Yeah. Sorry about that. Basically, life knocked me around a bit and I’m just now getting my footing back under myself.
But! I definitely want to continue writing on this blog. I have a series that I started, and never finished and let’s be honest, this boy is just too tempting not to write about. Would you guys still be interested in the rest of you should see me in a crown? Do you have any specific requests? Would you be interested in other fandoms and characters? Let a gal know by commenting or messaging me!
Hey! I noticed you hadn’t been active in a bit and I just wanted to check in on ya. Hope you’re doing well!😊
Hey hon! Thanks for checking in. ♥️ Long story short, I’m an actor/college student and I had an absolutely WILD summer job that took me to the EdFringe. I’m getting back to school a week late, so I’ve had to play catch up and that’s definitely affected my activity. But!! I hope to start being waaaaayyy more active again next week and I already have a bunch of stuff written to make up for my absence.
The first part of the series is here, and I’m honestly super excited! I’ve had a lot of fun planning and writing. I’m hoping to update pretty regularly, and I’d love to hear what you guys think. It’s gonna be a slow burn and a longer series. I have about fifteen chapters planned so far, but it might wind up being longer than that depending on how it goes. The first few chapters are written and ready for proofreading, so it shouldn’t be too long a wait. Feel free to comment or message your thoughts or if you want to be added to the tag list!
Warnings: Cursing, mentions of a bad past relationship, but I don’t think much else aside from that
Words: 2,664
intro | pt. 1
The first time Billy Hargrove approached you was practically straight out of a scene from a movie. If there had been a camera on you on that fateful October day, it would’ve been teen heartthrob gold.
The bell for lunch had just rung, and your classmates stampeded through the school in true high school fashion. The wafting smell of Friday pizza from the cafeteria down the hall wasn’t exactly mouth-watering, but it was enough to encourage you to get to your own slice as quickly as possible. You knew your girls would have your slice already waiting for you, used to their captain’s pre-lunch ritual. You were eagerly throwing your textbooks into your locker when it hit you.
The smell of cigarettes, hairspray, and men’s aftershave invaded the pleasant smell of lunch, assaulting your senses. The only thought that crossed your mind: here we go again.
You were no stranger to boys (because really, that’s what all these high-schoolers were despite their obvious thoughts otherwise) trying to approach you. Sometimes they were sweet and shy, sometimes they were blunt and upfront, and sometimes they were just obnoxious and crass. Hell, sometimes they were some bizarre combination of the three. Regardless of their approach, they were always met with the same result: denial served with a side of pitying kindness. It wasn’t that they were all pigs or anything. Sometimes guys you genuinely cared about and appreciated were the ones who approached (and they were always the hardest to turn down). You were just tired of the same old drama. Between the girls on your squad who ran to you for everything (like their pseudo mother hen) and your own... experience during your freshman year, you had suffered through more than your fair share of painfully awkward relationship drama. Besides, you had more to worry about. You had a squad to lead, a school to run, and a college resume to build. The times you were approached tended to be few and far between, so it wasn’t a frequent occurrence anyways.
Guys, in general, seemed to be intimidated by you. You’d think a girl who was smart, funny, kind, feisty, and a student leader would be dream girlfriend material, right? Apparently, that only worked for the heroines in teen romcoms. Once upon a time, it used to frustrate you: now, you welcomed the reprieve. Steve was the only one who could really hold his own, and you two had never been more than friends. All the others were too terrified. Those who weren’t scared off by your reputation and dating history usually backed off when they had to talk to you around your squad. You typically had at least one or two of your girls back you up. Besides, it wasn’t like you had a bunch of spare time to waste on guys. This was the only time of the day you could really be found alone. You enjoyed the quiet solace of stopping by your locker during lunch, especially on Fridays when all the other students in Hawkins rushed to get a slice of the weekly pizza. The hallways were typically bare, and people had learned not to mess with you during your locker breaks. Between cheer practice after school, the many social needs of your squad and demands of being captain, and your rigorous course load (because you were getting into college and as far away from Hawkins as possible), you rarely had time to yourself. And you loved it. You really did. But these precious five minutes at your locker during lunch was the only time you were really able to breathe. They were sacred, and everyone knew that.
So who the fuck was stupid enough to interrupt that?
With a dramatic sigh, you stretched your cheeks into what you hoped was some semblance of a smile (even if it was a painfully fake one). You could sense them, whoever they were, on the other side of your locker door. And they didn’t seem to be budging any time soon. You tried to stall for time, mentally counting down the seconds of freedom you had left.
Ten... You grabbed your calculus book and practically chucked it in your locker.
Nine... You shoved your composition book into your backpack.
Eight... You tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear.
Seven... You prayed this jackass would take the hint.
Six... No such luck.
Five... You searched both your locker and backpack in vain hope of finding anything else to stall.
Four... You figured you’d have maybe a minute of having to endure some painfully awkward conversation as you secured the lock, zipped your bag, and booked it the fuck out of there.
Three... You mentally double-checked that your fake smile was in place.
Two... You sent up one last Hail Mary they’d take the hint.
One... You took a calming breath.
And your time was up.
You had a sneaking suspicion whoever this was had planned it all out.
