#oc x billy hargrove

[annwrites]

you're stuck with me, baby.

— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: billy treats you sweetly for once, but something is up. and then you have your absolute worst fight yet.

— tags: billy being a (manipulative) sweetheart. billy getting violent. billy being very sorry.

— tw: domestic violence

— word count: 3,105

— a/n: don't worry guys, i can fix him.

By that night, you've nearly reached the Texas border. When you stop at a red light, Billy rolls his head back against the seat, looking at you, who's looking out the window, arms laid atop one another on the sill, taking in the neon lights all around you.

He reaches over then, sliding his large warm palm up your bare thigh.

Your head jerks in his direction. "What're you doing?"

He doesn't reply. Doesn't smirk or smile, or have so much as a twinkle in his eye. Instead, he just looks at you softly.

Your brows furrow, his hand sliding closer to your inner thigh, then stopping, thumb rubbing circles against your soft skin.

You look out the windshield. "The light's green."

You look back to him.

He just keeps looking at you.

And then the car behind you honks and he huffs, rolling his eyes, putting his hand back on the shifter as they lay on the horn yet again. "Yeah, yeah, I fuckin' heard you the first time."

For dinner, Billy pulls into a small diner, and you both exit the car. He holds the door open for you and you pause, looking at him, surprised he didn't go ahead of you. "Thanks."

He gives you a small smile.

You feel like something is up, but don't want to ruin the moment—rather, him acting like an actual human being for once—so you say nothing of it.

You both take a booth by the window, looking over your menus after giving the waiter your drink orders—a lemonade for you and a Coke for him.

You begin perusing their dinner options when you feel Billy's foot brush against yours under the table, just like that afternoon.

You don't react. You're tired of taking the bait every single time. It was just that he knew exactly how to get to you somehow every time.

You set down your menu, knowing what you want, then look dreamily out the window. You smile to yourself and you don't notice it, but Billy is watching you with observant eyes.

You're too lost in your thoughts to take note of him. It's something about being on the road at night that makes you feel so hopeful and content.

All the neon lights, the cars on the road, the warm feel of the summer air on your skin as it washes over you through the open passenger-side window, music playing softly as other cars pass you, people walking along the sidewalks. It makes you feel less lonely. Like the world really can be a beautiful place sometimes.

"What're you thinkin' about, baby?"

You look at him then, shifting in your seat at his soft tone.

"Just how nice things are at night."

He leans back. "Oh, yeah? How so?"

Are you about to have an actual conversation again?

"You'll just tell me that I sound stupid."

"I won't," he replies, brushing his foot against yours.

"It's just pretty. All the lights and the cars and people. Don't you think so?"

He shrugs slightly. "I definitely think at least one thing is pretty."

Back to hitting on you again, then. Never one to give up, clearly.

Your waiter returns, then, to take your orders and Billy speaks. "It'll be one check." He then looks to you. "You want to order first, angel?"

That was a new one. 'Angel'.

You get a salad and a small side, which consists of two pieces of fried chicken, while Billy gets two barbeque sandwiches. Before he even takes one bite of his dinner, though, he looks at you.

"You want to try a bite, sugar?"

You glance up to him from your salad. "I could always throw it on the floor after eating half of it."

He bites back a smirk. "Maybe that's why I got two."

You gingerly take the sandwich from him, taking a small bite, then handing it back.

"Good?"

You nod, chewing.

"You want the other one?"

You shake your head, swallowing. "No, thank you. And...thank you, for paying."

"You're welcome, darlin'."

Something was definitely going on. This wasn't him. But if he knew how to act like this all along, then why was he such an asshole all the time instead?

Once the two of you have finished eating, Billy goes up to pay the check, you standing beside him. As you go to head outside, he holds the door for you again, hand pressed against the small of your back, and then even opens the car door for you as well.

"T-thanks," you say, sitting.

"Welcome," he replies, turning the key in the ignition. He then looks at you. "You want to find a place to stay for the night, or do you want me to drive around some more so you can enjoy the lights?"

You stare at him for a moment. He was asking what you wanted to do? You honestly don't know how to reply to that.

"What do you want to-"

He shakes his head. "I'm asking you, baby."

"I'm kind of tired, actually."

He nods. "I'll find us a motel, honey."

He does the speed limit the entire way to the nearby Days Inn, following the letter of the law to a T the whole way over. You find yourself impressed that it turns out he knows how to drive with common sense.

Once you've arrived, he goes inside, getting you both a room for the night, then comes back out to find you leaning against the trunk, waiting for him.

He throws the key to you and you catch it between your hands.

"One bed again. Think it being cheaper that way is going to be a common trend as we travel."

You nod and step to the side as he unlocks the trunk.

You reach down to grab your backpack first, until he gently grabs your hand in his, his silver ring glinting against the lights overtop the both of you. "I've got it, sweetheart. Let me get it for you."

You merely nod and watch as he loads all three bags onto himself and he follows you up the stairs to your room. Once you've unlocked the door, you let him go in first, then close it behind you.

This room is a near-duplicate of the last one, except for the color-scheme being different. Gaudy oranges and yellows litter the space, from the wallpaper, to the carpet, the curtains, even the bed-spread.

Billy lowers your bags onto the floor, then turns back to you. "You want to shower first?"

He's being very considerate tonight...

"Sure," you say, bending down to your bag, grabbing a pair of shorts and a tanktop, as well as clean undergarments, then stepping into the bathroom, softly shutting the door behind you.

You take your time bathing, trying to understand his sudden shift in mood. Maybe he finally felt guilty about how poorly he'd treated you so far? Maybe he was just tired. Maybe... You sighed. Maybe a lot of things. You didn't pretend to understand him, or the way he acted from one moment to the other.

When you step out of the bathroom, now clean and freshly shaved, you find him laid back against the headboard, flipping channels on the TV.

"You look nice," he says.

You put your hairbrush and razor away in your bag. "Oh, thanks."

He stands, grabbing a pair of briefs and sweatpants. He gives you a light tap under your chin as he goes to step past you, even kissing your cheek, which takes you by surprise. "Welcome, doll."

He shuts the bathroom door behind him this time and you sit down on the edge of the bed, head spinning.

If he'd been this guy from day one, you would've already returned his efforts in dating. How could he not understand that being an angry, vulgar ass was going to get him nowhere—not with you, at least. The 'bad boy' act would only get him so far with girls. But not very far in life, that was for certain.

You stand then, padding over to your bag, deciding to go ahead and pick out an outfit for tomorrow—something to occupy you for a moment, instead of dwelling on him and how he was now acting.

You even bother pulling a few things out, refolding them, then deciding to reorganize half the bag in general.

When Billy emerges from the bathroom, he comes up behind you, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your head. You spin around in surprise, bumping against the wall behind you. "Oh."

He steps closer to you, leaning down, wrapping one arm around your waist, while pressing the palm of his other hand against the wall. He begins planting hot wet kisses along your neck and your eyes go wide. He spears his tongue, licking gently, then kissing that same spot. The smell of Old Spice and spearmint invades your senses.

He pulls back, then leans forward again, pressing his lips to yours, softly, gently, his hand now moving to your waist, pushing your tanktop up.

You push lightly against his chest. "Billy, what're you doing?" You ask, voice laced with confusion and concern.

He gives you a small smirk. "Trying to kiss you, pretty girl."

He moves his lips back to your neck again, trailing kisses up to your ear, then whispers into it, "Don't worry, I have condoms."

You shove him away from you then.

"What was that for?" He asks, mildly irritated, erection already standing present.

"C-condoms? I told you earlier I-" You suddenly stop speaking, and then your eyes burn with unshed tears, hope that he was going to finally start being nicer to you shattering.

"That's why," you say tone defeated.

"Why what?" He spits.

You see the real him slowly returning.

"Why you've been so nice to me tonight. You found out I was a virgin and really thought it'd only take a couple hours of buttering me up for me to spread my legs for you. God, you're so pathetic."

His lips sneers. "Why do you have to be such a fuckin' cock tease all the time, huh? Everything I've done—driving your ass across how many state lines, buying you food, a room for the night, keeping you safe, and you don't think I deserve anything in return?"

He felt entitled to it? Sex? With you? You suddenly feel incredibly unsafe. Like you did back in that house with a father who ruled with fists and harsh words. How could you not have seen it before? They were two sides of the same coin.

"You're not entitled to anything. I never asked you for any of that. You practically fucking volunteered."

You angrily wipe tears from your eyes and he lets out a mocking laugh. "Here comes the fucking water-works. Every bitch's greatest trick. Well, guess what, cunt? They don't work on me."

You flinch at the vulgar name.

You watch as his hands tighten into fists at his sides and your heart begins to pound.

He steps closer to you. "I'm pathetic? Me? At least I was making fucking friends. People liked me. You lived in that goddamn town for how long and had nothing to show for it? I could've been king of that school and had any pussy I wanted. But, for whatever reason, you were the set of lips I chose to chase after. What a waste of my fuckin' time. I should've left your ass on the side of the road that night. Be one less problem on my fucking plate."

Your chin wobbles. "Fuck you. I would've been just fine without you. Better off, probably. You think you're so irresistible and different, don't you? Instead, you're just like your daddy."

He roars in anger then, and his fist lands inside the drywall directly next to your head.

You stare up at him in terror, silent tears slipping down your flushed cheeks.

He looks down at you, expression unreadable, his eyes flitting between both of yours.

"P-please don't hurt me," you say, voice small, somehow childlike, even.

His face falls, hurt flashing across his features. His fist loosens as he pulls it back, palm now-flat against the section of wall above the damage he'd just done.

You wrap your arms around yourself and he realizes that you think he's going to hit you next.

He staggers back, hands on his knees for just a moment before abruptly grabbing his bag and going in the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

You sink down to the floor, bringing your knees up to your chest and you lower your forehead to the top of them, rocking yourself gently as you sob in fear.

When Billy comes out of the bathroom, he's dressed in jeans and another button-up shirt, but you don't see him.

His stomach turns when he sees you curled into yourself, crying, shaking, whispering to yourself. "Please...no....don't hurt...."

He lets out a quiet swear, slipping on his boots and jacket, grabbing his car keys and wallet from the table. "I'm going out," he throws over his shoulder before closing the motel door behind him.

Once he's reached his car, he slams the driver's-side door and goes to stick the keys in the ignition, then falters for a moment. Was he really about to leave you all alone like that?

Images of you staring up at him with wide eyes full of fear—just like how his mom used to look at his dad—flash through his mind.

He turns the engine over. Yes, he was.

Billy drives around town for two hours. At first, he'd wished he'd brought his bag with him. He could've just passed over into Texas on his own by now if he had. Instead, he was stuck in Oklahoma with you for the moment being.

Eventually, he parks in an empty lot somewhere, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel. He doesn't want to focus on the way he's treated you since day-one. Shitty. That's how.

With most girls, he only had to put in minimal effort to get them to give him what he wanted. He had his looks, the way he dressed, a nice smile, his thick head of hair, a cool car, and a devil-may-care attitude. None of them ever asked for more. Well, they did, but he didn't much care what they wanted. Once he got what he was after, he was satisfied.

He leans back against the seat, eyes closed, unable to get the fucking image of you out of his head.

You'd called him out on his behavior every time—read him like a goddamn book—and that was what really got under his skin. Most girls he came across were either doe-eyed idiots, or sluts. There wasn't an in-between. Not in his mind. But not you, clearly.

But, he supposes, growing up with an abusive father forces you to become adept at reading others to anticipate their future actions, or understanding why they are the way they are. Why they do the things they do.

"For fuck's sake," he says, turning around to finally head back to you, deciding he'd apologize for scaring you. But that was it. Even if it had been your fault. He didn't want to think about how it was really his. How he'd caused this entire damn mess in the first place.

He was about to ruin a good thing. Like always.

It was like he couldn't help himself. What was it his dad had once said about him? Self-destructive behavior? Yeah, well, what did that asshole know? He drove his mother away—his own wife.

He had no room to fucking judge him.

No one did.

Billy slowly climbs the stairs to the room and finds the door thankfully unlocked when he turns the handle.

And when he steps inside, his stomach drops. You're gone, as well as both of your bags.

He steps over to the small table on the other side of the room and picks up the notepad set atop it and reads your delicate handwriting: Don't look for me.

"Fuck that," he says, throwing it down, heading back down to his car.

He tears out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell.

The longer he drives, the worse his anxiety gets. It was almost midnight now. What if you were in some strange man's car, bound and gagged and—no, he can't think like that.

He searches for your face in every woman he passes, but doesn't find you.

Then, he remembers you telling him before about how, had he not come along, you would've 'thumbed a ride'.

"She's on the fucking interstate," he says, making an illegal u-turn, nearly hitting another car as he climbs over a median, racing to you.

He downshifts, RPMs climbing, nearly in the red, then backing off just as the needle hits it, then downshifts again as he jumps on the interstate on-ramp.

He flies past other cars, barely paying attention to the road ahead as he searches for you on the shoulder. Then, "Ha! Fucking found you!"

He pulls over, slamming on the brakes, then gets out, closing his door, coming back toward you.

You stare at him in fear, then turn around, walking quickly away.

"Stop!" He yells, but you of course don't listen.

"Goddamn it," he mutters to himself.

When he finally reaches you, his hand grabs your own, tugging you back in the direction of the car. "C'mon, I'm taking you back."

You turn around, yanking your hand back away from him, staring up at him with bloodshot eyes. "Leave me alone!"

"No way in hell," he says, going to grab you again, but you step back.

He lets out a low swear.

You step forward then and slam your palms against his chest. And then you do it again. And again. And again.

And he just lets you at it. He deserves this after...well, after everything.

Finally, he wraps his arms around you, one around the backpack behind you, his other hand cupping the back of your head.

You sob against his chest. "I fucking hate you."

He shooshes you. "I know."

"You're abusive."

"I know."

"I told you not to-"

"You really think I'd ever listen to that shit?" He pulls away, looking down at you, his hands cupping your cheeks, brushing tears away. "You're stuck with me, baby."

He continues. "Please come back with me. I can't do this without you." He pauses, then, "I don't want to be alone anymore."

[dazedandconfused-15]

Heaven's in your eyes (Part 1)

This is to answer a request I received from an anonymous user a couple of months ago “Billy asks shy reader out and is protective over her”, for some reason I can't directly respond to their post still getting used to Tumblr. Sorry for taking a while to write this one. Anyway, I got a little bit carried away and turned it into a short fic, I just loved the whole concept. I’ll definitely post a part 2. Comments and constructive opinions are always appreciated 🩷

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Female Reader

Summary: Life in Hawkins is dull and lonely, especially after your mom abandoned your family, leaving you even more isolated amidst school rumors. Already shy and with few friends, you find solace in your solitude—until Billy Hargrove, the intriguing new boy from California, comes into the picture. To your surprise, Billy seems to seek you out, finding ways to talk to you despite the odds. Never in a million years would you have imagined forming such an unexpected bond with someone.

Link to: Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

______________________________________________________________

You have always watched him from a distance.

There was something magnetic about him. Where he was, energy swirled.

You have never spoken to him. He’s something inaccessible to you. He hangs out with the popular crowd. Yet, unlike all of them, he doesn’t seem to pretend. He doesn’t show off. He naturally exudes an aura that makes him alluring. He’s not just what could be called "hot." No, he’s beautiful. When you first saw him in the school hallways, you could swear that for a second, your heart stopped. He was playing with his lighter, walking with an assured stride in the direction of his classroom with Jason Carver. He was a palette of contrasting colors that stood out in perfect harmony. His tanned face was framed by long, golden curls that almost fell over his shoulders. He looked straight ahead as he listened to the boy at his side with his red mouth stretched into a smirk that revealed white teeth. His cupid bow was dusted with stubble. It was no surprise that most of the girls looked at him with no shame, the shyest ones glancing up as soon as he passed them. That California boy did not look like a boy. He looked like a man. You could tell by the way he was built, the black leather jacket hugging his broad shoulders, the muscular legs in his denim jeans.

You had realized that you were staring openly at him when he passed by you and, probably feeling the weight of your gaze on him, his eyes had met yours. There, something had happened inside you. His eyes were the purest blue you had ever seen. They were crystalline. But it was the long dark lashes that gave his gaze something expressive and unique. They were the embodiment of what is called a piercing gaze. It was a unique paradox: as angelic as it was rough in outline. Awakening from your enchantment, you lowered your gaze with an abrupt jerk of your head and resumed putting your books away in the locker, feeling your cheeks on fire and your heart beating wildly.

That was the only time you had even a remote semblance of contact with him. 

As you rush to your English literature class a month later, rounding the corner of the hallway, the last thing you expect is to bump into him. You let out an "ouch" as you collide with his hard chest, your notes and pencil case tumbling to the ground in the chaos. It's only when you raise your eyes in a flurry of apologies that you realize who you've bumped into. You swallow, kneeling and picking up your notes hastily. 

"You alright?"

"Yes. Yes." the notes slip through your shaking fingers.

His hands appear in your field of vision, and when you accidentally touch them, an electric shock almost makes you wince. He helps you pick them up, then raises to his feet and holds them to you. You thank him, thinking about what else you could say to avoid making the situation awkward. His baby blue shirt matches the color of his eyes. He’s even prettier from closer. 

"We’re in History class together, right?

His question surprises you. You didn't think he would remember you. You didn't think he would notice you.

"Yes. That's right."

He holds out his hand, his heavy-lidded gaze on you. "Billy."

You shake his hand, introducing yourself. His hand is large and his grip his firm, but gentle at the same time. That touch makes your stomach tangle. You can't believe he is talking to you.

"You're new, right?" you ask. You know fully well that he arrived here a month ago. You know full well that he is from California. He probably knows that you know, but he doesn't say anything about it

"Yes. Moved here last month."

“Oh, okay. Welcome to Hawkins, then.” you say gently as you absently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Thanks.”

There’s a beat of silence, him probably waiting for you to say something else. You point at the door down the hallway, starting to walk away. “I ah, I have to go to class. Sorry.”

And you walk away, no, you scurry away, almost escaping him, feeling a pang of embarrassment as you replay the scene later in your head, regretting how abruptly you left without saying more. 

You don’t cross paths with him again after that. However, you are clearly more aware of his presence during history classes even though you don’t interact again. 

In recent months, you've adopted a strategy of minimizing your visibility as much as possible. It’s not always easy. That Thursday is one of the hard days. Mr. Jensen, the new history teacher, makes his way through the rows of desks, collecting permission slips signed by parents for the upcoming day trip he has organized to Indianapolis. 

"Ah, I don't seem to have your permission slip yet," he inquires gently as he sees you empty-handed. "Did you forget to bring it today?" 

Feeling the eyes of everyone on you, your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you shake your head, your voice barely above a whisper. You hate all of this attention on you. "I, um, I haven't been able to get it signed yet. My dad's been working double shifts, and I haven't caught him at home."

“I understand,” the teacher says, “But I need to give all the signed papers to the principal by tomorrow. Is it possibly to get it signed today? By your mother, perhaps?”

Before you could answer, Tommy Hagan's voice pierces the air, his tone laced with mockery. "She's probably halfway across the country by now, cozying up with some other guy."

You don’t even turn to look at him. You saw it coming. It’s been five months since she left now. Hawkins is a small town, so the news spread quickly. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, avoiding eye contact with your classmates as you feel the weight of their curious gazes. 

"I uh...I just," you try to ignore Tommy's comment, resting your eyes on the professor whose eyebrows are furrowed in confusion. "I'll tell my dad tonight. He's just been really busy. I will bring it to class tomorrow."

“If he comes back with the milk.” snickers Tommy. 

You stiffen instantly without wanting to, which the teacher doesn’t fail to notice.

“That's enough, Mr. Hagan. Comments like that have no place in my classroom.” he snaps as his eyes darken, his jaw set. His expression softens as he turns to you. “Don't worry about the permission slip for now. We'll make sure you're included."

As the professor returns to his seat, your eyes remain fixed on the spot where the desk is chipped, absently touching it with your fingernail. Your body fails to relax as you fight to ignore the burning in your throat, careful not to blink, your vision blurred for a few moments. But Tommy's yelp draws your attention and you turn your head to your left, where he is sitting next to Billy. 

“What was that for, man?”

Tommy is rubbing his shoulder, his face scrunched up in pain and a mixture of disbelief and confusion on his face. Billy stares straight ahead, his face cold and hard. 

"What the fuck is your problem?" he eventually mutters under the teacher’s explanation. However, it sounds more like a statement than a question.

As you go back to stare at your desk, your throat is still burning but your vision is clear again. You wonder if what Billy said was because of Tommy's comments. Why would he defend you? 

The rest of the class passes in a blur of confusion and unanswered questions. Tommy's hurtful words echo in your mind, leaving you shaken and upset, the sting of their cruelty lingering long after the bell rings.

***

On the morning of the school trip, you are tempted to call the school and say you are sick, but your father comes back from the plant later in the morning and will see that you are actually fine. Also, Mr. Jensen might suspect that something is going on. Only, the idea of spending the day with the whole class, but feeling more alone than you are when you're at school, doesn't appeal to you. You've never been very outgoing. Since your mother left, the armor that covered you has only thickened, alienating you from the rest of the world. To this day you have received no answers. She left overnight without warning. You never received a call. You knew that things had not been going well between your parents for some time. Or rather, your mother kept complaining about how being in Hawkins was suffocating her, how she was no longer happy. The pain was slowly becoming coated with resentment. She had abandoned you and your father as if nothing had happened, as if years of living together had counted for nothing. As if being a family had cost nothing. Arriving on the ground floor and finding the kitchen light off had now become a habit, not an odd occurrence. Other things had become routine: the unaccustomed silence in your house, the TV once perpetually on now always off, the teapot once always in use was now in the kitchen drawer. 

