyone about how you felt towards him, too afraid of the repercussions you would face. God always knew though.

“What’s your question?” You asked after a moment of silence. You swung your bag around your shoulders before pulling your bible from your locker. It was black and leather bound, and you liked the way the words were printed neatly on the pages. For some reason it made it easier to read.

“I want to repent, but I’ve never prayed before. I was hoping you’d help me.” Billy looked at you sincerely and you felt yourself growing lost in his blue eyes. A small smile formed over your lips as you pulled your bible towards your chest.

"You want me to teach you how to pray?" You repeated, filling yourself grow with pride. You couldn't believe Billy Hargrove had come to you for help. He nodded, almost bashfully as he looked over his shoulder, "I'd love to, but I really don't know how to explain it. It's just, talking to God." You explained, watching how his expression changed.

"I don't know how to do that. Please, I don't want to spend an eternity in hell. Teach me." You shifted on your feet, biting your lip as you considered him. You thought of his words again, understanding that you wouldn't want to burn in hell either. It was your job as a Christian to help eithers find the Lord, even if that person was someone like Billy.

"Okay," You responded slowly, watching how he grinned widely at you, "We could do it here?' You questioned him, watching how his blonde curls moved as he shook his head no. You found yourself raising your eyebrow in confusion, wondering why he was denying this location if he was so desperate to save his soul.

"I'd prefer a church. What about the one your dad runs? Is anyone there right now?" You faltered for a moment, not realizing he knew your father's position. You reminded yourself that it was a small town and he had more than likely overheard it from someone.

"Sure," You nodded in agreement, "No, he shouldn't be there right now. We could go by now?" You asked unsure, clutching the bible to your chest. Billy looked down at it, nodding like he was considering something.

"If you're scared about other people seeing you, you shouldn't worry. There's nothing to be ashamed about in welcoming the lord into your life." You smiled, repeating the words you had heard your father preach with hundreds of different times. You sounded robotic, like an exact copy of him. You thought of how proud he would be with you at the moment.

Billy faltered for a moment, rubbing his thumb across his bottom lip, "It's not that," He responded easily, "How about I give you a ride over? It's not that far." You nodded, thinking of how it would be a lot easier for you. However, you were worried your parents would grow worried once you didn't arrive home at your usual time. You shook the thoughts away, once again thinking of your father's beaming face once he heard that you had saved a sinner.

“Okay, thank you,” You smiled, completely missing how he already knew the location of your church. You walked alongside him through the long hallway, unsure of what to say, “You know I pray for you every night.” You finally spoke up, meaning it as a compliment.

“Yeah, why’s that?” His blue eyes casted down on you and you felt nervous suddenly. He had such an intense way of holding eye contact. You quickly glanced away and towards your shoes while you walked at his pace.

“I pray for all of the sinners. I don’t think anyone should spend eternity in hell would they could forever live in God’s Grace.” You explained, meaning it in the best way possible. You looked ahead, missing the way he rolled his blue eyes back in his head.

“How sweet,” You felt happy in Billy’s response as you stepped out into the breezy wind. It was warm the sun sitting high in the air. You didn’t even have to follow him to his car, already knowing where he parked from hearing the other girls talking about him, “Here. I’ve got it.” He opened the door for you, his smile shining against you. Your heart hammered as you felt nervous suddenly. You had never been alone with a boy in a car before.

“Thanks,” You slid inside, carefully tucking your skirt under you to keep from sitting on the hot leather seats, “It smells nice in here.” You didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but you had seen the way he smoked. It was shocking that the car didn’t smell that way.

Billy grunted in response, turning the car on as his loud metal music blared to life. You jumped, completely taken aback from how loud it was. You bit your lip hard to keep from saying anything. Your father had warned you about listening to this type of music. He said it was as good as devil worship.

“Something wrong?” Billy questioned, noticing your expression. You should your head quickly, not wanting to seem fussy over the music he listened to in his own car. You didn’t want to scare him off either. If he was just now learning how to pray she couldn’t imagine trying to explain how the music he listened to worshipped Satan.

“It’s just loud,” You strained your voice louder to talk over the music. You quickly buckled up, realizing he wasn’t going to wait for you to do so before he left, “What about your sister?” You asked suddenly, remembering the small redhead. Billy shrugged.

“She got another ride tonight. I told her I had other plans.” You felt a bit guilty for taking her ride but quickly got over it. You reminded yourself that Billy had done it for a good cause. He was going to he learning of God’s love. That was even more important.

“Oh, okay,”

“Do you have a boyfriend or something?” Billy asked, turning his loud banging music down a few notches. You still had to strain your ears in order to hear what he said.

“No,” You spoke a little quickly and tried to correct yourself, “Daddy says I need a good Christian man.” You thought of what your father would say right now with you sitting in Billy’s car. He wouldn’t think of anything good, that was for sure.

“Huh,” Billy glanced over at you. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes lingered against your bare thighs where your skirt had risen high, “Have you been with someone before?” You could feel your whole body go warm as your hands clenched into fists, not wanting to have this conversation with him of all people.

“It’s up here,” You told him, pointing forward as your fathers church came into view. You purposely ignored his question, not wanting to feel the guilt and shame form in your chest, “It’s not much but it’s nice.” You admitted, unsure of why you found yourself needing to defend the size. You had never worried about it before. Perhaps, a small part of you wanted to impress Billy. After all, he had came to you specifically. Maybe you could change him.

It was tiny and white, with a long dirt path that blew up dust as he drove up towards the dirt parking spots. The sugar maple trees leaves had turned from orange to red as the seasons began to shift into Winter. It was one of those days where it had been chill in the morning, but the afternoon sun had made it hot. You smiled at him, hoping that he wouldn't be too worried about his nice car getting dirty.

