#step bro billy Hargrove

[strangerxperv]

Mean/ bully step bro Billy Hargrove x innocent step sis reader (both are adults)

Minors do not interact

I'm allergic to children

NSFW (Billy gets called daddy)

(This is another au I've been sitting on that I'm sharing this week)

"It's not bad, I promise. Let me see where it tingles and I'll help you." Billy is crouching on the ground between your spread legs. His oceanic eyes peer at your pretty depths never glancing away. Especially not at the spot between your legs where your skirt is bunched up. Your panties are worse than damp as slick continues to pool. "Show me."

It's his soft command that gives you motivation to point down. "It's down there. I know-" you look away with small words and voice shy, "that it's used to have sex and make babies...but...why does it feel like this?"

"What does it feel like, cookie?" A rough hand caresses you thigh while a thick thumb rubs circles near your heat.

"Like, like it needs something. It feels warm and wet...empty." you bite your lip before continuing, "Why does it feel that way? Am I a bad girl?"

"You're only a bad fuck hole at school, princess, at home you're the best girl." Both hands grip the sides of your panties and gently peel them off. Slick strings connect from your pussy to your panties. "This is natural and completely normal. I'm gonna teach you all about this part of you. It's what daddy's do."

[kyberphilosopher]

Pass the Dutchie

Word Count: 7908 Requested: Nah Warning[s]: 4/20 special, so drug and substance abuse, crude language, crude humor, adult themes, not my strongest piece ever probably, long, Billy sticks to character sorry, general fanfiction cringe warnings. When Billy assumes you might sell to him, you get back at him by stealing his stash. But after you realize he's not so unbearable, your relationship with each other, and even yourselves, seems to change.

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The summer months came quickly, even quicker than the actual summer. The crisp April morning, tainted with spring rain that left the reek of petrichor hanging in the air for the rest of the day, had given way to a dry and beating heat. Not enough to make you sweat, but enough to fill the school with shorts and skirts over the typical swarm of bell bottoms. You almost felt like you'd missed the memo that day in your own denim jeans, but you were comfortable, and that was what mattered.

You wouldn't miss highschool, you thought, but you might miss senior year. By now, everyone around you had almost completely grown out of bullying. Why continue it? Everyone was about to graduate. You were all adults now. There was no point in nastiness. Mostly, it seemed your class had a fondness for sex and drugs and rock n' roll and not much else. There wasn't much to complain about there. All the popular kids were too wrapped up in all that to harass you at work anymore, or to spread rumors that you were a drug supplier and addict. You're more than thankful for that as you stare at the bouncing, burnt orange basketball being dribbled up the court by Billy Hargrove.

A gust of outside air sweeps through the highschool gymnasium from the double doors to your left. Sunshine leaks through the gap, straining your eyes when you look at it. It makes the rest of the gymnasium appear shadowed in a darker and far more boring grey than it really was. It might've looked exceptionally creepy if it weren't for the few kids such as yourself who decorated the bleachers, and the group of boys playing basketball just a few steps away. The students gave the school a bustling, warm atmosphere that you were more than willing to admit to now that you'd outgrown a lot of your younger angst and cynicism. The air from through the doors smells like your childhood- and something else in the distance.

"Yo, Y/N," a voice from behind you calls.

You let your eyes fall closed in instant exhaustion as you exhale a breath. You already know who it is. "Yeah?" you practically wince.

Ronnie Waters slithers up beside your ear like a snake. You don't hate him- he's funny sometimes. Sometimes. What, with his mousy mullet and sparce beard hairs around his crooked teeth, but mostly he likes just yanking your chain. "Smell that?" he questions, chip breath hitting your nose like a freight train. "Smells like dope outside, man. You gonna celebrate the 20th this year? You selling?"

A common misconception. You'd first smoked pot in the girls bathroom sophomore year and ended up getting busted- without the three other girls who had been smoking the blunt with you. You were quickly labeled as a pothead since then, which snowballed into being a full blown dealer in junior year. Funny how everyone who had previously never spoken a word to you, now threw themselves at your feet for some bud. Sometimes you'd play the prank of handing them a bag of oregano, but for most people, the answer was the same: 'Not selling.'

"I don't sell," you tell Ronnie, not even bothering to look over at him. He still hovers by your side like a bee.

"Come on," Ronnie whines and prods. "I just need some flower for the 20th... please?"

You turn towards him, tone becoming firmer but not angry. "I don't sell."

Ronnie pouts a frog faced frown, mutters a "whatever bro", and slithers away back to his group of snickering friends at the top of the bleachers. Your eyes turn back to the basketball game ahead of you, not really invested, just in time to watch Billy Hargrove dunk a clean one over Steve Harrington's head.

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Ronnie Waters wasn't the only one who prodded you for an April 20th deal. Back in the locker room, Connie Rachel tossed her blond curls over her shoulder before batting her eyes and taking a 20 out of her bra. You'd felt bad about rejecting it.

Most seniors had partial days from completing all their required credits early on, leaving little classes in the days for them. You were one of the lucky ones who made the cut, which had honestly helped your fondness for senior year. The freedom you felt hopping in your car, waving a polite and quiet goodbye to your fellow classmates was a dignified one. Ronnie Waters, the little rat face, couldn't take it from you. Your feet pick up the pace as you exit the building, rounding the brick corner, converse to asphalt.

It did feel like summer. The sun, the wind, the scent of rain and flowers. The great boulder that jumped out at you causing you to flinch back.

You stumble a few steps, raising your head to see in front of you. Then your brows crease. It was no brick boulder at all, it was just Billy Hargrove. Well, you supposed that was the same thing. He certainly was a great rock of a man.

You weren't close by any means- you know each other by few interactions and by name. You don't hate him, you don't love him. You've seen him break Tommy's kegstand record and become Keg King, shove freshman to the ground in PE, and charm the teacher out of actually teaching the class through pure flirtation. So, he seemed fine in your book. A very upstanding young man.

"Woah," Billy smiles charmingly- a smile you've seen him use before on others- and an annoyance bubbles in anticipation. "Hey there. Watch where you're goin' much?"

You just want to get to your car. You can see the cherry red paint from here, glistening in the sun. But it won't be so easy. Billy Hargrove was pretty popular. Obeying to highschool politics, you couldn't really be rude to him without him using his influence to tarnish your reputation. In a small town like Hawkins, that was certainly something to consider. When Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington had called it quits, he'd plastered her name all over the Hawkins movie theater, complete with profanities. Not only that, but you were fairly unpopular. You didn't have any close friends who could come and save you out of nowhere, or even defend your honor. Now, you weren't hated by any means. But you were a loser. This was just one of the cons of being so.

"I'm just heading to my car," you get out.

Billy looks you up and down, still smirking. You hate it. You could tell what he's thinking from his mouth alone. "Red one, right? The 79'? Nice ride."

So, he's watching you in the parking lot now?

"Thanks."

A minute of silence. A breeze, similar to the gusts in the gymnasium earlier, sweeps through the air. It turns back to spring within the instant, rustling Billy Hargrove's cinnamon brown curls. His eyes light up in the sun like ocean water, rippling and dancing florescently with every movement. He looks nice for a moment, almost boyish with his dimples and muscle tee, still sweaty from the free period gym.

"I heard you might have something I'm looking for," he says. "I was hoping to maybe take it off ya', if ya' catch my drift."

Your eyes flit around the scene. You see the other seniors walking towards their cars ahead of you, pulling out of the parking lot, some disappearing into the trees nearby in walking groups. Did Billy have enough credits to be on a partial schedule? You could've sworn you'd seen him pull out of the parking lot at the same time as yourself a couple times, but he'd been a transfer student. He should've still been catching up technically.

You answer him very calmly, tiredly, monotone. "What's your drift?"

Billy's smile fades, his eyes returning to a wide shape as his face sinks. Another blow from the wind makes his curls dance. His maroon shirt ripples, tanned skin shining. You hadn't seen many men that were quite like him, you realized-whatever you meant by that. When Billy Hargrove doesn't answer you, you question again. "What's your drift, Billy?"

His face is stone, as you're reminded. Billy's tone is a little more annoyed, in his voice and on his face. He must never have been challenged, dared, outright shut down many times in his life. "I wanna buy some dope."

Should you give him a bag of oregano? Tell him you'll come by later and leave it out on his doorstep? Maybe drop a crumb of the real thing in it so it smells just right? You rub your palm up and down the strap of your backpack, thinking. Billy Hargrove sees as you look him up and down. He resembles an angry bull, you the matador. Should you?

"I don't sell," you say, looking down at the pavement under you. "You'd have bought from me already if I did."

You start walking once more, keeping your eyes down. You can hear the younger kids playing in the fields, the other grades practicing soccer, the cars leaving the lot blasting Scorpions and Madonna. Billy says nothing as you shuffle your way past him. He doesn't say anything until you're a few steps up the hill from him.

"I don't believe you!"

You roll your eyes and walk faster, worried suddenly that you may be run down by a familiar Camero.

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Billy Hargrove wasn't great, you knew that. But Billy was far, far from the worst. He was cool, you liked him. You wanted to be out of highschool as fast as possible, which kept you from holding grudges or holding hatred. Billy was probably the same way about it at this point. But man, man, oh man- oh, man- did you find yourself wanting to put Billy Hargrove in a room with no windows or doors alone. The little prick really thought he could charm his way into some weed- weed you don't even possess. You've been buying your shit from the super senior Eddie Munson since last summer. It's all based on one nasty rumor.

Billy Hargrove was smart enough to see that certainly. Yet, he chose not to for his own ideas. He knows it is a nasty rumor but plays into it anyway. Why? Because he wants to? Because he has to? Neither? Both? Maybe you should've knocked that smile right off his face. Once for thinking you'd be easily manipulated, and twice for really accusing you of dealing.

No, perhaps not.

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The next day was smoother. Air conditioning wouldn't be brought into schools for another few years, making the school hot and stuffy, but the library was so empty it was cooler. You spent your free period there instead of the gym, doing nothing of great importance. The joint you had in your car at lunch break was mostly faded from your system. With 4/20 right around the corner, you would need more. It was in- what? A week? The nug you had sitting in a carefully wrapped napkin in the cup holder was a rather small nug.

Eddie would have a sale. You knew that much at least. Of course, that's what you're thinking of when you see him standing by your locker.

Not Eddie, of course. His hair is too light, arms too thick, body too tall. Eddie would never carry such a natural and tired smugness to his face. As soon as you see Billy leaning against it, you feel your heart drop to your stomach. An odd anxiety washes over you, one you're not quite familiar with. But Billy hasn't seen you yet- you could turn around and walk away. You can wait it out in your car and circle back for your things.

You don't do that.

"Locker," you only say to Billy after he notices you approaching. That's all you need to say apparently, as he slides his back from its position against your metal box.

"You're a charmer, aren't you?" Billy says sarcastically, a bored expression on his face. "Very chatty."

You open the door and slide your backpack from your person, twisting it around so you can switch out a few books and grab your jacket and keys. "What do you need Billy?" you ask tiredly, wrapping your oversized hunting jacket around your shoulders and adjusting the hood.

He looks you up and down, but not lustfully. Just observantly. Judgmentally, somewhere in there. Billy's eyebrows are creased in a dull annoyance you recognize on him. He is the stone man you think of. You wonder, are his lips always so ever so slightly pursed when he's thinking? Or is that just the natural, bitchy look of his face? His handsome doll face. "Can I help you?" you repeat.

Billy's ocean blue eyes land back on yours. Through the dark eyebrows, they create a strong contrast. "I wanted to apologize for yesterday," the boy drawls out. But... he feels genuine. "Maybe I was a little too aggressive. With the 20th coming up I think it's easy to understand why I might be a lil' antsy."

You blink.

"Walk out to m' car with me. I'll treat you to a sesh."

You blink again, harder this time. Then you blink again, slightly faster. Billy's lips are in a thin and serious line. You realize, somewhere in the moment, that he has this disposition with you because you saw through his guise of charisma. He saw he couldn't get in your pants and let that way go. This must be the realest Billy's been to anyone since he arrived at Hawkins high.

Your fingers find the door of the locker, close, and lock it. Then you follow Billy, you slightly behind him at his side, to his car. The air smells like leaves and grass. "You're not stopping at your locker?"

Billy's tone is slightly more exasperated than usual. "Why would I?"

You say nothing.

Through the parking lot, you catch a few stares. Billy was just so popular- you should've known you'd see at least one pair of girls giggling. You watch as he unlocks his car- a blue 79' Chevrolet Camero, and the two of you bend inside in unison. Even your doors close at the same time.

Billy Hargrove's car smells like a mix of several, but very recognizable, smells. A musky cologne, the familiar stench of weed, cigarettes... sweat? Must've been old workout clothes littered somewhere in the car.

Billy Hargrove's head rolls over to you, the back of his pretty mullet getting mussed against the headrest.

"Nice car," you offer dryly.

Billy is still stone, offering no reaction to your words. "I apologize for yesterday. Open the glovebox."

An apathetic sounding apology directly followed by an order. How charming.

Still, curiosity overpowers everything else. Your hands do as the man says, undoing the glovebox and letting it fall open. It's stuffed to the brim inside, random papers spilling all over your feet. A single loose cigarette joins them. "Pick that up," Billy Hargrove tells you, though he doesn't sound so stern or demanding just then.

"The papers?" You begin to gather a few of them up- just a few statements about the vehicle and math papers that must've never found their way to the teacher.

"Nah," Billy gestures towards the white and orange cylinder. "Just the cig'."

You're slightly flabbergasted, but quickly muffle the feeling with, indeed, leaving the papers on the floor and instead offering him the cig between two fingers. Billy slips it into his mouth and lets it hang towards the side, as you're sure he's done a thousand times over already. "There's a lil' plastic baggie in there," Billy continues. "Get it."

Turning attention back towards the glovebox, you root around for a second or two before finding it. Instantly, you know what's inside. Pulling it out into the light only confirms your suspicions, if you could even call it that. You're careful to keep it low and out of sight through the windows, deciding to sit it on the surface between you two.