Once on the school bus, you spend your time looking out the window and counting the trees on the distant hills. You can feel the wind blowing outside, the rain pelting cruelly on the window. A crack lets a trickle of air through, making you shiver and clench tighter in your jacket. The ride at least passes quietly, no one talking to you or bothering you. Tommy Hagan keeps his comments to himself, too busy jabbering in the back of the bus with his band of friends. You can hear the occasional shrillness in the voice of Carol Perkins, his girlfriend. 

You spend almost the entire morning in the Indiana Historical Society, following the professor through the corridors of the museum. You stay in the background, drowning out the guide's voice and looking at the paintings hanging on the wall. As you change rooms, you realize that you are not the only one who has remained aloof. Billy Hargrove lingers to your side at the back of the row of students, his hands tucked into his leather jacket. You try not to be affected by his presence, suddenly self-conscious of the way you walk and breathe. You still remember what he told Tommy Hagan the week before. You are increasingly convinced that he defended you. As the class spreads in different directions, everyone observing something different and speaking lowly in small groups you realize he’s still here, on your side.  As you ponder if you should say something, or just assume that he’s walking behind on his own, he catches you off guard. 

“Kinda boring, huh?” 

“Yeah, a little," you respond, offering him a small smile that probably looks like a grimace. "History isn't my cup of tea."

“Mine neither,” his gaze scans the display cases lining the wall on your left. “Beats being seated all day in class, though.”

“Definitely,” you nod in agreement as you slowly cross through another room. Desperately trying to fill the silence, you come up with the first thing that crosses your mind. “I’ve been here before.”

“The museum?” 

“Indianapolis,” you say. You hesitate before finishing your thoughts. “My grandma lived here. I spent some weekends at hers.” 

Billy hums. He sniffs, then retrieves some chewing gums from his back pocket. He unwraps one. “How’s the city?” 

“It’s great. Oh, thank you.” you softly say as you take the gum he’s offering you. “There are some nice parks.” 

He pops the chewing gum in his mouth. “We have quite a few in San Diego too.

You turn toward him, curiosity overcoming your shyness. “You lived in San Diego?”

“Yes. Big change of scenery.”

“I can imagine.” your gaze wanders to the antique objects displayed in a glass case. “I’ve seen pictures, it looks incredible.” memories of your dad's album, from when he was young, flood your mind – images of palm trees swaying in the breeze, golden beaches stretching for miles, and endless blue skies that seemed to merge seamlessly with the ocean. 

“That’s something else, yeah. Honestly, I couldn’t complain at all.” 

“I wish I could see California,” you say a little dreamily. 

“I can take you one day.”

Your throat feels suddenly dry. So you let out a nervous giggle, avoiding his gaze, assuming he is joking. Fortunately, the professor calls your attention back. It's lunchtime and he tells you that you are free to go wherever you want, as long as you are outside the museum within four hours. You told your father the school would pay for the student's lunch because you know times are tough. He insisted on giving you ten dollars in case you need it.

You walk down the steps of the museum looking around and thinking about where you could make all this time go. It's going to be long. You know a few restaurants, but you know that your pocket money is clearly not enough to eat there. A gust of wind brings the smell of smoke to your nostrils, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Billy stop beside you. His eyes take in your surroundings.

“So, you told me you know the city.”

“Huh, yes,” you answer, a little lost. “Not all of it, but most of it, like downtown.”

Billy exhales the smoke he’s been holding in his mouth.  “Are we downtown?” 

You look around, recognizing the skyscrapers in the distance. "Yes," you point to the skyline to your right, figuring he simply wants to ask you for information so he knows where to go with his friends. "It's over there."

“Sweet. You hungry?” 

The silence that passes between the two of you makes him turn toward you, waiting for your response. So you rush to answer, ignoring the way his piercing blue eyes make you feel self-conscious.

“Yes. Yes, a little bit,” then you ask him, unsure: “...are you?”

“Starving.” he resumes walking down the stairs again, and you follow him, trying to figure out if he really means what you think he means. Some classmates are already leaving in different directions. “You know someplace to eat?” 

“I do. But I don’t have enough. In case you want to go together. If that’s what you were offering.” You add, mentally slapping yourself. Why does everything you say have to come across as weird? Besides, you just admitted that you are practically out of money. “I can show you, though.”

Billy shakes his head, shifting in his leather jacket. “Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s on me.” 

“No, really, I can't let you do that," you insist, your voice tinged with concern. "I mean, I appreciate it, but I can't just let you pay for me."

Billy turns to you, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he exhales the smoke sideways. "Come on, it's no big deal," he reassures you. "Consider it my way of saying thanks for showing me around. Besides, it's not like I'm short on cash."

You hesitate for a moment. But ultimately, you know that accepting his offer would ease the burden on your wallet. With a resigned sigh, you nod in agreement. "Okay, if you insist," you concede, offering him a small smile. "But just this once.”

You wanna immediately grimace at your pathetic implication that there would be another time, but Billy doesn’t seem to notice anyway.

He just winks at you. And even if he’s not smiling or anything, it still makes your stomach flip. "Deal," he says. "Now, lead the way."

As you walk beside each other through the park later on, you relish in what surrounds you, not even realizing the silence that has settled between the two of you because it feels so natural. Some people are jogging, there are some families too, or people walking alone headed who knows where. The birds are chirping in the trees that are alongside the walk. You spot a squirrel scurrying up the trunk of one of them, its fluffy tail waving wildly. The late afternoon sun is shining right in front of you, hitting your skin in a gentle caress. Spring is gradually unfurling its colors, bringing with it a glimmer of warmth that has been absent from your life lately. In the midst of the cold and desolation that settled in after your mother's departure, this glimpse of light offers a tentative promise of renewal, a small beacon of hope amid the darkness that has enveloped you and your father. You glance at Billy, realizing that in the short span of your conversation, he's frequently reached for a cigarette. Yet, even during the moments when he abstained, like in the museum and at the restaurant, his mouth was never empty. It was either occupied by a mint, a bite of burger, the straw of his milkshake, or eventually a toothpick found on the table. 

“So, uhm, have you been somewhere else besides San Diego or Hawkins?” you venture. 

“Nope”, he answers, the “p” resounding loudly. He looks around, one hand in his jacket pocket as the other one holds the cigarette on his side. “Never moved from Cali. I was born in Santa Barbara. Then moved to San Diego when I was ten.”

You hum in acknowledgment. “Is Santa Barbara close to the ocean?”

“It is. I’ve always lived by the ocean.” 

You turn to him, enthusiasm laced in your voice as you get carried away in the conversation. “So you know how to surf?” 

Billy chuckles, nodding as he brings the cigarette to his lips. “I do, yeah. Surfed every day.” 

“Wow.” you breathe, your mind wandering away. “It must be…like an adrenaline rush.”

As Billy exhales the smoke, you don’t miss the nostalgic glint flickering in his eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. "Yeah, it's something else. There's nothing quite like catching a wave, feeling the power of the ocean beneath you."

“I’ve heard it’s hard to learn.” you muse softly. 

The rhythmic sound of your footsteps punctuates the conversation. Billy stays silent for a few seconds, probably lost in his thoughts. Then he shrugs. “To be honest, I was on the surfboard since I was a child, so must’ve been natural for me. But yeah, it generally is.

“I can only imagine," you respond, a sense of longing in your voice. You’ve only seen this kind of landscape in pictures or on TV.  "Must have been amazing growing up with that kind of freedom."

Billy's sigh is loud as he exhales a plume of smoke, his gaze drifting towards the horizon. "It was. Surfing was my escape, you know? Whenever things got tough, I could just grab my board and disappear into the waves."

What he says lightens some curiosity in you. You wonder what he means by that. You wonder what he went through, what his past was like. There’s something really intriguing about him. But you refrain from asking more, aware of how little you know each other. Besides, you can’t help but notice the little twitch of his jaw muscles as he says it. 

"It’s always been books for me.” you offer. “They have this way of transporting you to another world, making you forget about everything else."

Billy nods in understanding. “What kinda books you read?”

“Oh,” you look at your shoes as you feel suddenly vulnerable. You almost feel ashamed of your taste in books, but you know you shouldn’t. “A bit of everything, really. I’m reading a Dostoevsky one right now.

“Dostoevsky, huh? Pretty heavy stuff.”

“You’ve read some of him before?

“I read Dream of a Ridiculous Man. A long time ago though.” 

“Oh,” you breathe, recalling how challenging it was to finish it when you read it a couple of months ago. Reading books by Dostoevsky, especially that one, has been both a cathartic and enlightening experience. They made you feel less alone in your pain. “Did you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda controversial.” he grimaces. “It’s a fucking depressing book. But... it's like... there's something about it that just... resonates, you know what I mean? Like, you read it and... it's like looking into a mirror, but... the reflection's all twisted and weird. I don't know if that makes any sense.” he shrugs. 

It couldn’t make more any sense to you. For the first time, you feel understood in that sense. It's a relief to know that you're not alone in finding meaning within its pages. His words resonate deeply with you. 

“I totally get it. That’s part of the reason why I like his books.” 

The subtle revelation hangs in the air with the rhythmic sound of your footsteps on the concrete path. You hope he’s not reflecting on your words too much, aware of what you’ve implied. Your own thoughts go on what he said. Why did Billy resonate so much with the book? What if there’s something everybody can relate to, even people who haven’t experienced anything bad in life?

“You?” he then asks. “Always been in Hawkins?”

“Born and raised.” you nod. Then you add, a bit sheepishly: “Nothing like California, unfortunately.” 

Billy snorts, flicking his cigarette. “What’s there to do in summer?”

“Oh uh. Nothing much. We have a public pool.” you offer, looking at him. 

Billy takes a drag, his eyes trailing on the path in front of both of you.

“We have Lover’s Lake too,” you add. “It’s quite nice, actually. People spend the day there and have barbecues or campfires.” 

“Yeah, I’ve heard about that one,” he says. “You guys party by the lake during summer or something like that.” 

“Yes.” then you keep quiet for a few breaths, imagining he’s probably heard it from one of his friends from the basketball team. They’re usually to host parties or organize them. It always involves loads of alcohol and ends up in big scandals. You feel the urge to correct him. “Not me, though. I don’t, uh…I don’t party.” 

You feel his eyes on you. “Makes sense.”

You look up at him in question. 

“Didn’t see you at the Halloween party.”

“The one hosted by Tina Williams?” you soon look away as soon as you meet his gaze. “I didn’t know you…you noticed.”

“Would’ve sure as hell noticed if you were there.”

As Billy's words settle in, you feel a warmth spreading through you, starting from the tips of your ears and flushing your cheeks crimson. His simple compliment catches you off guard, igniting a whirlwind of emotions within you. You find yourself struggling to meet his gaze, your eyes flickering away as you search for some semblance of composure. None of this makes sense. The mere fact that he recognized your absence at the party, that he shared lunch with you, that he's now walking beside you in the park—it all feels inexplicable. You're accustomed to blending into the background, being an outcast in the bustling halls of the school. You're no stranger to the whispers that swirl around you, painting you as the outsider, the comments about your situation at home, the subtle jabs at your circumstances. The silence between you stretches, pregnant with unspoken thoughts. 

“You alright?” you hear him ask.

You slow down, lingering to a stop as you realize Billy has stopped walking too. He looks down at you with a hint of curiosity, the sun caressing his golden skin and reflecting in his eyes, becoming like polished, crystalline gems. That’s when you notice little details you haven’t paid attention to before. The scar cutting through his right eyebrow, the pattern of freckles dusting his nose. 

“I guess I’m just a little confused,” you admit. 

Billy exhales the smoke from his nostrils, his gaze effortlessly fixed intensely on you. “Why is that?”

“I just…” you try to not avoid his gaze. “Why are you here with me?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement and what looks like genuine confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?”

His question is so simple it takes you off guard. Makes you question your reasoning. As you’re at a loss for words, you feel a blush slowly creeping down your cheeks. 

Billy’s lips slowly curve into a smile, somewhat teasing. “You really have pretty eyes, you know that?”

You’re positively sure you’re as red as a lobster now, a little whine escaping your lips as embarrassment settles over you. It’s the most instinctual reaction. It makes him chuckle, and makes you awkwardly laugh in response, because what else can you do? He tilts his head to the side, trying to meet your avoiding eyes. 

“How about that? I’m here with you ‘cause of your pretty eyes”. 

“I really don’t think they’re that special.” you shake your head, still laughing. 

You’re not that innocent to not realise he’s openly flirting with you. You’re not surprised, because just looking at him is enough. You’ve also heard things about him and some girls at high school. What surprises you, is that he’s flirting with you. You don’t have that much experience in the love department, but there’s something sincere and genuine in the way he’s doing it now. There’s something soft in his eyes that tells you he’s sincere.

“Well, it’s a shame,” he says, that’s when you realise how much closer you are to each other. You can tell by how you can smell the tobacco and his cologne, his silver earring shining as it catches the sun. He tilts his head again, this time catching your gaze as you muster the courage to lock eyes with him. “’Cause you have beautiful eyes.”

“Thank you,” you mumble with a shy smile, nodding your head slightly. You swear you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. 

You feel like you want to return the compliment because his eyes are the reason why your heart is reacting the way it does. But then again, you’re too shy to do that, and a tiny part of you thinks it would make things weird or would end up having you vulnerable because you don’t know for sure if his compliment is fueled by real interest in you. 

“I just don’t hang out with anyone, trust me.”

As a distant church bells toll four times, their echoes drifting across the park, a subtle reminder of the passing time washes over you both. The realization settles in that it’s time for you to go. You should be back in front of the museum in half an hour. 

Luckily, Billy saves you from answering as he breaks eye contact and looks up beyond your shoulder, where the church is. “We should go,” he says.

As you walk back to the museum, you think about his words. Now you realize that you didn’t see him hanging around Tommy Hagan lately. In particular, today on the bus, the latter was seated with his girlfriend and hung out with two other members of the basketball team. Billy was somewhere else the whole time.

When you two reach the museum, the teacher is already counting everyone to make sure the whole class is there. Billy joins his mates, elbowing one of them in a friendly gesture. You didn’t fail the notice the looks most of your classmates shot at you when he saw you two arrive together. The teacher draws the class's attention back to the trip, prompting feedback and reflections from everyone.

What you don’t expect either once on the bus, is feeling someone sitting on the empty seat next to yours. Billy gets comfortable, making it seem something so normal as he stretches his long legs as far as the cramped quarters allow. His thigh brushes against yours and your heart jumps a little in your ribcage, but a few minutes later you start to relax. You can’t help the feeling of warmth spreading through your chest as you take in his choice to sit deliberately next to you. You don’t need to fill the silence, or at least not as strongly as a few hours ago. You’re also quite tired. As you venture a glance in his direction, Billy’s eyes are closed. It seems you’re not the only one feeling tired. His arms are crossed over his chest but his facial features are totally relaxed now that he’s dozing off, his head resting against the seat. His hair seems soft at the touch, a curl falling unruly on his forehead. You feel the distant urge to wrap it around your finger, brush it from his face. There is a difference between now and when he’s fully awake: his expression softened, his gaze peaceful, and his features relaxed. It's a stark contrast from the demeanor you've observed from a distance, where his smile is more wolfish, his facial muscles tense, and his eyes often distant or bored. You force yourself to look away from him, setting your gaze on the window. As the rhythmic hum of the bus lulls you into a state of drowsiness, you feel your eyelids grow heavy. The warmth of the moment envelops you, and soon, you find yourself dozing off as well. 

Once you get off the bus, you wrap your arms around your waist as you shiver. The weather is distinctly different. It seems to have been raining all day. The sky is darkening. School buses cannot take you home because there is no bus stop near your house. Forest Hill Trailer Park is in the isolated part of Hawkins. There is no one from the high school living there, so you can't ask anyone for a ride. It's not like anyone would have offered anyway. You've always walked to and from school, in total it takes you forty minutes. As you start to walk away from the bus, you hear footsteps behind you and Billy is at your side, effortlessly catching up with you. You realize his car is parked a few steps away from you. The gleaming navy blue Camaro stands out among the other cars, ‘CALIFORNIA’ on the license plate.

You take the opportunity to thank him before he can dart away and you will probably never exchange another word again.

“Hey,” you start, turning to look at him. “I just wanted to thank you for paying at lunch today.”

Billy plays with the lighter, making it bounce in his hand. “It’s nothing. How are you getting home?”

“Oh, I’m walking.” you point your thumb at the road on your left.

“Come on. I’ll drive you.”

Your mouth opens and closes stupidly, then your brain finally decides to cooperate. Accepting his offer feels like taking advantage of his kindness. You don't want to do this. “I…it’s not a long walk, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s probably gonna rain soon.” he points at the sky, walking past you and toward the parked car.

“You don’t have to.” you insist, guilt filling my stomach as he opens the passenger door for you.

“I know.” he chuckles. 

The soft thrumming of a rock song fills the air, the bass pulsing gently as Billy lowers the volume as soon as he turns the engine on. The interior of the Camaro envelops you in a world that feels distinctly his. The smell of leather fills your senses, mingling with the faint scent of his cologne. It's clear that he takes immense pride in his car and the care and attention he devotes to it reflects on the interior. The leather seats feel soft and smooth. There's not a speck of dust anywhere, even in the corners. A pair of aviators rests on the dashboard. 

You give him directions, your voice cutting through the quiet ambiance of the car. He nods in acknowledgment, his gaze focused on the road ahead. His left arm casually drapes against the window, while his other hand firmly grasps the top of the steering wheel. 

“It’s quite a walk,” he observes as the Camaro speeds through the road surrounded by the woods. 

“Yeah…”

You’re thinking of asking him to stop before getting to Forest Hill, but it’s pouring and you don’t have an umbrella. As you get closer and closer, anxiety starts rippling through you. You shake the feeling out of your head. You’re being ridiculous, there’s nothing to be ashamed about. Additionally, you barely know him. You try and distract yourself, asking him about where he lives instead.

“Cherry Lane. You know where it is?” 

“Yes, it’s a nice and quiet area. It’s not that far from school either,” you observe.

Billy absently scratches his chin, the glint of a silver braided ring catching your eye. “Yeah. It’s quiet, that’s for sure.” 

You find yourself wondering about its significance. Does it have one? You've heard numerous accounts of Billy's involvement in fights at parties, tales of the severe injuries sustained by those who crossed him, and the ferocity of his punches. How many times has that ring been tainted with someone else's blood? Despite the rumors surrounding his aggressive behavior, your interactions with Billy have always been positive. He's consistently shown kindness to you.

Billy turns left, veering off the main road onto a narrow side road, the tires crunching on the gravelly dirt path that winds its way towards Forest Hills. The rain drums insistently against the car, a steady rhythm punctuating the silence between you.

The first trailer emerges into view, its weather-beaten exterior casting a shadow of foreboding over your already uneasy mind. Despite your discomfort, you muster the courage to speak up, directing Billy to continue driving until the end of the road.

You steal a furtive glance at him, searching for any hint of judgment in his expression, but Billy remains impassive. There's no trace of surprise or disdain in his features. His gaze lingers on the scene before you, studying it with a detached curiosity that seems to characterize his view of Hawkins as a whole.

“Thanks again for today, really. I wanna pay you back,” you venture as he slows down.

Billy waves a dismissive hand before settling it on the gear shift, smoothly transitioning into first gear. “I told you it’s no big deal. Wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

You worry at your lip, still not totally convinced. You glance at him. “I know that. But it doesn’t sound fair. It’s important to me.”

Billy's gaze shifts to the road ahead as he seemingly considers your words. "If you really wanna make it up to me," he starts, his voice trailing off for a moment before he continues, "How about you show me around Hawkins sometime?"

You blink, caught off guard by his suggestion. "Show you around Hawkins?"

"Yeah," he nods, resting his forearm loosely on the steering wheel as he gestures while he talks. "I've only been here a short while, and I don't really know my way around outside downtown yet. Like, all the places you talked to me about. The lake, the quarry."

The idea appeals to you, though the thought of spending more time with him outside of school never crossed your mind. The fact of spending time with him in the first place was out off the charts for you. "Sure, I could do that," you reply, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I mean, I'm not exactly a tour guide, but I could show you some cool spots. Whenever you want, uhm. Yeah.”

Billy reaches out to the compartment on the passenger side, brushing your knee with his arm. He opens it and extracts a pen. 

“Here,” he takes off the cap with his teeth, and before you know it he’s taking your arm, gently lifting your sweater sleeve. 

You try to look unfazed by his touch, though the feeling of his fingertips pressing gently against your skin as he holds your forearm, the sensation of the pen as he writes something on it makes you shiver, raising goosebumps. You look at him in silent confusion as he writes, his dark lashes brushing his cheekbones, a glimpse of pearly white teeth and a sharp canine as he holds the cap between them. Then he releases your arm, and you take a look at it while he takes the cap from his mouth. A series of numbers are written in blue ink on your skin. A phone number.

“Oh.” you say softly. You definitely haven’t expected that.

“Call me when you feel like it.” 

It’s really hard for you to hide your nervousness, acting as cool as you can.

“Okay, will do.” you unbuckle your belt, glancing at him enough to give him a soft smile.

Billy nods at you in silent farewell before you close the passenger door. “Have a good night”.

“You too. Bye.”

The warmth of Billy's presence lingers in the car as you step out into the cool, damp air, the raindrops falling softly around you. Closing the door behind you, you watch as the sleek navy blue Camaro disappears down the little road and into the woods from the small window of the living room. As you stand there, the drops of water falling from the end of your hair, you can't help but brush at the phone number on your forearm, tracing the neat handwriting with your fingertips. It's like you're still trying to wrap your head around what just happened. Though you're trying to keep it under control, you can't help the fluttering feeling in your heart.

[dumbasssimp]

God i need to get my "i can fix him" mentality under control.