“This is it,” You mumbled, thankful when he turned the music off, “I think it’ll be good to pray at the altar.” You responded after a second. He held onto his keys as he watched you

“Why there?” He asked, actually seeming to be curious. You grinned again, more than happy to explain the importance of the altar to him.

“In the Bible,” You began watching as he reached across you and pressed the button to your seat belt. You gulped, feeling the warmth from his hands linger against your side, “It’s where people used to make sacrifices for atonement of sin.” You explained, unsure if you made very much sense by the way he held your gaze. He nodded gruffly, before stepping out. You followed behind him, racing up the short cement steps as your skirt picked up in the breeze. You hastily flattened the material back down before opening the door.

“This is nice,” Billy spoke up after you, lingering behind your movements. You popped your knuckles, trying to walk as straight as possible and keep your hips from swaying, “Do many people come?” He questioned as you walked into the service room. You looked around the wooden, red pews before turning to face him.

“Sometimes. Usually around Easter and Christmas. Daddy says that’s when sinners feel the guiltiest.” Billy tilted his head as he watched you curiously. You dug your heels into the wooden floor, unsure of what he was thinking. You watched in a trance, staring at the curve of his hands as he reached into his back pocket. The church was so quiet that every little sound echoed in the room. Your eyes widened as you watched him bring a cigarette between his lips.

“No, no,” You quickly placed your hand over his fist as he began to open his lighter, “Not here. There’s no smoking in the house of the lord.” You explained quickly, watching how his lips curled up just enough to look as if he was smiling. You could tell that irritated him, but you stuck to your fathers' rules, watching as he placed his cigarette back in his box.

"S'alright," He grumbled out, glancing back up at you. You fiddled with your fingers nervously, unsure of how to speak to him, "Can we sit?" He asked after a second and you nodded quickly. You turned and walked towards the altar, sitting on the front row. You sat your bible next to you as you turned to face him, crossing your legs together.

"What do you want to pray about?" You asked, resting your hand against the side of his face. He faced you, mirroring your position. You thought that he looked far too large for the tiny pew. His shirt was unbuttoned in the manner that it always was. You found your eyes drawn to the necklace on his tanned skin and the blonde chest hair that peaked out from his blue shirt.

"My sins," Billy cocked an eyebrow, shaking his foot as he spoke. His movements were causing the pew to shake lightly, "I've drank, cursed, fucked. You know, all of that stuff." You turned away from his intense gaze, not liking how he cursed in the church. You didn't necessarily need all of that information.

"Maybe you should wait to speak to a preacher over that?" You could think of your father's gleeful face now, thinking of how he would be proud to bring another man like Billy to God's light.

“I don’t want to speak to a priest, I want to speak to you.” He reached across the pew, taking your soft hand in his large one. You stared, looking at how your hands connected. You thought of praying suddenly, trying to remove the thoughts that were clouding your mind. There were times you wanted to be like the other girls and have a boyfriend, but you knew your father would simply tell you to focus on God's love instead.

"Do you want me to write you down a prayer then?" You asked him, your skin burning as his thumb rubbed soft circles against you. You breathed in deeply, hearing your heartbeat in your ears. You pushed your legs closer together, feeling a warmth growing between your legs and shame rush into your chest.

"Maybe you could show me how to do it first? I'm so lost, I'll just follow your lead." He explained. You didn't know how to describe it, but his blue eyes looked darker than usual. You blamed it on the dim lights in the church. You didn't want to risk turning them on and having your father yell at you for running up the light bill.

"Over here, then." You stood, ignoring the wetness that was growing between your legs. You'd have to pray for your own sins later when you were finished with Billy. You walked to the alter, looking at the velvet red cushion that your father had spent so much money on. Billy stood close behind you that his warmth was seeping into you.

"Is he going to watch us?" He asked, sounding almost bitter as he motioned towards the very large cross with Jesus hanging from it. You smiled kindly, nodding as you watched his reaction. You were sure it was odd to see, gruesome even, but you knew it was a reminder to everyone of what Jesus had gone through to save people from their sins.

"Okay," You knelt at the altar, looking up at the blonde boy as he lingered above you, "Sit, with me." You smiled sweetly, completely unaware of the way he huffed and seemed to be growing irritated with you. You were too excited to share something with him that you were so passionate about. Not only that, but you would be saving him from damnation.

You flipped your bible open in front of you, referencing John 3:16 as it stared up at you in a golden hue. It was your favorite quote and the only time you actually allowed yourself to write on your bible. You thought of it as too holy to decimate but allowed yourself the pleasure to do so with this one quote.

"I think I should get behind you, that way I can mirror how you sit." You furrowed your eyebrows confused. You didn't understand how he wouldn't be able to copy how you were sitting by looking at you, but you believed him, nonetheless. Your breath hitched a bit in your chest and your body grew warm as he sat behind you. You moved your knees further apart as he nestled his knees next to yours and reached around to link his large hands over your own. You weren't sure you should be feeling this way in the house of the lord.

"Alright," Your voice was shaky as you spoke up again, ignoring the warm feeling growing inside your stomach. You glanced over your shoulder, noticing how intensely he was watching you. You felt like a trapped bunny suddenly and he was the big bad wolf. You exhaled, turning away and ignoring the picture of Mother Mary that seemed to be judging you. You reminded yourself that nothing you were doing was wrong, "Dear Heavenly father-," You began as you bowed your head and closed your eyes. One of Billy's hands moved away from yours, but you ignored it as you thought of the way your father prayed so powerfully and tried to mirror his words.

"We come to you praying for forgiveness of our sins," You continued, ignoring the rustling sounds that Billy was making behind you, "Billy comes to you, exhausted and needing your guidance to right his wrongs." Billy made a sound behind you, and you felt your eyebrows raise but kept your eyes shut. You were slightly worried but then remembered he had come to you for assistance. You reminded yourself of how eager he sounded to learn to pray earlier. You hadn't allowed him to smoke either, perhaps he was acting out of nerves.