The bag has to contain two 1/8's, minimum. Inside, the bag does little to contain the stench of the dope, which is somehow strong enough to make you feel a little buzzed just looking at it. Most of the nugs inside are a dark green- but there's more colors than just that. Lime green, deep purple that's practically black. When Billy Hargrove picks up his bag of goodies after a classic man-spits-loogie-out-the-car-window move, the nug he picks out is a forest green with tiny orange veins running up it, spreading all around.

"Having a sesh?" you question, somewhat quietly, all while keeping your eyes fixated on the nug.

"Yeah," Billy rolls the nugget over in his fingers. His eyes are stuck on it too, making him sound just as far away as you are. "If that's cool?"

You mutter a response with only half a thought to it. "Reeks like shit."

Billy Hargrove's nostrils flare, and he rolls his head along with his eyes back over to you. It's brief, however, as he quickly rolls them back ahead. With his right hand, he leans forward to snatch a pack of rolling papers from the dashboard. "Fuck outta my car then," he mumbles.

Your reply is immediate: "No."

Billy Hargrove's mouth curves up into a smile as he scoffs. "Alright," he starts, his voice devoid of all anger. "Hold this. Now, this is the shit from California. All kinds of stuff up there."

He gives you the nugget, and takes the cigarette from his lips to place behind his left ear instead. You inspect the weed yourself now, noticing a faint sparkle from somewhere deep within it. The stench is certainly... potent. Being so close certainly can't help it. But there's something else you can smell too. Something fruity?

"Had no idea," you say.

"Here, you crush that up while I roll."

Your eyes switch from the dope in your hand to Billy in the drivers seat. Your brows crease slightly in shock and confusion as you look at him, and you realize in the back of your head that this is the closest you've ever been to each other. You know he's noticing your face- he has to. Something about that throws you off. Something about Billy Hargrove specifically noticing it- having this moment in his memory forever- makes the sides of your face feel hot. "You don't have a grinder?" you ask in disbelief.

Billy's orbs flicker between your own. His face is back to something like grumpiness again. "You talkin' about that little twisty thing?"

"Y... yeah?" you say. "It makes crushing up weed way easier. It catches the kief?"

Billy Hargrove somewhat resembles an agitated bull about to charge. You can see the gears twisting in his brain, however, and you know what he's thinking. He thinks you're playing a prank on him, or trying to make him look stupid. "I'm not shitting you," you say quickly.

With an annoyed breath he turns back to the paper in his hands. It goes quiet, uncomfortably so, so you turn back towards the nugget too. You take a paper that fell from the glovebox from the floor- an old science quiz that he'd managed to score a 79% on- and wrap it over the nugget. It's not the biggest nug you've seen, but it's more than enough for one joint split between the two of you. You simply begin smashing it carefully inside the paper, then opening it to pick out any loose pieces of stem.

It's once you've practically finished the task that you hear Billy's gruff voice from beside you. "You think you're so smart, huh?"

What?

You turn to him, catching the humored smile on his face as he continues rolling. He's shaking his head slightly all the while.

You're not upset. On the contrary, you're relaxed. You let the paper, now swarmed with little weed crumbs all piled messily towards the center, sit gentle on your lap as you lean back. "Not really."

Billy Hargrove does pause for a second, so fast you would've missed it with a blink, but you see it. "Could've fooled me," he mutters. Then he gestures for the substance in your lap. "Here."

You pick up the paper gently, with two hands, the way a child might hold a dinner plate. Billy Hargrove meticulously picks the crumbs between his two fingers, lips slightly pursed and brows furrowed in concentration, and lays it in the dip of the rolling paper.

"Promise it's not laced?" you whisper out hoarsely.

Billy freezes again, before a smirk takes up on his mouth. He turns to you, eyes wide, and leans forward. Although his hands are filled, he still finds a way to wiggle his fingers at you. "Oh, scared?"

Your face drops into sarcasm. Really? your face asks him. "You think so?"

Billy Hargrove turns back to the joint, and finishes packing after a few seconds. "Clearly," he snarks. He rolls his head back over to you, face suddenly very, very pretty. "You want the first hit?"

"If you're actually offering," you decide slowly.

Billy passes the joint to you as you reach into your pants pocket for a lighter. With a bit of wiggling, you manage to pull it from the fabric. "Here, I'll light," he says. So, you switch hands. Billy giving you the joint, you giving Billy the lighter. Billy fucking Hargrove.

With one final suspicious glance around the parking lot, you place the joint between your lips eagerly before leaning down. You can practically taste the hemp on your tongue. Billy Hargrove follows suit, leaning down out of sight of the windows and flicking the lighter to life.

"It's pretty strong shit," he tells you as his hand wanes closer toward the paper. You pray he doesn't decide to blue ball you right in that moment and fall back into typical Billy Hargrove fashion, and he doesn't. The end of the joint lights up orange and yellow, dancing and sparkling right before your eyes. The inhale is smokey and sudden, hitting the back of your throat like a train. You can only take it for two seconds before squeezing your eyes shut, at which point Billy grabs the joint right from your mouth.

You feel it fill your lungs, stilling yourself before letting it expel from you. It comes out through your mouth in a gentle stream, and when your eyes turn to Billy, smoke is pouring from his nose for a second longer than yours. Then you both lean back into the seats of the car.

Billy dips his head down and stares out into the parking lot before reaching down and rolling the window up. He glances to check if yours is closed before bringing the joint to his mouth again.

You watch him inhale. Already, you feel your eyes fall half lidded. You're certain the turning of your head is ungodly slow, more snail like than anything. But you don't care about that. You're watching Billy Hargrove's adam's apple bob once with the inhale, then your eyes wander up to his jaw. His nose shape isn't half ugly. Well, actually now that you're here, it's sort of cute. Has his hair always been so curly?

Billy Hargrove breathes this hit out of his nose again, eyes falling closed. He lets his head fall back against the car seat so that his face is pointed towards the roof, relaxed but still Billy.

Cautiously, your fingers dance towards the smoking joint still in his hand that rests on his lap. It's the closest you've been to physical contact with him, which would surely end in you getting your shit rocked if you make one wrong move, so you're sure to move slow. Almost comedically slow.

When the man feels the joint ease out of his grasp, his eyes snap open with a breath. Billy's blue orbs roll down to see your hand greedily try to snag it from his own, but he just lets it happen. He doesn't even look like he's going to rock your shit. Not even one little punch. His hand simply loosens until you pull the jay away for yourself.

"Light."

Billy side eyes you somewhat as he lifts the lighter up to the joint for you once more. "Good shit, right?" he lulls, face and eyes empty of emotion. He looks grumpy again.

You nod lazily, closing your eyes and taking your second hit. It's more bearable this time, and you manage to inhale for three seconds instead of two. You hold it for a moment in your lungs before letting it go, breathing out through your nose and mouth. "Can't remember the last time I hotboxed," you manage to drawl, though you immediately forget doing so. You're almost confused when Billy Hargrove responds.

"I probably do it..." he swallows and lets his eyes close again. "Probably every day."

"You're stronger than me."

"My tolerance is probably fuckin' crazy," Billy says as his eyes peel open. "My hit."

You pass it back to him.

"So you got any plans for the 20th?" he asks, and suddenly you're moved at the contribution he gives to continue the conversation.

You shrug. "Smoke."

Billy nods his head with a smirk, mid hit. "Yeah, that's the plan," he says after breathing out. "You gonna have any special deals that day? Any, uh, discounts?"

Your brows crease as much as they can through lazy senses, which isn't a lot at all. "I told you I don't sell."

Billy's eyes flicker between your own for a moment- again you can see the gears turn inside him. "You were serious about that?"

You nod. "Yeah, I'm not a dealer."

Billy Hargrove's eyes look you up and down for a second, again so missably quick, pretty and blue and distracting. (Distracting? How strong is this strain?) "So where'd you get your shit from then."

"Eddie Munson."

Billy's face splits into loud humor. Eyes light up, go big, mouth scoffing in disbelief. "The super senior?! You're fuckin' with me."

You playfully throw up your palms in mock surrender. "He has good stuff."

"But isn't that guy like, fuckin' crazy? He's always playin' that dumb nerd shit."

"He's pretty nice to me," you offer. "But, dude, he never plays Kill Em' All if we smoke?"

Billy takes the joint right from your hand, just how you did to him. His dark brows furrow much easier than yours as his eyes fall to you once more. "The Metallica piece?"

You nod.

"You're shittin'."

You shake your head.

"Jesus," Billy puts the joint in his mouth and holds the lighter to it. "What a fuckin' loser."

You can't help it. Really, you can't. Billy's words aren't that funny- probably aren't funny at all- but the laugh that escapes the back of your throat comes out in a scoff-snort combo that causes even Billy Hargrove to remove the joint prematurely to cough out smoke.

It's a nice moment. You don't find yourself resenting him or judging him and if he's doing so to you, you can't feel it. At all. You're just two idiots getting high in the car, being idiots high in the car. Billy's presence is welcomed by you, shockingly enough. It shocks you twice over- once, because it's Billy Hargrove. Twice, because for the first time in a while, you feel like you might just have a friend. Just for the moment- just for the moment.

"Ah, shit," you hear Billy break. "Fuckin' idiot."

You pull yourself a little closer to the present (as much as you possibly can as your body seemingly floats to the sky), and turn your eyes out the windshield. Through the hazy white mist that's settled in the car, you can make out a large and annoying figure by the name of Tommy, waving his arms over his head and grinning like a dull fish. His girlfriend, Carol, follows a few steps behind him, similar smile plastered to her face as her brown curls bounce.

"Damn," Billy Hargrove's face drops. "Just when I was startin' to enjoy it." He moves to open the door, and that's when you say something that makes him falter and look back to you.

"I gotta take off anyway."

Billy can't decide between taking a step forward or taking a step back it seems, almost like he's glitching. The boy leans down, turns his head to you. If you hadn't just smoked with him, you might not be able to tell he was high. His eyes aren't red, just pulled into that sarcastic, grumpy, pursed lipped look he's always wearing. "You sure?"

You shrug. "Yeah, don't worry about it."

Billy holds your eyes for a second more, jaw clenching. He decides not to say anything, however, and closes- a soft slam, really- his door closed. You watch him strut out to greet Tommy and Carol as Tommy points to you in the passengers seat with a grin you just loathe.

Quickly, you gather your backpack up from the floor. Out of courtesy, you find yourself quickly and inexplicably pulling the papers on the floor into a stack to place back in the glovebox. You click it closed without thinking, turning to leave when you stop.

The baggie still sits in the cupholder. Unattended, California bred and strong. You know how dumb it would be to take. You're not stupid enough to steal from Billy fucking Hargrove. But a few nuggets? Billy wouldn't notice. Especially not now, high off his ass, talking it up with Tommy about probably fucking nothing.

So, a nug or two wouldn't hurt...

Your brain convinces you you're a ninja. You swipe two medium sized nuggets, one dark green and one light, and cram them deep into your pocket. You're sure to zip the bag back into place to avoid suspicion as a rain of confetti seemingly falls around you.

The guilt is already washing over you somewhat, but it's deep, deep down inside. You almost can't even recognize it. You open the car door, sling your backpack over your shoulder, and watch the smoke ooze from the vehicle like a thick cloud. You must look like Zeus right now.

After the door closes, you're quick to walk away. Luckily, the lot is small, and you can see your car from here. Your foggy brain almost forgets about Tommy and Carol, who can somehow still see you even through your fast pace. "Hey!" Carol calls. "Hey, I'm talking to you!"

You just walk faster and keep your head down. You feel two things just then- Carol's laughter filling the air, and Billy Hargrove's eyes on your back.

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Much to your own surprise, you do not grind up and smoke those two nuggets that night. Nor do you do so the day after, or the day after that. You highly consider it on the third day, though Billy Hargrove manages to completely deter your mind from it.

He doesn't do anything outright ruining- oh no. Billy just so happened to hold eye contact with you in the lunch line after rolling his eyes at something. It only lasts two, maybe three seconds. But it's enough to turn you off from smoking his-your- weed.

On day five, two days before the 20th, Billy Hargrove receives a test back in math that makes the right corner of his lips twitch up. You know, because you watch him very carefully from your corner of the room.

Billy tries to disguise it, of course. The man of rock and stone is always cautious to keep up appearances. Always frowning, always angry, always too good for something. But whatever he got on that test was, and is, worth more than that little mask. In your head, Billy Hargrove is proud of himself. He worked hard for something and he got a reward for it. Just like you, just like the people you admire, just like everyone else on the planet.

And you stole from him.

On day six, you find, once again, that Billy Hargrove has made himself at home against your locker. Again, you do not run away. From deep, deep in you, you're almost happy to see him. Almost.

"Billy," you greet flatly. The boy once again slides away from your locker so that you can open it, sly as a fox.

"Y/N," Billy greets back. He watches your face as you trade some books and binders, packing your bag to go home. You might be worried about him confronting you about his missing nuggets if you didn't know any better. No, Billy Hargrove was a hot headed bull. If he had noticed, he would've said something by now. Hell, you'd probably have a broken arm or something. "Still planning on smokin' tomorrow?"

God, don't bring it up. "Yeah, hoping to." You close the locker and clutch your jacket in your arms. Billy walks in time with you, neither of you acknowledging the accidental bumping of shoulders that's brought about through the crowded hallway. "Why do you ask?"

Billy Hargrove doesn't look at you. He looks straight ahead, almost as if he's in pain from what he's about to say. He looks like this is some great task for him, saying whatever he's about to say. Taller than you, you watch his sullen eyes as he speaks. "Was wonderin' if you wanted to smoke in the car again."

Your brows crease for a split second. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

The sun illuminates you both as you walk through the open doors and out the side exit of Hawkins High. The spring breeze dances with the summer air gloriously. "Any particular reason you're asking me and not Tommy?"

Billy wastes no time in responding. "Tommy's a fuckin' idiot."

The laugh almost spills out of your mouth, but you manage to catch it with a cough. "Oh, okay. Yeah, he is."

Your walking slows as you approach your car, which catches the glint of the bright, bright sun. Billy turns to you, watching with his usual casual swagger as you fumble to get your keys out. "So you in?"