[floredaqueen]

Tease Pt. 2

Hargrove's Revenge

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Please enjoy, lol

[sadhours]

stuck in the middle with you - chapter one

billy hargrove x mayfield!oc

cw: 18+ minors dni, stepcest, pseudocest, smut, underage drinking, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected p in v

Family night. Pamela hates them just as much as Billy does. These weren’t a weekly occurrence before they moved to Hawkins but Neil and Susan are very determined to make this blended family feel like they’ve been together forever. Checking her manicured nails, Pamela isn’t exactly paying attention to the western flick on the TV but she is keenly aware of her step brother sitting next to her, smelling like he skipped showering after his workout. He’s still wearing the teeny basketball shorts and thin white muscle tee. Billy fidgets a lot, Pamela’s noticed. Like he truly can’t sit still for more than five minutes. He bounces his leg up and down and each time, his thigh brushes up against Pamela’s ankle which she’s partially sitting on. Max leans forward and glares at him but Billy’s lost in his head, eyes on the TV while he gnaws on his fingernail.

“Tell him to stop,” Max mumbles to Pamela and she heaves a small sigh, always playing middleman for these two. Billy argues with Max like he’s also thirteen and not seventeen.

Instead of verbally scolding Billy, Pamela moves her ankle and pokes her toes at his thigh. His eyes dart up to her face and she whispers, “Stop moving.”

Billy’s face screws up, lips in tight line before he opens his mouth to say something but it’s like he rethinks it. Instead clears his throat and then stretches his legs out, crosses his arms and brings his attention back to the Clint Eastwood movie. Pamela keeps looking at him for a beat but her stomach starts to twist in shame and she has to look at the TV, too. She hates Westerns but they’re Neil’s favorite so they’re usually what the family watches together. Except on the Family Nights that Neil and Susan go out but they insist the three kids still watch a movie together. Billy and Max are the majority vote, so it’s typically horror movies those nights. Pamela doesn’t really care, she’s used to watching them with Max but before Billy was around, Max would agree to the romance movies Pamela preferred. A lot has changed and Pamela knows that change is supposed to be good so she’s making a real tried and true effort to accept it.

The high school is fine, it’s much smaller so she was a shoo-in for the cheer team. She and Billy found it easy to fit in amongst the “popular” kids but Pamela isn’t too fond of the clique Billy hangs out with. They’re mean and rowdy, which is common for the popular crowd but these kids think they’re really cool but it’s easy to be cool in such a tiny town. There’s nothing to even do here besides climb the social ladder. So, really, the person she could find a special comradity in would be Billy but Pamela can barely look at him. Before Neil and Susan got married, Billy wasn’t shy about telling Pamela he had the hots for her. And now they’re legally related so the whole thing just has her feeling really uncomfortable. She’s in denial too, because she also finds him incredibly attractive.

The credits roll on the movie and Neil stretches, all exaggerated and loud. Slaps his hands on his knees before he stands from his recliner.

“Alright, kids,” Susan smiles at the three on the couch, “Time to get ready for bed.”

Everybody retreats into their rooms. The kids are absolutely silent while Susan blathers to Neil about the movie they just watched, fiending interest in something she would have complained about had it been Max and Pamela’s dad insisting they watch. Billy’s behind Pamela, stops outside his door and watches her descend down the hallway. Their eyes meet for a second but Pamela’s the one to break it, goes into her room and flicks the light on. Changes into her pajamas in front of her mirror, shamefully thinking about how she looks to Billy. Pulls her lacy pink nightgown on and smoothes her hands down her hips, turns slightly to look at the curve of her ass. He’s quiet most of the time, but she can’t help but recall a moment between them on the three day drive to Indiana. They were staying at a shitty motel in a truck stop of a town. Neil and Susan got their own room and the three teens shared another. While Max was in the shower, Billy said something to Pamela that stuck. Repeats in her head over and over.

“If my dad didn’t marry your mom, I’d have fucked you by now.”

She made sure Max slept in the middle of the bed that night. But it didn’t really matter because Billy stayed out on the balcony of the motel, chain smoking until she and Max passed out.

Pamela opens her bedroom door, steps into the hallway and hears another door close. She snaps her head to catch Billy standing just outside his door, in nothing but his underwear. Her eyes scan over his body, at least what she can see of it from the light coming from her bedroom. It’s not like this is the first time she’s seen him shirtless but before, she really wasn’t looking. Unable to keep her eyes on him for more than a second. But he’s caught her off guard and the whole long distance thing with her boyfriend has got her particularly wound up. Billy has abs. Defined yet soft. His hips stick out and his muscles curve down towards his…

She sighs and looks away, doesn’t even catch the way Billy’s looking back at her. He just chuckles, low and breathy. Motions his hand to the bathroom, “Ladies first.”

Pamela steps quickly into the bathroom, flicks the light on and shuts the door. Turns on the faucet as she grabs her toothbrush and closes her eyes, realizing she technically saw Billy’s pubes. Soft blonde curls above the waistband of his underwear, and god, they were kind of tight, weren’t they? Hugged his thighs, which were also covered in soft blonde hairs. Pamela bites her lip, sinks her hand into her underwear and presses a finger to her entrance, finding she’s pretty fucking wet. You are disgusting, she tells herself as she rips her hand away and grabs the toothpaste. Squeezes a dollop on her toothbrush and wets it, shoving it in her mouth and brushing furiously as she stares at her reflection. She can’t be attracted to Billy. He’s her step brother. Legal siblings. Their parents have sex, that should be enough to make him repulsive. Maybe she should call her boyfriend. It’s earlier in California. He’s probably finishing up dinner.

She spits into the sink, then moves on to washing her face. Uses cold water to calm the heat radiating all over her. But Billy’s still in the hallway when she opens the door, leaning against the wall. Eyes her up and down as she stands before him.

“You like that color a lot,” he mumbles, sure to be quiet so no one can hear them.

Pamela looks at him straight faced, blinks a few times before she looks into her bedroom. Decorated in the same color.

“Pink’s my favorite color,” she replies softly.

Billy smirks, glances down at his briefs and back to her, “Red’s mine.”

Her eyes follow his, sees that yeah, his briefs are red but also, there’s quite a lot going on in them. She rolls her eyes, pushes quickly past him and shuts her door. A little more forcefully than she meant. Hears Billy laugh and it frustrates her even more. She groans softly, reaching for her phone and dialing the familiar number. She’ll deal with Neil’s anger about long distance calls later.

“Sawyer?” she smiles once she hears him say hello.

“Pammy, hi,” his voice sounds all floaty. She knows he’s smiling.

“I miss you so much, it’s driving me crazy,” she complains.

“I miss you, too,” he says and then sighs, “Hey, listen, I got to go. The guys are here but I’ll call you tomorrow. Okay?”

He hangs up before Pamela gets a chance to respond.

—

Pamela smoothes her hands over her short red dress, eyeing her costume up and down to make sure she looks perfect before she steps outside. She adjusts the little devil horn headband on her head and then purses her lips, checking her bright red lipstick. There’s an abrupt knock on the door before it swings open. In the doorway stands a short Michael Myers. Pamela eyes her sister carefully, “What do you want, Max Myers?”

“Are you done yet? I’m gonna be late,” comes the muffled reply from the redhead.

“Yeah, let me just grab my purse,” Pam heaves a sigh and turns to grab the rest of her things. Ignores the judgmental eyes of her step father as she steps out into the living room.

“Billy!” Susan sings, “The girls are ready!”

She’s clutching the Polaroid camera in her hands, looking excitedly at the girls as they wait for Billy. His bedroom door opens, smoke and aquanet flooding out. A stench that makes Pamela a little nauseous. He should open a window, she thinks. Surprised he hasn’t burnt the house to the ground. He wears his jeans, boots and a black leather jacket— no shirt underneath.

“What are you supposed to be?” Pamela asks, a brow lifted. Upon seeing his son, Neil grumbles and retreats into the kitchen. Pamela catches it, but isn’t sure if anyone else did. Thinks she might’ve heard him mumble an insult, of the homophobic variety.

“Terminator,” Billy and Max recite in unison, like it was obvious. And maybe it should be. She just took Max to watch it two days ago. But really, it was boring and she fell asleep.

Susan motions her hand, “Alright, kids, get close.” She lifts the camera to her eye, smile peeking out underneath it, “Say cheese!”

Pamela’s the only one to say it, ignoring how Billy’s arm brushes against the small of her back. Susan takes another photo before letting them go. Max climbs into the backseat and Pamela into the front. Billy speeds off before any of them can get their seatbelts on. He drives so fast, ignoring the stop signs in their neighborhood.

“It’s Halloween, you need to slow down,” Pamela chastises him, “You're gonna run down some trick or treaters.”

Billy cackles, loud and manically. In the mirror, Pamela can see Max glaring at their step brother but she’s silent. Pamela doesn’t get an explanation. Billy just turns up the stereo and Pamela considers it a win when he actually follows most traffic laws. They drop Max off on a corner of a neighborhood none of them recognize.

“Be safe, okay? Make sure you’re home by ten like mom said,” Pamela tells her sister as she stands in the street, letting Max climb out of the back.

“Yeah, whatever, I will. Bye!” Max says, pulling her mask on before running down the sidewalk towards a group of boys dressed as The Ghostbusters.

“Good,” Pamela says when she gets back in the car, “She’s already made friends.”

“I don’t trust them,” Billy grumbles as he takes off towards Loch Nora.

Pamela makes a face, flips down the visor and checks her makeup in the mirror as she tells him, “You don’t trust anyone. Max has good judgment of character.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Billy rolls his eyes, lights up a cigarette and keeps his eyes on the road.

Once they get to Tina’s party, they separate… well kind of. They have somewhat of an overlapping friend group. Pamela hangs out with the cheerleaders and the cheerleaders hang out with the jocks. Therefore, Billy’s in close proximity the whole night.

Does this weird thing where whenever she’s talking to a member of the male species, he butts in and derails whatever conversation Pamela was in the middle of. Which he doesn’t need to do. Pamela isn’t interested in any of these boys, she’s in a committed relationship with Sawyer. And besides, it’s odd that Billy would suddenly care but once they got to Hawkins, he picked up this like protective older brother schtick. She crowds him after the tenth time of him doing it and confronts him.

“What are you doing?” She presses an accusatory finger against his bare chest, the alcohol coursing through her veins is to blame for the way his skin shoots heat throughout her and definitely not something else.

He smiles, cocky and heavy lidded. Billy’s fucking smashed, maybe drunker than she is. Perhaps she should drive home but she doesn’t feel like that’s a safe idea either. He slurs when he replies, “I don’t know. What am I doing?”

“You keep interrupting every time I’m talking to a man,” Pamela accuses, eyebrows raised.

“Well,” Billy hiccups, wavers a bit before he leans against the siding of Tina’s huge house, “you should hear what these fucks say about you. I’m doing you a favor.”

Pamela’s face screws up in anger, maybe a bit of confusion, “Okay and? It’s not like I’m trying to sleep with any of them. I have a boyfriend, remember?”

Billy blinks then looks smug as he replies, “Oh, that’s right, the one that’s thousands of miles away. How’s that going? You tell him you were going to a party tonight? Tell him how you’re dressed tonight?”

She gasps, face in utter shock, “What the fuck is your problem?”

“What?” he pulls a face, mock confusion. Pink lips parted with those glassy blue eyes wide, eyebrows raised. “You looked in the mirror before you left, why would you wear that if you didn’t want people looking?”

Pamela groans, “I hate you.”

She turns on her heel and stomps away, fuming at the way he thinks he can talk to her like that. She keeps walking, out onto the street. Looks both ways and realizes she has no idea where she is, or how to get home but she’s determined to walk the way there anyways. She picks a direction, wandering in the middle of the road with her arms wrapping around her torso. Ignores the cold air and the way her feet ache from these stupid heels. She doesn’t get very far before the Camaro is pulling up beside her. Billy’s got the window down and he’s laughing. Pamela turns her nose up and keeps walking, the blue car matching her pace.

“You’re walking the wrong way,” Billy says, all cheeky. “C’mon, I’m sorry. Get in the car, I’ll take you home.”

“No, you’re mean,” Pamela responds stiffly but stops walking. Turns around and faces the other way. This town is small but she still has no idea how to make it back home. All the houses in this neighborhood look the same.

Billy sighs, “I said I’m sorry. Just get in the fucking car, Pam.”

“Do not call me that!” she shouts, turning toward him and stomping her little high heel. Doesn’t miss the way Billy’s smiling at her. Like he’s entertained.

“Pamela, I’m sorry, Pamela. C’mon, it’s like thirty miles home, you can’t walk that,” he tells her.

Silently, she accepts defeat. Walks around the hood of the Camaro and gets in the front seat. Keeps her arms wrapped around herself as she sits and stares out the window. Billy whips the car around, driving slower than he usually does as he reaches for his pack of smokes and lights one up.

“You’re mean,” Pamela repeats again, wipes at her eyes and messes up her eyeliner. Smearing it all over her cheekbone.

“I said sorry. Guess I hit a nerve, though,” Billy muses, “Want a smoke?”

Shamefully, Pamela thinks that sounds really good so she nods her head. Takes the one he’d just lit and feels grossed out that it makes her lips tingle, thinking that his lips were just on the filter. Billy lights up another and glances at her.

“I didn’t mean to uh, hurt your feelings. You look really good tonight,” he mumbles. “That’s why I had to do what I did. Don’t want those guys taking advantage of you.”

“Such a good brother,” Pamela rolls her eyes, sucks on the filter and fills her lungs with smoke.

Billy winces at that— brother. She finds it curious but doesn’t push. Just keeps looking out the window as she smokes. Then she admits, “I mean, I guess thank you. I am pretty drunk. Could’ve made a bad decision.”

“Why are you even trying to make it work with that guy?” Billy asks, sounding genuinely curious.

“I love him,” she answers simply.

“Yeah but— long distance is like, not ever gonna work. What if one of you cheats?” Billy inquires, thumbs against the steering wheel.

He’s kind of swerving but it’s late. Pamela thinks maybe one or two in the morning. Hopefully the cops are all busy. There’s not many in this town, they probably aren’t hanging around in this rich neighborhood on Halloween.

“We won’t.”

“So why wear that?” Billy wonders, “I mean, it’s like a big invitation.”

“You’re so gross,” Pamela groans.

Billy laughs, “I’m a man. We’re all fucking gross. The things these fuckers say about you. Literally, the locker room is all these fucks talking about how they wanna screw you.”

“I can handle myself,” Pamela replies softly.

Billy shifts in his seat, hand moves down to adjust his jeans and he says under his breath, “I don’t know if I can.”

“What?” she asks, looking at him.

“Nothing,” he shrugs, “Not important.”

“No, I heard you,” she insists, “What do you mean by that?”

Billy sighs, a big heavy one and bites his lip. Gnaws on it before he finally answers, “I mean, you’re fucking hot as hell. Seeing you dressed like that makes it difficult to handle myself.”

“We’re related, Billy.”

“No—“ he laughs, “No the fuck we’re not.”

“Our parents are married,” she says, like she has to explain it.

Billy glances at her, “Yeah… and I really fucking wish they weren’t.”

“Me, too,” Pamela mumbles, but something tells her they have different reasons.

“I already told you… I would’ve—“ Billy stops, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter.

Pamela looks at him again, really looks. Can see his abs where his jacket is open. Lets her eyes go down further and sees his bulge in his jeans. Inviting for some reason, probably the alcohol. She licks her lips, “Fucked me by now.”

“Yeah.”

It has to be the alcohol, and the lack of attention from her boyfriend. But she tosses the cigarette out the window and drags her hand up her thigh, lifts her dress with it. Catches the way Billy’s eyes dance between her hand and the windshield. Smoothes her hands up and cups her breasts over the silky red dress. “Would’ve touched me like this?” she asks, teetering over the boundary.

“Fuck,” Billy huffs, tosses his cigarette out the window and then palms against his crotch, “Yeah.”

“You think I’d let you?” Pamela asks, teasingly as she pulls her dress down, exposes her breast and grazes her finger against her nipple.

He smirks, squeezes himself in his jeans and speeds up. Keeps glancing between Pamela and the windshield. “I think so.”

She grabs his wrist, peeling his hand from his crotch and brings it to her chest. The pair of them moan at the contact. Billy keeps his eyes trained on the road, pinches Pamela’s nipple and then grazes his thumb against the tip of it. She whines, spreads her legs because she can’t help herself. Completely acting on horny impulse and lack of inhibition. Mind too fuzzy to realize just how much she’ll regret this.

Billy pulls up to the house, lets go of her chest to park and then he’s turning toward her. Grabs her dress and lunges forward, crashing their lips together. It’s a battle of tongue and teeth. All too much and not enough. Pamela pushes him back. Fixes her dress and opens the car door. Stands up and looks at him expectantly, “You coming?”

He’s after her in seconds, hands on her hips and lips on her neck while Pamela tries to quietly unlock the front door. She kicks off her shoes while they’re outside. Leans down to pick them up and places them next to the pile inside. Billy kicks his boots off, closes the door quietly and locks it behind him. They trail to Billy’s bedroom, sharing haphazard and drunken kisses along the way. Once inside his bedroom, they don’t stay dressed for long. First is Billy’s jacket. Pamela’s hands feeling all over his muscular torso while Billy’s tug down the straps of her dress and move to cup her tits. Squeezes them in his hands, meeting his lips to hers. Licks into her mouth as she opens it in a silent moan. Backing her into his mattress, she falls easily and he peels the dress the rest of the way off. Then he hooks his fingers into the elastic of her thigh heels and begins peeling them off. Discards them with her dress and presses the heel of his palm against her core, over her panties. Pamela whimpers, brings her feet to the edge of his mattress. Arches her back and Billy looks down at her hungrily. All spread and exposed for him. He wraps his hand around her hips and pulls her down the bed, gets on his knees and noses against her thigh.

Pamela rolls her hips, hands groping her own chest as he mouths against her skin. Inching up and up until he gets his mouth on her pussy, underwear still playing as a barricade. He licks the thin fabric, makes out with it. Eyes up and on her. Pamela props herself up on her elbows and lets the arousal fuel her. Keeps playing with her tits while Billy eats her out over her underwear. His blue eyes look wild. Blown pupils. She whimpers as his tongue flicks against her stiff clit.

He pulls back and hooks his fingers in the elastic, peels them down and laughs.

“What?” Pamela looks at him panicked.

“Uh,” Billy laughs again, softer as he peers down at her cunt. “The hair… it’s red.”

Oh. Pamela rolls her eyes, “Yeah, I’m not a natural blonde. Why are you laughing?”

Billy shrugs, looks kind of sweet, “Just didn’t expect that.” He smooths his fingers against the tuft of hair and bites his lip, “I like it.”

She’s about to tell him to shut up but he beats her to it, his hot mouth on her pussy that makes her toes curl. Drags his tongue through her folds, circles at her entrance and meets back up at her clit. Pamela’s eyes flutter shut, rolling her nipples between her fingertips as she spreads her legs further to give Billy better access. He zeros in on her clit, flicking his tongue against it and sucking it between his lips. His fingers gripping her thighs tightly, flesh dipping in under his fingernails. Billy moves his head with the motions, moans into her heat like he really can’t himself. Like he’s starving and she’s the last meal he’ll ever have. Holds her still while he licks her out until she’s gripping the sheets beneath her. Biting her lip as to stay quiet.

“Billy,” she pants out, thighs shaking while the coil twists in her stomach. She’s not sure if it’s being so riled up, the dry spell she’s been under or Billy’s genuine skill but she’s reaching her climax quicker than she has before. Her body goes slack, freezing as he sucks particularly harshly on her clit. As her orgasm crashes through her she wails, unable to control herself and Billy basically folds her in half, mouth still on her cunt as he slaps his hand over her mouth to quiet her instantly. Her body seizes, aftershocks of her orgasm jolting through her as Billy continues licking at her. She has to push him off when it becomes too much.

He stands then, gloved hands unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them down his thighs. Pamela’s mind is even more clouded from the post orgasm bliss, sitting up and mouthing at his muscular stomach as she cups his bulge. Squeezes while she licks a line above the waistband of his briefs. She moans into it, fueled by the headiness of it all. Billy exhales shakily, hands snaking into Pamela’s messy hair and tugging at her roots. She glances up, catches his fucked expression and feels her ego inflate. Before she got with Sawyer, Pamela had a bit of a phase because she liked when men looked at her the way Billy is right now. And in this moment, she’s brought back to that person she used to be. Doesn’t care that it’s her fucking step brother that’s giving her the attention.

Pamela smiles against his skin, hooks her fingers in his underwear and tugs them to his thighs to meet his denim. Billy’s cock pops out, all proud and swollen. Pink head leaking precum, drooling down the veiny side and Pamela licks her lower lip. He’s big. Probably the biggest she’s seen. By far the prettiest. Proportional and not weirdly colored. Round head, not pointed like some she’s seen. It’s curved to the right but that’s par for the course and really, one this big, she can only expect is a chore to contain in tight Levi’s.

Her tongue meets the underside of his tip, circles around the sensitive skin and kitten licks at the little heart shaped part. Pamela’s manicured fingers wrap around the thick base of Billy’s cock and he grunts, body swaying forward from the pressure. Stirring a giggle from Pamela as she peers up at him. Billy meets her with a crooked smile, cockiness evaporating from him. She’s in total control here. Just how she likes it.

She drools down the side of his cock and uses her hand to smear it all around. Billy continues making these soft sounds of pleasure, hands still tangled in her bleached hair. Pamela wraps her lips around his tip, sucks softly while swiping her tongue along the edge as she works her hand up and down his shaft languidly. Has her back arched, sticking her ass up and puts on a total show for her step brother. Receding to a persona she’d thought she’d permanently forgotten. But this is too good, she feels incredibly attractive. Thinks for a second about how her boyfriend hasn’t looked at her like this since they first started dating. And maybe that should be enough to put an end to this but Pamela’s too drunk and her inhibitions are long gone. All that’s important to her is getting that validation.