"Billy invites you into his life-," Your voice caught in your throat as you felt a slight breeze underneath your skirt, feeling it lift above your thighs. You gulped hard, too lost for a second on the shivers that crossed your skin before you snapped your eyes open, "What are you doing?" You rushed out, turning to look at him.

"Praying with you," He replied simply as his hand toyed with the hem on your skirt. You felt your mouth turning dry. It had been so long since you had been touched in this way. It brought shame to you as you thought of the previous incident. One night at church camp was all it took for your father to think the worst of you. You had spent many evenings like this, on your knees repenting for what you had done in the dark, "What's wrong?" He asked oblivious as his other hand moved from your clutched fingers and traced the exposed section of your thighs. You gaped, feeling more warmth rush between your legs. You hoped he wouldn't raise your skirt too far to see the wet patch that had formed on your panties.

"This isn't praying," You responded quickly but were unable to push him away. Your body seemed to purr against him, urging for more of his touch as his fingers dipped under your skirt and near your panty line. You burned in shame as your hips moved forward to their own accord, "Billy." You warned as his chest vibrated against your back as he laughed. He pressed up against you and you could feel a hardness against your backside. You fought everything in your power to grind back against it as you remembered where you were, what you were doing.

"We're worshipping God, aren't we?" He rested his cheek against yours and you could feel the tickle of his mustache against your skin as he turned to speak to you. He smelt of smoke and mint, "What are we doing wrong?" You knew exactly what you were doing wrong as his hands curved over your hips and ground his bulge against you. You whined, overly enjoying how good it felt.

"You're praying?" You looked at him for reassurance, watching how his blue eyes held onto you. You felt nervous, but ultimately believed him. Was there really a written doctrine on how you were supposed to pray? You realized you'd have to ask your father later. Perhaps this was completely okay as long as it done in prayer.

"I'm praying for my forgiveness," Billy confirmed, letting the material of your skirt rest against your back as his hands traced over your backside. His fingers gripped the hem of your panties, and you could feel your heart racing in your chest. You didn't have any protests as he slid them down your thighs, "Keep praying for me. You don't want me to go to hell, do you?" He drew you away from your sinful thoughts and feelings. You blinked back as you looked at the words of the bible in front of you, unsure of where to begin again.

"Billy invites you into his life," You repeated again, taking a shaky breath as he rubbed the bare skin of your backside. You closed your eyes tightly, ignoring the sound of plastic tearing, "To fill the emptiness in him and make him w-whole." The gasp caught on your words as you felt pressure between your thighs as Billy slid his hard cock inside of you. He fit into you perfectly and you felt as if you were putty in his hands. The sounds that left your mouth was pathetic as your pussy squeezed around his cock, urging for more of him. Your hips rocked forward against the altar, elbows digging into your bible and curling up the delicate pages as he bottomed out in you. Moans left you breathlessly as you shook your head, trying to find the words to speak again. He pushed all the way forward, bottoming out inside of you as his balls pressed up against your bottom. He grunted in your ear, lips ghosting across your skin. It was sinful, it was pleasurable.

"Help him to understand your grace, your mercy," You squeaked out as he dragged his hips out slowly before pushing back into you. It felt so good, so good that you were unsure you'd feel anything like this again. You were having a hard time thinking of God when all you could focus on was the drag of his cock inside of your fluttering walls, "Your peace." You finished as you rested your head against your enclosed hands as Billy rocked into you. The grip on your hips was tight as he held you steady. Your knees were burning from digging into and slightly dragging along the hardwood floors. You began to pray for more, to never ever go a day where you wouldn't feel Billy's cock inside of you.

"Fuck," Billy's curse drew you from your thoughts and you felt your mouth open in horror as your conscience overtook your lust. You were letting Billy fuck you on your knees against the praying altar, "You're not so pious now, are you?" His warm breath tickled against your neck as you stared up the large cross that was hanging proudly above the two of you. You trembled against him, your thighs shaking as his cock rubbed against the bundle of nerves inside of you.

"Wrong," You moaned out, your hips pinning against the altar as he drilled into you, his hands gripping your waist and shoulder harshly as he kept you still. Not that you would purposely move away anyways. Your pussy was wrapped around him tightly, coating him in your wetness as you begged for more, "Billy, this is so wrong." You pleaded but you didn't want him to stop. You wanted him to continue, to bring you over the edge. Praying had never been this pleasurable before.

“How could this be bad if we’re with the lord right now?” Billy hummed from behind you. Your hands were linked together so tightly that they were turning white from the pressure. Your elbows were digging into the red cushion of the alter as you stared up at the portrait of Jesus hanging above the two of you. You prayed for forgiveness silently, hoping he would understand this one moment of lust.

"It's wrong," You replied weakly, a squeal leaving your mouth as he pulled his cock out until only his tip remained before slamming back into you. He laughed as his lips traced over the crook of your neck, sending shivers down your spine, "F-Forgive me lord." You pleaded, begged even as your body responded differently from what your mind was saying. You knew this was wrong, completely forbidden but you couldn't help how your body was reacting.

It felt so incredible. Your body felt as if it was lifting slowly into the air, warped in pleasure as Billy bent you down harder over the altar. Your hands were still crossed, and you could just barely hear the sound of paper tearing from being pulled against your skin over the sound of your skin slapping together. His rhythm was brutal, and you responded just as eagerly to him, coating his cock with your slick. The sounds that left your mouth that begged him for more, pleaded for him to never stop making her feel this good.

You could remember the way people reacted to your father, cheering him on and praising him during his service. You had never heard anyone sound the way you did at the moment when they responded to God. Billy was drawing out feelings and sounds from you that you didn't think were possible.