The hallways were practically empty, with just one or two stragglers making a futile dash for the cafeteria in the hopes there would be some pizza left. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes met a pair of beautiful, crystal blue irises. Your fake smile dropped for just a moment as you took in sunshine curls, honeyed skin, plush lips, and slightly freckled cheeks. Your eyes traced over the almost gentle features of his face. His sharp cheekbones, lovely nose, and square jaw were practically begging you to cup his face in your hand. And his body... Damn. Nothing delicate there. You knew your fair share of jocks and hunky boys. But none of them compared to this. He wore a faded jean jacket, and he filled out every inch of it. It was clear he was buff, but you’d bet he was cut too. This blond in front of you was... Well, he was beautiful. You had never met a man (because fuck, but that’s what he was) who left you so thoroughly speechless. And then he had to go and ruin it by opening his mouth.
“Like what ya see, sweetheart? Cause I certainly do.” The lazy drawl matched his lax stance as he leaned against the lockers. He was posing for you, you quickly realized. This was a guy who knew exactly what he was working with, and he wasn’t afraid to shamelessly use it. A chill ran down your spine.
Oh, he had definitely planned it.
Too bad he hadn’t planned for you.
You had more than your fair share of experiences with a guy like that. It wasn’t something you were looking to repeat anytime soon. The smile slid back across your face, a mask you had perfected and an armor you had worked all the chinks out of long ago. You watched, almost bemused, as a flicker of annoyance slid across his face. He knows, a voice whispered in the back of your mind. He knows you’re putting walls up. He can see it.
“Just getting to know a face I’ve never seen before.” Most guys would take the perky tone and sweet grin for the superficial flirting it appeared to be. The diversion you intended for it to come across as. You had a feeling this guy was smarter than that. You upped the bubbly factor, wanting to see how it would affect him (and a small part of you hoped it would annoy him). “You must be new to Hawkins. Welcome!” You had to stifle a giggle as he visibly bristled.
“Not that new,” he mumbled as he released the smooth facade for just a moment. He was clearly upset by the idea you hadn’t heard of him yet (which, of course, was not the case. Everyone and their mother had about the hot new guy with a killer car, but he didn’t need to know that). He managed to recover relatively quickly though. His eyes widened a fraction before that smirk snapped back into place. “Been here nearly four days, sweetheart. And in those four days, I’ve heard you’re the girl who runs the show around here.”
“And what makes you think that?” You figured playing innocent was the best way to go here. As helpful as your girls were in getting the gossip, it never hurt to have a little more info. No matter how high up the ladder you climbed, it was nearly impossible to get a real grip on the rumor mill here at Hawkins. Secrets and lies just tended to have a way of getting out, so no one ever quite knew what the truth was. Sometimes, you even second-guessed what you knew about yourself.
“Well, you’re the only cute (h/c)-haired, mini-skirted spitfire I’ve met so far. And I’ve made it a point to look out for the... feistier girls. Y/n, right?” Interesting. So he was going to keep his cards as close to his chest as you were. The suggestive smirk he sent you and the emphasis on the word feisty weren’t lost on you. You could hazard a guess as to what he really meant. So, the new kid had done his research. This should be fun.
“I’m so embarrassed. Here you are, knowing all about me, and I don’t even know who you are. What’s your name?” Of course, you knew exactly what his name was before he even said it.
“Some girls might call me the man-they’ve-been-waiting-for, but you can call me Billy.” The smile on his face would dazzle any crowd, leave any competition judge putty in his hands, and make the girls on your squad melt at his feet. It was clear this guy trying to work you over. But that was why you were the captain: you weren’t so quick to fall.
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Billy. Hope your first week went well.” And with that abrupt dismissal, you were off. In your years of evading hormonal and horny teenage boys, you had perfected the well-timed retreat. Flirt with them and talk just enough to let them think they’d hooked you, then cut it off quick. You had subtly worked the zipper on your backpack closed during the conversation, so all that was left was to fasten the lock and run. You were only a few steps away before Billy recovered. Impressive. Usually, you could get halfway down the hall as they were left reeling from your attention.
“Y’know, my first week has been fine,” he drawled again as he easily fell into step with you. A slight stab of annoyance tore through your chest. You checked your fake smile. “But it’d be even better if you agreed to show me around this weekend. Since I’m new here and all.” You pretended to consider it. You waited just long enough to make it seem like you weren’t going to turn him down before the words had even left his mouth. You were all about giving new kids a chance, but not when they had interrupted your precious alone time and stood between you and your pizza.
“Sorry, but the squad has practice tomorrow. And then the girls and I have team bonding on Sunday, so I’m all booked for the weekend.” You simpered, throwing a flutter or two of your lashes and a mock pout his way for good measure. You thought you had won that little confrontation until you saw a determined gleam in his eyes.
“I take it you aren’t going to Tina’s Halloween party tomorrow night, then?” Damn. The new boy was already connected enough to cinch an invite to a party? It usually took new kids weeks before they broke into the social scene enough to even hear gossip about the last party. Hawkins might’ve been small, but it was a pretty tight-lipped town when it came to outsiders. This guy must’ve known exactly what he was doing if he had already gotten that far in. And, worst of all, he had you trapped.