“So good,” Billy breathes out, gathering her hair up in his hand and holding it like a ponytail. “You can take more, can’t you?”

She’s drunk on it, would pretty much agree to anything Billy asks. So she sinks his cock deeper into her mouth, until her knuckles meet her lips and blinks up at him. As if to ask, like this?

“Mmm,” Billy hums, “That’s a good girl.”

He then uses his grip on her hair to guide her, tugging her up and pushing her back down on his cock. Pamela has to blow air out of her nose so she doesn’t gag, eyes glazing over as Billy sets the pace. The praise does something to her. Completely sends her into a different headspace. Lets her know she is good.

She swallows around him, holds eye contact while Billy bobs her head up and down on his cock. Then he holds her still, hisses and closes his eyes.

“Fuck— I…”

“Don’t cum yet,” Pamela pulls off, eyes narrowing into angry slits. “I’m not done yet.”

Billy laughs, but it sounds whiny. He lets go of her hair and rubs his face with his hands, “I’m trying.”

“I need you inside me, Billy,” she tells him, eyebrows knit together in frustration.

“Saying shit like that isn’t helping your case,” Billy says, eyes screwed shut.

Pamela sighs, lets go of his cock and shuffles up on his bed. Billy’s eyes open from the lack of touch, watching as she lays back on his bed, eyes following her hands as they run up and down her exposed body. A hand landing on her tit while the other rubs through her folds, legs spread for him.

“You’re such a little bitch,” he grumbles and kicks his jeans and briefs completely off before crawling up on his bed, between her thighs. Grabs her hands and pins them above her head, crashing their lips together. “S’your fault for being so fucking hot,” he mumbles against her mouth.

Pamela giggles, hooks her ankle around his back and rolls up against him, “Yeah? Think your sisters just so fucking hot sucking your cock?”

Billy thrusts roughly against her, moaning into her mouth and grabbing onto her face, “Fuck, yeah. Look so sexy sucking my cock. Such a good little sister.”

She gasps, knitting her fingers in Billy’s hair and writhing against him, “Fuck me, please. Need it. Need you to stretch me out so bad.”

“Such a filthy little mouth,” Billy chastises her, pins her thigh back and then grabs hold of his cock. Presses the tip to her entrance, “Gonna beg for your big brother's cock?”

Billy’s a whole two months older than her and really, he’s her step brother. Emphasis on the step. But this is play. They’re horny beyond means and giving in to this stupid sexual tension that’s been building since he hit on her in the grocery store all those months ago.

“Please,” she babbles, “Pretty please. Fill me up, Billy. Please, please, please.”

Billy sinks inside her, holding her hip as he sheathes his way inside. Pamela gasps, clutching onto his back. Fuck, it feels so good. Stretch is beautiful, has her head spinning. She whimpers, “Oh, fuck….”

He snaps his hips forward, penetrating her to the hilt, balls snug against her ass. Her legs wrap around his waist, gaining him unobstructed access to her hole. Billy takes advantage, thrusting against her relentlessly. It’s animalistic, almost. Sweaty, slapping sounds filling the room, shifting the smell into filthy sex fumes instead of stale cigarettes and cheap hairspray. Pamela’s holding onto Billy’s hair, pair of them panting into open mouths as he drills into her. His hands are firm on her hips, pushing her deeper into the mattress while he fucks her so hard the bed begins to squeak. And they’re both way too far gone to care. The only attempt to cover sounds is their lips muffling each other's moans.

Suddenly, Billy is pulling out. Pamela elicits a sound of protest— a whine but Billy’s flipping her onto her stomach. Pulls her hips up, displaying her ass for him as she presses her cheek to the mattress and props her knees up. He sinks back inside and this position gives Pamela a whole new wave of euphoria. Her eyes roll back as Billy pummels her pussy from behind. The slapping sounds getting louder. His hand skates up her back and into the roots at the nape of her neck, uses the grip to pull her up. Her back and his chest flush while he continues thrusting into her at breakneck speed. Licks up her neck and then presses his lips against her ear.

“Taking my cock so fucking well,” he grunts out between moans. “Filthy little whore.”

“Fuck me…” she babbles, almost incoherent with the pleasure flooding her senses. From this angle, Billy’s cock is repeatedly pumping against her g-spot. He maneuvers his hand to her pussy, rubs her clit in messy, quick circles and in quick time, Pamela’s falling apart. Orgasm rushing though her. Another too loud moan falling from her lips and Billy pushes her down, mouth into his pillow as he thrusts his cock harder and faster. Pillow masking her shrill moans.

Billy pulls out, flips Pamela over and gets his hand back on his cock, jerks it quick and hard until he spills hot white spunk all over her stomach. He leans over and uses something— she thinks it might be a dirty shirt— to clean her up. Then everything kind of goes black.

—

Pamela awakens from the sound of a door slamming shut. Her eyes blink slowly and she’s met with… Billy’s room. She turns over, sees her step brother snoring peacefully beside her. Then she looks down, pulls the covers up and observes her worst fears have come true. She and Billy are both naked under the blankets.

“Fuck,” she curses, a sharp pain hitting the back of her head. She got way too drunk. This is not good. Not good at all. She jumps out of the bed, slips her red dress over her body and opens his bedroom door. Peeks out and sees no one. Looks towards the front door and sees that Neil’s shoes are gone. He’d just left for work. Pamela’s stomach curls something wicked so she rushes to the bathroom. Barely makes it to the toilet, lifting up the seat and hurling into it. Contents of last night's bad decisions filling the porcelain.

Pamela skips school that day, relieved that Billy doesn’t.

[moonbeamoclock]

Hot take that shouldn’t be a hot take:

my biggest pet peeve is when people tag something as a x reader but it’s actually an oc…..i got to the last chapter of a fic only for the description of the ‘reader’ to be of a white person.

then the author got nasty with me after i called her out about it but that’s whatever

it takes an extra 2 mins to have a generic description of a person rather then give the details of their appearance but some of y’all are just too lazy to do even that

[buckysgrace]

Billy Hargrove Masterlist

All of my Billy stuff <3

Headcanons SFW NSFW

Blurbs Billy as a Bf <3 Sundress Tank Top Nail Polish Spark Plugs Dad!Billy Round and Round Best Friend Worm Test Massages Wet Kisses

One - shots The Sinner Friendly Competition (1) Game, Set, Match (2) In Your Court (3) Midnight Hours Movie Night Break Up Slut Just Friends Father and Son Lullaby Kiss It Better Drive Training Session Too Sweet Casual Dream Came True Stop the Feeling

Harringrove Work It Out

Series Cruel Summer Dancing in the Dark Now That We Don't Talk Closer to My Heart

[babeydollx]

The First Day of Kinkmas: Breeding | Billy Hargrove

Warnings: cursing, smut, a little bit of fluff, sex, p in v, unprotected sex, daddy kink, breeding kink

Pairings: Billy Hargrove x Female Reader

Summary: In which Billy gets Y/N to try a new kink with him.

Author's Note: This fic is for the start of my 12 Days of Kinkmas!

12 Days of Kinkmas Masterlist

© Maybanks-Luver 2023, please do not steal, copy, modify, repost, or translate my work.

"Come on baby, please?" Billy asked as he pulled you closer to himself. "I don't know, Billy.. it is kind of risky don't you think?" You asked as you looked up at him. "I mean, sex with no protection and you know that I am not taking the pill either." You said. He just smirked devilishly before speaking, "but the risk makes it more fun." You sighed. You couldn't lie that the thought of Billy pumping you full of his cum did turn you on but, you just didn't know if it was the best idea. You didn't want this to end with you getting pregnant.

"Plus, I can tell by the way you are clenching your legs right now that you like the idea of me cumming inside of you." He said with a smirk. You bit your lip softly while you thought about it. "Alright, fine." You said. "But, you need to promise that if anything goes wrong, that you won't leave me." You looked up at him. That was one of your biggest fears. That if you got pregnant soon that he'd leave you. You didn't know what you would do with yourself if he ever did leave you.

Billy looked down at you lovingly. "I promise that no matter what happens that I will never leave you, babe." He said with a soft smile. You smiled warmly before kissing him. The kiss started off soft but then it turned passionate and rough. He picked you up before taking you into your shared bedroom. He gently tossed you onto the bed causing you to giggle as he climbed on top of you. The two of you made out for awhile before he began to strip you out of your clothing.

You whimpered as you watched him strip you down until your body was bare. Billy stripped his clothes off before he spread your legs. He wasted no time to position himself between your legs before slowly pushing into you. You gasped as your back arched off of the bed. "Fuck." He sighed as he bottomed out of you. You wrapped your legs around his waist before he pinned your wrists above your head as he began to thrust into you. You threw your head back and moaned out as Billy had already set a fast pace.

"Fuck- I- daddy!" You moaned out as he thrusted into you even faster than he was before. Billy smirked at the name. "Fuck, say it again baby." He said as he groaned out. "Daddy!" You moaned out louder as he continued to plow his cock into you. You clenched around him as he continued to fuck into you. He leaned down and began to kiss your neck before gently biting it. You whimpered loudly when he did so before he slowly licked over the spot he bit and continued to lick up your neck until he reached you earlobe and began to gently nibble on your ear.

Your legs tightened around his waist and you clenched around him again. "Fuck, I love this pussy." Billy groaned in your ear as he continued to fuck you. You started to feel a familiar knot bunching up in your stomach and you knew that you were going to cum. "I- can I p- please cum, daddy?" You attempted to ask him as you moaned out. He pretended to think about it for a moment which caused you to whine. "Alright, cum for me baby." He said. Your eyes rolled back and your legs began to tremble as you gushed all over his cock.

He continued to fuck into your pussy for a few more minutes before he came as well, filling up your pussy with his cum. Billy pulled out of you as his cum began to drip out of your pussy. He took his fingers and scooped his cum back up before shoving it back into you again causing you to moan. "Well, let's see if you get all swelled up with my baby." Billy said with a smirk.

Author's Note: tysm for reading!

[queers-gambit]

Careful What You Wish For

prompt: he's highly reactive, you're incredibly enduring. he's a righteous dick, you're criminally empathetic. he's temperamental, you're amenable. but you're done being his doormat. -> or in which Billy resorts to breaking up when you two fight, but when he comes to make up (like clockwork), you finally have a change of heart.

pairing: Billy Hargrove x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

word count: 5k+

warnings: it's not much so don't expect a lot! author has Daddy Issues™️ and you're gonna deal with it, cursing, drama for drama's sake, Billy Boy's trauma translates into a toxic relationship, feelings are hard, abrupt ending, angst, hurt not a lot of comfort; healthy parent relationship? wild.

and NO this is NOT influenced by Hoover's book / Blake's movie! i have NOT read the book nor seen the movie, so if you recognize similarities, it's 100% unintentional!

To be reactive means to impulsively act upon circumstances instead of rationally considering situations that would asses a humane, clean, agreeable, "legal" response. To be reactive is exactly what it sounds like. It's reacting. It's not thinking, it's not being considerate or logical. It's being fueled by emotion, to be impulsive and rash. To be reactive was borderline selfish as the response is one-sided and results from only a single person's perspective.

Part of growing up is learning to handle your reactions; to absorb situations and consider the best possible option forward. Thing is, it's not a skill people could master in a day, week, month, year - it took a lot of time, focus, and constant, conscious dedication. People in high school were attempting to master this skill; people in college, their 20's - hell, there's even people in their 30's and 40's still trying to learn and perfect the ability to fucking handle their reactiveness.

So, in actuality, you couldn't fault Billy for being "this" way. It's not like he was doing it consciously, maliciously, or on purpose; he genuinely didn't know better and it's hard to unlearn lessons life taught you. Considering the environment he grew up in, you knew Billy stood absolutely no chance to learn and develop healthy coping mechanisms and forms of communication - but Christ, it was difficult to date him.

All romantic bullshit aside, Billy's attitude was increasingly concerning the further your relationship progressed. He required a lot of love and patience - of which, you had an abundance of and was happy to give. Yet that's the key word, abundance - NOT unlimited. He's sensitive, meaning easily irritated; damn near any and everything inconvenienced him. His mouth moved before his neurons could fire. He refused to compromise or admit defeat like Flat Earthers refuse scientific evidence. He would always choose throwing a fist over using his words. He embodied the cutting image of "bad boy", but he also lived it if his lack of manners and foul mouth was any indication. He was aloof, malcontent, egotistical, had the emotional intelligence of a fucking jellyfish, operated as an iron lock with a thrown-away key.

And Billy loves you. You knew, in his way, he loves you. But you also knew how hard it was for Billy to have any degree of emotion for any given reason. This meant more often than not, you worried his feelings for you were forced, or at the very least, ebbed and waned. Odd, isn't it? How his trauma causes a trauma response in you?

Billy was far from perfect, but you didn't need him perfect. You needed him to be loving, supportive, kind and caring, honest, empathetic... All things nobody would EVER think of when trying to describe Billy.

Yet you two worked. Polar opposites; two ends of the spectrum; a flowery romance novel and a doomed tragedy.

You used to think he was the ebony ink and you, the pure snow in the Yin and Yang symbol - or a taijitu. He was dark and brooding and abused and hateful - but with you, as that single dot of white, he felt balanced. You're bright, blinding, glittering, passionate - and with Billy, he added that speck of darkness (or realism) to your purity.

Sure, this could mean literally since you lost your virginity to him within a couple months of dating, but more so in the sense that Billy's pessimism was darkening your optimism; almost as if he was pouring water from your glass into his to force you to see your glass (read: reality) as half empty. It was as if he was corrupting you. Yet perhaps not in the sense we all might think - like he takes you to party all weekend, blow off school, engage in sketchy or concerning or dangerous activities, experiment with drugs and sexual positions that border on acrobatic. His corruption was more along the lines of draining you; where you were once bright and happy, so excited to love and be loved, to live life; you're now just tired and passive and accepting.

Billy wasn't easy to love. When you first started dating, it felt like a challenge - winning him over. You were determined to prove yourself ideal, capable, and willing to endure him and all his (and his family's) antics. Yet as time passed, you fell so deeply in love with him that you didn't even remember why you first kept coming back for more. He was intoxicating; he invades any space and commandeers not just attention, but leadership and control.

Billy was the flame. You, the moth. Yet eventually, fires will die. They will not burn forever. Whether from a lack of oxygen, wood, or something like the wind snuffs it, no flame ever endures forever. And now, the flame was dying and you were finding lesser reason to linger around dwindling warmth.

You see, there's only SO much a person can take. Being so reactive, fighting with Billy is fucking clockwork. It's eerily like a science the way you two will always fight when one of you has the realization, "Wow, things are SO peaceful and SO nice right now!" Naturally, because God (or karma, the universe, whoever) had a sense of humor, would choose that moment to cause issue.

Fights with Billy were usually sparked by something decently simple - like you being paired with Jason Carver for a tutoring session, or taking an extra 10 minutes in the shower after your sports practice, or telling him, "Sorry, I can't go out Friday, baby, I told the Wheeler's I'd babysit." This would cause Billy to spiral. Akin to a ripe, seasonal Kansas tornado.

Fights with Billy usually got personal, and since you knew and trusted one another so well, there was plenty of ammunition. Insults were hurled for an unGodly amount of time, but it was because Billy loved pulling loose threads to watch everything unravel.

Fights with Billy usually ended in a single, consistent manner: with him breaking up with you. Oh, it was infuriating! Billy had both fight and flight instincts - you know, from being so reactive - that he was all for throwing a punch, but when it came to real accountability or resolution, he'd flee; never caring about who he might hurt in the process. He'd engage his "fight" response, and then turn around and "flee", only to return later and resume fighting! Talk about fucking whiplash! Billy was like a wrecking ball, and if you were gonna fight, he was gonna make sure he was ready for it.

This fight was no different.

You can't even remember why it started, but it did and now, you sat on the front porch stairs of your family home, head bowed into your arms while silently weeping. Was it sadness? Was it despair? Acceptance? Frustration? Defeat? Was it anger that made you cry? Were these tears of humor? Disbelief? Exhaustion?

Perhaps all of the above at once.

"Look, I just think we need to take a break. From each other."

You held your breath, rolling your lips between your teeth and slowly looking up at the boy you loved and hated most in this world. Billy was standing at the bottom of the stairs, one arm propped on the freshly painted wooden bannister to hold his balance; watching you with mild remorse, mostly neutrality. You smirked mirthlessly, nodding, "Right, okay."

Billy scoffed, ash falling from the end of his lit cigarette, asking, "Really not gon' say nothin'? Don't wanna fight or argue 'bout this?"

"Why bother, Billy?" You snipped, wiping your tears. "You do this every time. Fuck's sake, it's like something gets a little hard or inconvenient and we break-up."

He scoffed, "Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Well, maybe this is the last time, sweetheart."

You just sighed, "Okay, Bee. I'm gonna go in, you kinda interrupted movie night to do this. So, now that you have, cool if I go in? Great, get home safe." You stood without waiting for his answer, turning for the front door and immediately seeking refuge inside. You locked the doorknob, then the deadbolt, and just for dramatic flare, latched the chain, too.

Using the sleeves of your shirt, you dried your face.

"Who was that, honey?" Your mother asked as you entered the dark living room, sighing as you dropped into your spot on the sofa; taking your little sister in arms as she settled on your chest once more.

"Just Billy."

"Oh, he didn't want to come in?"

"No, Mama, he had to go."

"Shame," she sighed, "I thought he would like this movie."

You only hummed, draping a thin blanket over you and your sister. "Pops. Hey, hey," you whispered, hand out, wiggling your foot into your father's thigh, "dad, hey. Daddy." Without looking, he handed over the bowl of popcorn mixed with Peanut M&M's and jumped when the sound boomed and the screen flashed with blinding action.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't focus on the heavy Austrian accent of the time traveling Terminator. Your head repeated the argument with Billy; how it had now spanned over several days and he had the audacity to knock at your door tonight, interrupting the week-standing movie night he KNEW your family participated in, and proceeded to break-up with you - AGAIN!

Yet something felt so fucking different this time.

You weren't sad by this "break-up" (yet) because you knew he was just being reactive and sensitive, but something didn't sit right about tonight. Your parents both worked incredibly long hours at tedious, stressful jobs, but they were very firm that every Thursday night was movie night - and Billy knew this. He knew where you were every Thursday. He knew better than to interrupt, he knew this time together was sacred since your parents worked so frequently but also actually seemed to like family time.

So, he chose tonight as the best time to initiate this break? Your heart hammered as you began to convince yourself this was a malicious move; he knowingly came to your house to inflict emotional turmoil when you were with family. It was deliberate, it was a manipulative power move; knowing he had such a hold on you that even during your beloved family time of bonding, despite being in a fight, you would still receive him; still come back to him.

Angry tears coated your eyes as Sarah Connor fought for her life. Where Billy was always highly reactive, being the eldest daughter, you were resilient and enduring; able to handle anything thrown your way. You were rational, decently calm; able to think through a storm, being only motivated by the sight of the sun. Billy had a bad attitude, he was arrogant, his ego inflated by the small town girls all drooling over him, but it was his abuse and lack of coping ability that made him into a righteous dick. Perhaps that was why he was attracted to you, being so empathetic and understanding that it bordered on criminal - especially with the way it slowly drained you of life. Billy was temperamental, angry and hurt by the world; and you were amenable, agreeable - not a pushover, but similar to water in the sense that you could adapt and conform to any space, shape, or circumstance you're put in (willingly or not).

Something in your gut finally clicked.

You're done being his doormat. Loving Billy was dismantling you brick by brick; he thought because you were so accepting and understanding that he could act anyway he wanted, get away with it, and you'd always forgive him. You'd always take him back. He could rip your heart out of your chest, crush it into dust, and you'd still thank him when he sprinkles it in your hands - because at least he did that. At least he gave you a sprinkle. You were supposed to be grateful - never-minding that he was the one who continuously hurt you in the first place.

Your eyes drifted from the television to your mother and father sat together at the far end of the couch. 20 years married, and they still sat together like high school teens; his arm around her shoulders, kept close, sharing snacks, a throw blanket cocooning their legs. They were so gentle with one another; relying majorly on nonverbal communication, like when there's a jump scare, your father's thumb would sweep over the back of your mother's hand resting on his lap. It was a grounding technique you have long taken note of, but seeing it now just made you sad.

The desire to have a relationship like your parents was strong, but what was even stronger was simply setting a good example for your sister. You'd be devastated if you ever learned she dated a man like Billy; who put her through the emotional wringer for no direct or good reason. You thought you'd tell her it wasn't her job to fix anyone; it wasn't her responsibility or burden to help mold a boy into a man. Your heart would shatter if you learned she was like you - crying to sleep, throwing towels over all mirrors to avoid any reflection, walking on eggshells in an effort to keep the peace you weren't even charged with!

Watching her eyes glittering in the glow of the action movie, you knew what you had to do. If you didn't practice what you preached, you had no true leg to stand on; your words become contradictory, your concerns warped by perspective. You didn't want her to look at your parents, then at you and Billy, and think someone was wrong - or that love was somewhere in between your relationship examples. You wanted her to know love wasn't supposed to hurt, and if you needed her to understand that she deserved the best of the best, you needed to walk the walk that you talked.

Blinking back tears, you resigned yourself to forcing the feeling of contentment; hugging your sister closer, relishing the feeling of your father's warmth against the bottom of your feet where they laid. And as if he could read your mind, your father mutely kept his one arm around your mother, the other laying on your ankle; glancing over to catch your eye and offer a small, soft smile before focusing on the movie again.