"Look at you," He mocked, smacking your cheek lightly, "So fucking desperate for my cock. What would your daddy say if he saw us?" You whined, licking the drool from the corner of your mouth as his cock repeatedly hit against your g-spot. You were so wet, drenching his dick so badly that every time he pulled out it was easier to push back into you and go that much further. Your toes were curling as you cried out.

"He'd be so mad," You whined pathetically, a gasp leaving your mouth as Billy wrapped a large hand around your throat. You moaned when he squeezed softly, tugging your head back so he could lick at your parted lips. It felt so dirty, so wrong as his wet tongue slid inside your mouth. You were desperate, rutting back against him as you opened your mouth wider for him to explore, "Oh God." You took the lords name in vain as Billy swatted at your ass.

"Oh, the poor preacher would be so disappointed in you," Billy tsked as he pulled his mouth away. His cheeks were flushed, lips red and eyes dilated as he spoke full of bitterness, "Knowing his daughter was such a sinner. Letting a stranger fuck, her in his church." He spit out and you turned your head in shame, not liking how his words affected you. They went straight to your core, making you clench around him as his movements became more rapid. For the first time, you didn't understand how something so wrong could feel so good. You felt as if you had been made to be forced upon your knees and fucked in this manner.

“Please stop talking,” You whimpered out, unsure if you could take any more of his words as you felt your stomach muscles tightening together. Your hips were rocking back against him with such urgency, such deprivation as your knuckles turned even whiter, “Billy!” You yelled out as he reached between your legs, rubbing harshly against the bud there that had been begging for attention.

He pulled his hand away quickly before swiftly smacking your pussy. You yelped, the force of his movements pushing you deeper onto his hard cock. You blubbered, moaning as the sensation from his slap traveled across your pussy. It was so embarrassing, but you could feel yourself growing wetter from his actions.

"I don't listen to slutty little preacher's daughters," He yanked on your hair, pulling you back and pressing you against his chest. You mewled pathetically as his cock moved into you harder and faster, "So drunk on my cock, aren't you?" He squeezed your neck, and you felt your face grow warm as the air left your lungs. You felt your eyes beginning to strain before he released his grip, and you were gasping for breath.

"Yes," You whispered out pathetically as he swatted your cheek, making your head more towards the side. You stared at where the piano was positioned in the corner, trying to focus on that instead of the way his hips were rolling into you, "Feels so good." You could feel tears forming in your eyes. You were unsure if it was from the pleasure or the shame.

Billy reached between your legs, his fingers tracing across your folds before rubbing your sensitive bud again. Your whole pussy felt sore from where he had smacked it earlier. You were whining, grinding into his hand as he played with your clit. The sound of the two of you echoed loudly inside of the church and you were sure that anyone nearby could hear your desperate cries.

It didn’t take long after that. The feeling of his cock swelling inside of you, stretching you out with each thrust and hitting your g-spot mixed with his fingers rubbing your wet clit had you chanting his name as you shook around him.

"God," You cried out as you came, fully shaking and trembling around Billy as he held you in place. You were afraid that without his strong grip you would've melted into a puddle on the floor. You partially wish you would so you could slip between the tiles and disappear forever, "Oh my God." You repeated.

Billy grunted into your ear, slamming you against the altar so harshly that your hips burned and screamed in protest. You felt your toes curling as he held himself deep inside of you, before he pulled away quickly. You were stunned, shaking on your knees as he gripped your hair harshly and turned you to face him. You stared up at him from your knees, your hands still clenched together in front of you as he pumped his cock with vigor. You watched the lines of his face, watching how they curled into pleasure. His mouth fell open when he groaned loudly and released white, stringy liquid across your face.

You gasped, blinking your eyes quickly to avoid getting any of the liquid in your eyes. You felt the warm, thick goop resting on your cheek before slowly sliding off and landing on your chest, your arm, your bible. He cursed again, reaching down to wipe the goop away from your eyes. You opened your lids hesitantly.

You thought he looked like an angel. Surrounded in golden light with his cheeks red and his eyes dilated. He scooped his liquid from your face, watching you intensely before pushing it into your gaping mouth. You moaned as his thumb pressed down on your tongue. You held it there for a moment, unsure of the taste. It was odd, too salty and musky. His eyes narrowed.

"Swallow it," He commanded, holding your chin in his hand harshly. You closed your lips together but couldn't find the strength to swallow the odd taste. He frowned and pinched your nose together, cutting off your hair, "Do it." He spoke calmly and that scared you. You forced it down, furrowing your eyebrows together and wincing as you felt it settle heavily in your stomach. It almost burnt you.

"That wasn't God," Billy looked down at you, seemingly surrounded in the golden haze, "That was all me." His words left a gaping hole inside of your chest where your heart had once been pure. You could feel the darkness swirling in as it mixed with the guilt and the shame. You gaped, when he spit on you. It dripped down the side of your cheek, moving towards the curve of your lips. You hastily wiped it away, smearing the saliva onto your cheek and palm. You were repulsed with how good it made you feel.

You shook, still sitting on your burning knees as your emotions flooded inside of you. Billy seemed to be enjoying how conflicted you looked at the moment. You had to pull yourself away from his gaze as your eyes searched the altar for some kind of relief. You looked back, gasping as you looked down at your ruined bible. Pages were torn and ink was smeared from the drool that had left your lips. There was a large puddle of his liquid against your highlighted words. You were horrified and felt the swell of tears rising within you as you were suddenly too aware of what you had just done.

"You've damned me," You cried weakly, pathetically as Billy adjusted himself. He tilted his head, a grin ghosting across his lips as he looked down at you. Your hair messy, lips swollen and eyes red. Your knees burned as you moved to sit on your backside. Your thighs were slick from your come and your panties hung pathetically on your thighs as you tried to pull them up between your blubbering. He had taken away your faith and left you with an entirely different craving inside that you feared only he could solve, "Why?" You asked a loaded question, too full of your emotions to care. It was just as much your fault as his, but he had tempted you.