I stole your weed! you want to blurt out. I stole it and I actually feel kind of bad about it!

Instead, you glance down at your shoes, instantly giving away your poker face. "Oh, uh, maybe."

Something washes over Billy's face, but only for a second of a second. Maybe not even. Disappointment? Whatever it is, it's replaced by his usual expression. Pursed lips, unimpressed eyes, and the feeling that he's cursing you in his brain. "Well," he glances around the parking lot. The sun bounces off of him too, but in a way that looks better than it does on your car. It looks like it's meant to bounce off of him. "Let me know. You've got a phone book." And then he's already walking away with his back to you before you can say anything more.

You don't like watching him go. Sure, Billy's ass did look fantastic in the jeans he typically wore, but it did little to negate the odd feeling of despair and loneliness you suddenly felt. But Billy Hargrove wasn't your friend. He wasn't anything- you weren't anything to him. He just wanted weed out of you anyway. Ironic, considering.

It was true, you could always look up Billy's last name in your home phone book and come clean. You think about this as you seat yourself in your car, which feels and smells like a microwave from the oncoming heat. You knew you should really just call him. Just take your beating and get on with it.

But there was a little voice in your brain that said otherwise. It was that voice that gave you the idea.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Billy Hargrove lived on 4819 Cherry Lane, in a little pale house. It was cute, only one story. Very family friendly. It looked like his mother had taken a great bit of care in taking care of the family's plants, which bloomed in shades of poppy red and cherry blossom pink in the bushes right outside. You felt some guilt in thinking that Billy didn't deserve this.

It looked too juxtaposing compared to him, even in the dark of night. It looked too quaint, too warm and nurtured. But you knew better. Even though you're about to commit breaking and entering- or preferably just entering- you know better. There's something in that house that hardened Billy Hargrove. His mother? His father? Something buried deep under his bed? Whatever it was, now wasn't the time to poke.

The leaves crunch under your shoes with every step, but the hum of the cicadas drowns it out for the most part. You round the house so you're at the right side, relieved that all the lights are off. You can see through the little half sliding window, covered in dust and pollen, that it leads to an empty hallway with more pale walls.

There's no doubt in your mind. You're already committed. One hand on the window and another against the house's siding for support, you push the window apart. It comes off easier than expected, wheezing from friction as you slowly ease the panel open. No going back, there is still no doubt in your mind. Returning Billy's weed is the best thing you could do for him. And would you look at that- can anyone really call it breaking and entering if you haven't broken anything?

Both palms clasping the edge of the window, you vault yourself up and over. Exiting the summer night air and entering the Hargrove home comes faster than expected, but your shoes touch down nonetheless. You'd say it feels like a dream, but it's too fast to be a dream. The wooden floors are too solid, and the smell of Billy is too strong.

Billy Hargrove's bedroom isn't far from the window you climbed through. It's a few steps forward from your position down the hallway and then to the left. You expect to see the door closed, probably locked, which was why you'd brought two long and thin hairpins to pick it open, but the door is open. Every single light in the house is off, and Billy Hargrove's room is dark.

Silently- and bravely- you peak your head into the room. Again, you expect to maybe see him in a limp heap on the bed, but yet again, it's empty. Better for you, you suppose. Easier to get in and out unnoticed.

You see the Metallica poster by his bed, the laundry shoved into the corner of the room. You see the plain blue curtains with the little tiny hole burnt into the fabric, the unmade bed, the bottles of cologne and hair product and combs. You see the closet, hastily left open. Even with the lights off, you see it all. You see Billy Hargrove's life.

It moves something inside of you. You're not sure why. But then you only use it as an incentive to not be weird, to not be a creep anymore then you've made yourself into. Hastily, eyes already adjusting to the dark, you pull the two nuggets of Billy Hargrove's strong California weed- one light green and one dark- and quickly walk over to the boys bedside table. There's nowhere to leave it organically really, so you opt for just placing it by the little table lamp. Not sure what Billy Hargrove has that for, you can't imagine he's doing much reading before bed.

And then it's done. The weed you stole is returned. All is well.

You back away slowly, almost as if the nuggets were cursed objects in a horror movie. Then you turn around, practically flying back down the hallway and launching yourself back through the window with ease. Maybe it's the anxiety, or the adrenaline, but you're quick as a cat and silent as a mouse. Your shoes crunch the grass once more and you feel the warm nights breeze caress your face, protecting you from any danger. You turn around and slide the window back shut until you hear the hissing turns into a final click.

Your shoulders soften, and you turn away from the house. The crickets are loud tonight, you realize, and the cicadas. They tell you that you did the right thing. They tell you that you did it out of something good instead of fear. It's enough.

When you come back to the front of the house, you expect to see the same emptiness you'd seen before. The street, some trees, the darkness and the moon. But you're met with the opposite.

Billy Hargrove stares at you. He leans against his blue car parked on the street right outside 4819 Cherry Lane. Cigarette in hand, he raises it to his lips and takes a drag, but his eyes never-not once- stray from your own. They're just piercing into yours yet again, daring you.

You are so fucked.

Billy takes the cigarette from his lips and breathes the air out. He reaches a finger out to you and pulls it back towards him in a 'come here' motion.

All you want to do is run away before he beats your skull into the dirt and breaks your arm. But if you imagine he's leaning against your locker instead of his car in the dead of night, suddenly it's not so scary. You swallow, and begin towards him.

When you're finally there, right in front of him, Billy's the one to speak first. His voice is low, but his face isn't outright fuming. You can't tell if that's better or worse. Billy Hargrove plotting doesn't exactly sit right with you, but you're not sure how much experience he has in that realm anyway.

"You broke into my house?"

"No. I didn't break anything."

Billy holds your stare. His face is the stone man once again. "You're funny," he says, in a tone that makes you believe you're not really all that funny at all. The pretty brunette takes another hit. From this close up, you realize it's not a cigarette at all, but a blunt. A skinny one sure, but the smell and shape is more than familiar. "What are you doin' in my house, L/N?"

Nope, don't say a word, your brain says. You obey. "Just browsing."

"Browsing?" Billy deadpans.

"Browsing."

It's silent. His blue eyes flicker back and forth between your own, digging out the truth. He'll find it sooner or later, you know that for sure. "You know, I've had some crazy girls do some crazy things for my attention," Billy Hargrove starts. "But this might just be the craziest."

The word slips out before you can control it. "Gross."

Of course, it wasn't gross. Billy accusing you of wanting his attention? It was half true. Maybe you cared for him just a little. You mean, he'd been sort of welcoming to you, hadn't he? That day in the car? And yesterday, at your locker?

There's another minute of silence. Billy Hargrove's eyes are still dancing between yours, and you're still holding it. There's no anxious pit in your stomach. There's no desire to take a step away. If he swings, he swings.

Instead, he says, "Want a hit?"

Your brows furrow in confusion. "I- I mean, yeah?"

"Take it." Billy takes a short hit himself before practically cramming the joint in your hand. "It's 4/20."

You observe the jay carefully, twisting it around in your fingers as your eyes scan it. It's not laced or poisoned, at least, given that it looks like Billy's been puffing on the thing for a while. But there's no reason at all for him to share with you. He did, after all, just catch you in a blatantly illegal act on his property. Simply informing you that it's April 20th isn't enough.

"You really want to smoke with me that bad?" you ask, tone genuine as you hesitantly raise it to your own mouth.

Billy shrugs.

"Thought you'd be more pissed," you only say instead. Then you accept your fate, inhaling the still light cherry.

It's much easier on your throat than the other time, not as harsh. It fills your lungs with peace, sucking up any last remnants of anxiety that might've lingered. When you open your eyes, Billy Hargrove is just as pretty as he was before you closed them. With all that effort going into his appearance, you guess he'd have to be. But Billy Hargrove probably would've been pretty no matter what. If he kept his hair long or short, messy or tamed, skin tanned or pale. Oddly enough, you really believed that. You really, truly did.

You pass the joint back to Billy. "Where's your parents?"

Billy shrugs once more, this time mid hit. "Hell if I know," he replies. "Vacation, I think? Little brat's off at a friends house til Sunday. Place is all mine."

His tone is easing up already, which you think to take as a good sign. When you open your hand, Billy passes the joint back to you with no hesitation. "Lucky," you offer back, taking your hit.

"Gonna need to light it again soon," the boy says. "Got a light here."

Sure enough, Billy produces a little metal lighter from his back pocket. Different from the one he used before, but smoother on the flame. He raises it up to the blunt, and you eye him for a moment before leaning in.

This hit is better than the last few. You want to smile after this one. "How'd you even know I was here?"

Billy Hargrove crosses his arms and settles back into his lean. "Divine providence," he drawls with a roll of his eyes.

"Don't be fuckin' lame."

"I'm sorry?" Billy's dark eyebrow quips up attentively. "Who just broke into who's house?"

You smirk a little- just a smug little twitch that you find you can't help. Whether it be the bud or the conversation, you stifle it best you can to no avail. "I already told you I didn't break anything."

"Mm," Billy hums. His face is full of sarcastic disbelief as he snatches the jay right out of your hand so fast, it burns the tip of your finger.

"I promise. I'd never."

Billy takes his hit. Both of his eyebrows raise in thought before he makes a point to blow the smoke in the exact direction of your face. Immediately, your eyes flutter close at the impact, which rivals that of a brick wall. Even your nose twitches at the force. "You think I'm going to trust the word of a criminal?"

You look at Billy Hargrove. Curly taupe hair. Big, blue, dollface eyes framed by perfectly full brows. A cute button nose. Tanned skin basking in the summer anticipation. He wasn't so bad, you supposed.

You can't help but dip your head as you smile, shaking your head as you find yourself growing shy.

Unknown to you, Billy smiles a little too, before raising the joint back to his lips and inhaling.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I HAVEN'T POSTED IN YEARS LMFAOOOOO. Hope everyone's doing well. This is just a little treat for you guys for the holiday if you celebrate. If not, just enjoy Billy. I actually kinda liked this pairing. I'd make a part 2, and I actually mean that. I do intend on getting back into posting but I need to do it at my own pace. I'm gonna close requests again so I don't get overwhelmed and just move slow. I am, as always, apologetic for any spelling errors I may have missed, and grammar errors, and I apologize if this at all feels rushed even though I've been working on it for the whole week. Sorta felt like I had to speed it up at the end since there is a word or paragraph cap on tumblr and i was getting hella nervous about hitting it. Anyway, stay safe, take care.

[percysoddity]

Robin knew this was too good to be true. Things had been going a little too smoothly for her taste; a risk free stroll through the hell woods, the coast being totally clear of demon bats and all those other creepy ass venus fly-traps on legs that haunted her and Steve's increasingly frequent sleepovers.

What? It's not like Robin's ever had a girlfriend—sue her, she's touch starved. She's making the most of her equally desperate and clingy best friend.

The giant flesh-monster that stars in most of Robin's night terrors hasn't even made an appearance!

But it wasn't until now, as she looks down at the scorched pavement where the Big Bad should be laying, burned alive and half-blown to bits, that she realises that, 'oh. my worst fears are pretty tangible, actually'.

Because this is the age-old story of 'no body, no dice'.

If they can’t theoretically bury a body, they can’t theoretically put anything to rest.

He’s still out there.

Or not. Either way, they’ll never know, and he’ll always be haunting them. Whether in the creepy ‘I-have-government-sanctioned-mind-control-powers’ way or the plain old ‘you’ll-never-know-if-you’re-truly-safe-and-I-will-be-joining-the-revolving-door-cast-of-your-worst-nightmares’ way (along with the flesh-melty Billy Hargrove zombie and his big pet meat-spider. And Russians, of course).

Robin doesn’t look away from where Vecna/Henry/One should be, and distantly, she wonders why she isn't looking away. She's been staring at nothing but empty space a lot lately.

"We did it?" Steve shouldn't be saying that like a question, Robin muses, eyes starting to go out of focus a little.

Surely he couldn't just… reappear there.

"Yeah… We did it." Nancy manages to actually state it, but it still doesn’t feel like a fact.

Or he could. The kids said he was a wizard. And he disappeared. What’s to stop him from finishing off the magic trick? That's usually how they go, isn't it? Disappear then reappear?

"—Robin?"

"Mmm?"

Robin blinks through the haze and furrows her brow, confused. She doesn’t even have to look up to see who's speaking, Steve’s grabbed her shoulders and turned her. When the hell did he manage that without her noticing?

"Oh, thank God," Nancy gasps from her right, hand loosening on her elbow.

Oh? When did you get here?

"Are you ok?" Nancy continues, "what happened? What did you see?"

Huh? Oh. Oh.

"Ooooooh, no, no no, I didn't—that was just me," Robin scrambles to assure the clearly distressed pair getting in her face. She waves her hands either side of her temples, blowing raspberries. It feels like an especially comical action to make in the Upside Down. You can still blow raspberries in hell, whoda thunk it. She continues talking, ignoring the wayward train of thought in her head, "brain, baaah, bleeehh, uuuh, things. Spiral, or whatever."

Steve hits himself in the head and sags in relief so hard it knocks him back a step. Nancy half-catches him with a hand to the shoulder, and rolls her eyes, but Robin can't tell if the 'pinching the bridge of her nose' thing is directed at Steve's dramatics or Robin's… Whatever it is. It happens.

Robin does clock the way that Nancy pulls her hand away like she's been burned though, even after she gives Steve a very bro-y pat on the shoulder. Hmm. Maybe all that wasn't going the direction Robin thought it was, then.

Ok, so, obviously you can still blow raspberries in hell, but it’s… Like, it's the juxtaposition of it that makes it weird.

"You know," Nancy keeps going, "I think I prefer it when you spiral out loud."

Steve's gaze is stern, which is a weird look on him. "Me too, Jesus.” Then Steve turns to Nancy, a surprisingly steady hand on her shoulder. “Did you see anything like this in your… Vecna Vision or whatever?"

She shakes her head. “Maybe we’ve won. Changed it. Maybe we stopped all the rest from happening.”

Robin realises her gaze has slipped down and out again when Nancy puts her hand against the back of her neck, thumb against her jaw. Whoa. Robin’s gaze snaps up.