You pecked your sister's forehead quickly, whispering, "You okay, Bug?"

"Uh-huh."

"Not too scared?"

"No," she answered, completely entranced by the television.

"Sure?"

"Uh-huh. Can you pause it?" She asked your father, who almost instantly reached for the remote to hit pause. Your sister jumped up and rushed from the living room before quickly doubling back to hang in the doorway, "I'll be back." Then she dipped behind the wall, only to pop back out a second later and punctuate, "With weapons!"

The living room was full of boisterous laughter as she scampered off to the bathroom.

There was a gentle knock at your closed bedroom door, head lifting from the lowered crane it unconsciously drooped into while reading the novel on your lap. With a grimace, you rubbed your neck and called, "Come in!"

"Hey, honey," your father spoke softly, poking his head in, "got a second?"

"Yeah, sure, Daddy, c'min."

He offered a small smile and entered at full, shutting the door behind him and confirming what you sensed - this was sure to be a serious conversation. He sat gingerly at the foot of your bed, heaving a great sigh, asking, "Whatcha readin'?"

"Oh, uh, just," you showed him the cover of your book, "it's for school, I have to write a report on it."

"Is it interesting?"

"It has a good message," you allotted, making him snicker. "I'm trying to be nice!"

"Uh-huh," he nodded, sighing again. "Listen, honey, I just wanted to talk to you about... You know, Billy."

"We use condoms, Daddy, and I'm on birth control."

"While that's great and exactly what every father wants to hear," he whined, "that's not what I meant."

"Oh," you sat up, book marked and set aside, "you mean tonight?"

"Yeah."

You shrugged, "It's not that big of a deal."

"You sure?"

"I got a handle on things, Daddy."

"I don't know if I can believe that, honey," he frowned, dimples on display, "because - you've - you're just..." He paused, shaking his head, "Your mother and I are worried about you. You're different since dating Billy and it's hard to ignore. I know it might not be comfortable to talk about, but you know you can always come to us, right?"

You nodded, "I know, Daddy."

"Good. 'Cause, he's 18, right?"

"I'm almost afraid to answer that, but yes...?"

Your father nodded, "Good, so I can legally kick his ass."

"Being friends with Hopper helps."

"Damn straight," he confirmed. "You sure everything's okay?"

"Yeah, we just broke up."

"What!?"

"Daddy, chill," you chuckled, "we do this every few weeks."

"Oh, Jesus - "

"But it's the last time!"

"Well, how can you be sure?"

"'Cause I deserve better."

The sigh your father released was out of relief, musing, "Goddamn right you do! Good girl!" He leaned in to peck your forehead quickly, patting your leg. "Well, I'll let you get back to reading..."

"Hang on," you halted him, feeling your heart lurch, "can I ask you something?"

"Anything, kid."

"Do you... not... like Billy?"

"Well, now that I know you two break up every few weeks, less so."

"Daddy."

He nodded, "I thought he was an all right kid, and you never had an ill word to say about him. But he was always kinda troubled, something about him always made me a little suspicious. Is there reason I shouldn't like him...?"

You stared at your father for several long seconds, both with varying expressions as you tried to telepathically communicate. When you understood his meaning, you blanched, "Wait - woah - hey - what!? No! No, Daddy!" You groaned, "Jesus, no! Billy's - Billy's troubled, yes, but he's not abusive or aggressive - not with me! I swear!"

"I'm sorry, I just - I needed to be sure! There's no easy way to ask these things, you know?"

"I know," you nodded, "and I appreciate you checking, but I promise, I'm okay, Billy's not like that. He's abrasive, yes, but he's still respectful."

"Noted," your father breathed, "that's actually relieving. So, uh... Am I supposed to bring you ice cream? Or rent some romcoms? This is your first break-up and I'm not sure what to do."

Your eyes rolled lightly, "Not yet, but keep that energy for when the emotions really set in."

"I'll stock up after work tomorrow," he promised.

"You're... Home this weekend?"

"Your mother and I thought for the next couple months, we'll take a break from conferences," he grinned, "spend some time with our favorite girls. Maybe even take a family vacation this summer!"

You grinned, "You mean it?"

"Of course!"

You launched into his embrace with a laugh, both full of mirth and amusement. Instead of leaving, your father actually situated comfortably on your bed and listened to your read your book - reminding him of the days he read you bedtime stories. He eyed the essay prompt your teacher had passed out with his listening ears on, and when there was a quote or relevant detail he thought related to your thesis, he made sure to speak up.

It was the most at-peace you've felt in ages.

"Bug! You have exactly 90 seconds to get down here!" You hollered into the house, walking out the front door while storing your novel in your book bag. Turning forward, you gasped when you nearly ran into Billy - standing before you, fresh as a fucking daisy. "Jesus Christ, Billy, you scared me," you scolded, keys jangling.

"Sorry," he muttered, sighing, hands going to his back pockets, "didn't think you'd be comin' out so quick."

"We gotta catch the bus," you told him, turning to holler again into the open door, "BUG! LET'S GO!"

"Why? You know I normally drive you two."

"Yeah, but we broke-up last night, Bee, didn't think you'd wanna play taxi driver still."

"It's not bein' a taxi - "

"You live on the other side of town," you scoffed, "my house is literally out of your way. So, don't feed me that line." You could see Max leaning on the passenger door from where Billy's Camaro was parked on the street, waving to her; watching her grin and wave back. "What're you doin' here?" You asked him pointedly.

"Look, I know we argued and I got a little mouthy, but I was just pissed off and reacted poorly. But I slept on it, and I'm sorry for what I said. Can we please just try to move on?"

You scoffed, "Billy, you do this so often, I can't keep up anymore. Your insecurity isn't your fault, you're not to be crucified for it, but I can't be your punching bag. You can't lose your cool and yell and get 'mouthy', break up with me, run away for me to deal with shit, and then come back the next day. So, I appreciate the offer, but Bug and I are gonna catch the bus 'cause... Because..."

"Because why, baby?" He asked, voice hazy and thick.

"Because you should really be careful what you wish for, Billy, you might just get it. I think we should honor this break-up."

"What?" Billy breathed in earnest confusion. "No, hold up - "

"Billy, I'm sorry, I am. You know I love you - "

"So you're breaking up with me, 'cause you love me?"

"You're the one who broke up with me, Billy," you reminded, "and yes, I do love you, but I have to love me, too. I can't do them simultaneously, it seems."

"Of course you can - "

"Loving you means disrespecting myself," you told him. "Every time I come back to you, I'm chipping away at who I am. You and I - we used to be so good for each other, Bee. Remember? But now? You're just on this warpath and I refuse to be a casualty. So, yes, I love you, I love you so much, but I don't think we should be together anymore. I need time alone, to breathe and figure out who I am outside of you - and you obviously need time to process and get your shit together. If we stay together, we're only gonna hurt each other. But apart, we can freely move and improve and curate change without risk of harm to the other."

You both just stared at one another, the sound of thundering footsteps heard from behind you. "Bee!" Your sister squealed when she rushed out the door.

"Hey, Bug!" He beamed, bending to scoop her in his arms - just like she wanted. "Woah, woah, woah - when did you get such cool shoes, kid?" He asked her, holding her ankle to show off her tie-dye canvas shoes.

"Daddy got them! Aren't they cool!?"

"So cool."

"Do you want a pair? We can match!"

Billy smirked, setting her on her feet, "Tell you what, Bug, if you can find a pair my size, I'll match with'cha, yeah?"

"I'll tell Daddy!" She gasped, turning to look up at you. "Can we ride with Billy to school?"

"Not to - "

"'Course, kid, c'mon," Billy cut you off, and it was like you never even opened your mouth with the way your sister bounded down the porch, over the yard, and towards Max.

"Billy," you grumbled.

"You really wanna break the kid's heart this early in the day?" He asked, sighing and offering his hand. "C'mon, just until the end of today - she'll have the weekend to process."

"You know we're not a married couple getting a divorce and Bug is our kid?" You grumbled, slapping your hand into his and allowing him to lead you towards his car; where his sister was settling yours in the backseat.

"Might as well be."

"You're dramatic."

He only hummed, opening your passenger door and waiting until you were inside safely before shutting the door. You greeted Max happily in the backseat, Billy getting in the driver's and pulling off safely - slowly - to start towards the elementary school. While the middle and high school conveniently shared a lot, the elementary school was just a couple streets over. Bug was excited to tell the car all about her upcoming "field day", where the entire school participated in these outside courses, doing various physical activities - it was all good, honest fun.

"What team were you on?" Bug asked Max. "I'm on the Blue Team!" She proudly pulled out the bottom of her shirt; showing off the color. "We won last year, too!"

"Woah! That's so cool, you gonna win again this year?" Max asked.

"Uh-huh! Did your team win?"

"We didn't have field day."

"What?" Bug asked, sounding heartbroken.

"They didn't go to school here, Bug," you told her from the passenger seat, "they lived in California. Remember?"

Bug frowned, "You didn't get to play?"

"We had other activities," Max assured, "we just didn't have a whole day of it - your school sounds so cool!"

"You should come!" Bug gasped. "Today! You and Bee should come! Then you could have field day, too!"

Your heart melted listening to Max tell her why she and Billy couldn't - but that she needed Bug to pay extra close, extra special attention to the games so they could all play together later in their very own field day. You didn't have the heart to halt the plans, to tell Bug why that wouldn't be happening.

You felt Billy's eyes on you periodically through the drive, sisters in the back discussing what California was like. Bug was fascinated by the beaches - having never been - and asked all kinds of questions, nearly exploding in excitement when she learned Billy knew how to surf. You knew it was a source of anxiety for him; you knew Billy associated surfing with his mother and that ever since she left, he couldn't ride the waves. He wouldn't. It hurt too bad to look back on shore and miss that bright smile, yellow blonde hair he inherited, loose, free-flowing dress, and floppy straw hat.

Yet talking to Bug, he seemed relatively at ease.

From the back, Max watched as you, who hadn't so much as looked at Billy since he got in the car, reached over for his hand to hold in silent support. He held on tightly.

"All right, Bug," you called when Billy pulled up to the elementary school, getting out to pull the seat forward and assist her out.

"Bye, Max!" She hugged the redhead, then lunged between the seats, "Bye, Billy!"

She clamored out of the car, Billy fixing the seat for you as you knelt on the sidewalk and helped fix her backpack. "You good?" You checked, smirking at her.

"Uh-huh."

"Good. Listen, we'll take the bus home today, okay? Billy's got practice, so, remember - it's bus 104. Got it?"

"Bus 104."

"That's right, good girl. You get on bus 104, it'll take you to the high school and pick me up. All right?"

She took a deep breath, nodding, "I can do this."

"I know you can, Bug. All right, big hug!" You hummed as she wrapped her wee arms around your neck. "Oooooh! All right! That's good stuff!" She pulled back. "Have the best day, Bug. Love you."

"Love you," she messily pecked your cheek before rushing to join the procession of streaming kiddies. You stood straight and dusted off, sliding back into Billy's car, and once clear of the children, let his lead foot drop on the gas and speed into the school lot.

"Jesus," Max grumbled when the car swung into a parking space, "inna rush or something?"

"Just," Billy sighed deeply, shaking his head, "get out. You," he pointed at you, "stay put, we gotta talk." You remained, wishing Max a good day, watching her climb out of the car with her skateboard. As the redhead rode off for the middle school, Billy dropped back into his seat, slammed his door, and lit a cigarette with slightly trembling hands.

Silence echoed between you both, Billy handing over the cigarette mutely; students, peers, and faculty all milled around the Camaro to head into school. Smoke wafted from the rolled down windows. When time, the butt was tossed out and the silence remained.

"Bee," you whispered finally.

"I'm just..." He trailed, sighing, "Trying to savor this. Don't know when I'm gonna have you this close again."

He took your hand gently and stroked it with his thumb, emotion heavy in both your chests. "It's not like we're not gonna see each other again," you whispered.

"Not in the way I want."

"It's not like I want this, either."

"Then why're you doing this?"

You scoffed gently, "It's not me doing a damn thing, Billy, you've already done it all. I'm just holding you to your word because I know how fearful you are of commitment." You tossed his hand to his lap and grabbed your bag, reaching for the door handle, then pausing. "For the record," you ended softly, "I'm sorry, and I love you. I hope you find what you're looking for, Bee."

As you finally climbed from the sports car and into school, you felt like you were breathing air for the first time. Like you were feeling sunshine after a decade underground, like there were springs in your sneakers; vigor in your blood, optimism misting your mind into new possibilities. Yet, behind you, in a navy blue Camaro, Billy loosed two tears before tearing out of the parking lot in a fit of anger. Rage. Sadness. Desperation.

He wasn't seen at school the following week, but by the next weekend, rumors spread that he hooked up with both Allison Scott and Kimberly Jones at Donald Reefer's weekend party - so, you know, he seemed to be handling this break up well. It was what he wanted, after all.

And you? Let's just say, you were finally happy, healthy, feeling confident, rejuvenated, and ready to move forward and ONLY accept that which you KNOW you deserve.

requesting rules and masterlist

Stranger Things masterlist

[harringroveera]

Chrissy: Remember when Billy and Steve made us watch that movie about the gay guys on the mountain?

Heather: Lord of the rings

Chrissy: Yeah!

[annwrites]

fine, yeah, I'm fuckin' jealous!

— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: you & billy get lunch & he nearly commits assault. he then steals your icecream cone.

— tags: billy getting violently jealous, billy getting a boner, billy being possessive

— tw: eating, drinking, slut-shaming, sexual harassment

— word count: 2,840

— a/n: i'm not gonna lie, writing for billy is sm fun. he's such an asshole & it's hilarious to me

When you wake in the morning, it's with a muscled arm slung heavily over your waist, and something hard pressed into your backside.

So, he'd decided to join you under the convers at some point during the night, you think.

You turn, wishing to get him off of you, but jerk in surprise when you feel a patch of rough hair brush against the side of your thigh. He was not...

You shoot up in bed, his arm falling into your lap, and he doesn't even wake.

You very slowly pull back the comforter, and when you glance down you fill with rage. "Get up!"

Billy's eyes slowly open and a lazy smile forms on his lips. "Mornin', sunshine. You sleep good? I know I did."

You get out of bed, throwing the covers back, then immediately regret that decision, seeing someone—or, rather, something—also clearly 'awake'.

Billy doesn't so much as react. He just folds his hands behind his head, not even bothering to re-cover himself, knowing what God blessed him with.

You stare up at the ceiling. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

His eyes trail along your body, your messy hair. "I don't like sleeping in clothes. Get over it."

Your hands ball into fists at your sides. "You are such a dick."

He raises a brow, glancing down to his waist, shrugging, lightly nodding. "In a way, I guess you're rig-"

You quickly walk around to his side of the bed, grabbing his briefs, and throwing them in his face. "Get dressed."

He catches them, sighing. "You're so mean to me."

You grab your backpack, heading into the bathroom, firmly shutting the door behind you as you get ready for the day.

When you come back into the room, Billy's now dressed—thankfully. A pair of jeans, his boots, and a plaid button-up...which is fairly unbuttoned at the top, showing off his chest, and leather jacket on.

He looks up to you, chewing on a piece of cold pizza. "Breakfast?" He asks, holding the half-eaten piece out toward you, mouth full.

You grab your other bag, settling the strap on your shoulder. "No, I lost my appetite," you say, making your way toward the door.

Just as you reach up on tiptoes to unlock the chain at the top, you feel him pinch your ass under your dress.

You swing around, backpack nearly slamming into him, which you then slip off of your shoulders, throwing it on the floor.

He raises his hands, laughing.

You raise an open palm toward him, his hand quickly grabbing your wrist, catching it before it even comes close to his face. You raise the other one—same thing. He pushes you back against the wall, holding you firmly in-place by your wrists, a smirk on his lips as you squirm to get free.

He places his lips directly beside your ear, his body now pressed-up against your own. "You want to take your frustrations out on me, baby? I can think of lots of funner ways to do it." He pulls back, looking into your eyes, face now utterly serious, eyes hard, his hands squeezing your wrists a bit more firmly.

"Don't ever do that again," he says, suddenly releasing you and grabbing his bag, throwing the door open, leaving you standing there seething.

Once the two of you are checked out and back on the road, Billy seems to be in good spirits, despite your little tiff that morning...which you felt incredibly guilty about.

How could you have even thought of hitting him? Especially when you knew how much it hurt. And you knew that he did as well.

You reach forward, turning down AC/DC on the radio and turn toward him.

He looks at you with a curious expression. "You need somethin', baby?"

Always with the pet names...

"I'm sorry...for...for trying to slap you. I shouldn't have done that. You're right: it won't happen again."

He's silent for a moment, staring at the road ahead. Then, "Don't worry about it." He shrugs. "Just trying to get you to lighten up a little, sugar. You know, you are allowed to have fun."

You shake your head. "Could you please stop with the pet names?'

He smirks. "Not likely, honey." Then, "So, about that having fun-"

You turn the radio back up, Highway to Hell blasting through the speakers.

A couple hours later, the two of you finally stop for lunch at a roadside stand that serves burgers, hotdogs, fries, and a few other items.

The two of you pay separately this time, you opting for cheese fries, and Billy a burger.

You sit at a picnic table with an umbrella overtop the both of you, and you watch as he opens his soda can, taking a sip.

You eat a couple fries, and feel a jean-clad leg brush against your own under the table.

You glance up to him from under your lashes, but he just continues eating.

And then you feel his boot knock against your ankle.

"Would you stop that?"

He looks up at you, swallowing. "Eating?"

You roll your eyes, lightly kicking him under the table.

"You want to play footsie, darlin'?"

You shake your head, ignoring his leg softly rubbing against your own. Every time you react, you're giving him exactly what he wants. He's just pissing you off to amuse himself.

A few moments later, his leg stills and you look up, seeing that his eyes are now trained elsewhere: on a pair of girls around your age perched atop a picnic table diagonal to where you sit, giggling and talking amongst themselves, glancing to him every few seconds. You turn back around to continue eating.

Billy shoots them a wink. "Hey, dolls," he calls flirtatiously.

You roll your eyes, but remain silent.

"Is that your car?" One asks, looking to his Camaro.

He grins—it always makes picking up chicks so much easier. "Sure is, sweetheart. You want me to take you for a spin?"

She goes quiet for a moment, you imagine she's debating it with her friend, then, "Can we both come?"

He stands. "Hell yeah you can, baby."

He doesn't bother looking down to you when he says quietly, "Be right back."

You watch as his car speeds out of the parking lot, hoping he comes back simply because all of your things are in his trunk.

Once you've finished eating, you stand to throw your trash away, until a soft breeze blows one of your napkins away. You groan.

You plop your paper bowl on top of the table and crouch down on hand and knees, reaching underneath the table to grab it. You go to stand, then hear someone catcall you from behind, and you slam the top of your head against the bottom of the table.

You reach up, placing your palm over the spot you were sure would have a bump forming on it soon enough.

You look behind you, and a group of three guys are watching you. Two of them standing, talking to each other, glancing to you every few seconds with smirks, the third seated on the hood of what you assume is his Mustang.

You turn around, throwing your trash away, then you seat yourself at the table again, leaning back against it, watching for Billy's car, now feeling uncomfortable.

The one on the hood slides off, making his way over to you.

You ignore him, glancing around, pretending not to notice, hoping it'll discourage him from trying to talk to you. You don't get so lucky, however.

He comes to stand in front of you, forcing you to look up at his towering form. He's older, but still handsome. Mid-twenties, maybe? Short, dark hair that's slicked back, a goatee, and dark eyes. He sports a plain blue t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. "Sorry about that. My friends...they, uh," he looks to them and smiles, then back to you. "Can be real assholes."

You smile nervously. "It's ok, no harm done."

He cocks his head to the side. "Your boyfriend do that?"

You reach up, hand hovering over the side of your face, then lower it back into your lap. "No. It's...a long story."

"I've got time," he replies with a kind smile.

You remain silent, not exactly interested in giving a stranger your life-story.

He nods. "I get it; you're shy. That's cute," he says with a chuckle.

He glances down to your bare legs, then back up to your eyes. "You're pretty."

You swallow nervously, blushing. "Thank you," you say quietly.

"Sweet too, apparently."

Your heart starts to pound from nerves. You then begin to worry about how long Billy is going to be gone. A few minutes? A couple hours?

Suddenly, he leans down, planting his palms atop the table behind you, boxing you in as he leans down, his face mere inches from your own. "You like fast cars, cutie?"

God, they really are all the same, aren't they?

You clasp your hands together to keep them from trembling from nerves. "Not really. They...they kind of scare me."

He smirks briefly. "What if I promise to take things slow, just for you?"

You know he is most certainly not talking about cars now.

Before you can reply, you hear the rumble of a familiar engine pulling back into the lot, and as you go to turn your head in the direction of the sound, he presses a kiss to your cheek, causing you to jerk your head back in his direction.

He laughs lightly. "Not exactly where I was aiming for." Then, "So, what's your name? Mine's Tyler."

You hear a door being loudly slammed.

"I-"

Suddenly, Tyler is being pulled away from you by the back of his shirt. Billy throws him on the pavement, the look on his face that of utter rage.

You glance to the Mustang, and see his two friends heading in your direction.

"Touch her again and I'll beat your fuckin' ass! You hear me, asshole?" He points down at him, his other hand in a tight fist.

Tyler goes to get up and Billy steps overtop of him, legs on either side of him. "Stay down, if you know what's fuckin' good for you."

"Hey!" You hear called from the parking lot and your eyes widen. His friends do not look happy.

You step over to Billy, gripping the leather of his jacket in your hands, pulling him toward you. "Billy, we have to go. Now."