After all, you couldn’t exactly lie and say you weren’t going. By now, the two of you were close enough to the cafeteria that there were people around. If you lied, said you weren’t going, and then showed up anyway, it would make you look fake. Two-faced. Bitchy. And you had worked so hard to get your reputation to where it was after the disaster that was your first two years in high school. You were depending on your friendly and kind reputation to get you a student body position next year that would look killer on a college application. You couldn’t run the risk of ruining it because of some gossip about being a bitch to the new kid, who hadn’t even been in town for a week. Besides, that familiar tingling of a guilty conscience seemed to whisper. You barely know the guy. At least give him a chance.
“Silly me,” you forced yourself to giggle for fear of biting the words out instead. You didn’t want to judge him preemptively, but there was something about him that set alarm bells off. “I must’ve forgotten. I can’t believe it’s Halloween already.”
“Honest mistake. I tend to have an effect on girls that leaves them forgetting a lot of things...” He moved to step closer into you, and that was when it hit you. You knew exactly who Billy reminded you of. Eric. Your douchebag of an ex-boyfriend who had left you scarred against relationships. As the blond in front of you leaned over you, you were struck with the flash of an image of green eyes instead of blue. You refused to give ground and carefully tried to breathe. You tried to remind yourself this wasn’t him. Hell, Billy probably didn’t even know the guy existed. He didn’t know what he was doing. He shouldn’t be written off because he reminded you of a monster. But it did send a worrying thought through your mind. You hoped you were wrong, but there was a nagging sense that you couldn’t be too careful. You needed to get away from him, now.
You sent him another falsely sweet smile and quickly scanned the cafeteria over his shoulder. Your eyes desperately searched as you forced yourself to back up a step, feigning butterflies when you were really just trying to buy yourself time. It was Pizza Friday, so he had to be somewhere nearby. He loved Pizza Friday. Nancy told you how he always ditched after class to make sure he got some. Surely he hadn’t wolfed it down that quickly... There. Your eyes landed on the luscious head of hair you had been searching for, and you practically leaped at your chance to escape. You let your eyes flit back to Billy, trying to send him a flirty smile whilst internally panicking.
“Sadly for you, I don’t forget things easily.” You let the words hang in the air, unsure if you meant them as a threat or a promise. If only he knew how true they were. “Guess you just got lucky this time.”
“Oh sweetheart, luck had nothing to do with it.” He stepped in closer again. Your heart had practically crawled up into your throat. You snapped your eyes back to Steve, praying either he or Nancy would somehow sense your distress.
“Y/n!” Steve called, waving you over after catching your eye. Finally, it seemed like someone was up there listening.
“Well, looks like we’ll have to see if lightning strikes twice. Catch you later.” You sidestepped the blond’s advance and, without giving him a chance to respond, made a bee-line for the couple’s table. You had to warn him. You couldn’t be sure, but you had a feeling you knew what the research, the quick invasion of the social scene, and his singling you out immediately meant.
Billy Hargrove was gunning to be king.
And he wouldn’t be the first guy to try and use you to get there.
This is the response to a submission I received, and I absolutely loved it. I honestly had such a great time writing this. I didn’t realize sweet cuddly Billy was what I needed in my life like this until this submission. Or as sweet and cuddly as Billy can be. Thank you to @420keep-dreaming666 for the phenomenal prompt! I hope this lives up to what you were hoping for. Also, this gif is 100% what I believe a hungover Billy would act like.
Ask:
Hey! I was wondering if you could do a Billy x fem!reader where her brother (it can be an oc or someone from the show) throws a party and billy ends up falling asleep in her room, but she doesn’t notice because she’s out with her friends so she gets home and finds Billy just asleep in her room and they’re kinda rude to each other but then it gets really fluffy because Billy’s drunk and opens up to liking the reader for a while. Sry this is all over the place. Thx!
Words: 3,201
Warnings: Lots of swearing, lots of fluff. Do these really even count as warnings?
“Fuck,” you hissed, almost face-planting on the stairs as you tried to creep up in the dark. Your brother, Tommy, had apparently taken advantage of the fact that your parents were out of town for the weekend. Well, you had both taken advantage of that. But your version of taking advantage of it was staying out past curfew, drinking and watching b-rated horror movies with your girlfriends. Tommy’s version was throwing a rager that left your house absolutely trashed. One you had no doubt you’d be left cleaning up tomorrow, scrambling to hide the evidence before your parents got home while he and Carol slept off whatever hangovers they had earned. Sometimes, being the younger sibling sucked. The jackass might’ve only had a year on you, but boy did he milk it for all it was worth.
You managed to make it up the stairs without busting your ass which was honestly a miracle and ducked into the bathroom to take your makeup off. You tried to be speedy, avoiding spending too much time in front of the mirror as that familiar paranoia set in when you spent an evening watching spooky movies. Fuck if you didn’t love them, but they did not love you. Making quick work of your makeup, you crept out into the hallway and left the lights in the bathroom on as long as possible. You tried to ignore the long shadows in the hallway, cast by the window at the other end near Tommy’s room. You could hear a faint, but very rhythmic and very telling, thud thud thud of furniture hitting a wall coming from your brother’s room. Used to that sound by now, you paused just long enough to make sure there weren’t any other creepy sounds lingering in the house before dashing across the hallway. Getting drunk and watching cheesy scary movies seemed like a great idea when you and your girls had been giggling and making fun of the victims in the movies. Now, being tipsy and having to deal with the lingering paranoia, you regretted not pushing for a chick flick instead.