He crouched down in front of you, ignoring your rules from earlier as he lit his cigarette. You stared in horror as he blew a puff of smoke out at you. You suddenly wondered if he was the devil. The bible had spoken of Satan being so beautiful, so appealing that he could easily persuade those who were weak of faith into sinning. You realized your father had been right all along about you. You were weak. The worst thing was that you knew if Billy asked, you'd do it all over again. Despite your shame and humiliation, you would let him take you on the floor of your father's church again.

Billy cupped your chin, forcing you to look up at you as he stared at you with hardened blue eyes. You had thought that they were so pretty earlier, but now all it did was remind you of the terrible things you had done, "We're both sinners now," he mumbled, looking like he had just devoured his favorite meal, "God will forgive you if you just pray it away."

[miheartsedthings]

Teeth

TW: Inflicted pain, biting, trauma

Sometimes, Billy wants to be in pain.

It took some time for you to figure this out. Years, in fact, after leaving Hawkins and moving into a tiny studio in Cali together. So far from Neil and his brutal reprimands, your lover found himself softening in ways he couldn't have anticipated and didn't entirely like.

His life was calmer. Watching TV or lounging around listening to music. Maybe one of you was cooking while the other put away laundry. Perfectly safe domestic quiet. It drove him crazy.

He would be fine one moment, enjoying the peace, and then his nerves would spike, like a dog sensing something. He'd start fidgeting around with things, chewing on a straw or chipping bits of paint from the radiator. His knee bounced, his eyes refused to settle, and sometimes, when you approached him for affection with that sweet lilt in your voice, he got so fucking angry he couldn't stand it.

Something was wrong. He knew something was wrong, but what it was he couldn't exactly say.

You were at a loss for what to do in those moments, when he picked fights about the length of your dresses or the new recipe you'd decided to try. Your life filled with petty arguments and you began to wonder if your relationship, which you'd once thought of as unbreakable, wasn't reaching its end.

Then, one late night, during an intense session of makeup sex, you dug your fingernails into his shoulders. You'd been growing them out and it was more out of thoughtlessness than anything, but the way he groaned at the feeling immediately caught your attention. You sank your claws in deeper and felt his intense pleasure coiling through his body and straight into you.

Afterwards he was so calm, and slept peacefully for the first time in days.

It didn't take long to realize the pattern. You'd be fine for a while, and then he'd get antsy, and somehow or other you'd find yourself inflicting pain, which immediately calmed him down.

One day, the two of you were on the couch trying to watch a movie. You laid on your sides with his arm slung over your middle, but he was fidgeting. You'd missed most of the dialogue because he kept chiming in with complaints about all sorts of unimportant things. The lighting, the wigs, the soundtrack. It got to the point where you'd lost track of the plot. Finally, you turned over, sitting up on your elbows.

"Do you notice you get like this every other week?"

He stared at you, a small spark of alarm in his eyes like he was waiting for the bad thing to happen. It broke your heart a bit, knowing he was always a little nervous that you were getting ready to leave.

"Get like what?"

His tone was already defensive. If you weren't careful this would plummet right into an argument.

"I don't know...anxious?"

He snorted.

"No I don't."

Your eyes narrow, and at a loss for what to you, you scoot down, lift his shirt, and sink your teeth into his thick, muscled side.

His body gives a little jolt at first, and his hand goes to yours, but he doesn't stop you. So, you sink in deeper, the muscle offering strong resistance.

"What're you doing?" He asks, though he says it without aggrievement. Of course, you don't answer. Your mouth is flush to his skin, your teeth hooked into his flesh, and you wonder how much he can stand. You push in, your jaw working against him as you slowly increase the pressure.

An airy, haggard little sound slowly pulls from his throat at the growing pain from your mouth, but still he doesn't stop you. He wants to know how much he can take. He'll never know how much he can take if no one ever hurts him.

Of course, he doesn't know that's the reason, he just trusts you. Plus, something about the biting is nice in a way he can't explain, like licking a cavity, or pushing up against a bruise. So he lets you keep going, squeezing your hand through it.

Your mouth is wet, saliva slipping down to stripe across his stomach. You've closed your eyes and settled into this one thing, your focus undivided. Whatever it is about this that he needs, you'll give it. You're giving in that way. You love him that much. Resolve comes over you, to take this as far as he needs you to. So, you bite.

With renewed strength, you start clenching down again and you hear him take in a breath, his hand squeezing tighter as his body tenses. Little puffs of breath tell you the hurt is growing, he's straining against giving in, his breathing going jagged. His body starts to squirm, his feet pushing into the arm of the couch.

Pained little sounds cut through with gasps. You glance over and see his eyes closed, his reddening face tensed in concentration. His jaw is tight, but a little sound finds its way out anyway.

"ah."

You watch him, his brows pushed together, his forehead taking on the slightest sheen. He's not getting enough air. You place your free hand on his chest: a reminder to breathe and he rakes in a shaky breath. His eyes open and he looks down at you, his mouth opening just a little, a long, silent moment during which the pain is all he can think about.

At last, his eyes snap shut.

"Alright-alright." He breathes and you let go.

Leaning back, you stare at the deep indent your teeth left behind. His flesh is raw, glistening with your saliva. You lean in and gently lick it away. He flinches at the slight contact. His foggy brain is full of hard-earned bliss and he's already half asleep.

You lay there, watching him drift off, wondering what you're gonna do with this man who goes around bothered and snipping, like a dog looking for a kick.

This isn't a permanent solution, and soon enough you'd consult professionals about it. You'd learn about c-PTSD and together you'd figure out what he actually needs. But, for now, just for tonight, you've done what you can.

[hellcheercaine]

Steve has a point, but that doesn’t mean he invalidates the trauma that Billy suffered at the hands of his father.