He glares down at Tyler for just a moment longer, shoulders squared, rapidly rising and falling, jaw set, eyes hard, then steps away, grabbing your forearm, pulling you around to the passenger side. "Get in the fucking car," he orders, shoving you inside.

He quickly makes his way around the front of the car, turning the engine over and rapidly pulling away, leaving the three angry men in the rearview.

Billy swerves into traffic when he goes to merge, forcing the car in his lane to also swerve into the next one over, laying on their horn.

He just angrily switches gears, ignoring the now-angry driver, going faster.

You buckle yourself in, still shaking.

When you glance at him, he looks anything but pleased. Why was he so angry, anyway? Had the girls he'd given a quick ride to ticked him off? And thus made Tyler the target to take his anger out on?

"Did you not have fun, then?"

He looks at you with an irritated, but also confused look. "What?"

"With the girls from the food stand. Did they-"

He scoffs, shifting gears. "Are you fucking stupid, or something?"

Your hands ball into fists. "Excuse me?"

"Who even was that prick, huh? I leave you alone for five goddamn minutes and that's what I come back to? You letting him kiss you, and touch whatever-the-fuck-else while I wasn't there to-"

Angry tears sting your eyes. "I didn't let him touch anything! He came onto me! Maybe, if for once, you thought with the head on your shoulders, instead of the one in your pants, it wouldn't have happened in the first place!"

He picks up speed. "It's not my fuckin' job to babysit your ass. So, is that it, then? Huh? That you really are some easy slut who puts out for everyone except me?"

You're shaking you're so enraged now. "Fuck you! You-"

"Yeah, probably the only guy you haven't!" He throws at you with a mocking laugh.

He swerves into the next lane over as a poor excuse at merging.

"God, you are such an ass! What's your problem? I mean, how many girls have you slept with, anyway? I talk to one guy—one guy—and I'm a slut? Are you serious?"

He sneers. "None of your business how many I've had. Don't be such a fuckin' prude. Not like it meant anything, anyway. It's just sex. It doesn't mean shit."

"And that's exactly why I won't let you—any guy—so much as touch me: because that is what sex is to all of you. Thanks, but no thanks. I'll save myself for someone actually worthy of me."

He looks at you then, expression unreadable. "You're a fucking virgin?"

You clench your jaw.

He looks back to the road.

"Like you said: none of your business."

He leans back, dropping speeds, upshifting. "So you didn't let Harrington crawl up there after all, huh?"

You want to break something inside his car, but know for your own safety that you better not.

"Why? Are you jealous if I did?"

He looks at you. "Did he?" He asks, completely serious.

You shrug. "I don't know. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. Sound awful jealous to me."

He downshifts again, anger climbing, along with the speedometer. "Answer the fuckin' question."

You stare out your open window, hair whipping around you.

"Fine, yeah, I'm fuckin' jealous! That what you wanted to hear? Huh? So, did you-"

"No, we didn't even hold hands because it wasn't a date, Billy! I'm not even attracted to him in the first place. Halfway through Nancy showed up, and they talked for the rest of the evening, while I sat with a girlfriend of hers chatting."

He grows quiet for only a second before saying "fuck this" and turning the radio on, blaring Black Sabbath.

It's an hour later before either of you speak again, you breaking the silence. "I have to pee."

He rolls his eyes. "Why didn't you go back at the food stand? Oh, wait, nevermind. I know why. You were too busy-"

"Either you pull over soon or I'm going all over the seat."

He takes the next exit, and once he's parked outside of a McDonald's, you slam the door behind you.

"Fuckin' watch that shit!"

You ignore him as you go inside, in search of a restroom.

Once finished, you sit there a few extra minutes, trying to calm yourself down. You consider going back out and trying to calmly explain to him that there are other ways of expressing emotions than through violence and unabashed anger, but you know exactly how such a conversation will go—it won't. He'll put a stop to it before you can even start.

So, you instead wash your hands, then go and get yourself an ice-cream cone.

When you come back out to the car, Billy has a pair of sunglasses on, head leaned back against the seat, Led Zeppelin now playing.

You get inside, buckling yourself in with one hand, then take a lick of your ice-cream that's in the other.

He turns his head in your direction. "What, nothing for your chauffeur?"

You look at him, licking your lips. "You have two feet and a heartbeat, go get one."

He watches you lick a few more times, vanilla sliding down your tongue.

He doesn't even try to hide it when he reaches down, adjusting himself.

You ignore it, licking again.

"Let me have some."

You look at him, considering, then hold it toward him.

And he bites half the thing off, swallowing.

"You-"

He then tosses the rest out the window, splattering against the pavement, rainbow sprinkles going everywhere.

"What'd you do that for?!" You yell.

He puts the car in reverse, backing out of his parking spot. "Don't need you making a mess in here, or distracting me while I'm driving."

"You just wasted thirty cents of my money!"

His hand circles the wheel, turning toward the exit of the parking lot. "More like fifteen once I was done with it." He looks at you again. "If you need somethin' else to lick, I know where you can put your tongue at, sweetheart."

"You're so disgusting."

He glances to you. "I think you like getting those perfect feathers ruffled."

He then revs the engine loud enough as he drives away that he doesn't catch the vulgar statement you throw his way.

He'd like to think you agreed with him.

[dazedandconfused-15]

Heaven's in your eyes (Part 3)

If you guys like it, I would greatly appreciate a reblog, it helps spread this fanfic around🫶

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Female Reader

Summary: Life in Hawkins is dull and lonely, especially after your mom abandoned your family, leaving you even more isolated amidst school rumors. Already shy and with few friends, you find solace in your solitude—until Billy Hargrove, the intriguing new boy from California, comes into the picture. To your surprise, Billy seems to seek you out, finding ways to talk to you despite the odds. Never in a million years would you have imagined forming such an unexpected bond with someone.

Link to: Part 1, Part 2 and Part 4

@tatumrileyslover @littlenosoul @nocturnest Part 3 is here!!

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You weren't sure how things would go with Billy after that night. Technically, you still owe him for the day at the museum, There are parts of Hawkins he hadn’t seen yet. Plus, you hadn’t talked about when or if you’d see each other again outside of school. So, it's a surprise when the following week, as you're grabbing books from your locker, you feel a presence behind you—the warmth of someone's body lightly brushing against your back. You look up and see a hand resting on your locker. Turning around, you met his curious and slightly amused eyes. 

"Oh! Hey, you scared me…”

"I saw that," he replies. "Am I that ugly?"

You stay still, feeling the cold metal of the locker against your back, aware that some students are probably watching you. But Billy doesn't seem bothered by this; if anything, he seems indifferent. He's wearing the same black leather jacket he lent you the other night, over a partially unbuttoned black shirt. He knows he’s not ugly, and you know he’s teasing you. But his closeness throws you off, and you can’t find the words to play along. You stumble over a nonsensical and incomplete sentence. Meanwhile, he takes the books from your hands and moves his hand away from the locker, finally giving you space, and it feels like you can breathe again.

"Physics?" he asks, looking at the first book on the pile in his hands.

"Uh, yeah." You turn to close your locker, taking the opportunity to pull yourself together. "It's my first class, actually."

"Sweet. I'll walk you there."

"Oh, okay. Thanks." You struggle to hide your astonishment as you walk toward the classroom with him beside you.

And during the following days, he does the same. He makes it seem so natural that it slowly becomes routine for you. In history class, he sits next to you. During lunch break, you sit at the table at the back of the cafeteria. He always sits at a table next to Jason Carver, Chrissy Cunningham, and other popular jocks, but between bites of food, he always gives you a look. Eventually, at the end of the meal, he always gets up from their table and comes over to sit beside you. In history class, he always sits next to you. Strangely, Tommy Hagan makes no comment. After the first few times, the rest of the class seems to get used to it.

When the history teacher assigns the paired presentation on "The Role of Propaganda in World War II," the teacher lets you choose your partner. Billy and you are already sitting next to each other, so it’s automatic that you’ll work together. Part of you doubt he would choose to work with you if he wasn’t sitting next to you, but you decide not to think about it too much. You don’t mind the idea of working with him on the project. He offers to work on it at his place the following Saturday, as his dad and stepmom are in California for family matters.

It takes you twenty minutes to reach Cherry Lane. Billy’s house is about halfway there. His navy blue Camaro is parked out front, and as you approach, you see him on the opposite side of the car, rubbing a sponge against the back window. It’s warmer than usual, and he’s wearing a white tank top with basketball shorts. He notices you approaching and greets you with a nod, a cigarette clutched between his lips.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you greet back. You see a young red-haired girl walking past Billy. She has a skateboard under her arm, baggy jeans, and a short-sleeved T-shirt. She sees you, momentarily startled, and slows down, her blue eyes scanning you with detachment. Billy walks in the open garage, leaving you alone with her. You greet her with a hesitant wave of your hand, introducing yourself.

“I’m Max,” she replies. She must be Billy’s stepsister. He mentioned her a couple of times.

“Did you bring the books?” Billy returns with a bucket of water, setting it down beside the car.

You lift your linen shoulder bag slightly, indicating that your books are in there.

You feel Max’s eyes on you. Her blue eyes soften slightly, and she seems to recognize something. “You’re the girl who called last week, right?”

"Yes, that's me," you nod with a small smile. 

Max nods in acknowledgment, silently. She then sets the skater down on the ground. “You’re the first one who comes over to actually study.” 

An embarrassed smile breaks out on your face at her innuendo and you look away, feeling your cheeks heat up. The image of Billy with a girl while...no, you can't think about it.

“Piss off, Max,” Billy grumbles around his cigarette as he squeezes the sponge over the bucket, then jostles it twice to get rid of the water before scrubbing the windshield. 

Max rolls her eyes, but steps on her skateboard. She gives you a small smile. “See you.”

“Bye, Max.” you watch her skate away along the road.

“And don’t go too far,” Billy calls over the roof of the Camaro.

For a moment you get lost watching how the muscles of his back move under the tank top as he rubs the side of the car sponge.

“Almost done.” he calls over his shoulder. 

“You’re taking good care of it.” you observe as you approach the car, your hands tucked into your back pockets.

“You bet your sweet life I do. This baby cost me a good amount of money.” 

“When did you buy it?” you lean against the tree near the uneven stone steps leading up to the entrance of his house.

Billy takes the cigarette from between his lips, puffing some smoke into the air. “I was sixteen. Worked at a garage near my house for a couple of years before that. The owner found her after being on the hunt for months. She had roughly 10,000 miles on her already and was a little banged up. So, I had to use my savings and kept working there for a few months to pay for the repairs.”

He puts the cigarette back between his lips and pours the bucket of water over the car, washing off the soap. Then he takes a few steps backward until he’s next to you as he takes in the newly washed car.

“Not bad, huh?” 

“She’s really pretty.” you confirm with a nod. 

You've never been particularly enthused with cars, but you must admit that Billy's Camaro stands out in Hawkins. Moreover, the care he takes of it only enhances its shiny navy blue colour.

“Just like you.” 

You turn toward him, caught by surprise by his comment. As you do, he’s just taking the cigarette from his mouth after another drag, his eyes revealing a faint warmth that’s hard to perceive, blurred by the seemingly bored look his long lashes give him. But you see it. Even if for a second, you see it. The smoke curls lazily around him.

He luckily saves you from any clumsy answer, jerking his chin toward the house. “Come on, let’s get inside.”  

You hum while nodding in obligement, walking toward the house so he can avoid your flustered expression. Billy follows closely behind you, resting his hand on the back of your neck as you walk up the stone steps. He’s been doing that quite a few times. It’s nothing crazy, not an open hug or anything, but to you, his touch makes your heart glow and fills you with a comforting warmth. The house has a front screened porch, where two plants in a pot rest on the floor. You spot a grey rocking chair on the right side. 

“I like it.” you say. You wish you had a porch.

“Yeah, sometimes Max sits over there to read.” 

It’s a simple house, you notice, with modest furnishings. You both walk into Billy’s room, and you take in your surroundings. It’s a simple room. Apart from his bed, a few pieces of furniture, a mirror, and a wardrobe, there are things distinctly him that give the room character and warmth. Hanging on the wall are posters of bands like Metallica and Mötley Crüe. You also notice a stereo with two speakers. On the fireplace, there are some books.

“You brought it with you?” you ask with a smile, pointing to a yellow surfboard fading to green, leaning against the wall.

Billy sits on the bed, leaning his back against the wall. “Yes. It was out of the question for me to leave it in Cali.” with a wave of his hand, he invites you to come and sit next to him. 

You sit gingerly on the bed, books on your lap as he pops a piece of chewing gum into his mouth and offers you one. You take it, thanking him. Sitting so close, the warmth of his body seems to transfer directly from his thigh to yours.

“Are you gonna go back?” you ask, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. You pull your pencil case and a notepad out of your bag.

Billy snorts. “Hell yeah. I’m not staying here.”

It shouldn’t, but his statement stings a little. At the end of the school year, he will leave. After all, it was a foregone conclusion. There’s nothing to keep him here; his home is in California. He never told you specifically why he moved here. You had asked, jokingly, if his parents wanted "a change of air," and he had replied, ‘Something like that,’ without adding any explanation. So you had not pressed the issue any further. You learned that about certain things, Billy did not feel like talking. He clams up even more. If he wants to, you decide, he will open up to you.

“Yeah, I get it.” 

“Might work during the summer to save some money, though.” 

“There’s a garage downtown.” you offer, remembering what he said earlier.

“I was thinking more about the pool. Heard they pay very well.”

“Oh really?” 

“Yeah. Heather works there during summers,” he says, grabbing the history book from his bedside table and putting it on his lap.

“Heather Holloway?”’ you ask, your finger lingering along the edge of your notepad. 

There is only one Heather at school. Billy must be talking about her. She’s a pretty girl who comes from a good family. Her dad owns the Hawkins Post. She’s got it all.

“Yeah, you know her?”

“Oh, not directly. But yes, I know her. Her dad is pretty respected in town.” you bite your lip, fighting the urge to ask how he knows her. Are they friends? Did he date her? Is he still dating her?

You conclude it's none of your business, and thinking about it makes you feel weird. So you change the subject, finally opening the book and proposing to start working on the project. In between, you see Max walking past his room from the open door, her skateboard under her arm. After an hour of working, Billy stretches and a yawn escapes you. He lights a cigarette, inspiring a long puff of smoke, and titls his head up, looking at the ceiling. When he exhales, he also seems to sigh with relief. You realize how much smoking seems to be a way for him to relax, a need. 

“When did you start smoking?” you ask before you can stop yourself. Then immediately rush on adding “If you don’t mind me asking”.

“Must’ve been fourteen.” he says, “A friend of mine, Wayne, had been smoking for a year or so. Tried from his cig’ once, never went a day without smoking from there.” 

You hum pensively. 

Billy lolls his head to the side, a lazy smile plastered on his face. “You must think I’m fucking up my health, huh?”

“No, no.” you shake your head. Then you reconsider. “I mean…yes,” at which Billy starts laughing, a low gravelly laugh. “But, I know it must be hard to stop too, once you start. I can’t know, I’ve never tried.”

A second later, his cigarette appears in front of your eyes. He arches an eyebrow at you, looking at you expectantly. 

“Oh, I’m fine, thank you.” 

“Ah, come on. It’s not like you’re gonna get addicted after one drag. Live a little.” he gently nudges your thigh with his. 

You look at the cigarette with a mix of curiosity and hesitation. You've always wanted to try it, not because you want to start smoking, but just to confirm if it tastes bad so you can put the thought to rest.

“Okay. Just once, though.” you gingerly take the cigarette from between his fingers, holding it awkwardly and feeling as if it might fall off any second. You bring it to your lips, feeling his eyes on you. 

“Take it slow.”

It’s easier said than done. As soon as you breathe in the smoke, the end of the cigarette burning bright orange wildly, your lungs get filled with an unbearably burning sensation. You feel on fire. You can’t breathe. You start coughing non-repeatedly, your vision going blurred. 

Billy laughs again, taking the cigarette from your fingers as you try to fill your lungs with air. “Jesus, I said to take it slow.” 

Your face turns red from the effort, and your eyes water. You can't help but glare at him briefly as tears escape, your nose scrunching in disgust. He reaches out with his other hand, cups the side of your face, and gently brushes your tears away with his thumb.

“Breathe, now,” he says between chuckles.

“I don’t like it. It’s gross.” 

You say it both because you mean it and because it keeps you grounded under his touch. When he settles back against the wall, your heart keeps hammering against your ribcage.

"You're cute," he says before taking a drag, as if he's talking about the weather, and it only makes your flush an impossibly darker shade of red.

After he finishes his cigarette, Billy asks if you're hungry. You both head into the kitchen, and you sit at the table while he makes tuna sandwiches. He tells you it was the first thing he learned to make for himself when he was younger, back when his father used to work late before marrying Max's mother. He had to fend for himself. Over time, he learned to cook more dishes, especially when his father and stepmother were away for the weekend or running errands. A few years ago, he started weightlifting, which motivated him to learn even more about cooking. Despite all that, he still enjoys tuna sandwiches. Billy puts the sandwiches in the toaster and serves them to you on plates. As you take a bite, the taste of pickles and mayonnaise gives it an extra kick. It's delicious.

“Hey, can you make me one too?” Max emerges from the hallway, leaning against the kitchen doorway. 

Billy looks up from the cutting board he’s chopping pickles on as he makes his own sandwich, scowling at her. “Make it yourself.”

“Come on, you know I’m not good at this.”

“Well, you better learn how to make it. It’s a fucking tuna sandwich, not rocket science.” 

Max sighs, almost exasperated. "Fine, you stubborn ass. I’ll make it myself, but don’t cry to me when your precious pickles are all gone."

Billy looks up, irritation flickering in his eyes. "Hey! Language," he chides, pointing the knife in her direction, as if he hadn't sworn himself just a moment ago. He then gestures toward the empty chair beside you. "And sit down, if you want me to do it.”

Max quietly sits down next to you, a cheeky smile plastered on her face. Billy mutters under his breath, resuming chopping down the pickles. 

“With loads of mayo, please.” 

You’ve never seen Billy in a step-brother role before, and the dynamic between them is intriguing. You're suddenly curious about their relationship and how it has evolved since they first met.

“You’re lucky I’m even making this for you,” he grumbles, spreading the mayo generously on the bread.

“This is really good.” you say, pointing at your sandwich. 

“Yeah, Billy’s tuna sandwiches are rad.” Maxine approves. Then she shrugs. “He's an asshole, but if there's one thing he's good at, it's cooking.”

“Woah, thanks Maxine.” he ironically says. “Really portraying me well here.” 

You chuckle softly under your breath as Max ignores him, carrying on. “Can I go to Family Video later? I need to give back the movies.”

“Later when?” he asks as he assembles her sandwich. “We gotta work on the school project.”

“Like, in an hour?” 

“You’ll have to wait ‘till I drop her home.” 

Max huffs. “C’mon, Billy. I can skate there, it’s mid afternoon.”

“Ain’t no way I’m letting you go there on your own. It’s on my ass that Neil will be then.”

“I’ll be back before they’re home!” she tries again. “And I’ll bring back some good stuff.” 

You watch as Billy sighs heavily, walking in silence over to the table and setting Max’s dish in front of her. Then he points his finger at her, looking at her hard. “I’m warning you. If you’re not back here by four we’re gonna have a serious problem.”

Max mutters something along the lines of “Yeah, jeez, okay” as Billy walks back toward the counter.

He shoots a mildly warning look over his shoulder, his eyes glinting sharply. “And you better bring back some good stuff this time.”

Max gasps in outragement. “It wasn’t that bad!”

“It was crap.” 

Max turns toward you. “Have you watched Children of the Corn?”

“I don’t think I have.” you say. “What’s it about?”

“It’s a horror movie.”  

“Oh. I don’t really watch horror movies.” you smile sheepishly.  “Too scary, I can’t sleep for months then. I’m more into comedies or romances.”

“Those aren’t bad once in a while.” Max agrees. “We mostly watch horrors, but sometimes we happen to watch romances too.”

“You watch rom-coms,” Billy stresses out, as he adds the tuna-mayonnaise mix to his toast. 

“Please. How many times did you stay on the couch until the end?

“That’s because the NBA played later at night.” 

Max arches an eyebrow in disbelief. “Oh, really? And what about all those times you pretended to get a snack from the fridge, and I caught you hanging around in the hallway, peeking at the screen?"

“Are you eating or not?” Billy cuts her, “Tic tac, shitbird. You better hurry to the videostore before I change my mind.”

It’s hard for you to hold your laugh. You look down at your plate at your half-eaten sandwich, hearing him approaching with his plate.

Max huffs loudly, standing and grabbing her plate. “Whatever. See you.”

She waves at you before disappearing in the hallway. 

“See you, Max.”

Billy sits down beside you with a sigh, taking the spot where Max was just sitting. He immediately starts eating his sandwich, and you notice he eats much faster than you. You try not to let your eyes linger on his biceps as he leans forward to take another big bite, crumbs falling onto his plate. You repeat to him that his sandwich is really good, mentioning that when you make it at home, it’s usually dry and tasteless. You just don’t know how to combine the right things, and it gets boring.

“She seems to care about you a lot,” you observe as you both finish eating, referring to Max.

Billy rubs the back of his neck, a sigh leaving his lips. Then he leans back on the chair. “Yeah. Things weren’t, ah…things are better now.”

“You didn’t get along at first?” you tentatively ask.   

“Yeah, not really. Moving together was tough. But I was a dick back then.”

“You?”

You can kind of see it, but the person he’s shown to you is the opposite of what he’s describing. 

“Believe me, sweetheart.” he shakes his head, a rueful smirk on his face. "I'm no saint now, but you're lucky we didn't meet when I was younger.”

“I’m sure you didn’t have it easy.” you offer. 