You made quick work of it once you got to your room. You gingerly opened your door, quietly shut it, and practically stripped in your rush to take off everything but your underwear and your oversized t-shirt. You dove into bed, snuggling under your comforter, and sighing at the sense of safety that washed over you. After all, nothing could get you when you were under the protection of your comforter. No creepy crawly would dare disturb the sanctity of the bed.
That was when an arm wrapped around your waist.
Said arm pulled you snugly against a body that definitely should not have been there. Naturally, you did what any rational drunk teen alone in her room after a night of watching other drunken teens get brutally slaughtered on camera would do. You screamed and dove for the closest weapon you could think of in your room. Your hand wrapped around the curling iron on top of your dresser which you always left plugged in not that you were paranoid or anything but this was exactly why. You flicked the lights on, switched on the iron, and turned to face who—or what—ever had dared to ruin your clearly false sense of security.
You watched as a drowsy— and noticeably drunk— Billy Hargrove sat up from your bed. A cold wave of shock and disbelief and a little bit of excitement washed over you as his clouded blue eyes met yours. It was almost surreal, seeing his curly head popping up from where he was snuggly swathed in your blankets. You had no idea how you had missed him before; he was so clearly out of place wrapped up in your pastel bedspread. The two of you sat there, blinking at one another until he finally decided to break the spell in true Billy Hargrove fashion.
“What the fuck, y/n?”
You lowered the curling iron from where you had been wielding holding it out between the two of you, ready to defend yourself should any threat dare to come in reach of the cord. Where the hell did he get off, acting like you had interrupted his night?
“I think that’s my line,” you grumbled at him, finally switching off the curling iron and replacing it on your dresser. “What the hell are you doing in my bed, Hargrove?” His only response was a shrug. One that had you narrowing your eyes at him. You and Billy had never really been close. Once upon a time, when he had first come to Hawkins and didn’t seem to know what he was doing, you had tried to befriend him. But you two had come a long way since then.
You found him trying to pretend he wasn’t lost on his first day, walked right on up to him, and introduced yourself. Your friends had all thought you were insane, just going up to the hot and mysterious new kid like that. Honestly, you weren’t sure why you had. You just felt something in your gut nudging you to do it. You had shown him around that first day, helped him find all his classes, and sat with him at lunch. You even introduced him to your brother, knowing it’d be good for Billy to have a friend in his own year, but not thinking Tommy would demand all the attention of your new friend. He had left Billy alone for the most part in his first day or two in Hawkins. And while you and Billy weren’t exactly attached at the hip or anything, he was pretty nice towards you for the most part and not in that I-only-doing-this-to-get-in-your-pants kind of way. You had hoped maybe you could get to know him. That hope didn’t last long. It was crushed the second the California boy beat out Steve Harrington’s keg stand record. You saw the admiration and basic hero-worship in your dumbass older brother’s eyes as he trailed Billy around for the rest of the party and really the rest of the year like a lost little puppy. Whatever friendship you had with Billy was quickly thrown aside as Tommy countered you at every turn.
Where you’d call Billy out on his shit, Tommy ate it up and cackled at it. Where you tried to have intelligent conversations with Billy, Tommy and Carol brought up all the gossip and bullshit school politics with him. Where you tried to ask him about his life and world before Hawkins, Tommy was happy to just get wasted. You got that it was easier, but fuck if it didn’t sting every time Billy would pick Tommy over you. It made you feel like the annoying kid sister again, trailing along after your cruel older brother and Carol who had always been kind of a bitch to you. You really got fed up with it when they started making jokes at your expense, playing pranks on you and making fun of you for “being in love with the new King of Hawkins.” You weren’t going to put up with that shit even if it was sort of true. So, you cut Billy off. You stopped hanging around the three of them. There was some small part of you that hoped he’d miss you, realize he cared about you when you weren’t hanging around and taking their shit. But it never happened. The jokes started to let up after a while, which was honestly almost worst. It meant when the three of them got a prank in their head, it was especially cruel. And it would be exactly like the three of them to let you find Billy in your bed like he was waiting for you after the party of the year, “hoping to confess his feelings” or some bullshit like that, only for them to make fun of you for falling for it later.
Well. It wasn’t going to work this time. You might like the guy, but you weren’t just going to take this shit lying down.
“You guys really think you’re so fucking funny, don’t you?” The exhaustion hit you all at once as you leaned against the dresser, staring the blond in your bed down. You saw the confusion wash over his face, and you assumed his drunken brain hadn’t realized he’d obviously been caught. “What, did Carol and Tommy put you up to it? I bet the three of you are just dying to get something good to hold over me. Maybe you want a juicy piece of gossip about how I gave in to the King of Hawkins, or you're hoping to get blackmail material as I confess some feelings for you in a pathetic way. Well, it’s not going to happen Hargrove. I don’t give a fuck why you’re in my room. I just want you out. Now.”