“Are you sure you’re ok?”

Robin hears Steve let out a breath through his nose. It’s his worried kind. The one when he’s trying to keep it together for someone else. He does it after nightmares all the time. When did Robin start to know him so well that she can categorise his breaths?

“Yeah,” he says, hand squeezing Robin’s shoulder where he’s still holding her upright, “this happens a bit. when things go a bit…”

“Fucky?”

The experience of hearing Nancy ‘The Priss’ Wheeler say ‘fucky’ out loud makes Robin bark a laugh. One that she immediately reels in.

"I—yeah, sorry guys, I didn't mean to—"

Theoretically, you could also turn your eyelids inside out in hell. Steve might be a little jumpy for pranks at the moment though, so Robin will resist. Hell, even she's jumpy right now.

Hooooo boy, shake it out, Bobby.

She shakes herself, mentally and physically, to expel the energy, and throws her thumbs up. "I'm all good. Now lets—"

An ear-splitting sound feels like it punches Robin in the back of the head, and all three of them whip around to stare into the haunted house they just escaped.

The Clock.

It fucking chimes.

on ao3!

[heisenbergshusband]

unrequited (?) love

summary: billy hargrove pins after harrington but thinks he's pushed too far.

word count: 1022

-

billy hargrove grew up in california, his smile as bright as the blinding yellow sun. his blue eyes mirrored the ocean he practically lived in, and his toothy grin was enough to make any mother feel warmth blossom through her heart. he was all limbs and laughter and sandy blond hair. he was a golden child, but years went by and he supposed his warmth wasn't enough for his own mother. she left him behind, deserting him alone with the monster he called a father. billy was beaten and abused, and later dragged away to some shit town in indiana.

indiana was the opposite of california. it was away from the waves and the heat and the memories of his mother. he knew immediately that he didn't fit in with this town. it was small and dull and bare of entertainment. there was no easy escape for him here; no long lengths of water to return to when his skin is tainted with purple and blue. he gets a job that allows him to embrace the only water he can find in the town, and discovers quickly that his smile still made women warm, but not in the same way it did when he was younger.

his smile became a skill, not an expression. it was a way to get what he wanted, even if that was just an easy lay or a ride home. billy became used to this dance; flashing his pearly whites and batting his long lashes to make a lucky lady swoon and melt like putty in his hands. hawkins has become his own personal dating pond, and his new high school is no exception.

some guy-- tommy, billy thinks-- was pestering him in the hallway between classes. he was congratulating him about his latest conquest, saying that he'd been trying to "get between her legs" for ages. billy rolls his eyes. he isn't really sure who tommy is talking about, but the curly blonde hair and hazel eyes he mentions does strike a bell.

"i don't care, man. have her if you want. she was just a quick fuck," billy says.

tommy grins at that and punches billy's shoulder as if to say "thank you". he continues jabbering on, much to billy's dislike.

"you're awesome, bro. you don't need her anyway- you could have any chick you want. that is if harrington doesn't have her first."

that peaks billy's interest.

"who the fuck is harrington?" billy spits out.

"harrington? that's, uh, steve harrington," tommy says. "he's kind of the king around here."

tommy lets out a short laugh, but billy doesn't. finally, a challenge, billy thinks.

-

the day goes on, but billy hasn't stopped thinking about this steve "king of hawkins" harrington. he steps out of class as soon as the final bell rings and starts his way to the end of the hall. he's lost in thought, king of hawkins my fucking ass, when something checks his shoulder.

"fuck, i am so sorry man," the other student says.

billy instinctively swings one of his arms out, pushing the other boy. he's about to cuss him out but stops when they lock eyes. bright brown eyes meet his blue ones, and billy feels breathless. they stay still, just looking, until the other boy reaches out his hand. billy stares at it.

"again, i'm really sorry about that," the boy says, deciding to retract his hand after the rejected greeting. "i'm steve. steve harrington."

billy snaps back into reality. shit, this is the guy tommy talked about?

"billy," he responds.

"hey. and, again, sorry," steve says with an apologetic smile before strutting away.

billy stands speechlessly, turning his head to watch him walk down the hall. he feels his cheeks flush pink, and he has to shake his head at the sudden thoughts that appear in his head. he shouldn't be thinking about how he understands why the girls like him-- and isn't. he definitely isn't thinking about that, billy reassures himself. he forces himself to stop thinking about harrington's pink lips or the size of the boy's hand. and he definitely doesn't think about it that night when he jacks off either.

-

billy joins the basketball team. it's just a coincidence that harrington is already on the team. just like it's a coincidence that his camaro starts to find itself parked next to steve's bmw every morning. but billy knows that he’s not easy to like. he pushes steve over in practice and makes a point to show off his skills. billy is loud and rambunctious and despite this, he receives the most praise from their coach. he flashes a grin each time he makes a basket and throws his head back laughing when steve misses.

it's all a game to billy. his rivalry and teasing towards harrington doesn't end when the coach blows the whistle. it's the same thing as pulling a girl's pigtails, billy thinks. he's mean because he likes him.

which is why his heart stops when steve doesn't push back. he's quiet and lets billy score effortlessly on multiple occasions, turning away when billy advances towards him. billy thinks their game is over, that he pushed too hard and fucked it all up. not that there was anything to fuck up, he has to remind himself. it was purely competition, and clearly steve had finally gotten tired of it.

billy skips the next week of practice. he tells the coach it's "family issues" and that he can't stay after school. but during class, the rest of the team begs for him to come back, to which billy resentfully gives in. he changes into his gym shorts and steps onto the court. he isn't fully paying attention to the other players, his heart still miserable and pining. and that's when he gets knocked off his feet and his ass hits the floor.

"ha, and i thought you told me to plant my feet."

billy looks up to see harrington. he's grinning down at him, hand outreached. and unless billy is dreaming, steve winked at him.

holy shit, billy thinks. maybe the game isn't over after all.

[hjcoolartnerd]

Just a little push part 2

Dylan, Steve and Robin enjoyed the evening by sharing stories about tough customers that Steve and Robin have encounter, they even said how they each countered Dylan’s dad and step mom and how she couldn’t even say what she wanted to see and had to oblige to what Dylan’s dad wanted to see. “Typical that ass hole was the same with my mom. That’s why she left him for the Russian guy, and… well because of little Danny’s death….” He said sigh as he got up “I need a beer” Steve looked at Dylan raising his eyebrow “since when do you drink Dyl?” Steve asked as Dylan shrugged “since Billy began taking me out for car rides, he wanted me to loosen up a bit.” He said walking towards the kitchen while Steve had a jealous filled face as he watched his best friend walking to the kitchen. “Steve, you are jealous? “ Robin teased Steve as he glared her. “What do you think…” he replied “come on, Steve. Dylan and Billy are just good friends.” Robin said as Steve scoffed. “I mean how many friends does Billy have?” Steve said as Robin looked at him “Non so it’s weird why Billy keeps Dylan as a friends.” He added as Robin shrugged “Maybe Dylan knows how to reach Billy and that’s why they are close. But are you jealous because Dylan is replacing your friendship with him, or because he is super close to your crush.” She asked he grew flustered and looked away, just as Dylan walked back with beer. “This is just what I needed” he sat down next to Steve before smiling at them “Want to watch a movie or something?” He asked them "Uh sure what do you got" Robin ask as Dylan pointed to a corner where there was a small box "There are a few movies there, i don't know which one you guys want to see, as for me any movie is fine." He said as he took a sip from his beer as his gaze went towards the window a view into Carol's room. "you don't have any good movies here Dyl" Steve said as Dylan shrugs "I'm barely here Stevie, I don't go out to rent movies... it's my sister and Bruce's job honestly." He said before Steve suddenly remember Dylan's 3 friends "How are Marcus and Julia? I haven't seen them in town lately" He asked as Dylan continued looking next door "Oh I don't know Julia went to California for I don't know what, though she sent letters about meeting a cute guy who looks just Like Billy... I told her that's probably Billy's twin brother but she doesn't believe me-" He was cut off by Robin "Wait Hargrove has a twin?" She asked "Yes Buckley. Billy has a twin, Tyler is his name, though he and Billy don't talk much... Billy hates him... any way. Marcus i heard from Dustin, that he went for a summer camp experience, or something like that, that he is going to be a C.I.T" Dylan said as he took another sip of his beer "It's weird, most of my friends are either out of town, with their partner or just working" He sighed. Steve placed a hand on Dylan's shoulder, even if Steve was Jealous that Dylan spent more time with Billy, Dylan was still his friend.

Eventually it got late and both Steve and Robin had to leave, Dylan went to see them leave. Steve and Dylan awkwardly shaking hands since their friendship wasn't the same, and then Dylan hugged Robin. He then watched the two of them get in Steve's car and drive off. Dylan smiled as he watched them leave, 'It feels nice reconnecting with Steve, even if we aren't as close as we used to.' He thought as he was about to close the door, just as he was doing that a voice called out "Walker Wait!" Dylan turned back to see a stumbling Tommy Hagan who could barely stay on his feet "Walker my man! my bro! could i crash in your place" He said his voice sounding slurred as he spoke "What? why. don't you sleep with your girlfriend?" He asked the drunk man who was leaning on the walls of the front door "Man.... Carol is being difficult right now. I can't deal with her when she's like that and when I'm almost wasted.... Walker please let me stay the night here! I can't drive home.... i can't get another citation .... I sware Officer Hopper has it out for me." He pleaded, it was strange, seeing this side of Tommy, when the version he remembered was the bully who was constantly in his face and made derogatory comments about Dylan's sexual preference. If Dylan was someone else, he would have definitely left Tommy outside and to fend off himself but Dylan wasn't like that even if he still harbored a bit of anger towards Tommy, he can't let him drive. Especially when he is pleading for a place to stay, if that was Billy he would have been barking Dylan to get him home considering Dylan always takes Billy's keys when they go to parties "Okay fine Hagan come on it." Dylan finally said as he noticed the small thank you smile that formed on the corner of Tommy's lips. Dylan helped him inside and led Tommy to the couch he wanted to know why he got so drunk and why was Carol acting difficult right now. He took a deep breath "What happened Hagan?" He asked as the drunk tommy shrugged "I don't know man. We were having a fine evening and We were about to have some fun in her room but all of a sudden she became irritable...." He trailed off "And angry and confrontational" He said as he tried to hold his head up. "You must have done something if she got confrontational and angry at you Hagan. I mean Look at my sister, she gets pissed if i dont have the chicken out to unfreeze." He said shrugging as Tommy smiled in his drunken state "Well I don't know... I think i mentioned you... I don't remember what i told her Walker..." He sighed "I just didn't wanted to deal with her bad mood so i came here... You don't mind right?" He asked looking at Dylan "No i don't... I can check if I have clothes that can fit you so you can sleep more comfortable." Dylan said getting to his feet "Thanks Walker you are the best." Tommy said with a weak smile as Dylan walked toward his room. He knew Tommy wasn't too muscular they both shared the same body type. So he could lend any of his clothes to him. He found a pair of workout shorts and a plain white shirt, he then walked back toward Tommy "Here you go Hagan. you could shower or just change into them. the bathroom is right down the hall" Dylan said as Tommy got up and stumbled a bit "Can you Help me Walker?" He asked, Dylan hesitated before he helped Tommy toward the bathroom. They walked down the hall towards the small bathroom "You are a good person Walker. You weren't a fighter, I guess i took advantage of that and.... bullied you" He said as Dylan helped him "I don't know why... Maybe i admired your care free attitude or the fact that even if the whole town had been against you, you stay true to your self... I admired that." He smiled and moved his face to admire Dylan's "You were very.... nice and cute... and I really liked it when you gave me the time of day, I don't know why Walker but.... I always looked at your lips when you started chewing me out. Maybe it was.... because i wanted them" This confession was making Dylan flustered and all nervous

"H-Hagan don't say stuff like that, You have a girl frie-" He was cut off by Tommy pressing his lips with Dylan's. Even in his drunken state Tommy was a bit more stronger than Dylan as Dylan's mind raced. Not long after Tommy broke the kiss and changed in the bathroom. Dylan went to the living room to prepare the couch for Tommy to sleep in... But one of his hands were touching his lips.

Eventually Tommy walked out of the Bathroom and stumbled towards the living room and collapsed on the bed, his back facing upwards. In a fast motion Tommy had fallen asleep. Dylan just watched as how his chest heaved slowly with each breath. He was peaceful while he slept, and Dylan couldn't staring, his mind still wondering to the kiss. Why did i bothered him so much, Why did he thought about it? Was it because Tommy had a girl friend? or because Tommy used to bully him? Dylan eventually went to his bed his thoughts drifting to the kiss and Tommy's confession, it was surreal. Dylan didn't liked Tommy like that but still his mind kept drifting to it, until he fell asleep.

A/N: Continued the Just a Little Push Fan fiction, Starting off with the Dylmmy part of the fan fiction, a drunk Tommy confessing what he felt and why he bullied Dylan.

[the-fire-might-be-shooting-at-us]

how am I obsessed I haven't talked or thought of Hargrove in literal years and the one time I make a post, tagged properly btw, you appear out of no where.

Bro he's literally a racist there's no debate on that the Duffer's said it before they went to season 3's little sob fest.

Like i understand he's a victim of abuse, but it's not like he's any less racist.

Also I know he wasn't going to run over children, I'm not fucking dumb, but he literally put them in danger just to freak his step sister out. This is a method abusers like to use to intimidate and gain control over victims.

No one's trying to say Billy didn't die for them, did I even mention that whatsoever??? It just doesn't erase his other actions either. Also Billy tried to beat up a child, I feel like this is the moment where any argument should end??? "They could've killed Billy" what, you mean in self defense?

Billy beat Steve up, and you can argue it was self defence, but I don't know how dangerous Steve is when he's literally bloodied up and unconscious. Steve getting beat up every season is never addressed so it mattering plot wise wouldn't apply anywhere btw.

And "watch literally any other show"? Fuck you I have the right to express my opinion just bc I don't like a character and comment on it doesn't mean I have to switch shows immediately. Otherwise there'd be nothing left to watch.