[manicpixievixen]

Billy religious trauma moodboard

And only God knows

You should stay that close to Jesus

Keep that bottle at your hand, my man

[matt-h3w]

Okay but like Billy Hargrove, right.... We all know his dad sucks ass, but like, comforting Billy after his dad beat him..... Breaks me, but like also like the fluff of it is just Eeeeee. Ya know?

_______________________________________________

TW: wounds, abuse mentions, lack of self worth. Slight reference to readers trauma.

G/N reader, sure the man is cannonly straight, but I do it for the girls, the gays, and the theys, and everything in between.

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You enter his room and see him sitting on his bed, head in his hands with cuts and bruises covering his exposed skin you slowly walks over to him, brushing his hair out of his face, speaking softly "hey, what happened to you?" All he could do was look at you, tears starting to form in his eyes. Your lips make contact with his forehead as a form of comfort "it was your dad wasn't it?" You asked, and he nodded the tears spilling out.

His breathes are shaking, as he tries to keep in sobs. No one had ever seen him so vulnerable no one but you. You somehow managed to become something more than just a stranger in a small town. He couldn't manage to figure out just how you slipped between the walls he put up around his heart but there you were, he would never say but he wished your kisses meant more than comforting him. That you holding him was more than pity.

He wished that you loved him more than a friend. You gave him something he thought he could never have, someone to turn to in time of need. Someone to lean on when he felt he couldn't stand. Someone who'll care for him, and love him despite his flaws.

He always told himself he didn't deserve you. He knew he didn't. But yet you were still there by his side holding him close. "Let's get you cleaned up, hmm?" You whisper softly to him, you knew that he had been yelled at earlier and didn't want to make things worse.

_______________________________________________

you came back with a first aid kit and had been disinfecting the cuts, and putting bandaids on them if it was needed, you also took the time to make sure his bone weren't broken. He'd wince every now and again, and everytime you'd apologize. It made his heart swell, but he couldn't help but feel sorry for you, you never once hesitated to come to his aid, no matter how late, or how tired you were. He wondered how many nights you'd stay awake just in case he needed you.

He couldn't bare the thought of you losing sleep because of him, he didn't understand why he fell so easily for you, maybe it was the way you never once treated him any less than a person. Or the sarcastic comments you'd make when he was flirting with you. Or the way you didn't put up with his bullshit twords you, if you didn't like how he treated you, he'd get an earful without hesitation.

There was so much he loved about you, he thought you were undeniably beautiful. Regardless if you thought it yourself.

"Hey, you doing okay?" Your voice broke him out of his thoughts, he looked at you, the concern that filled your gaze made any tensed muscles in his body immediately relax , and his heart melt. His voice came out soft and broken as if he tried to talk to loud he'd cry again. "yeah" and the way you smiled at him, god your smile never failed to make warmth spread through his chest, up his neck, and to his face.

"You know when I heard your voice over the phone.... I wanted to kill him.." You spoke, He had called you, he always did after it got bad, every time his voice would shake and crack, trying not to break right then and there. He felt a sort of guilt run through his veins.

You felt hurt for him, when he didn't want to bare the emotion, you did, when he didn't want to bare the pain, you'd take it, when the weight became too much, you'd lift it off him. He never asked you to, he couldn't ever do that, but you still did, no matter how fucked up things got for you, you never stopped helping him.

That fact alone broke his heart.... You got up and set the first aid kit on his nightstand "do you still have the bag?" You asked gently fixing his hair. He nodded slowly "yeah, I do..." All you did was grab his hands gently, and pull him up, you both knew that he willing let you because if he didn't you wouldn't have been able to move him.

He grab the bag he kept stashed away in his closet, he had it for when he needed to get away, he never stayed away long because of Max. He'd never say it to her face but he really did care about her well-being.

------------------------------------------------------------

He found himself in the passenger seat of your car, his bag in the backseat. He would have taken his but the engine would have given him away. He was tapping his fingers on his thighs trying to focus on the road ahead. The car was silent other than the radio playing softly.

He felt your hand slide into his, which made him look at you. With a quick smile, you looked back at the road. He held your hand as if he was scared that when he let go, you'd be gone. You felt the tightness of his grip, it didn't hurt by any means, you felt your heart flutter at the way he clung to you even if it was only holding your hand.

You could never understand why he looked at you the way he did, but you were grateful that he trusted you enough to let you see the side of him that he kept tucked away. That he felt safe enough with you to cry, you knew that it was hard to do that and though seeing him so broken made your heart ache, it also made you so happy to know he'd let himself be vulnerable with you. You finally broke the silence, "you can stay in my room tonight if you want...." You're heart was pounding in your head, you'd be lying to yourself if you said that giving him that option didn't make you nervous. What if it made him uncomfortable.... You felt his grip falter just for a second.

"I'd like that.... If you're sure you're okay with it" his voice was just loud enough to hear. "I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't okay with it" you said, though within a certain perspective some might say that the words that you just spoke were talking down to him. He found them as words of reassurance, telling him you'd never do something that you didn't want to, that caring for him was something you genuinely wanted to do with your time. He found himself falling deeper into love with you with every little moment you shared.

He didn't even realize he was doing it till the back of your hand met his lips. The second he realized what he had done, he glanced over at you, frantically searching for any sigh of discomfort. But all he found was a soft smile displayed upon your lips. He felt your hand flex slightly, giving him a soft squeeze of confirmation that you were okay with his actions.

He pressed his lips further against your skin. Enjoying the smoothness against his mouth. The warmth coming off of you. When he pulled your hand back from his lips, he glanced at you again, though it was dark he could see the rosey color that had adorned your features, the smile that had grown wider, the soft twinkle of appreciation in your eyes as you focused on the road. You had finally reached your driveway, after all you didn't live very far. You didn't let go of his hand until you both got out of the car. He made sure to grab his bag from the backseat before getting out, once the car was locked you slid your hand back in his.