“Well, Max didn’t either. Her dad doesn’t give a crap about her, her mom only dated assholes before my old man. Then she meets him, thinks she hit the jackpot, turns out he can compete against all of the previous ones together. They really found each other.”

“Is she bad?”

Billy shrugs. “Nah, just weak. And Neil has his way easy with weak people. He found the right woman to mold between his hands like he wants to.”

You listen to him attentively, your hand supporting your head as you rest your elbow on the table, facing him. Neil must be his dad. There’s always some distance, and coldness in the way he speaks about him. He never once referred to him as his dad. 

“It must’ve been hard for her…” you recognize. “Especially being that young.”

Billy stands, grabbing the three dishes as he grimaces. “Yeah, I was so wrapped up in my own anger that I completely overlooked that,” he says as he drops them in the sink, and then starts washing them. You stand up and bring him the two empty glasses. “Just didn’t want any of that crap. Moving in with these people I’ve barely seen a couple of times and act like a happy little family. Fuck that.” 

“Then the move…” you supply. 

"Then the move. Blamed her for all of it. Especially for the move, when in reality the whole thing was my fault. But yeah." 

Your eyes fall on his hand, noticing the harsh way he’s scrubbing the glasses with the sponge. You wonder what happened. What caused the move? What could Billy have done? You don’t want to press on it further, realizing how you could easily touch a sensitive nerve.

“Well, you seem to take good care of her. And I see how she looks at you.”

You could swear for a moment he's caught off guard, almost uncomfortable. Then he sniffs, drying his hands with a towel, his eyes wandering outside the kitchen window. "Yeah, trying to make up for all of it. It’s best to stick together in this crazy house."

There is something about all of this that puts you on edge, makes your skin prickle. Something unsettling is happening in this family. There are subtle but numerous hints you pick up on in your interactions with Billy. It's a month later that you uncover the ugly truth.

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A couple of weeks later May finally arrives, bringing longer days and warmer weather. You can already breathe in the summer air. The trailer park seems a little less gloomy now, with trees in bloom and green grass. In the evening, you hear crickets singing from the open hayloft in the kitchen or your room. On clear, sunny weekends, you and Billy go to Lovers Lake. It's not warm enough to swim yet, but you lie on the shore or on one of the deserted docks. You often do your homework or read while Billy smokes a cigarette or dozes. Your relationship has progressed; you feel much more comfortable around him. Though you don't know each other completely yet, you've gone out enough times to welcome the occasional silence, which no longer frightens you. Slowly, you feel yourself shedding layers of your shell. You think you can consider yourselves friends.

You were supposed to hang out that morning. He was meant to come over to study at your place before heading to Lovers Lake as planned. However, today, the familiar rumble of the Camaro doesn't show up. After a few hours of hesitation, you try calling his house. A man answers, presumably Billy's dad, and informs you that Billy is not home. The rest of the day passes in anxious waiting, but Billy never arrives. You try to push away thoughts of the worst-case scenario, but as the hours drag on, those fears keep creeping back. By Sunday, still no word from him. Billy has always been the opposite of what you expected—he never ignored you at school, never stood you up. Yet now, your fear seems to be materializing. Perhaps he's grown tired of you and found more captivating company. You wonder what you could possibly offer him. You're not as interesting or outgoing as his basketball team friends, nor do you provide the same entertainment as the high school girls he's dated, or might still be dating. Perhaps he's realized that after delving beneath the surface, there's nothing particularly captivating about you.

At dinner, your dad notices something is bothering you and asks what's wrong. You barely touch your plate, feeling like an amoeba. But he's dead tired from his factory shift, and you don't want to burden him with your worries, so you lie and tell him that you're not feeling well. Later, he rises from the sofa, gives you a kiss on the head, and advises you not to stay up too late before retiring to his room. Despite the sound of the TV in the background, you feel lonelier than ever, and the resignation settling over you is almost worse than the whirlwind of emotions you've experienced all day. Hours pass, and you start to doze off curled up on the sofa, the movie you started barely catching your attention. Then, you're jolted awake by the roar of a familiar engine outside the trailer. It's as if a shot of adrenaline has pierced through your lethargy. You sit up abruptly, heart racing, straining your ears to confirm what you've heard. The noise ceases, prompting you to hurry to the door, moving slowly to avoid disturbing your sleeping dad. Your heart skips a beat when, through the window, you spot Billy's familiar silhouette in the dim light cast by the bulb outside.

When you open the door, Billy seems momentarily surprised to see you. As if he didn't expect you to open it so promptly. But then that expression is washed away by his usual smirk.

“You sure were waiting for me, huh?”

You stifle a gasp of horror at the sight of his bruised and battered face, instinctively bringing your hands to your mouth to muffle any sound that might wake your father. To say he's in a bad state would be an understatement.

"Oh my God, Billy."

Closing the front door softly behind you, you step out into the night air, standing in front of him, your concern palpable.

"Good to see you too," he jokes, but his playful expression fades as he realizes his attempt to lighten the mood isn't working.

"Oh God..."

You draw closer, taking in his state. There’s an angry bruise around his left eye, dark purple and almost black, with hints of red and blue around the edges, swollen and puffy. Traces of dried blood linger around his nostrils, and his nose is swollen, the bridge as purple as the area under his eye.

"It's fine," he says.

"Sorry... can I just..." setting aside your shyness, you gently take his face in your hands, tilting his head slightly backward. You won’t fail to notice his small wince as you do so. His lip is cut and swollen. "Does it hurt a lot?"

“Nah. It’s okay.”

"What happened?" you ask softly as you brush his chin with your thumb, almost afraid of causing him further pain.

Billy doesn't seem concerned at all, contrasting with your likely alarmed expression. He looks almost unfazed, the corners of his eyes crinkling into his usual amused expression.

"Got into a fight with a guy. He was just drunk, and I was there."

You frown in confusion. "Were you... at a bar or something?"

"Yeah, I uh...at the pub downtown. Just happened to cross paths with him. He thought I was looking at his girl or something."

"A major dick," you mutter under your breath, your eyes still scanning his cut. It looks deep, like the blood struggled to stop flowing. There's still some dried blood on his chin.

Billy chuckles, then after a moment, he speaks quietly, "Yeah, a major dick. Got him good, though."

“You didn’t clean it. It’s going to get infected, I’ll quickly get…”

“S’fine, really.” while exhaling a sigh through his nose, his hand encircles your wrists, prying yours gently away. 

You lower your gaze to his hands to examine the damage there. But that’s when you notice it. His knuckles are completely fine. There isn’t a single cut on them.

“Billy…” you hold his hands, then look at him.

He seems to pick up on what you’re thinking because he pulls his hands away, scratching his nose with his knuckles, acting as nonchalant as ever. You notice how his hands seem to twitch, like he’s got this nervousness he can’t shake off. As if he’s itching for something. Itching for a smoke. 

“I’m gonna clean it when I get home. Wanna go to the quarry? I’ve got some sweets Max forgot in the car earlier,” he suggests, nodding towards the Camaro parked behind him at the beginning of the trailer park. It's likely he didn’t want to wake anyone, especially your dad, given how late it is.

“But…”

“Sweetheart. Please,” he cuts you off. You freeze in place at the harsher tone of his last word. Billy sighs, running a hand through his curls. “M’sorry. Can we just not talk about it?” he looks tired, but not physically tired—mentally tired. You can sense the exhaustion in his gaze, a silent plea underlying his question.

A twist forms in your stomach as the reality sinks in. It confirms that something very wrong, something dark, is happening in his life. You begin to reflect on how you might have overlooked the signs. You feel the urge to ask him if the person causing him harm is who you suspect. You want to help him. But you push down those thoughts and emotions.

“Okay. Okay, of course,” you softly say. “Can I just go and grab the first-aid kit before we leave? Please.”

Billy clenches his jaw and looks away. You can see how hard this must be for him, and the last thing you want is for him to feel like he can't be vulnerable around you. 

“All right.” he finally says.

After quietly retrieving the first aid kit, you get into the car with Billy. You’re not too worried about your father waking up since he sleeps like a rock, and it’s a Friday night after all. The car ride to the quarry is unusually silent. You try to break the ice by asking Billy how the basketball game went a few days ago or how Max liked the movie you recommended the last time you saw her. However, Billy responds with noncommittal short answers, clearly not fully present in the moment. Something must be weighing heavily on his mind. Sensing his mood, you decide to fill the silence by sharing what you’ve been up to lately. You mention that your father's co-worker, Wayne Munson, who lives in the trailer right across the street, came over for coffee the other day. Wayne has a son who’s a year or two older than you. You’ve never really talked to him, as he tends to keep to himself, but he seems nice enough. Now that the weather is warmer, you often see him sitting on the porch of his trailer, either smoking or reading a book. He always greets you when you walk by or take out the trash. You know he struggled in school, having flunked twice in his senior year, but he graduated last year and now works as a mechanic downtown. Talking about the mechanic job seems to catch Billy’s interest. You remind him of the conversation you had a while back when he mentioned wanting to work as a mechanic during the summer. Billy starts to loosen up and tells you that he plans to stop by the car shop in the next few days.

On this warm night, the air is balmy and filled with the earthy scent of blooming wildflowers and fresh foliage. As he has a couple of times before, Billy parks the car near the edge of the quarry, just where the thick line of trees begins. Gravel crunches softly under the tires, the only sound of the quiet evening.

The towering trees cast shadows blurred in the moonlight, their leaves rustling softly in the warm breeze. Before he can say anything, you open the first-aid kit on your lap and gently shush him when he objects. As you gently clean the dried blood around his nostrils and the cut on his lip with an antiseptic wipe, Billy winces slightly but doesn’t pull away. You then apply a bit of the antibiotic ointment to the wounds to prevent infection. Finally, you use a gauze pad to gently dab at the bruised areas, careful not to press too hard. Throughout the process, Billy remains mostly silent, his eyes closed, occasionally taking a deep breath. The temperature feels good outside, so once you’re finished you both get out of the car. Billy rounds the car and sits on the ground with a wince, resting his back against the side of the car. So you do the same. You stand in front of the quarry. Under the pale light of the crescent moon, the quarry walls loom like ancient sentinels, their rough surfaces casting long, mysterious shadows. The water at the bottom of the quarry is a dark, mirror-like expanse, reflecting the twinkling stars above.

"Here," Billy says, holding up some green candy canes along with a pack of cigarettes. It looks different from his usual pack of Marlboro Reds, but you don’t think much of it initially.

"What flavor is it?" you ask, taking one of the candies from the packet.

"Must be sour apple."

As you begin to chew, the taste of apple indeed invades your taste buds. From the corner of your eye, you see Billy pull a cigarette out of the pack, then hear him swear.

"Shit." Billy curses. "That's a candy. Didn’t even notice it."

You see the candy cigarette between Billy's fingers and an amused chuckle escapes your lips.

"Don't worry, it's an easy mistake. Guess even tough guys can mix up their vices sometimes."

That makes him snort a quiet laugh, and even if it’s without a real smile and it’s short-lived, you managed to make him laugh a bit.

Billy leans his head against the metal of the Camaro, his hand holding the lighter dropping to his thigh. "They must be in the car."

He must be referring to his cigarettes. You remain silent for a few seconds, contemplating whether to offer to go get them for him. You look at his tired profile: eyes closed, head resting against the car, throat exposed, Adam's apple slightly prominent. Looking at his bruised face makes your stomach twist with concern, your heart sinking. At least his wounds are clean now. You feel the urge to reach out and brush aside the curl that falls over his eye. But you don’t. Instead, your gaze shifts to the quarry.

“You’ve been really smoking a lot, Billy.” 

Your words slip out quietly, as if afraid of disrupting the fragile balance of the evening. You’ve observed Billy smoking ever since you met him. Lately, though, you’ve noticed how his fingers are more often occupied by a cigarette than free of it. You’ve seen his nervous fidgeting in class—how he jitters his knee, taps the rubber end of his pencil on the desk, scratches his stubble with his knuckles, and frequently shifts position in his chair. And now, whenever you’re together, he’s pulling one out from his pack at least once.

Billy opens his eyes slightly, glancing at you. He sighs and looks away, his expression hardening a bit. "Yeah, well, it helps," he says gruffly, but there's a hint of something softer in his voice. "Don't worry about it. I'll cut back... someday."

He sees the probably worried look on your face. He’s so young, and he smokes already this much. You don’t even realize how you’re worrying at your lip. 

“I’ll try and slow down, alright?” 

You nod hesitantly as he offers you a cigarette candy that you take. 

“Just ‘cause you can't stand the smell of smoke.” he teases you, his eyes sleepy and slightly amused. 

“What? I…that wasn’t…” you stutter, feeling embarrassed he caught you. “That’s not why I think you should stop! It’s for your health…”

“But it bothers you too,” a grin forms on his face as he reaches out, and before you can stop you he pinches right above your knee, making you jump and squeal in surprise. He’s learned how ticklish he makes you, and he’s never stopped teasing you with it ever since. l “I know you do.”

“Stop! Stop it!” 

“You alway scrunch up your nose like it’s the most disgusting thing in the world.”

“Stop it, okay!” you try to free your leg with a high-pitched laugh as he tries to pinch you again. “You’re right, I hate it! Hands off, now.”  

You push his hand away as he finally relents, trying to catch your breath. Billy shakes his head in amusement. He tugs at his candy stick with his teeth.

“Knew it,” he says. 

You simply take another candy from his hands, avoiding his gaze as he chews on his. You’re hyper-aware of how flushed you are now, embarrassed that he noticed. You didn't want him to realize that his smoking bothered you.

“I haven’t even realized I do that…” you then say, breaking through the quiet.

“It’s kinda cute.”

His comment makes your heart race and your face flush even more. You glance down, fiddling with the wrapper of the candy in your hand. “Thanks”, you mumble softly, barely audible.

“You sure as hell would make a good nurse.” he mumbles then, shifting his position, wincing a bit and you notice how he brushes his hand over his left side. “All caring and everything. You took care of my wounds pretty well.”

If it wasn’t for what he just said, you would ask him if he got hurt there as well. You try to mask your embarrassment with a casual shrug. "I don't think I'd like being a nurse," you say, managing to keep your voice steady. "Too much pressure and responsibility."

Billy nods, taking your words in stride. "Fair enough," he says. "Then what would you like to be?”

You let out a soft sigh, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the question. "I don't know," you admit, staring down at your hands. "It's hard to figure out."

"Tell you what, it’s pretty simple," Billy says. "What do you like?”

You lift your eyes from your hands, a bit surprised by his question. “What do you mean?”

Billy pops another candy in his mouth. “See, I like cars and I’m pretty good at working on them. So, I know I’m gonna be a mechanic.” he lazily gestures at himself, then at you. “What do you like?”

You ponder his question for a moment, thinking about the things that bring you joy. "I like to take pictures," you say finally. "Especially portraits of people. Capturing their expressions, their emotions... it feels special."

"Then you should be a photographer," he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. 

You smile at his straightforwardness, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Maybe," you say, considering the possibility.

Billy leans his head back against the car. "You know, the guy I was working for in San Diego once told me something," he says. "He said that at the end of the day, it's simple. You need to find something you like and you're really good at, then make it your job. That's how you'll make it in life."

His words resonate with you, and you find yourself nodding in agreement. "That makes sense," you say softly. 

Photography has always been your favorite hobby. Until recent dramatic events, you used to do it a lot. You have a lot of pictures in the drawer of your desk. Billy tells you he wants you to show them to him sometime. He also says it’s a shame you stopped and that you should start doing it again. You haven’t spoken specifically about your mom leaving yet. You’ve noticed he’s very sensitive about it, careful not to push your boundaries. He’s never asked questions. However, tonight he simply tells you that if photography makes you happy, it’s important to not give up on it, as passions have a way of pulling us through hard times.  You realize how Billy has a way of making things simpler, of helping you see what's important. And in that moment, you feel a deep sense of gratitude for his presence in your life.

You stay at the quarry until two am, and it’s when you start yawning repeatedly that Billy says it’s time to go. Sitting in the car, despite the warm weather, feels good as the night has gotten chilly. You feel sleepy, but nonetheless, you continue to think about the current situation. You don’t want Billy to go home, there’s something that makes you feel on the edge, you want to talk about it with him so bad but don’t even know how to approach the subject. Despite that, sleep starts to take over you, but once halfway through the ride to the trailer park, a brownish silhouette crosses the road in front of you.

“The fuck.” Billy floors both the clutch and the brakes, and you’re thankful for having your seatbelt on. Your body slams forward and back again, and you hit your head against the headrest for the impact. 

A deer, froze into place a few seconds before, rushes toward the the other side of the road, running wildly and disappearing through the trees.

“Ouch.” 

Billy heaves a loud sigh. “God…frickin’ stupid forest.” 

Your heartbeats slow down as you recover from the surprise, your hand feeling the back of your head. 

“Yeah, we have lots of them here,” you mumble. 

“Jesus.” he looks then at you. “You alright?” 

His hand comes up, touching yours so you drop it. He gently rests it on the back of your head where it still throbs. It’s warm and big. He literally could crush you if he wanted to. But his touch is soft. 

“It’s fine.” you squeak, the sudden touch making you burn. 

“Hurts a lot?” he mutters’, his thumb petting the skin at the nape of your neck. 

“A little bit. It’s gonna pass.”

“Alright.” he relents after a few seconds, then pushes on the gas again. 

The remainder of the car journey passes in silence. Billy stops exactly where he had stopped before, the headlights briefly illuminating the 'Forest Hills' panel before he switches off the engine. Darkness envelops you, blending with the night's silence and the quiet of the car. You're not quite sure what to say. You're uncertain how to bid him farewell. Truth be told, you have no desire to say goodbye to him. The last thing you want is to let him go, sensing that he will likely return to danger as soon as you step into the house. 

"I'm sorry," he says, breaking through the quiet.

You turn toward him, confusion and surprise evident in your expression. "For what?"

"For standing you up."

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not though.” you can see him shake his head from the corner of your eye. “That was a dick move. Could’ve at least called you.” 

Turning your whole body towards him, you lean against the passenger seat. Now that a couple of hours have passed, his eye is swollen and darker.

"Billy, it's okay. Really. I know you..." you hesitate, then look down at your hands, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. You try to find the right words, careful not to touch the subject again, especially not to delve into details. "I know you weren't at the pub earlier."

At these words, Billy turns his head and looks away, towards the window. Sensing his discomfort, you hurriedly continue speaking. "And that's alright. I don't need you to explain yourself to me. I get it. I just want you to know that I know. 

Tentatively, you extend your hand towards his, resting on the shift gear. Holding your breath, you anticipate a possible rejection. 

“And I understand."

Billy doesn't shoo you away but remains as still as a statue, his elbow resting against the window, his knuckles against his mouth. Your heart tightens as you imagine the pain hidden beneath the shield he wears, the horrors he must have endured so far. Just as you begin to release the pressure on his hand, preparing to withdraw, Billy sighs and turns his hand palm up, slipping his fingers between yours and squeezing. His touch is warm, sending an electric signal throughout your body, causing your heart to leap. Reassured by his welcoming touch, your thumb caresses the back of his hand.

“I know we haven’t known each other for long,” you say softly, careful not to disrupt the fragile connection between you. “But I care about you. And I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

Billy rests his head against the headrest, his eyes closed. He squeezes your hand. “Thanks, sweetheart.” his voice is low and gravelly, as quiet as yours.

You stay like this for a moment, perhaps him relishing in the weight lifted by your confession, and you in his acceptance of your attempt to bridge the gap between you.

“I should go now.” you whisper, glancing at the house, though that’s the last thing you want to do. 

Billy releases his hand from your grip and then reaches for his pack of cigarettes in the center console, his gaze avoiding. “Yeah, it’s late.”

“Will you be okay?” you ask him. 

“Yeah, don’t sweat it.”

Even as you look at him, Billy avoids making eye contact with you. He takes a cigarette, lighting it up, the flame piercing through the darkness and briefly illuminating his bruised face. It's as if he's peeled back one layer too many for his liking. You understand this, though it leaves you feeling distant from him. You miss the warmth he usually radiates. Quietly accepting the situation, you purse your lips and reach for the door handle. 

You glance back at him, failing to lock eyes with him as he exhales the smoke whilst tilting his head back. “Try to rest. And…uhm, call me if you need it. Please.”

Billy merely nods. “Yeah. Night.”

As you walk toward your house, the chilly night air envelops you, and you try to shake off the feeling of helplessness and emptiness that grips you. You're still trying to wrap your head around it, to accept the extent of his condition. It's kind of a shock.

As you hear his car door slam, you turn back to him.

"Did you forget something?" you ask, keeping your voice low as he approaches, the cigarette dangling between his fingers.

You don't understand his actions as he draws closer and closer, and for a second your body tenses, until he reaches out and pulls you toward him. It’s only when you’re pressed against his body that you realize he has his arms wrapped around you. Speechless, you allow your arms to encircle his neck, his face nuzzling into your neck, his breath mingling with your hair. You can sense the weight of unspoken words in the fierceness of his embrace, his forearms pressing against your back. Standing on your tiptoes to meet him, you ease the strain as he's slightly bent over you due to his height. But it doesn’t last long, so you simply allow yourself to be engulfed by his tall figure. You hope he can't feel how fast your heart is pounding against your chest, but at the same time, you find yourself not caring. Relief washes over you as the distance he had put between you earlier dissipates into the night air. And it feels good. You could easily get used to all of this. The butterflies in your stomach, the profound happiness as he’s everywhere, around you, against you. You realize that you could stay like this forever, and the thought scares you.

After what feels like an eternity, yet somehow not enough, he finally pulls away. Your hair is tangled with his, and with a gentle touch, he first separates his from yours. Then, with the same hand, he carefully sweeps your hair behind one of your shoulders. With his other arm releasing you, he taps the cigarette with his finger to release the ashes. His eyes carry a sleepy gaze, and this time you're certain they're sleepy in every sense of the word. Nonetheless, they bore into yours with the same overwhelming intensity.