Yk it’s bad when beating up a character to near death/unconsciousness is t the worst thing someone’s fav did

[every-dayiwakeup]

"Reading in between the lines" means nothing if you can't see what's laid out in plain view.

Yes, this is about Billy Hargrove.

It's incredibly weird to me that he's pretty much the only character in ST we know the most about... and yet he's the most misunderstood.

If you can't comprehend what's in front of you, but you're able to make the biggest reach for shit that's only implied, you're not making accurate criticism about media, you're creating an alternate universe and spreading lies about a character just because you cannot understand them.

And btw, if you don't want to listen to Dacre's opinions on a character he played because "he's a white man", but you hang on the Duffers' every word when it comes to Billy, you're a hypocrite.

@ickypuppi3 (inspired by your post 🙏🏼)

@stranger-rants

@intothedysphoria

[bowiebond]

My brother has these gorgeous blond curls but he never takes care of them properly cause he’s boy with ✨executive dysfunction✨, so he’s always coming to me to brush and detangle his hair. It’s a key bonding moment for us and I’m just imagining young Max going to Billy whenever her hair gets too knotted for her to handle because he has such nice hair himself and she hates how much effort having long hair is, and ‘why won’t mom and dad let me cut it shorter so it’s not always in the way at the skatepark?’

Just fourteen year old Billy sitting on his bed with the year old Max on the floor between his legs, complaining that he’s being too rough and that it hurts but Billy is honestly being super gentle with her because adores her red hair and wishes his was as thick and glossy as hers without so much effort. God forbid if any of the boys at school or the park stuck gum in her hair, Billy would kill them.

Just Billy having small, gentle moment with Max without her even knowing how much they meant to him <3

[peaceesells]

|| Billy Hargrove dating Hcs ||

In a world where billy didn't die and had an amazing redemption arc like he could have ❤

Gn reader

Ooc Billy

What it is like to date Billy Hargrove

(Sorry if this is bad I've never done this before lmao 🧍‍♀️)

You probably met at the community pool when he was on lifeguard duty he waited before you left to ask if you wanted to hang out sometime

You agreed and you two hit it off

This boy is so touch starved but he also doesn't know how to accept affection

But he gets more comfortable the more you show him affection

I think his favorite way to cuddle is you facing him, sitting on his lap and just hugging (if that makes sense??)

He also likes laying between your legs

He doesn't give off cuddling while asleep vibes I think he would get to hot

probably doesn't even sleep with a blanket

If anything he sleeps under the sheets

Sometimes he will knock on you window at like 3 in the morning just to cuddle and get away from his dad

He will eventually tell you everything he's been through and you feel so bad for him :,(

You just hug him and tell him it would be okay and that he can come over whenever he wants to

You guys definitely sneak out together and hang out walking around Hawkins at like 4am

I think Billy would be a very light sleeper

And he is a bit grouchy when he wakes up in the morning

If his morning started off bad he would be ina bad mood for the rest of the day and he would probably snap at you and feel terrible after

He will apologize with a couple of your favorite foods or like a giant teddy bear-

He inst an asshole but he still needs some time to work on himself and he knows this but it takes time and you understand that

Sometimes you play with hi hair he says he doesn't like it but he definitely does

It helps calm him down

He also loves when you hug him and rub circles on his back

He calls you doll-

JSHAHSGWHRJSGE

Max probably really likes you and doesn't understand why you're with her step brother lmao

A/n: Bro I didn't not expect this to get any likes I literally just made this for myself thank you sm 😭-

[missroserose]

WIP snippet meme!

@redmyeyes tagged me to share a snippet of my WIP! (Luckily, she didn't specify which one.) I'm going to tag @paperbodiesamongthestars, @twobrokenwyngs, @sirsparklepants, @withoneheadlight, @trashcangimmick, @wendigosam, and @keziahrain—let's see what y'all are working on!

As for me, while I haven't actively worked on Act III of Waters for a while, it's been haunting my ruminations for some time now. So here's an early version of one of the early scenes. It's the week after Billy and Steve got together in secret, and things have been a little rocky between them—and then, of course, there's school...

---

Steve thinks about skipping the lunchroom, maybe going out to his car for a smoke—it’s been a while since he did, Nancy didn’t like it, but Nancy’s in the lunchroom and not out in his car, and frankly that seems like as good a reason as any. But Tommy’ll be there, and Eric, and the rest of the guys, and even if it is unseasonably warm there’s something of an unspoken rule that they all eat together in the lunchroom come December. So he shows up fashionably late, grabs a tray, takes his apportioned apple and slice of pizza and pint of chocolate milk—

A round of applause interrupts his good old fashioned pity party. Sends his attention towards the corner of the cafeteria where the guys from the basketball team are sitting—all clapping, whistling, giving those weird hooting gorilla grunts combined with a spun arm of approval.

All at Billy, standing in the doorway.

Billy’s staring, hostile, mean, but then Tommy runs up to him, slaps him on the back—“hell yeah, stud, like father like son“—and of course he misses the flash of anger this sends across Billy’s face. Steve crosses the room, careful to put a careless saunter in his step, and stands at the end of the table, watches as Billy takes the guys’ semi-sarcastic congratulations. Leans over, where Dan Miller’s sitting, stabbing at his rubbery pizza slice with a plastic spork. “What’s going on?”

“Something about his dad,” Miller responds. “It’s dumb but Tommy got it into his head that it’d be a funny joke.” He looks over at Steve, half surprised. “I would’ve thought you were in on it.”

“What, like Tommy can’t think up unfunny shit on his own?” Steve elbows Dan, gets a half-smiling chuckle in response, straightens. Returns his attention to the drama playing out at the head of the table, hears snatches of conversation. “Lydia Hayes—“ “God, I’ve had a crush on her since middle school—“ “those tits though—“ “shame her daughter didn't get those, huh?”—this last greeted with a round of knowing nods and chuckles.

“Hargrove, what the hell? You weren’t going to tell me it was your bachelorette party today?” Steve bumps his way in through the receiving line, gives Billy an elbow in the ribs.

“Ha ha. Save your congratulations for my asshole father. Apparently he banged some bitch's mom that these idiots have been drooling over for years.” Billy’s eyes slide over the rest of the team with unveiled contempt—most of them have gone back to eating at this point, the joke over.

“Not just some bitch. Lydia fucking Hayes, dude.” Tommy, never one to understand when a joke’s been stretched to its limit, claps Billy on the back. “Loud and proud enough that his wife went nuclear on the Hayes’ holiday decorations over the weekend.”

“It was a public service, really,” one of the guys cracks.

“Jesus, you hicks are hard up for entertainment,” Billy mutters, and stalks off to go grab a tray.

Steve nabs the seat next to Tommy, does his best to change the subject. Remembers his own words to Billy, earlier. “So, what’s your family doing for Christmas?”

“My family? Skiing again. Lame-o.” Tommy gives an exaggerated yawn, stretching one arm up as if flagging for the entertainment. “Luckily, I’ve talked my way out of it. Told the ‘rents I’ve got way too much homework over vacation. Wouldn’t want to risk my GPA, maybe get my college acceptance withdrawn.”

Steve flashes his best Risky Business smile. “So you’re throwing a party?”

“Fuck yeah I’m throwing a party. Friday night. You coming?”

Steve’s smile turns into a grin, all teeth. “I’ll bring the keg.”

“That’s King Steve.” Tommy punches him in the shoulder approvingly. “Wonder if we can set up two. Get you and Hargrove in direct competition—that’d be a hell of a draw. I bet we could sell tickets.”

“Psh, a kegstand’s no draw if you don’t have girls.” A thought occurs to him. “Can we get the girls to hold us up? Like wrestling champions. That would bring in the crowds.”

“What’re we bringing?” Billy’s returned, alotted pizza slice and milk carton and fruit cup all perched on his tray.

“Your A-game!” Tommy, never one to wait for an idea to finish baking, practically crows the words. “This Friday, man. Start-of-Christmas-vacation party! We’re gonna knock the socks off these hicks.”

Steve would swear he could see Billy’s eye twitch at Tommy’s easy appropriation of his personal vocabulary. “I’m not sure I’m really in the mood for partying, Hagan. Besides, didn’t Kristie just throw a kegger last week?”

Tommy scoffs. “Hardly. It was sad, man. There were, like, five people sitting around in ugly Christmas sweaters. Not even enough to play Spin the Bottle.” He shakes his head, expression as tragically pained as someone looking at those pictures of the starving children in Ethiopia. “You going to tell me we can’t do better than that? We’ve got the whole team!” His voice rises on the last note, as if he’s expecting the others to cheer, but he barely garners a couple of glances before the rest of the guys go back to their conversations. Steve can’t blame them—nobody cheers for Tommy other than Tommy.

“So what’re you gonna do if the team’s all who show?” Steve glances over at Billy’s sharp tone, realizes he’s got that look on his face—eyes narrowed, tension across his shoulders, and (Steve would bet) at least one fist balled up beneath the table. “Can’t play Spin the Bottle without girls.”

“Yes! Exactly what Steve here was saying.��� Tommy nods, as if he’s some kind of expert on girls and their partygoing habits. “So we were thinking, new idea: two kegs, and we get four of the prettiest girls to assist. Double keg-stand!” He practically crows the words. “King versus king! The ultimate battle for keg supremacy!”

Steve has to give Tommy this much credit for cunning—in the mood for partying or no, there’s no way Billy can turn down an invitation like that. His face goes easy, lazy—the sort of half-smile where you’d never see the knife hidden beneath if you didn’t know to look for it. He turns it on Steve. “Wha’d’ya say, Harrington? Shall we settle the question once and for all?”

The knife is there, Steve knows—always is, with Billy. Even if Steve didn’t know him as well as he does, he’d guess—there’s something a little too clear about the sudden sparkle in Billy’s eyes, something aggressive about the way he suddenly focuses all of his attention on Steve. But frankly, Steve hasn’t gotten where he has by backing down from a challenge.

And it feels good to have Billy’s attention on him again.

“Only if you’re ready to bow before your king.” Steve keeps his voice mild, takes a sip of milk as easily as if it were a longneck. Watches Billy from the corner of his eye.

Billy’s eyes flash, and his voice raises just a hair—nothing obvious, but enough that the whole team’s attention is on them now. “All right. Let’s raise the stakes. Loser crowns the winner, and offers a forfeit.” He takes a sip of his own milk, considering. “We’ll need a crown.”

“And a robe,” Tommy says immediately. “I’m on it. We’re gonna determine this thing right.”

A satisfied nod, Billy turning his smile back on Steve, hitting him with the full wattage. “Don’t worry, Harrington. I’m a generous ruler. I’ll only have you streak around the block once.”

Steve laughs along with the rest of the team. It’s all in good fun, after all. Just guys being bros. “And here I was gonna say, I’ll only make you call me Daddy once.”

Against the backdrop of the team’s ooooos, Billy’s face loses its smile, eyes pale as they look at Steve. “I’m gonna fuckin’ take you apart, Harrington.” He downs the last of his milk, bares his teeth, traces of white still clinging to his gums. “And don’t you forget it.”

[dalekofchaos]

How do you feel about Billy Hargrove?

Honestly my feelings on Billy are this.

I hate him for how he treated Max, his racist antagonism towards Lucas, trying to murder a group of kids, nearly killing Steve. But I do understand why he is the way he is and do wish he could've at least had a character arc slowly but surely trying to get out of the cycle of abuse. But the Duffer Bros wanted him to be the human antagonist, like Henry Bowers from IT, but they wanted him to be Flayed and try to make him sympathetic. It's kind of hard to make the guy sympathetic when one season ago he was abusing his sister, antagonizing the one black kid he sees with Max and nearly killing Steve. Like the Duffer Bros wanted their cake and eat it too. And his "redemption" if you can call it that wasn't earned. He did the bare minimum by saving El. Max's sadness, while understandable, wasn't earned. They had no meaningful relationship, all we got from season 2 is abuse, mutual hatred and the ending was a sign he was gonna leave her alone. There is no scene of them together to show they remotely started fresh or any sign that Max forgave him. It felt forced and unearned.

It's like if Stephen King tried to pull a complete 180 and tried to woobify Henry Bowers and sacrifice himself to stop Pennywise. Yeah, that would've been fucking stupid if that happened.

And honestly? The conflict SHOULD HAVE been between Max and Billy in season 3, not El and Billy. They acted like Billy was never abusing Max or tried to kill the party and Steve and tried to whitewash Billy. El and Billy had no connection. Shouldn't it have been, you know HIS STEP-SISTER??? Like I know it was really between El and the Mind Flayer, but it also should have been Max and Billy. Like El could've taken Max with her to see Billy's past. Max uses the bat on Billy to save El, Billy has his attention on Max and Max should've have been the one to tell him about his mother and say "you were happy" to snap Billy out of it. Maybe throw in "you were hurt and broken, but that doesn't mean you have to be a monster. Don't be what he made you." something like that. The point is, it should have been between Max and Billy.

If Billy didn't die and Max and Billy could've started fresh. Or hell throw in a scene of Neil threatening Max and have Billy stand up for Max, that to me would've been Billy breaking the cycle and choosing not to be what Neil made him to be. If Billy made amends to Steve and the party, then that would've been redemption. But what they did wasn't. Doing the bare minimum and dying isn't redemption.

Instead of that predatory cringe fest scene, if the beginning of season 3 had Billy like make amends to Max, Steve and the party before becoming the Mind Flayer's puppet, maybe I would feel sympathy for what happened to him. But I see Billy as wasted potential but also don't like or forgive him cause he never earned that from me.

[bronskiibeat]

The Loudest Minds

Summary: Having survived Starcourt, a very different Billy Hargrove emerges from hospital a few weeks later and falls in with Steve Harrington and the gang of misfits that go along with his friendship. How does he cope with so many people suddenly having stakes in his life?

                                                     ---

Steve had been surprised to see Billy sunk into the corner of the sofa next to his step-sister in Joyce’s living room when he turned up for the weekly dinner get together, but he reckoned he played it off quite cool.