“What the hell? You’re buggin’.” He slurred a bit as he tried to shoot back at you, but it lacked the usual bite he’d direct your way. Not that it helped. You still snapped back at him with the regular amount of venom you would. You had a fire that could rival Billy’s. All of Hawkins knew it. And you were one of the only people who didn’t back down when it came to him.
“Right.” You took pleasure in the dangerous edge to your voice. It was the kind that had sent underclassmen running the other way before. It was the kind that made Tommy listen to you, Carol worry about the rumors you might spread, and your friends apologize immediately for whatever they had done to upset. You rarely used it, hating the way it made you feel like a bitch, but when you did take advantage of it, people listened. And you were tired of this boy thinking he could walk all over you. Your voice was low, and cold, and controlled. And you milked it. “Because you three never act so casually cruel that I’d have a reason to be suspicious. You’ve never made my day suck just for the hell of it. You don’t make fun of me at every turn for just being a decent person and actually daring to genuinely care about you, do you?”
You didn’t need an answer, but you still waited. You waited until he cut his eyes away, clearly uncomfortable with the situation and knowing there was truth to your words. You relished in it. “That’s what I thought. Bite me, Hargrove.”
Some kind of thought or emotion flickered over his face. His eyes were still murky and clouded, but the self-righteous expression he had worn was gone. He suddenly looked like the young, seventeen-year-old kid he was. Gone was the macho man bravado and badass bluster. Instead, you were left with a Billy you had never seen before. He almost looked... well, vulnerable. His expression was so open as tried to think of what to say next, his eyes so wide as they settled on you, and his hair unruly in a way that definitely wasn’t intentional. He muttered something as his eyes cut away from yours, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.
“What was that?” You tried to distract yourself. The scare had killed whatever buzz you had left from your evening, but you were still tipsy enough that it was dangerous to focus on your feelings for him too much. Feelings lead to confessions, and you refused to give him and your brother anything else to hold over you. You had tried to make your voice hard and sharp, nagging even. You had a feeling it came out far softer than you cared to admit.
“Used to call me Billy,” he mumbled. You barely made it out this time. You stepped closer when you saw him open his mouth to speak again, not wanting to miss what he was about to say. “You. You used to call me Billy. None of this Hargrove bullshit.”
You laughed in disbelief. “Well, it’s not exactly like we’re friends. You’ve made that painfully clear. Besides, you call Steve by his surname so I figured why not give you a taste of your own medicine.”
“You friends with that asshole?” Billy hissed, suddenly tensing. You could feel the fury slowly begin to boil. It was odd to see someone wrapped in a pastel blanket look threatening, but his quick flare to anger wasn’t anything new.
“No,” you tried to reassure him. Why were you reassuring him? Why should you care? “But he’s friendlier to me than you are. Never made fun of me when he and Tommy were best friends. Not that it’s any of your business.” You hoped that one stung him to hear as much as it stung you to admit. You were all over the place, and you knew it. You didn’t have your normal control around him, the safeguards that protected you from that look in his eyes. The one he was giving you now. The one that was protective, and demanding, and curious all at once. The two of you sat in tense, uncomfortable silence for a while. Your eyes locked with his, and the two of you were left staring at one another. You suddenly registered you were in nothing but your t-shirt and underwear, and you rushed to find some shorts to throw on while covering your chest in the process.
“ ’S not a trick.” You almost missed it as you quickly pulled the shorts off the floor and up your legs. You almost didn’t hear him at all. Almost. “Got sleepy. Didn’t wanna go home. Tommy said I could sleep on the couch downstairs, but...” You waited for him to continue. You hoped the silence would encourage him. When he didn’t finish the rest of the thought, you mentally counted to ten and then finally turned to face him.
“But?” You tried to prompt him as gently as you could. He shrugged, avoiding your eyes.
“Got distracted.” You held your breath, hoping, praying, that wasn’t all he had left to say. You waited and watched as his eyes cut to yours, then away again. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve sworn a blush had spread across his cheeks. You let the silence linger a little longer this time, filling the empty space by letting your eyes trace his face. As the silence drew on, Billy finally grew uncomfortable enough in his drunken state to break. “I found your room. Was kinda hoping I’d find you in it.”
This time, you really didn’t breathe. Your heart raced, and you were so tempted to go to him. You so badly wanted to be next to him, and you were just a few inches from the bed now. It’d be so easy to just lounge next to him and let yourself just settle with that answer. But you owed it to yourself to hear more. Hell, he owed it to you after all the shit he had put you through.
“Why?” This time, instead of just avoiding your eyes, he huffed and scooted himself to the edge of the bed. He looked away from you and set his jaw in that stubborn way of his that said no way in hell am I saying anymore. You were having none of that. “Billy, why?”
He finally turned to you at the use of his first name, just like you knew he would. He swallowed, and you searched his eyes as he seemed to debate with himself over whether or not he should tell you. You implored him with your eyes, desperately and silently asking him to say what you needed to hear.