------------------------------------------------------------

He had set his bag on the floor of your room, he always love being in it. Surrounded by well.... You... The posters, the comic books, the drawings, the photos, the figurines, the vinyls, the plushies. He even loved the scattered books that you forgot to put away, or the unorganized makeup on the vanity. Even the random trinkets that sat in your windowsill. He has so many memories of late nights he spent with you, even if the reason he was there sucked ass, he loved being with you.

[harringroveera]

Steve will definitely say yes to that!

[ickypuppi3]

[dame-zoom-a-lot]

Do It Scared

@metalsandwichbingo prompt fill for -Phobia Rating: M (because of the violence I'm honestly kind of waffling between T and M) Tags: attempted murder, religious trauma, Eddie has religious trauma, hurt / comfort WC: 7.4k The religion in this fic is extremely loosely based on Korean creation myths and Korean shamanistic traditions. If you liked it, you might want to check out some actual myths and folklore :D Read the full fic on Ao3 Thank you @runraerun for the incredible beta work <3 if you like this fic, you might like these unspoken things Summary

Steve looks at the pile of Billy’s clothes and stuff in the corner, the things he never bothered to come and pick back up. At the beginning, it gave them some hope that maybe Billy just needed some time to cool off. Slowly, that hope turned into searing resentment as they realized Billy would rather get his license re-issued than have a ten minute conversation with Steve and Eddie to get his stuff. But that’s not important right now. What’s important is Eddie, and where he is. Would it be too weird if Steve drove up to Temple City right now? Would it cause problems at work if he shows up at the company’s most important, high-profile client at 2:00am demanding an audience with his boyfriend? Does Steve care ?

Steve’s packing his stuff when he gets a summon from Eddie. He dives for the call, not even attempting to hide how greasy and messy his hair got from him running his hand through it anxiously all night. Eddie shows up all staticky and vague. His illusion is so weak Steve can barely make him out. He’s also… lying down on the ground with his hand clutched around his belly. Is that blood?

“Eddie?” Steve whispers, horrified.

“Steve…” Eddie smiles. “Love you.”

The summon ends.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

The Babysitter Chronicles - Mayfield pt 2

Steve POV 5+1 (immediately follows s2) || wc: 1.9k || cws: check tags || full fic ao3

Henderson || Mayfield pt 1 / Mayfield pt 2 || Sinclair || Wheeler || Byers || +1 Hopper

Steve’s standing in the middle of the driveway, just out of sight of the windows, when the deep rumble of a car engine rips down the street. Nausea floods his throat and he swallows against the taste of bile on the back of his tongue. The blue Camaro flies up the driveway, and Steve wills every muscle in his legs to stand his ground when it parks just before bumping against his knees.

Max sits frozen in the passenger seat, staring at Steve like she’s seen a ghost. Before he can move toward her side of the car, Billy’s slamming the door behind him, barreling towards Steve with a familiar manic grin on his face. Yet even with a smile as big and bright as that, there’s no light in Billy Hargrove’s eyes. Just a blank emptiness with a tint of rage.

“Well if it isn’t Steve goddamn Harrington!” Billy cackles, crowding in so close that Steve can feel the wet heat from his breath. He reeks of stale cigarettes like the inside of the house, a smell that’s most likely permanently soaked into his denim jacket. “Don’t look so much like a King anymore.”

This is the version of Billy that Steve can deal with. All loud, over the top showmanship, acting like the biggest asshole in the room. This is the version of Billy that Steve has coped with at school everyday since September, and in a way it’s a reflection of who he used to be. Except when Steve’s layers of bullshit were peeled away, he found someone who actually cares, willing to die to save the people around him. 

When everyone saw the core of Billy Hargrove exposed in the Byers’ house, all that was left was a monster. Cold, hollow, and deadly, uncaring in a way Steve’s only seen in his father when he had a full bottle of scotch.

Steve knows he has a long way to distance himself from the King Steve moniker, but he knows for a fact he’s not Billy Hargrove, and certainly not his father. One step at a time is another step away from turning into a monster.

He clears his throat. “I never was,” Steve replies. Even if everyone else saw him as King Steve, he sure as shit never did. Never wants to be again.

Billy smirks, but before he can respond, they hear a second car door slam closed. In his periphery, Steve can see Max storm towards them. She shouts, and the boy in front of Steve flinches at the snap in her voice. “I told you to leave him alone.”

He sneers at Steve before reluctantly taking a step backwards, and Steve feels like he can breathe again. Max stands next to him, so close that her arm brushes his elbow. Tension radiates from her like a pulled rubber band even though her command was sturdy and strong. It’s all just another sick reminder of how much these kids have to deal with on top of interdimensional monsters.

“Aww, come on Maxine,” Billy jeers, “King Steve and I were just having a friendly chat, man to man. Something you wouldn’t understand.”

“You aren’t friends,” she snaps back.

It’s just then Steve hears the front screen door close, Mrs. Hargrove’s voice calling out, “alright I’ve got my home and work contact info filled out, along with my work address and–” but Steve watches her pause and take in the sight before her. She moves closer and Billy’s entire demeanor changes. He moves his hands behind his back, legs spread in a military stance, as he softens the muscles in his face almost like he’s hiding himself. Another thing Steve wishes they didn’t have in common.

“What’s going on, Susan?” Billy asks, his voice laced with false sweetness. He gestures at Steve, and he feels all three sets of eyes on him at once. Mrs. Hargrove approaches slowly, standing at the point of Billy and Steve’s fucked up triangle, with Max still plastered to his side. Mrs. Hargrove hands Steve the note paper and Billy tracks it as Steve shoves it in his back pocket.

“Well,” Mrs. Hargrove draws the word out, assessing the situation, “Steve here came by asking to be Max’s new babysitter.”