He’d spent more time with Billy in this last month or so since he’d come out of hospital than the whole year he’d known him previously. He’d verge on saying they were good friends by now. Billy still wasn’t allowed to drive, something to do with the position was apparently not great for his healing injuries or giving his core the rest it needed. So Steve had taken to driving Billy around a bit in the evenings, not like, care in the community, but just bros helping bros. He also picked Max up on his rounds, to save her having to ask Neil for a ride. Billy was grateful for that, he’d told him so, in so few words too.

He didn’t use many words at all anymore, the loud and in your face Billy seemed to have died with the mind flayer, leaving behind a pensive and quiet person. Who enjoyed sharing a smoke and listening to albums from start to finish and reading paperbacks in twilight, but not sharing many of his thoughts out loud. Steve didn’t mind, he kind of got it, especially the talking about your experiences thing that everyone told him he should do it lessen the load of his ‘trauma’.

“Alright nerds!” Steve greeted the room, mainly aiming his greeting to the squash on the other sofa of Mike, El, Will and Dustin. Lucas was at the kitchen table with Jonathan, heads over a book deep in discussion about something Steve was certain he didn’t want to know about, so he slipped passed them to dish himself up some of the leftovers. He’d felt awkward at first just wandering around Joyce’s house like he owned the place, but like everyone else he’d quickly settled into it.

                                         Keep reading on AO3

[billyspotato]

Party - Billy Hargrove

[Requested] 

Words: 1.838 words

Type: Fluff

Summary: (What’s written on this request)

Warning: English is not my first language. Swearing. Sorry if I misspelled something.

A/N: Gif’s not mine :)

You two step out of Billy’s Camaro and start making your way inside the house. Billy right behind you as you took your first step inside the warm house with loud music and hormonal teenagers.

Billy’s hands go to your hips once you looked around to find the kitchen, and he starts guiding you to it as you seem lost.

The kitchen is less crowded which surprised you since there’s so many people just in the lobby of the house.

Billy’s hands let go of your waist as he goes to get himself a beer while you looked through the variety of flavors. You grab the cliché plastic red cup and mix whatever sounded good in your mind.

You sip your drink while looking at Billy, who was focused on what was surrounding you. You lean to him and press a kiss on his jaw, making him smile at you. He pecks your lips and pulls you to the living room, where everyone is.

After some sips of your drinks, Billy and you started to laugh more at your own jokes as the alcohol slowly got to your brains.

The conversations started to be about something and finishing with something totally different.

Your back stayed glued to the wall as you and Billy continued to make out, chests pressed together as the need of each other grew. Billy’s hands on your waist as yours stayed on his hair and neck; always when pulling away for air, you couldn’t help but smile at each other.

“Billy!” You hear over the music someone shout. Billy looks over his shoulder to see Tommy right behind him.

He turns completely around as he lets go of your waist and you walk to his side, receiving a small smile from Carol, who is next to Tommy.

The guys exchange words and Billy chuckles at Tommy’s idea as you kept looking at their lips trying to understand what they’re talking or planning, but you got nothing.

Tommy and Carol leave and Billy looks over at you, you just know exactly what he is going to say.

“It’s just for some minutes” Billy says once you tilt your head to the side.

“It better be” You threaten, faking an annoyed tone.

Billy cups your face with his hands and pecks your lips before leaving your side to follow Tommy and Carol to the backyard.

You adjust the large leather jacket on one of your shoulders and walk back to the kitchen. You fill your cup back with one of your made-up mixtures before heading out to the center of the house, where everyone was dancing.

(…)

It has been more than just a few minutes but the both of you lost track of time.

You found some of your friends when dancing and you just stayed and had fun with them, maybe taking a few more drinks than you should, but you’re still conscious with what you’re doing.

You stay seated on top of the counter of the kitchen, without a care on the world, as you threw your head back to drink the last droplets from your cup.

You throw the cup to the trash and a guy walks in the kitchen, you ignore him as he fills his cup with beer and keep looking at your nails.

Your friends left not too long ago, the only still-sober one decided that it was time to take the rest of the girls, home. She asked you if you needed a ride, but you declined since you know that Billy is still in the backyard smoking and being competitive with any sophomore that would like to try and challenge him.

“Hey” You hear, and you look up to see the guy that just walked in the kitchen looking at you.

“Hi” You say with a small smile.

“Are you alone?” He asks while walking closer to you, since you are in the opposite sides of the kitchen.

“For now.” You answer and he smiles brightly at you. “Are you new in the school? I don’t think I’ve seen you before”

“Yeah, it’s my first year in this school. This guy… uh… I think his name is Toby? He invited me to this party, so I can make friends and stuff like that. So, I did” He says with a small smile, “And you?”

“I’m a senior”

“Oh” He says, “You don’t look like one”

“Yeah” You say awkward because of the silence between the two of you.

The guy was leaning back on the counter in front of you. You checked your wrist to check the time and started to wonder where Billy is.

“You��re really pretty” The guy says, and you look up at him with widen eyes, not expecting the complement.

“Thank you” You say with a smile. “Why the random complement?”

“Just felt like saying it, maybe you needed to hear it. I can say more if you’d like” He says with a smirk.

You close your eyes in disappointment, you really thought you had found a cute young guy to be friends with, that wouldn’t be possible to cause trouble with Billy. Guess not.

You look back at him to say something but Tommy walks in the kitchen.

“Hey Y/N” He says, and you give a small wave. “Oh, look who it is. You made it” Tommy tells the guy in front of you.

“Yeah, I did” The guy says, ��Met one person up until now”

“Only one? Who?” Tommy asks him while sipping his beer.

“Her” The guy says, and Tommy’s eyes widen while slowly nodding as if the guy is just about to sign his papers to declare his death.

“Oh, isn’t she a nice person?” Tommy says slowly scared of his own words.

“She is” The guy says, and you look over at Tommy.

“Okay, I’m going back to the backyard. You coming, bro?” Tommy asks while filling his cup again.

“In a bit, yeah” The guy says before his eyes making their eyes go back to you.

You know exactly what that look means, and so did Tommy, who exited the room quickly with his cup filled to the brim.

The guy makes sure Tommy is out of sight and his eyes go back to you.

“I wanted to ask you something” He starts, and you nod, “You sound like a cool person, so I would like to know if you would like to go on a date with me?”

“I’m sorry, but no” You quickly say, but before you could justify, he just speaks again.

“Why? You were fine with me a few seconds ago, and now that Tommy came in… Is Tommy your boyfriend?”

“Jesus, no!” You almost yell and he looks even more confused at you, but still not letting you speak.

“Then… What is it?” He asks almost as he is freaking out, but something clicks on his mind, “Are you trying to play hard to get?”

“No” You say, shaking your head.

“I don’t believe you”

“Why not?” You ask putting your hands inside the jacket’s pockets.

“Because that is what someone that is playing hard to get would say” He says taking a step forward, his hand on the counter next to your leg.

“Exactly the same as someone who isn’t interested” You tell him.

“And you aren’t?” He asks moving his hand up.

Before his hand could reach your leg, a voice next to you is heard.

“That was cute” Billy tells the guy.

You jump on your seat as Billy appears next to you out of nowhere and the guy looks over at him.

“What was?” The guy asks him.

“That little move you just did on her” Billy says, and the guy takes a step back.

You jump out of the counter and look over at Billy.

“You thought it was cute?” The guy almost sounds offended.

“Yeah, cute. But the first thing you should ask, should be if she’s single, don’t you think?” Billy asks him calmly, shocking you with his tone.

“She is” The guy quickly answers, and Billy shakes his head visibly locking his jaw.

“I don’t think she is” Billy says with clenched teeth and the guy blinks quickly but still holding his ground.

“She didn’t fight me or looked annoyed at what I was saying” The guy says, and he decides to continue, “At least, it doesn’t look like her partner is doing that good of a job”

As he said that last word, his body flew back to the counter behind him as Billy grabbed him by the neck, throwing him back. The throw was too slow to hurt someone, but the guy looks at Billy in shock.

“Say that shit one more fucking time” Billy threatens with the lowest his voice would go, audible just because the music was getting lower as people left the house.

“Billy” You say while grabbing his arm, “Please stop”

Billy opened his mouth to threaten the guy one more time, but you shook his arm making him look at you.

“Don’t do this here” You say as a crowd was starting to appear in the doorways of the kitchen. “Please”

Billy gets himself up and the guy stays on the counter looking at the two of you. You grab Billy’s hand and you sigh in relief as he pulled you out of the kitchen.

You two walked out of the house in silence and went to his car.

You sit on the hood of the Camaro and Billy kicked the gravel under his feet, again, in silence.

“I’m proud of you” You whisper to him and he looks over at you.

“You’re kidding” He says letting out a chuckle.

“I’m not, you usually destroy guys’ faces” You comment, and he turns to you.

“It’s not like they don’t deserve it” Billy says while walking in between your parted legs.

“Way to ruin the moment of proudness” You tell him, and he laughs while pulling you into a hug.

In each other’s warmth and arms, you stayed for a few minutes. Silence surrounding you. Billy calming his anger down slowly while listening to your breathing and the people driving way from the house’s driveway.

You weren’t lying when you told him that. Billy had a problem with controlling his anger, his way of letting it all out would always be beating up people. That wasn’t a problem to him until it started being a problem to you, people were even scared of talking to you. You two had a talk, a serious one, you just sat down and talked.

And he just listened.

Listened to you and how you felt when he did those things. How could he not have seen it before?

He decided to change that act of his. It took time. But today was the day that Billy showed everyone that he is better then everyone thinks. But most importantly, he showed you that what he can do for you. Making you feel… proud.

- - - -

Guess who’s back!

- - - - -

🌸✨Sorry, but I’m not writing in this account anymore. Go check out my new one @twinklelilstarkey✨🌸

[fatbottombucky]

Two Bro’s That Fight Together *Billy Hargrove x Reader*

Requested by Anon  You want more gay billy requests. I will come in clutch. Billy x Male!Reader where the reader is one of the most feared kids in school before billy gets there and they slowly become friends due to the fact that they both have some messed up lives. They become a feared duo

Summary: You’re Hawkins High School’s most feared student. Well respected by students and teachers, only out of fear. You don’t have many friends and the ones you do have aren’t exactly tough like you - or like you very much. That’s till another boy shows up, who is like you. 

Pairings: Billy Hargrove x [M]Reader 

Warnings: swearing & boys being closet gays/ homophobic slurs 

Your head snapped in the direction of a deep, rumbling engine sound. A blue Camaro pulls into the carpark, you’re leaning against your own car, puffing on a cigarette as you wait for the owner to exit. You thought that maybe Steve got a new car, only you saw him park his red car a few minutes ago- Nancy delicately in the passenger seat. 

The passenger and drivers side opened, a young girl with red hair pops out with a skateboard in hand. She rolls her eyes before skating off towards Hawkins Middle School, you exhale some smoke and look back to the car. You cough out of surprise, expecting to see some disgruntled parent. 

Only it’s a guy, a very good looking guy, your age too. He lights up a cigarette, lazily looking around with an unimpressed look. He combs a hand through his long, curly blonde locks before casting a look towards the girls watching him. You watch as he stalks away from his car, not even casting a glance over his shoulder as he moves. 

**

“Nice of you to join us, Mr Y/L/N,” Mrs Wheeler interrupts herself and gives you a lasting glance. 

You cheekily grin at the woman, half-hour last for her lesson but that didn’t matter because you hated History anyway. You walk towards your fellow students, all casting glances elsewhere but you. That makes your smirk, you tap the shoulder of Tommy, a boy who is the latest victim- he gathers his stuff and moves to the seat behind, you slip into his seat and smile at Mrs Wheeler. 

She starts her class back up, giving you a disapproving look but doesn’t say anything just because it’s... you. You lean back on the chair, a deep sigh leaving you as she drones on about irrelevant stuff. You cast your eyes to the right, the new guy leaning far back in his chair, legs spread wide and a stick in his mouth and he chews is languidly. 

He looks bored, like you. You go to look away but he turns his head, eyes sweeping over everyone before landing on you; he doesn’t smile or even conveys any emotion before he looks towards the front. 

**

“You’re Y/N, right?” A deep voice has you glancing over your shoulder, towards the new guy- who's name is Billy Hargrove. 

“Depends who’s asking,” you turn away from your car to him.  

He chuckles at that, nodding once. “Billy Hargrove,” he extends a hand, you awkwardly take it, he’s only a few inches taller than you. “Heard a lot about you from everyone, quite the name for yourself around here.” 

You nod slowly, a light chuckle escaping from you. You had a reputation around here, you weren’t the nicest student around and often got into trouble for ‘bullying’.  You mostly got into heaps of trouble for starting fights with almost everyone, anyone that decided to step out of line. 

“Yeah,” you become silent and look at Billy, “so you’re new here, right? Where did you ship in from?” you swing your car keys on your pointer finger. 

“California,” Billy muses as he pulls out a cigarette, “before you ask, this town is a shithole and I hate it already.” 

You laughed and nodded, “I get it. Small town and nothing to do, plus the girls are kinda... all the same.” 

That started a sort of friendship with Billy Hargrove, you didn’t hang out after school or really talk about one another. You just walked the halls together, striking fear into other students as you stalked the halls. You skipped some classes together too, sitting on either’s car and smoking cigarettes. 

“Oh, fuck,” you sigh and attract Billy’s attention, his wonder over to where you’re looking. 

Your dad pulling into the school parking lot, you quickly jump off Billy’s hood and grab your jacket, trying to look cool and not terrified outta your mind. Billy sits up, feet resting on the fender as he watches your dad slam the car door closed- causing you to jump at the sound. 

“Forgot he had a meeting with the principal today, see ya around,” you don’t look Billy in the eyes and turn away from him; hands deep in your leather jacket pockets, musing your hair with your fingers. 

Billy watched as you walked over to your dad, who looked red in the face, placing a hand around your neck and pushing you forward harshly. Your shoulders tense up, almost reaching your ears and you look so... small. 

He had never seen you back down from anyone, not even him when he tried to take your reputation from you. You both ended up fighting each other for over an hour, bleeding and bruised, you both came to the decision to just share the reputation and be feared together. Billy knew the look, the act, too. He’d been there before, he knew the signs. 