“Fuck, I can’t say it. I’m not some little bitch.” His gruff response shattered the spell, and he got up from your bed. He moved so quickly, throwing the comforter down and practically sprinting from your room, that you barely managed to grab his hand on his way to the door. He stiffened at your touch.
“Please, Billy. I know you’re not. But I still need to hear it.” Your voice was just a whisper, but it filled the room. You pulled him gently by the hand, and he turned to face you. He kept his head down until he took a deep, cleansing breath. When he lifted his head to face you, you could see the guarded expression on his face. You could see the fear of rejection in his eyes. And once again, he set his jaw in determination.
“I like you, sweetheart.” It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t the blushing or heartfelt confession you used to dream as a little girl about when you imagined a guy telling you he liked you. “I like you a lot. Have for a while now, believe it or not. I know I’ve put you through a lot of bullshit or whatever, but you’re pretty cool. And you’ve got way more going for you than Tommy, or Carol, or anyone else in this shithole of a town. And yeah, I can be a dick, or an asshole, or whatever but--” But it would do. After all, it was Billy.
You didn’t let him finish.
You quickly pressed your lips against his, cutting off his sentence, trying to calm him down, and finally living the moment you’ve been dreaming of for months now. His lips were soft, and he pressed them against yours without missing a beat. You could taste the cheap whiskey he had been drinking and the cigarettes he had undoubtedly bummed that night. It made your heart beat faster. You sighed into him, stepping closer and grasping his shirt desperately with your hands. You worked your lips against his until his arm came up to wrap around your waist. That was when it all came crashing back to you.
“You promise this isn’t a trick?” You rasped the question, out of breath from the kiss but desperate to ask it. You had to be sure. “Billy, if this is some joke or prank, I’m not going to be able to handle it. I can’t just laugh this one off or let it slide. Not after this.”
“Y/N.” His voice was the gentlest you had ever heard it before. “I promise. Now do us both a favor and shut up.” His hand came up to cradle the back of your head as his lips dipped down to meet yours once again. You sighed into it, enjoying the feel of being wrapped in his arms. He walked you back until the two of you collapsed back onto the bed, only breaking to breathe when you desperately needed air.
You let Billy stay in your room, citing the horror movies you had watched earlier as the reason why. After all, you had to take advantage of your parents being gone for the weekend. And you had a feeling Tommy wouldn’t be able to make you clean up the mess from his party tomorrow if Billy was there. Plus, you had always wanted to have a little fun in the back of the blond’s Camaro...
Hey guys! I’m listing everyone here who commented on my teaser post. If I’ve missed anyone who wants to be tagged or I have listed someone who doesn’t just let me know! I plan to have the next part posted within the next day or two.
Sometimes people seem to conveniently forget that Billy Hargrove was a literal 17/18 yo abused kid, who was raised in a extremely dysfunction family by a father with skewed morals, resulting in him adopting those skewed morals and, when he grew older, when he went to school he realized that he didn't fit in because of his different views, resulting in him lashing out, picking on people, picking fights name it. He built a cocoon for himself, his only armor in his world was violence and that is what he has been taught, just to stomp him down further. Billy Hargrove would have had potential if he had been given the chance to break that chain of violence, to learn to love himself and in doing so, others.
The small rocks hitting your window frame weren’t anything out of the ordinary. Billy would often sneak to your house in the middle of the night for a multitude of reasons (anything from wanting to cuddle to cleaning up after a fight). His bad attitude wasn’t anything new either as he clambered through your window once you opened it up for him. What was new were the black eye, the cut cheek, and the busted lip.
You fought the urge to rush to him, knowing Billy hated it when you fussed over him (or at him) when he got into fights. Especially when the aftermath was this bad. Instead of running to him, you ran to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit you had stolen from the kitchen. (Your parents started to get suspicious when you were sneaking down every other night to grab band-aids. You were clumsy, but you weren’t that clumsy.) You returned to your room, first aid kit in hand, to find your boyfriend sitting on your bed and refusing to meet your eyes.
You gently approached him, knowing if you came off as anything but calm and understanding he’d freak. You quietly set about to cleaning his face up, turning his head so you could assess the damage. He continued to avoid your eyes, but that was okay. You didn’t think you’d be able to hide the disappointment if he were to meet your gaze. You really, really hated it when he got into fights, but you knew there was nothing you could say to stop your angry boyfriend. And you hated the big blow-up yelling matches the two of you would get into when you tried to push him to stop. So instead, you just tried to be the safe place he could run home to after.
The two of you sat in a comfortable if not somewhat tense silence. You had established a routine when it came to this sort of thing. Start with wiping off the dried blood, then get to assessing the damage. Bandage here, ice pack there, then his face was taken care of. Next item on the list was his hands. Billy’s knuckles were always messed up after a fight. You knew the pain from the bruising and busting of his knuckles was something that grounded him in all the rage and the adrenaline. He had told you before he made it a point to hit until his knuckles bled. So when you turned to his hands, you felt a chill wash over you as the first out-of-place moment of the night hit.
Billy’s knuckles were fine.
They had completely healed from his last fight a week ago and were blood-and-bruise-free.