“You sleep tight, okay?” 

You nod a couple of times, still speechless and unable to function by his proximity. 

As you watch his retreating form and assured stride, you feel your heartstrings pulling more strongly towards him with each step he takes, as if he's carrying your heart with him.

[hypocriticaltypwriter]

Billy's lil Drama Queen~ 🩷

[sadhours]

Pervy Billy please 🤤🤤🤤

okay okay, here’s a teaser of my upcoming series stuck in the middle with you

billy hargrove x pamela oc!mayfield

cw: 18+ minors dni, perv!billy, stepcest, psuedocest, teasing, groping, dry humping and masturbation

🎀🤍🚬🍦

It’s like the little bitch does it on purpose. Those shorts can barely be classified as such, they’re practically just underwear and she’s prancing around the house like she’s trying to get a rise out of Billy. It’s making him pretty damn bricked up, just trying to enjoy his fucking bowl of Wheaties.

They’re alone. Neil and Susan shopping, like they do most Saturday mornings and Billy’s got no idea where Max is nor does he care. Pamela is doing her chores, pale blonde hair bouncing whenever she reaches down to grab miscellaneous clutter. Thanks to the motion, he also notices she’s not wearing a bra; breasts swaying under her thin cotton shirt. God, her legs are long, he thinks as he skates his eyes up and down them.

Billy’s aware he’s staring. Part of him thinks Pamela wants him to. He shovels another spoonful of cereal in his mouth before dropping the bowl in the sink for Pamela to clean. It’s her chore after all.

He’s got his own chores. Lists them off in his head; fix the leaky faucet in the bathroom, organize the garage, mow the lawn, wack all the weeds and take out the garbage. They can wait, he decides as he keeps his place in the kitchen and watches as his step sister continues on with her chores. Chews on his lip as she uses the scrunchie on her wrist to tie her hair up in a bun. She starts by cleaning off the counters, putting everything back in its place before she takes her place at the sink. A smirk spreads across his lips and he crowds behind her, places his hands on the counter to cage her in.

Pamela tilts her head, doesn’t look at him but exposes her neck like she’s expecting something. Billy takes these movements slow and calculated. He doesn’t want to scare her off, but then again, he’s sure Pamela is playing the same game he is. He laughs, soft as he towers over her. His breath fans over her neck and Pamela’s skin pricks with goosebumps as she wets the sponge. Squirts dish liquid on it before she finally speaks up, “Can I help you?”

Billy purses his lips, closes the gap between Pamela’s ass and his crotch as he tells her, “Just making sure you’re doing a good job is all.”

She snorts but continues cleaning the dishes and maybe Billy’s imagining it but he thinks he feels her push her ass back against him. So he grabs her waist, holds her steady and presses his lips against her exposed neck. It’s not a kiss. Just to feel her warm skin. Rolls his hips slow, testing before moving his hands to feel up her sides. Swooping forward and cupping her breasts in his palms.

He kneads them in his hands, shamelessly rolling his hips and Pamela elicits the prettiest little sound. A moan if Billy’s not mistaken and it makes him greedy. Slams his hips forward, grinding against her ass in those tiny shorts while he gropes at her tits. Pamela drops the silverware and sponge, gripping onto the edge of the counter as she pants.

“See what you’re doing to me?” Billy asks against her ear, rocking his hips forward again. Making sure she can feel the way his cocks hard in his basketball shorts. “Walking around in that shit… dressed like a fucking slut,” he pants, “Tryna get my attention, huh?”

“Billy,” she gasps, a whine of a thing.

He pulls her top up, just enough to expose her tits and gets his hands back on them. Pinches her nipples, rutting against her like the pathetic little perv he is.

“Billy.. we— ah, we can’t,” he babbles out, but she’s still grinding back against him.

“We can’t what?” he grunts out, nose bushing against her temple.

“Do this,” Pamela replies, hands moving to reach for his wrists. “It’s wrong.”

Billy knows it’s wrong. That’s part of why he can’t stop thinking about her like this.

But she’s right. This was probably far enough. He pulls away, looks down at her as she turns. Her pretty face all flushed. And he acts kind of like a child, stomping away to his room and slamming his door. Just to lean against it and shove his shorts down, get his cock out and wrap his hand around it.

“Fuck,” he whines, closing his eyes and imagines his step sister on her knees in front of him. “Oh, you slut,” he whispers, lips twisting up as he plays out this fantasy. Fucks his fist hard and fast, cumming with her name on his lips.

[sourmaybank]

BROKEN RECORD

Eddie Munson x OC!Reader || stranger things || seasons two - four

SUMMARY: Lyra Hargrove had to grow up quickly, constantly adjusting to unwanted changes. The hardest was moving to Hawkins, Indiana after her father remarried to keep up a facade of a happy family. Weeks into their new life, Lyra notices Max acting secretive and avoiding everyone. She soon discovers that Hawkins is linked to the Upside Down, a dangerous, demonic version of their town. Joining the monster hunting club brings more secrets, lies, and potential heartbreak.

WARNINGS: friends to lovers, second chance romance, cursing, angst, stranger things violence, some talks of blood and gore

A/N: I do not own any of the stranger things characters only Lyra and her storyline as well as any other OC's that I create. Please do not copy or translate my work; paraphrasing is still copying! As always, thank you for all the support in my writing, I appreciate every single one of you! 🥰

➩ SEASON TWO

➩ SEASON THREE

➩ SEASON FOUR

[buckysgrace]

Little Sister

Perv!Billy x Kim (this is outside of the Cruel Summer series, for funsies haha)

Warnings: Nonconsensual touching, dubcon, light somnophilia, stepcest

Billy has a thing for his stepsister's panties.

It started small. 

He’d sneak into her room when he knew she was gone, even if it was for fleeting moments. The risk of getting caught always added an extra edge to him. He’d sprawl out on Kim’s pretty bed and slowly push his pants down but by then he was already rock hard, the thought of having her walk in on him made his cock throb in anticipation. He had decided on a pair of white panties today as he wiped the part where her cunt would rest against his dripping tip. 

He couldn’t help as he groaned, picturing that it was her dainty fingers instead of his own. He cupped her panties along his thick cock before he lazily began to stroke himself to the thought of her. His mind always wandered to different dirty thoughts about her. He always pictured her sitting between his knees, a gleeful look on her face as she bashfully moved her hand up and down the length of his cock. He liked thinking that she would be shocked at how big he was, that she would be grinding herself down against the mattress at the thought of his cock stretching her walls.

He huffed as he thrusted his hips up harder into his fist as he pictured her pouty lips stretching around his tip. He was throbbing against his hand as the image of fucking into her mouth became clearer to him. He thought of how good she would feel around his cock. 

He came far too quickly, far too loudly as his hips stuttered up into his hand. He groaned, whining softly as he emptied himself into her panties. He breathed out roughly as his heart raced deep inside of his chest.

He tilted his head to the side, breathing in the scent of her against her pillow case. He licked his lips, trying to picture what she did in here all alone. He savored the image of her touching herself, thinking about how pretty she’d look with her legs spread wide and her fingers knuckle deep inside of her tight cunt. 

He quickly fixed himself in his pants as he moved towards the edge of her bed, wishing that he could explore the depths of her mattress with her. He licked his teeth, biting back his own smirk as he slid the cum soaked panties into her drawer. His eyes lingered against the other clothing, wondering how many times she’d worn his mess against her skin and not even realized.

She made it difficult for him. He felt like he was always on edge, unable to fully relax when she was around. The worst part was that she never realized what she was doing to him. He breathed out, thinking of the tiny dresses and skirts that she’d parade around in. 

Dinner was brutal that night as she lounged against him. He still didn’t understand how she managed to be so close yet so far away at the same time. She always looked up at him with a bright gleam in her eye, like he was the biggest star she had ever seen. He wondered if she was just being nice or perhaps there was something else hidden far away. 

Her bare thigh touched his skin again as she shifted herself in the chair. He glanced down between the two of them, noticing how small her flesh was compared to him. He found himself shifting in his chair this time as the image of her with her face forced onto the floor and her ass high in the air popped into his mind. He could feel his dick stirring in his pants, begging to be touched. He looked towards her, wondering if she could read the lust in his eyes by the way she shied away from his gaze. He loved how bashful she got. He wondered if she’d be able to hold eye contact with him if his cock was inside of her. 

He found himself growing more risky one night when he found himself sneaking into her room. He was sure he was insane, that he was losing his mind as he loomed at the edge of her bed. He kept waiting for her to wake up and scream at him, to kick him out. She never awoke, didn’t even flinch as he lifted the edge of her covers up. He nearly choked as he took in the panties he had jerked off into earlier peeking out from her nightgown. 

He shifted the blankets up a little higher as she rested on her side. He breathed out roughly as he inched his hand across the mattress. It felt like miles until he reached her sleeping form. He was careful as he pulled her panties up a bit, just enough to stretch the material out before he moved his other hand towards her clothed cunt. He licked his lips as his fingertips brushed against her puffy pussy. He breathed in at how warm she felt against his fingers as he slowly pressed down harder.

His ears rang and his cock hardened as her moan filled the room. It was loud enough to freeze his movements as he was sure that he had been caught. He yanked his hand away quickly, his veins turning towards ice as he waited for her to start screaming. She reached around blinked, her back still facing him until she found the blankets and adjusted them. She sighed softly as he breathed in slowly, realizing that she had already drifted off to sleep. 

He left soon after, too afraid that she would end up catching him if he stayed any longer. He jerked himself off hard and fast in his room next door, wishing that he could hear her pretty moans dancing from her lips. 

He came in the next night too, cautiously resting against her on the mattress. She was facing him this time, resting on the opposite side from last night. It was risky, he knew that, but he couldn’t help himself. It was like his body was reacting on its own. 

He slowly moved his hand towards her, picking it up gently and resting it against his own. His heart hammered roughly as he admired the size difference. He paused as he slid her fingers against hers until he was holding her hand. He savored the feeling of hers against his for a second before he drew their clamped hands up towards his chest.

He moved his hand around her wrist as he slowly moved her fingers down his chest. He breathed out as he withdrew her hand for a short second to pull himself out of his shorts. His cock was hard and dripping already as he took a hold of her hand again. He held onto the base of his cock with his free hand before he engulfed Kim’s dainty fingers around his thick cock. He liked how big he looked in comparison to her. 

He bit his lip harshly, trying to keep from moaning too loudly. He wrapped his fingers around her own and squeezed them around his throbbing cock. He closed his eyes in bliss, thinking that she felt much better than he could ever imagine. His lips parted in awe as he slowly moved her hand up and down the length of his cock, knowing that he couldn’t be too rough with his movements in case she woke up. 

His hips were moving up just as urgently, wishing that she was awake to squeeze his cock herself. His head hit her pillows as he slowly moved her hand along his cock, careful not to thrust against her hand too roughly. 

He shuffled his body closer to her, glancing towards her sleeping features. HIs lips parted in bliss as he groaned softly against her lips. He wished he could kiss her, savor the taste of her against his tongue. 

He was pulsing against her hand, his cock aching so harshly that he thought he may cry from the pleasure. He had a great urge to tighten her hand and move her hand harder along his cock, but wanted to savor the feeling of her soft skin all at the same time. 

He felt his eyebrows knitting together in concentration as his hips began to jerk up a little rougher, his balls aching for the need to be touched. He thought about how pretty she’d look with them in her mouth. He wondered if she’d still look at him in such a dreamy state.

He bit down on his free hand as he came. Thick, white ropes of cum decorated his abdomen and her hand as his cock eventually stilled. He panted softly, his chest moving up and down rapidly as she continued to slumber next to him. 

He removed her hand gently before he scooped up his globs of spunk as he turned towards her again. He felt slightly nervous as he moved some of it up to her lips, letting it smear there. He froze as her eyebrows knitted together, her lips pursing before she turned on her other side. 

He wanted to touch her, to spread her hole and kiss and lick at her. He decided against it, wanting to pace himself for what was to come. She was too sweet, too good to use all at once. He wanted to savor her. 

He came back the next night, and the night after. He kept coming back until it was engraved in his brain and became more of a habit than anything else. It felt wrong to not go in there, to not put her pretty hand around his cock and get himself off. 

He was there again, but this time he needed more. He needed to see her, to feel her just a little bit more. He was becoming more reckless, sure that she wouldn’t ever wake up from anything that he did. 

He slowly pulled the comforter off of her body, breathing out slowly as his heart pumped roughly inside of his chest. He watched for her smallest movements, making sure that she wouldn’t awaken from his touch. He sighed silently in relief when she didn’t budge. Her face was still turned against her pillow, squishing her cheek against the pillow as she continued her deep breaths.

He licked his bottom lip as his eyes raked over the goosebumps that hard formed on her pale skin. He breathed in the image of her in the moonlight as he cautiously brought his hands down against her milky thighs. He strangled back a groan as he felt her against his hands, realizing she felt better than he had imagined. 

His fingertips slowly brushed against the hem of her nightgown as he gently lifted it over her thighs. He struggled for a second to get it over her backside but after a quick fight he was able to easily slide it up over her waist. He grinned at the pink panties that kept her pussy hidden away from him. He exhaled deeply as he breathed in her pale skin and the light pink freckles that were decorated across her tummy. He dipped his head down, breathing in her sweet scent before he pressed his lips just below her belly button. He froze, his bottom lip dragging along her skin as he glanced up towards her. She inhaled deeply between her lips before she furrowed her cheek deeper into the pillow. 

He waited for a second before he continued to press his lips around her belly button. He liked how smooth and soft her skin was underneath his touch. He licked around her belly button, his hips gripping her sides as her chest shifted above him. He exhaled against her skin, blowing on it softly as more goosebumps arose on her skin. He sat up again, feeling a dire need to look at her tits. He shuffled her nightgown up higher, just high enough to expose her chest to him.

He groaned this time as his eyes wandered over her hard pink nipples and smooth skin. Her boobs were smaller yet perky as his hands wandered up further. It was harder to see at night, but he was sure it was the one area that wasn’t completely covered with freckles. He drew his hand up to lightly cup her chin before he pressed his fingertips across her lips. They were so pretty. She was so pretty. 

He looked back between her legs, admiring the print on her panties as he pried her legs a little further apart. He leaned forward, just enough that he could inhale the scent of her. He groaned, not quite thinking as he brought his tongue out across her clothed cunt.

Her moan was loud and pretty, like music to his ears as his eyes snapped up towards her. He panicked for a moment, fearing that he had awoken her. He paused, ensuring that she was still sleeping before he brought his fingertips up towards the hem of her panties.

He spread them, pulling them far enough that he could see her pretty pink pussy. He felt his mouth watering at the image, his cock hardening in his briefs as he looked at the pretty red hair that decorated her skin. He almost wondered if she shaved from how thin it was, but then decided that she probably didn’t know that was a thing. 

He closed his eyes as he dragged his tongue out across her folds, licking away her sweet slick. He felt like he was losing his mind, like this was some sort of dream as he continued to drag his tongue across her folds and against her swollen clit. 

He began to grind his hips down into the mattress, listening to the soft sounds that left her lips as his tongue brushed across her fluttering hole. He licked inside, curling it as he felt her squeezing around her. He bet she’d look so pretty full of his cock. He wanted to see what she looked like stretched around him. 

He continued to drag his tongue across her puffy cunt. He sighed deeply as he let his fingertips drag across her pale skin. He wished she was awake to squeeze her thighs around his head and grasp at his hair. 

He licked at her until her hips stalled and a loud whine left her mouth. He looked up at her, reassuring himself that she was still sleeping as he licked the taste of her away. He savored her slick as he settled himself on his knees. He jerked himself off this time as he observed her body, too turned on to try and use her hand this time. 

It didn’t take long for him to cum. He was far too worked up and turned on to try and use her hand. He came hard and fast, struggling to stifle his own sounds of pleasure as he painted her cunt and tummy white. He smeared it in after, ensuring that he had been there before he fixed her nightgown and covered her back up.

He paused as he looked down at her, admiring her soft features and dainty nose. He hesitated before he leaned down and kissed the top of her forehead, breathing in her sweet scent before he was fleeing her room. 

“That movie was scary,” Kim mumbled, taking him off guard as she appeared in the kitchen next to him the following night, “Can I lay with you for a while?” She looked hopeful as she twisted her features together. 

“You want to lay with me?” He felt his mouth run dry, his cheeks beginning to burn. He cleared his throat, unsure of why he was so nervous. He’d had plenty of girls in his bed before, Kim wasn’t anything different. It’s not like she would do anything with him anyways. 

“Max always locks her door at night,” Kim looked at him a little defeated, “I’m too afraid to sleep in my room on my own.” She pouted her lips out, fluttering her eyelashes up towards him. His heart wasn’t the only thing that began to stir. He wasn’t sure how anyone could deny her when she looked like that. 

“Just for a bit,” He grumbled as he shakily lifted the can of beer up to his lips, “Your mom will freak out if she knows.” He told her quickly, knowing that he’d be in even worse trouble if anyone else found out what he’d been doing. 

Kim kept a close distance to him, following behind him with fear laced in her eyes. He felt a little bad, not really meaning to snap at her earlier. He didn’t want to be rude, but he also didn’t want her to suspect that he felt anything. 

“Is this okay?” She turned her head, looking over at him innocently like her ass wasn’t pressed right up against his dick. He nodded his head stiffly, breathing in harshly to keep his cock from stirring in his pants. 

“Yeah,” He brushed her off, trying to think of anything else to keep himself from getting hard, “You’re fine.” He grumbled as he closed his eyes tightly. He wished that she’d fall asleep quickly, or at least get up to leave. 

Once he was sure she was asleep he couldn’t stop his hands from wandering. He gripped her soft waist before he moved further up, letting his large hands cup her perky tits. His lips dragged against her shoulder, stifling his own groan as he groped at her chest. He pressed his hips forward, his cock aching in his pajama pants as he slowly began to grind against her soft ass. 

He sighed loudly, unable to help himself as his fingertips dug into her hips. He rolled his hips forward harder, wishing he knew what her cunt felt like around his cock. A soft moan left her lips, but he was sure she was still asleep as he began to rub her clit with his hand.

“Billy,” Her voice startled him, making his movements freeze completely, “Don’t stop.” She breathed out harshly, turning to look at him. His lips fell slack as he began to find an excuse, to search for something to explain himself. 

She took him by surprise as she slowly began to grind ass back against his cock. She pressed her fingertips over his, pressing down harder as another moan left her lips. He watched her entranced, memorizing the way her features knitted together. He was sure he was dreaming. 

He groaned as he continued to grind against her, enjoying the soft moans that pulled from her lips. She was too eager to roll her body back against his, looking just as feral as he felt. He knew he couldn’t handle coming in his pants. Not this time.

He pulled his hand away, ignoring the defeated look she sent him before he was pulling himself onto his knees. He quickly stripped from his pajamas, his cock bobbing against his abdomen from how hard he was. She watched him with wonder as he straddled her chest, her eyes wide as she looked at him. She sat up on her elbows.

“Spit on it,” He said softly as he stroked himself in his hand. His cock was begging for more, urging to feel more of her around him, “Come on.” He urged as he pressed his messy tip against her pouty lips. She reached a hand up hesitantly before she took his place, lazily beginning to stroke his dick. 

“Spit on it?” She looked up at him, a look of chastity ringing in her hazel eyes. He nodded his head, feeling a little desperate to keep her hands moving along his thick length. He could feel himself throbbing in her hand, begging to feel more of her.

“Uh huh,” He nodded harshly, slowly jerking his hips up to meet her languid movements. He grunted softly, watching the way she puckered her lips out and slowly dropped a wad of saliva along his tip, “Good girl.” He breathed out, watching the way she messily moved her hand up and down the length of his cock.

Her cheeks burned, her eyes slightly widening from his compliment. She bit down on her bottom lip, her eyes filled with lust as he continued to move to the rhythm of her hand. He sighed lightly, grunting in awe as he throbbed in her hand.

“Does it feel good?” She asked hesitantly, like she really wasn’t sure what his answer would be. She obviously wasn’t very experienced, but none of that mattered to Billy. All that he cared about was that it was her. 

“Yeah,” He breathed out harshly, groaning as he thrusted his hips forward against her dainty hand. He knitted his eyebrows together, looking down at her pretty skin and the way her nipples poked out against her nightgown, “You’re so hot.” He groaned as he brought his large hand on top of hers. 

He squeezed his hand over her own, pumping furiously as his cock ached against her palm. He grunted, unable to help himself as his hips began to snap forward roughly. It felt too good to make himself stop. He was too afraid that she’d change her mind the closer he got. 

“Can I cum on your tits?” He spit out harshly, feeling like he was seconds away from blowing his load regardless of what her answer was. She nodded her head, still bearing a hazy look in her eyes as she looked up at him innocently, “Hold them together.” He begged, his tone cracking from how desperate he sounded. 

He cursed as he came, his hips stalling as thick globs of liquid coated over her pale white breasts, up her slender neck and next to her pouty lips. His grunts came out louder than usual, his eyebrows knitted tightly together as he took in her stunned expression. Her shoulders were moving softly, taking in slow breaths as she watched him innocently. 

“Was that-,” She darted her tongue out, looking like she was going to lick the corner of her mouth before she quickly stopped. He groaned, desperately wanting to see her swallow his cum, “Was that good?” He moved his hands up to cup at her flushed skin, admiring how warm her cheeks felt against his palms. 

“Very good,” He mumbled softly as he brought his fingertip up to the corner of her lips and pushed his spunk inside of her mouth. He groaned, watching the way she innocently tasted it, “You’re such a good girl, such a good little sister.”