“What?” Max and Billy ask simultaneously, turning towards her. Max’s eyes are bright with guarded hope, while Billy appears slightly panicked under his casual charade.

“That’s not possible,” Billy says. “I’m Max’s babysitter, Susan. That’s the way my dad wants it, and we don’t need some strange, older boy like Steve hanging around Maxine.” The implication leaves Steve disgusted, choking back the rising bile in his throat. Sharp points of pain bloom across his wrist as Max’s nails dig into him in a poorly concealed panic.

“Billy, if Steve starts watching Max before and after school, then you’ll have less to worry about.”

“No. No, Susan, if my dad wants me to watch Max, then that’s what’s going to happen.” Billy’s facade is starting to crack around the edges, and as he takes a step, the two girls step back, Max pulling Steve along with her. The careful choreography is keeping Steve on his toes. “How does dear old dad feel about this idea?”

He smiles wide again, the cat who got the canary. Steve sees the fight leave Mrs. Hargrove’s eyes as she glances towards the cold cement driveway, shoulders hiked up to her ears in defeat. Max’s grip on his wrist tightens again. He’s assuming he’ll find little bruises there in the morning. 

He’ll bear whatever bruises he needs to for these kids. Confronting Billy, taking the hits, it’s all worth it if he can spend every day knowing exactly where all of his kids are. And that sure as hell includes Max.

“What do you want, Billy?” Steve asks.

He scoffs, “what do I want?”

“Yeah,” Steve bitches back, “that’s what I said. Maybe my hits landed harder than I thought, because apparently you’re deaf now.” At school, this is the part where the people crowding him would laugh, back him up. Here in the Hargrove’s driveway, no one’s laughing. “I asked you, what do you want?”

He’s surprised when Billy snaps his mouth shut, seeming to take the offer seriously. After a few moments, he smirks again. “Alright, Harrington. You win. You can take little Maxine here off my hands. But I want your spot on the team, and I want to be captain.”

“Done.” Steve says.

Steve hasn’t been to school yet to tell the coach he’s dropping out. Once he turns in his doctor’s note, the coach won’t have anything to argue against. But he figures Billy doesn’t need to know that. It seems Mrs. Hargrove’s caught the same cue, as she side eye’s Steve but doesn’t say anything.

Billy’s staring at him, lips parted in shock. Leaving him speechless feels like a minor accomplishment. “And I still want my allowance, same as if I’m still watching her.”

“Done.” Mrs. Hargrove and Steve reply in unison. Billy looks back and forth between Max and Steve, a complicated expression passes behind his eyes Steve can’t quite place, something close to remorse. It’s gone before Steve can puzzle it out, replaced with his usual facade. 

“Max, get your shit out of my back seat.” He’s still smiling, but his voice is a cold void. She runs back to the car, ripping the passenger front and back door open. As she does, Billy storms off into the house and Mrs. Hargrove timidly watches him go, then turns back to Steve.

She crouches down to look her daughter in the eye, and Steve’s struck with how similar they appear with the same burning red hair, orange freckles. Max seems to soften slightly under her mother’s gaze, but she’s still holding herself strong and straight like Billy’s out here next to her. It sets Steve’s teeth on edge. He remembers learning at a similar age that his mom is just a person, a woman capable of mistakes instead of an all powerful Mom all kids think they have as a parent. He also thinks maybe kids should get to believe that longer than him and Max got to.

They work out the details, making sure Max has enough clothes in her backpack, along with her skateboard and homework, so she can stay the night at Steve’s. He’ll drop her at school in the morning, along with Henderson, and that’s two more kids he knows are safe.

The car ride to his place is quiet, radio volume on low. Max is fidgeting with the strap on the backpack on her lap, and Steve doesn’t know whether he should poke and prod, or let her come to him. In the end, he doesn’t have to wait long.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

He hums. “Done what?”

“Given up basketball, being captain, just to– I don’t know. Be a babysitter. Especially my babysitter. It’s not like I need one.”

Warmth fills him up at the familiarity her words strike in him. He’ll prove to her how wrong she is eventually. How she’s a kid worth babysitting.

“Max, I already gave up the spot. Just haven’t told the coach yet.”

He doesn’t glance over to her when she turns, eyes focused on the road. Still, he can hear the smile in her voice, “but Billy–”

“Yeah,” Steve laughs, “he would’ve gotten it anyway.

She scoffs, delighted and surprised.

“Is this something you’re ok with?” He asks, only kind of afraid of the answer. “I should’ve asked you sooner, if you’re ok with me–”

“Totally,” she cuts him off, still smiling.

“And the whole, King Steve thing, doesn’t bother you?” He thinks about everything Dustin’s made passing comments about. How Mike throws it in his face at every opportunity and how he knows it’s all Jonathan and Nancy seem to see in him. How obsessed Billy was with him for so long, and that Max spends more time with all of them than anyone. When it comes right down to it, she barely knows Steve, yet is probably equipped with enough stories to make her own guesses. 

They ride the rest of the way in silence, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come until they’re parked in his empty driveway. When he finally turns to face her, Max’s eyes are earnest and clear, illuminated by the conviction on her brow.

“‘King Steve’ sounds like a stupid nickname,” she snarks. There’s fondness in her tone, and he smiles back at her. “I think I’ll just call you Steve until I can think of something better.”

A weight so heavy is lifted from his shoulders in that moment that he almost cries from the relief. He tips his head back to keep the overwhelming emotions contained just a little bit longer, and he laughs wetly to release some of the uncontained joy. 

“Is a nickname like Random Girl any better?”

She giggles, small and easy. “We’ll work on it.” And as she grabs her stuff from the back and makes her way towards the front door, Steve realizes they’ve got all the time in the world to work on it. Together.

~~~

I'm really enjoying this series, and this section in particular! I'm such a sucker for Steve and Max. <3 <3