You froze, stiffened, and stopped breathing. Billy glanced at you for the first time that night, and then he clocked what you must’ve realized. He pulled his hands away. He hissed “shit” under his breath and made to stand up. He went to retreat to the other side of the room, but you stopped him with just a simple hand on his thigh. Your mind raced as you tried to piece it together. Then it hit you.
Neil.
Billy’s asshole of dad who always yelled at him (sometimes even in front of you). The man who emotionally and verbally abused your sweet boyfriend. The man who was the source of Billy’s anger issues. The one person Billy felt powerless against. The one person Billy would never hit back.
You finally met Billy’s gaze, and what you saw there broke your heart. He watched you with such a cautious expression, but there was more there. There was something just underneath the surface. It was a combination of terror, and heartbreak, and pain, and... vulnerability. He was baring his soul to you, and you knew he hated it, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. You could see he was expecting you to press him, to ask questions, to reject him, to yell at him, to do anything to make him feel even worse. And it broke your heart.
“Oh, baby,” you sighed as you climbed onto his lap and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. You leaned your forehead against his and closed your eyes, trying to give him both the privacy and the comfort you knew he needed. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to go anywhere. I’m here.”
Here’s a little teaser to a series I’m thinking about writing. It’d start with Billy’s entrance in season 2, and follow his adjustment to Hawkins as he tries to take over the social scene. It seems like it’ll be easy until something throws him for a loop: you. Your murky dating history and the rumors that surround you intrigue our soon-to-be King of Hawkins. Read on to let me know what you think, and let me know if you want to be tagged!
Also, no one can convince me Billie Eilish’s song you should see me in a crown wouldn’t have been Billy’s anthem when it came to Hawkins High so that’s the name inspiration here.
Words: 924 (remember, it’s just a little teaser)
Warnings: Cursing. Lots of cursing (but it’s Billy, so does that shock anyone?).
intro | pt. 1
Billy was no stranger to being the new kid. Between his mom and Neil’s divorce, Susan and her brat joining their “happy little family”, and his “behavioral issues”, the blond had been to more than his fair share of new schools. Throughout his time jumping from one school to another, he learned a few things: always maintain the badass vibe, never get too attached to anyone, figure out who ran the place quick, and dethrone them. Hawkins was just a drabby, pathetic excuse of a high school in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere. He’d taken over bigger— and far fucking nicer—schools than this in weeks. The California blond took one look at the school and knew it’d only be a matter of time before he had the student body of this shithole just begging to bow down. Billy figured he’d barely have to do any work, that he’d have the information down before the end of the first week.
He was right. He had it in three days.
The funny thing about people growing up together, staying best friends with the same kids since pre-school, and all that other sentimental bullshit is that it makes them pretty easy to read. And if there’s one thing Billy Fucking Hargrove could do, it was read people. It was like reading through a kid’s book: the cliques and groups were so clear, it made California high schools look complicated (and those were some bitchy kids who didn’t even pretend to give a fuck about anyone outside of their little circles). Billy had his first target’s name before lunch on day one was over. Steve Harrington: the King of Hawkins High. By the end of the day, he managed to get all the gossip out of these two chicks who were just drooling over him in study hall. He sent them one smirk, and they were practically sitting in his lap by the end of the period. He knew Harrington’s basketball stats, his girlfriend, hell he probably could’ve even gotten the kid’s address. It was almost laughable how easy it was.
His second target was harder to suss out.
Every king has a queen, and Billy knew the social picture wouldn’t be complete until he figured out who the queen bee of this joint was. He assumed it would just be Harrington’s girl, but it quickly became clear that was very wrong. Whatever social status she must’ve had to snag Harrington seemed to have gone out the window the year before Billy got there (some shit about a missing kid, a crazy mom, and a stalker with a camera). It took him the first half of day two to figure out she wasn’t his second target. It took him until the end of the day before he’d heard another girl’s name enough to realize who the queen was.
(Y/N) (Y/L/N).
He’d heard it in a couple of rumors being thrown around, had seen it in a few articles in the pathetic excuse for the school newspaper, and had even heard it in a class or two of his. It didn’t really catch his attention until he heard some guys in the locker room going on and on about this chick after gym. He tuned into the conversation only halfway through, his ears picking up the name that had been thrown around so much that day.
“Sure, Stacy’s hot, but did you see (Y/N)’s ass in those shorts? Fuck man. That’s where it’s at.”
That was when it clicked. Nancy Whatsherface might’ve been dating the current king, but she was just the spoilt little princess of Hawkins High. You, however, were the fucking queen. It was sorta weird for some chick whose only relationship to the king was her friendship with his girlfriend, but Billy didn’t waste any time thinking too much on it. Hell, if anything it just added at least a little intrigue to this boring fucking town. Something he was more than happy to discover.
Billy spent all of day three gathering as much information about you as possible. And he learned a lot. You were the captain for the Hawkins High cheer squad (which meant you were fucking fit). You were “close” friends with all the girls on the squad, closer still to Harrington’s chick, but didn’t really have any one best friend. You were apparently “nice,” and “super sweet,” and “bubbly” and some shit like that. Every time Billy heard about how smart or decent you were, he was thrown a little more. Girls didn’t usually become the top of the food chain by being “nice,” but he chalked it up to just being some weird result of being stuck in fucking Hawkins, Indiana. All of that was easy to overlook when he heard what he was really looking for: you were (supposedly) a freak in the sheets.