Which is why he drove to your house at 7pm, you didn’t take your car home and that concerned Billy, for some reason. He walked up to the porch and knocked three times, stepping back to give distance in case your dad answered- and was still pissed. 

“Can I help you?” A woman asked when opening the door. 

Billy took a moment to answer, “Uh- is Y/N in?” He smiled, “he didn’t attend last period and we were given homework to do tonight for tomorrow,” he holds up a piece of paper.

“Y/N!” The woman yelled before leaving, not after giving Billy a once over, “don’t be too long, you’ve gotta clean the kitchen remember, fairy?” 

You walk to the door, walking down the step and letting the door close behind you. The left side of your lip is split, a purple bruise is dotting your cheek, too. Billy clicks his tongue, head tilting as he takes in your appearance. 

“What did you want?” 

He looks back at your house and then to you, “did he do this to you?” 

You’re silent as you look away, biting your lower lip to refrain from showing any vulnerability to him, only it reopens the wound on your lip and hiss in pain. 

“You should go before he gets back, Billy,” you mutter and look at him, sadness in your eyes like you don’t want him to leave you, “he gets weird when I’m around guys,” you mutter softly and begin to walk back towards your house. 

**

“Get in,” Billy yells as you exit your house in the morning, you stop and see his blue Camaro parked where it was last night. 

Your dad steps behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder as a warning to get in his car, but you shake it off and quickly step up to Billy’s. You’d regret this decision when you’d get home but, for now, you’d just enjoy the fact Billy turned up. 

“Where’s Max?” As Billy drives off towards school, “Why are you here?” 

It’s a while before Billy answers, a silence between you both as he just drives... past school. You don’t question him or tell him to stop, only because, honestly, you didn’t want to deal with it. 

“You didn’t have your car, I knew he’d take you,” Billy begins and he’s frowning as he stares ahead at the road, “you don’t- he’s an asshole, okay? I’m not gonna let him ruin your usual mood, we’re gonna go to the arcade and beat up the fucking nerds there, alright?” 

You nod once, a small smile etching on your face as you take in his words. 

“You’re my... bro, okay? And I can’t have you going all weak and vulnerable on me at school, it’ll be embarrassing.” You only nod with a grin. 

Billy only has a ghost of a smile on his face. For once, in his god damn miserable life, he feels close to someone that isn’t his annoying step-sister. Someone that understands the pain and hardship about living in a house that isn’t a home.

[thephantomofthe-internet]

A Kiss from the Afterlife

Rocker!Billy Hargrove x Holloway!Reader

Word Count: 3,989

Warnings: death mention!, alcohol, swearing, angst

Author’s note: I haven’t written in awhile, hope you guys still like me and my stuff, I like this story a lot personally

Tag List: @carolimedanvers​ @hotstuffhargrove​ @thechickvic​ @alex--awesome--22​ @lilmissperfectlyimperfect​ @so-not-hotmess​ @hawkeyeharrington​ @sunflowercandie​ @kaliforniacoastalteens​ @songforhema​ @spidey-pal​ @mickmoon​ @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ @marvelismylifffe​ @baebee35​

The assignment was clear. It was stupid, but it was clear. A fluff piece for the Indianapolis Tribune, reviewing local Indiana bands for state pride or some shit. It felt totally out of your element. You should be reviewing the latest new wave flash in the pan or whatever Michael Jackson single had been dropped and hit high enough on the top one hundred to pay attention to, which was almost every single. Much more important work than some garage bands going to open mic nights on the weekend and would break up in a month over a girl who everyone else would call their Yoko Ono.

This wasn’t worth your time.

But what Chris said go. Chris, your editor, was working under the assumption that fluff pieces about local work get more local readers. A sort of self-flagellation for a crappy state. So, you did as little research as possible to find three up and coming acts from around greater Indianapolis, finding three of the most boring seeming hair metal bands that might get successful, and found gigs to watch.

You promised yourself that you weren’t going farther than Gary, but Chris insisted on you going down to Carmel, apparently the band there was really popular and missing them would get too many letters to the editor. You begrudgingly agreed, but only because Carmel was just far enough from Hawkins to keep your mind at bay. You found solace knowing that the band would probably be the worst. Amateur bands with really good names always failed, it was the rule. Good bands got good names later.

And Crown of Thorns was a really good band name.

You’d found a slew of fans to interview in Carmel, according to them they were like Guns n’ Roses had a baby with Madonna’s Like a Prayer video-all religious imagery and hard rock sensibility. Sounded too good to be true. No garage band was that good. You wondered what they actually liked. Usually, the intense fans were either friends with or fucking the band members; groupies don’t just appear they start as girlfriends and boyfriends and buddies from high school looking for free booze. You don’t how many ex-girlfriends, boyfriends, and friends you’d talk to for your interviews for the dumb piece.

You wondered how many ex-girlfriends you’d interviewed for the preamble for Crown of Thorns. All their fans seemed to be women, at least the ones who wanted to be interviewed were. It was strange, usually there was a couple beer bros wandering around looking to talk about how some band so fucking awesome or whatever.

Still, you didn’t bother to question it. There was one perk of this assignment and that was not having to work the awful nine to five in stuffy professional attire. Well worn jeans and a baggy tee shirt beat blazers and heels any day of the damn week. You wandered into the venue late that night, the bar called The Muddy Duck which looked as terrible as its name was; you made a note to describe the place as kindly as you could.

The bar was dim and awful. It stunk of beer spilled hours ago and puke. So much puke. The place smelt so bad you wondered if they filled the walls with the stuff instead of insulation. The floor was sticky under your boots and people kept bumping against you. The band hadn’t even come onstage and someone had already spilt a drink on you, sticky liquid trailing down your back and making your skin crawling involuntarily. Some sloppy girl muttered “Sorry…” dropping her sugar crusted martini glass on the counter before stumbling off. You pulled the drenched material off your back before pushing your way to the front. The crappy lights above the milk crates the place was calling a stage had flashed on and the entire room fell into a hush. You pulled out your notepad, jabbing your pencil behind your ear.

Three hulking men took the stage, each scruffier than the last, most hunched over with their instruments strung around their backs; bass guitar and guitar and drumsticks shoved as far away from their person as possible. They all looked as if they didn’t want to be seen, you wrote that down, noting their homemade band merchandise and stringy unkempt hair.

Then, the crowd cheered. The forth member was climbing the steps, fluffy mullet bouncing with each of his steps. He turned to the audience, throwing up the horns in a dramatic pose, hands held in a ‘v’ over his head and head tipped back up at the ceiling. The ring of feminine screams washed over your ears, causing you to throw your hands over your ears, trying to save your ear drums from their squeals.

An elbow jabbed into your ribs, bringing your attention to a spiky looking Siouxie Sioux knockoff who was smirking down at you “If you can’t handle that, you aren’t going to be able to handle this show.” She said, her voice carrying over the sound of the crowd.

“Thanks for the tip.” You called back, writing down the quote, making a note to find her before you left, to get one good interview out of this mess.

The drummer had taken his seat, the guitarists pulling their instruments to the front of them. The singer took the microphone in his hands like it was his lover, his eyes scanning the scene. They met yours for the briefest of moments and recognition hit you like a freight train.

Billy god damn Hargrove. You wanted to die.

Of course you had to interview Hargrove. Of course he had his own shitty hair metal band even though it was 19 god damn 91 and hair metal was dying off like flies on fly paper. Of course he was trying to fuck the audience with his eyes. You prayed he didn’t recognize you. You prayed you could get through this interview without any spill ups. You just wanted to disappear from Hawkins bullshit and the people who made it awful. Billy Hargrove made it awful.

Billy Hargrove destroyed your family.

Heather was your little sister, your bratty baby sister who stole your clothes and destroyed your makeup and followed you around helplessly. She was your stuck up, immature, callus, popularity obsessed sister. She was a kid. You left Hawkins to go to college, to get away from your fighting parents and your mother’s slow descent into alcoholism. You went into journalism because it was the only thing you could relate to your father about and you wanted that praise. You stayed away from your family when you could, the mess growing too big for you to tackle. You tried to keep up with Heather, but she didn’t want check in from her older sister. She was too old for a babysitter, to be babied by her older sibling. She stopped answering your calls, so you stopped calling.

And then, she was gone. They were gone. Lost to some stupid fire in a stupid mall. Your whole family, just gone. There were a handful of survivors, and you didn’t blame them, but in your heart one person shouldn’t have been saved. And that was Hargrove. Why did the universe save a philandering womanizer with a penchant for bullying get to live when your baby sister had to die? How was that fair? If you’d ever fully believed in God, you lost your faith in them the day you found out about your sister.

And you never forgave Hawkins. You turned your back on the place, sold your family home and the newspaper, packed up what was important and gave the rest to Goodwill. Life wasn’t in Hawkins anymore, it was anywhere else. Indianapolis didn’t feel far enough yet, but it held a decent paying job and a life away from what hurt you.  A small change did more than enough to feel free of the ghosts chasing you from a joint grave plot.

The intro to their first song blared from the lead guitarist’s amp, filling the room with screeching metallic notes, far too fast to be the start of a song. You waited for the crash of cymbals or the mellow sound of the bass or even a note from Hargrove. The song opened with a minute long solo. You absolutely hated that, it stunk of the seventies psychedelic rock your older cousins would blast in the basement during Christmas parties, all claiming to be Satanists and against the holiday until their parents let them each have a beer. The sound left a sour taste in your mouth.

What didn’t help was the pure, wordless wail Hargrove let out as the guitar cut out. The audience was deathly silent, on the edge of their seats waiting for something. What it was, you weren’t sure, but you watched his hands as he adjusted his grip and pulled himself in close, his lips almost touching its centre, his icy blue eyes lowering to meet the gaze of the room again.

“I watched the blood pour from your eyes…” he crooned out, his eyelashes fluttering as if he’d sung something romantic. His voice wasn’t strong, but the way he held the microphone. There was a phrase for it; a term…it was on the tip of your tongue. It found you by the end of the song, which seemed to solely about watching the one you love fall out of love with you, which dark imagery.

As the room applauded, you found your mind again, his stupid stare and the way he held the audience in the palm of his hand. Frank Sinatra syndrome. You might have made up the term, but it made too much sense. Sinatra was a dreamboat in the forties and an emotional singer who owned a room and the hearts of his fan base, a majority of which were women. It said that in the cramped, warm venues of his early career of the late twenties and early thirties that you could smell the pheromones coming off the girls in the room. It seemed Billy Hargrove had found a way to do the same. He had the whole room wrapped around his little finger.

Now it made sense why you’d only been able to find women who were interested in the band, no straight man would ever be interested in them. And no gay man would get caught by reporters looking for a story, too dangerous. Now it made sense why the bar was so shit and the girls here were so hot-straight girls would go anywhere for a peak at a hottie like Hargrove, you remembered how the girls chased him in high school, how desperate they were for just a peak at him in his gym clothes or shirtless at the pool.

Billy Hargrove still had a way with the girls.

They managed four more songs, only one a cover, which impressed you a fair bit. The amount of kids you’d listen to play AC/DC and Metallica and Motley Crue in the week alone was enough to make you hate any song with an electric guitar in it. Hearing original songs, albeit trite drivel about love and losing girls and sex under God’s eye, was almost a breath of fresh air. Almost. If it hadn’t been Hargrove, it would’ve been completely worth the trip down.

But you had to deal with Hargrove.

His performance ended and the crowd erupted into uproarious applause as the group shuffled off the stage, save Hargrove who jumped off the front of the stage, landing directly in front of you.

“You the chick from the Indianapolis Tribune?” he asked, looking you over with a lazy look, half-hearted in both its intention and its purpose.

You tucked your pencil behind your ear, looking at him in pure annoyance “You see anyone else taking notes?” you asked. Billy chuckled drily, running a hand through his sweaty looking hair, pulling a black hair elastic off his right wrist, right above the black leather cuff he had on both his wrists, and pulling his tangled curls off the back of his neck.

“The boys are at the bar, come over when you want an actual interview instead of bitching.” He replied shortly, stalking off as a small hoard of girls followed behind him. He already had groupies. Oh my fucking god.

You took a deep breath, swallowed your pride, and walked over to the bar, ordering yourself a beer before pulling up a stool. Billy smirked slightly as he saw you turn to the group. He slung an arm over a girl in a tight leather skirt, causing the other girls to walk off; apparently, Hargrove had made his choice for the night and the other girls accepted it without verbal complaint to him.

“Guys, this is the chick from the newspaper.” He grabbed his brown bottle off the sticky rail and pulled it to his lips, taking a long sip, his eyes never leaving you.

“Hi, Y/N Holloway, I just have a couple of questions for you guys and then I’ll get out of your way.” You smiled. You watched out of the corner of your eye as your last name caused recognition flashed in his baby blues. In that moment, he knew you. Well, he knew your family. And he became a wallflower. You asked your simple questions, which were mostly about how they met and what their goals were, which the drummer declared to be ‘world domination’ while elbowing Billy in the abs, as if he would’ve laughed. He didn’t. In fact he didn’t speak at all; he just sort of stared at you, mouth open just a little, just enough to show the shock he felt. That was a confidence boost, knowing you could still shock.

You finished the interview with a sweet smile, tucking your notepad into your heavy black bag and hopped off your stool, grabbing your beer as you went. “Alright, best of look boys, see you in the papers.” You said with a wave, walking into the crowd. You had to find that spiky goth, she seemed to know more than anyone else in that room.

You found her in the corner of the room at a tiny table, fingers laced with a tiny mousy looking girl with short ash brown hair and a lazy looking smile. When you walked up, she dropped her hand out of the spiky girl’s, who simply smiled at you.

“What’s up, Holloway?” she asked, turning to fully look at you.

You furrowed your brow “You know me?”

She chuckled “Fellow Hawkins escapees don’t show up so close to hell that often, although I know you don’t recognize me. Samantha Baker.” She held out her hand for you to shake. After hearing her name, you did recognize her as the school’s only sullen goth.  

“Hey,” you shook her hand, turning to address the little mouse. She seemed oddly familiar “Aren’t you Neil Buckley’s little sister? Robin right?” you asked with a grin. Neil Buckley was your first boyfriend; you spent most of your afternoons in freshman year at his house. Robin nodded, choosing to pull the cherry off her mixed drink and popped it in her mouth, pulling the red stem off and knotted it with fingers.

You turned your attention back to Samantha with a genuine grin “Look, I’m here doing a piece on local bands, specifically Hargrove’s group. You seem to know a bit about these crowds, can I get a couple quotes from you?” you asked, pulling your pad from your back pocket.

“Grab a seat, I’ll tell you anything you want.” Samantha chuckled once again.

“Sammy, what’s she want?” a strong, angry voice asked from behind you as you pulled out the high stool. You knew it was Hargrove, but you didn’t turn around.

“A couple quotes about the crazy girls who stalk you around.” She replied “You care?”

“I wanna listen and make sure you don’t say shit about me.” He muttered, grabbing an empty chair from a nearby table and pulling it close to yours. The blonde he’d been with before was gone now, to your surprise, and he was pouting in the chair next to you.

“The only thing I have to say about you is that you don’t write your own music.” Samantha replied with a shrug that made Robin roll her eyes.

“Who does?” you asked, pulling your pencil out from behind your ear.

Samantha’s chest puffed out proudly “I do. I’m their lyricist and composer.” You jotted that down fast, making a mental note to credit her for anything you liked in their music.

“Why don’t you just perform this stuff yourself then? There’s an open market for angry, gothic girl rock, much wider than the boy’s market.” You asked.

“Yeah, I can’t do what Hargrove can do to a crowd.” Samantha replied, watching as Hargrove puffed up with pride again.

“Specifically to the girls, that man can turn even the most devoted wife or girlfriend to cheat on their husbands.” Robin added with a smirk. There was clearly a story there, but you didn’t try to pull it out of them, letting sit on the surface of their knowing smiles.

“You gotta understand, these girls-they aren’t here for the music, they’re here for him. They can’t get enough.” Samantha explained, smacking him in the chest as she gestured to him. Samantha might have had too many drinks.

“So it’s just like high school again?” you chuckled, leaning your elbows on the table. You smiled at him, against your initial thinking. Sure, he was still a cocky fuck, but he wasn’t being an absolute ass now that he knew who were.

“Except, now all his songs are apologies to like three girls,” Samantha said “Instead of sex songs about whoever he’s with that week.”

You furrowed your brow “And who are these three girls?”

“Oh, that’s easy: the first one is me, his truest love thus far, a gold star lesbian,” Samantha held up fingers as she counted them off “His mom, gone but never forgotten, and Heather Holloway.”

Your mouth went dry as you between the trio. Robin looked to you apologetically as she took the martini glass from her hand. “You’ve had enough, sweetie.” She muttered.

You didn’t feel like you knew what to say, but words came tumbling out of your mouth. “What gives you the right to use my baby sister as your fucking muse? Her death isn’t something to write fucking songs about.” You snapped. Your whole body felt like it was vibrating, you were so upset.

“I didn’t know you didn’t-Hargrove you told me that she knew that she was the only one who knew.” Samantha sobered up fast, looking at Hargrove with blown out brown eyes.

“Of course you’re still a liar, Hargrove.” You scoffed, pushing yourself off the stool. You were done with this interview, screw this town and the band and any of the other ‘Hawkins escapees’ out there looking to market off your family’s pain. You pushed your way out of the awful bar and into the dark night. It had begun to rain and the air was humid. Well, there goes your hair, the rain and humidity would ruin it. You crossed your arms over your chest, protecting your bare skin from the cold rain giving you goose bumps.

“Y/N, wait a second, alright?” You turned to see Hargrove running up behind you. You wiped your face, ready to blame rain for your running mascara.

“What do you have to say now?” you bit out, slicking your wet hair back from your face.

“Look I thought Heather had told you…” he muttered.

“How the hell was she supposed to tell me about your band? She’s fucking dead.” You wiped your nose angrily, rolling your eyes at your own tears.

“No, not about the band, about…us.” He tried again and you raised an eyebrow at him. Billy sighed, his hand coming to rub the back of his neck. He looked away from you into the dark streets. There wasn’t a cab in sight. “I loved your sister. We were…seeing each other. Sort of. We weren’t official, but we were going to be. I was gonna ask her and then so much shit went down, you don’t even know the half of it. And then…she was gone.”

You didn’t know that. Heather hadn’t told you any of that. You wondered if it was in the diary from that summer. You had all her diaries bundled together in your apartment, you’d never read them; it felt too invasive to her privacy, even from beyond the grave.

“I lost my whole family, I lost my baby sister…” you muttered to yourself, unsure what else to say.

“I know and I’m sorry. But I lost her too.” Billy replied, placing firm hands on your shoulders, forcing you to look at him. For the first time, he looked like a man, not a teenage boy imitating adulthood. He looked strong and as if he knew who he was. He looked handsome, although that be the beer and raw emotion talking.

“I’m sorry…I didn’t know.” You muttered “You must miss her…”

“Yeah, sometimes…when something reminds me of her.” He replied “Like you, you remind me so much of her. Can I show you one song? It’s the one that means the most to me.” You nodded at his request and let him drag you back into the bar. He put you near the front of the stage and grabbed his guitarist, taking the microphone back into his hands.

“Hey, sorry everyone, I’m gonna do one last song. We’ve got a reporter here from the Indiana Tribune, gotta show off our best stuff, ya know?” the audience laughed at his week attempt at a joke as his bassist brought up two chairs for Billy and the guitar guy, whose name you’d forgotten.

The song itself was sweet enough, about a girl with big doe eyes and hair that always smelt like chlorine. It was totally your sister; if they’d played that first you would’ve been just as furious as you were outside, except you wouldn’t have finished the interview. This time around, you listened. You smiled at the line about her lavender perfume and how it was so strong it made you dizzy and held your breath at every chorus as he wailed “You’re all gone, you’re all gone…” with his hands holding the microphone for death life. It didn’t feel like a love song, but a dirge to a long gone muse, never forgotten and screaming from the depths of one’s soul, begging to be remembered, to be put into art. You never liked to think about your sister that way, but deep within your heart you knew this was how she wanted to be remembered. She wanted to be a model, a soap star and spokesperson. She wanted to be remembered for her beauty, to be admired. Being the muse of a budding artist would be good enough for her, she would’ve loved that.

You clapped when it was done. You let Billy pull you away from the crowd. You let him kiss you like he would’ve your sister, the lingering smell of lavender and vanilla on your skin a reminder to both of you of her. You let him hold you. It was nice to be held. It was nice for him to get to say goodbye.

You knew you looked strange to the groupies and bar goers, but he needed this. And in a way, so did you. You held him like he was your father, like you were hugging him for the last time. You didn’t like that your mind associated the two men, but you let it. You both said goodbye to your ghosts.

And were left with strangers in their places.  

[im-sad-lets-kiss]

Stranger Things Teacher AU

Sorry, it got long

All of the party™ are teachers at Hawkins Highschool (either they never met and became a tight squad of teachers there or the actual plot of Stranger Things, you choose)

Mike (Mr. Wheeler) is the English (I and II) and Creative Writing teacher.

He kind of dislikes English II, but it’s not that bad. He hates the grammar section but he pushes them to do as much reading and writing as possible

HE LOVES CREATIVE WRITING! His students write a short story every week to go with a prompt he gives them.

Sometimes he’ll read his students short stories/ comics he made as a kid.

The students think it was funny how Mr. Byers drew the comics and Mr. Wheeler thought of the dialouge and plot (no matter which AU you choose, WILL AND MIKE WERE ALWAYS FRIENDS)

MIKE HATES FRESHMEN

He has a water bottle on his desk that says “FRESHMAN TEARS”

The whole school hate/loves him. During one assembly he had a dance off with two girls from the dance team (he won)

Will (Mr. Byers) is the art teacher (duh)!

He doesn’t have as many students as most teachers, because he’s a fine art not many people want to take. But that just means he gets to know all of them one on one.

His favorite students call him Mr. Will or Will

He has a secret romance going on with Mr Wheeler. ☺️

His favorite students are usually seniors, and on fridays they play fun kahoot (this is modern) or free draw!

His tables are a fake marble so they can finger paint on them and then wipe it off.

He has a wall in his classroom that’s a mural that the party did (most of it is average or bad, but he doesn’t care)

He decorates the room for Halloween with his first hour class (and mr wheeler because he doesn’t have anyone first hour) and they go APESHIT

Mr. Henderson is the science teacher for juniors and seniors (freshmen remind him of his young self, so he don’t do that shit)

Even though he isn’t the coach of any sports, he is the leader/coach of the robotics club, so most students call him “Coach Henderson” for fun

Sometimes he hears students make fun of him for his teeth/voice but usually he sends them to the principal’s office. When he doesn’t he tells Coach Sinclair about it, and he always duels our special punishments

Coach Sinclair once heard a group of boys imitating Mr. Henderson, so they had to do 10 laps around the school (full sprint) and two months of detention

Dustin is super into his lessons and plans all of them out during the summer, because he genuinely loves his job. He wants to be able to answer every question that’s thrown at him, just like his old science teacher.

They have labs every other day to give students a break from notes, and he’s had at least 12 fires in his room.

Coach Sinclair is a football coach at Hawkins High, but was offered a job as World History/Civics teacher.

He hates Civics, but likes World History.

Civics is for Freshmen, and World History is for Sophmores, which he loves.

One of his students made a countdown on the whiteboard until February 4th and won’t tell the class what it means. Lucas is determined to find out.

He does, on February 4th. Turns out it was National Coach Sinclair Day, And the student brought him a cake. He teared up a bit at this, worried his students didn’t like him that much

His students give him a hard time sometimes (cause they know he isn’t qualified to teach) but they all really like him.

Lucas has the funkiest outfits at school

He always promised that for every test, the classes that have a 90% or above class average, get to see him dance

Eleven (Ms. Hopper-Byers) is the Chorus teacher!

Her students call her Ms.EHB, but sometimes Ms. Elle (yes she decided to hyphenate the name, god)

She’s really bad at quieting down the class, but usually when it doesn’t work she just uses her powers to break a light, then they all get freaked out and quiet

(Sorry repair dudes who constantly have to fix her lights)

She enjoys her class, because she sings good (not outstanding but if she started to sing you wouldn’t tell her to shut up)

Sometimes she loses her voice from having to talk too much, even though she only has to be at school for two classes.

She gets to school at lunch time so she can see the party and plan her classes.

The students think she is dating Mr. Wheeler (though she isn’t, she’s very interested in Ms. Mayfeild) because she’s caught siting on Mr. Wheeler’s desk often

There aren’t any windows in her classroom, so she likes to go on walks outside when she has spare time

She painted her classroom walls baby blue, and it boosts her mood

She’s the nicest teacher in the whole school, and after concerts she takes the class to get ice cream (on the school’s credit card of course)

Max (Ms. Mayfeild/ Coach Mayfeild/ Coach Max) is the PE teacher. She also coaches softball and soccer.

Not a whole lot of the girls like her, because she’s so loud and intense. The boys like her tho, and give her fist bumps and call her bro.

She’s a harsh teacher, but for some reason it’s one of the most popular classes

She hasn’t said she’s gay, but everyone pretty much guessed and ran with it.

Everyone wants to know which teacher she would date if she could, and she hasn’t told anyone except for her favorite student, Charlie.

Charlie never told anyone Coach Mayfeild has a crush on the Chorus teacher.

She loves her Outdoor Ed class the best, they canoe and hike and fish.

(Sometimes it reminds her of the demogorgon)

The principal is Mrs. Buckley (aka Robin. THATS RIGHT. MRS.)

Everyone loves her, and is surprised she is in charge because of her young age.

She used to be the most popular teacher in the whole school (Band/Chorus) then she became administration, then principal

Her wife Heather, is the school nurse

She competes in all the homecoming/prom assembly competitions and tries to make the school more fun for everyone

She’s not too fond of punishing students, so she leaves most of it to the Vice Principal, except for when she hears about homophobic bullying

When she goes off at a homophobic bukky at her desk, she always makes sure the picture of her wife is facing the student

Speaking of Vice, Mr. Harrington is The Vice Principal

He’s kind to all the students, giving them high fives in the hallways, but cracks down in punishments

He’s very loved, but if you hear “do you want to be sent to Mr. Harrington’s office?” You shut the fuck Up

Every day on the announcements he has a “nugget of knowledge” which is just a reminder of the rules that he never enforces, but quickly becomes a meme around the school

One week students start to notice a new ring on Steve’s fourth finger when they highfive him, and rumors fly around. No one even knew he was dating.

He never officially tells the students (it’s not their business), but they notice when he changes his last name from Harrington to Hargrove

Coach Hargrove is a baseball and football coach. He also teaches PE, and gets in fights with his little step sister.

While Coach Mayfeild does Juniors and Seniors, Coach Hargrove teaches Freshmen and Sophmores. He hates them, and they know it.

He’s a pretty rough teacher, but all the girls drool over him. He knows they do, to his embarrassment.

Everyone flips their shit when they find out the meanest teacher ever and the coolest cat in town get hitched

They start acting like clowns, at make jokes (like Billy went soft? Tsktsktsk), But no he isn’t soft, and reminded everyone that when he went right back to screaming at them to do 12 laps.

There’s two more teachers I want to introduce: Mr. and Mrs. Byers (Jonathan And Nancy)

Jonathan is in charge of yearbook staff and is a counselor. Some kids think he’s creepy, but that’s just cause they’ve never spoken to him.

He’s really nice and has a bowl of candy on his desk for the kids

He likes being part of students’ future decision making but enjoys yearbook way more.

He’s quiet and usually keeps to himself

Mrs. Byers is the Freshmen and Sophmore Mary teacher.

The students like her well enough, but not very many people’s favorite.

She likes the class to be completely silent except for group activities and the last five minutes of class.

She’s nice though and brings the birthday kids candy.

She still dresses like it’s the 80s and kids tease her for it (she doesn’t mind tho)

Sorry this got so long and gay, oops