Not that anybody really knew for sure. Apparently, you refused to date anybody since your first boyfriend. Which was fine by him, since Billy didn’t want anyone’s sloppy seconds. All anyone knew were the whispered rumors, started by your ex and maintained by your cheer squad as they hissed back and forth about your “adventures” last summer. Honestly, Billy didn’t give a fuck about how easy you were to get in the back of his Camaro. There were plenty of girls to keep him occupied in the meantime. He just knew he wanted you there by the time the school year was up.
After all, what better way to unseat a king than by fucking the queen?
“But NO! You just had to go and flirt with the old cow! She’s Nancy Wheeler’s mom, did you know that? Nancy. Wheeler. You know, the girlfriend of the kid you can’t stand?” You had been waiting to lay into him the entire walk to the car. Ever since you saw him sending suggestive looks to Mrs. Wheeler multiple times, and her return the fucking looks every damn time, you were just itching to give it to him. Flirting with teenage girls at your school was one thing. You could tolerate that. Hell, you flirted with teenage boys in front of him all the time much to his chagrin, might you add, so he knew exactly how it felt.
“I mean, an older woman? Seriously, Billy?” You weren’t paying attention to the way your voice had raised at least two octaves once you started your rant. You weren’y paying attention to the wild flailing you were doing. You weren’t paying attention to the heated blush that spread across your cheeks. “I mean, she’s practically Harrington’s mother in law! She probably loves him, eats it up that her daughter is fucking dating him. And you wanna go make fucking eyes at her?” You turned in your seat with a huff to face him, wanting to look him in the eyes as you yelled at him.
The giant, sweet, endearing smile plastered across his face as he watched your hissy fit almost made you forget how mad you were at him.
Almost.
“What?” You positively hissed it at him. You were proud of that hiss. Best damn hiss of your life. And it was wasted on him and his ungrateful ass since all it did was make him smile more.
“You’re just kinda cute when you’re angry, is all.” He shrugged his shoulders, looking you up and down, and still sending you that stupid fucking grin. The one he sends you when he tells you he loves you. You blinked once... twice... then a third time before sending him the glare of all glares.
“I am a lot of things, Hargrove. I am feisty. I am smart. I am fun. I am hot. I am the best damn thing to ever happen to you. But I. Am not. Cute.” That only made his grin stretch a little wider.
“If you say so, (y/n).” He threw his beloved Camaro into reverse, starting to back out of the parking spot as he prepared to drive you home. He let the silence sit for about ten minutes.
“If I knew that was how you’d react, I’d have started flirting with older women around you a long time ago.” You huffed and sent him your most withering stare. You thought it was pretty solid until he threw his head back and fucking laughed. It took everything in you not to pout and prove his point for him.
Long-time no see! To make up for my time away, I have this little baby for ya. It’s longer than my other posts, but I definitely think it’s worth it of course, I could be a bit biased. All joking aside, I hope you guys enjoy! It starts with a little bit of a onesided crush from the reader on Steve, but don’t worry. Our favorite guy (who just looks so deliciously badass in this gif) is the main focus. Remember folks: consent is key, and it’s never the victim’s fault. Never.
Word Count: 4,653
Warnings: Dissociation, sexual assault, mentions of abuse, swearing, victim-blaming (self-blaming), panic attack, and I think that about covers it?
There were times where you didn’t quite feel like your world was real. It wasn’t like you were delusional. You just sort of... floated sometimes. Like you were there, and you were living your life, but it was through this misty haze that separated your consciousness from your body. You didn’t really know how to explain it, honestly. And it’s not like you could predict it or control it. Sometimes it would just last a few minutes. Sometimes it would go on for a week or two.
The first time it happened was at a party. You had gone with Carol and Nicole, your two best friends, with the promise that a certain pretty-haired boy would be there. At the time, you had a major crush on Steve Harrington. He was one of your close friends, and you were convinced you were in love with him. And Carol and Nicole used that little fact to drag you to the party— nevermind that he had recently been rumored to have started dating a certain Nancy Wheeler. When your constant efforts to flirt with him went unnoticed (or worse, laughed off), you decided to try and make him jealous. You approached a senior boy who had been eyeing you all night. One who was well-known for being sighed over in the cafeteria. One Carol and Nicole had checked out before, despite Tommy sometimes sitting right next to the former when it happened. You figured a little kissing wouldn’t hurt. You hadn’t kept track of how much alcohol you were drinking, and he talked you into another few shots. Before you knew it, you were drunk. Not drunk enough to go into a back bedroom with him, but definitely drunk enough for him to get more than a little handsy with you.
It was all fun and games until he started trying to grab your chest. You batted his hands away a few times before he started to get frustrated. You remember what he said. Sometimes, late at night when you can’t fall asleep, you still hear his rasp of “quit being such a fucking tease, it’s just your tits” brush across your ear and send chills down your neck. You stopped pushing his hands away after that. You thought maybe, just maybe, if you let him try then Steve would see you were open to fooling around. Maybe he’d look at you if he thought you were as fun as Carol or Nicole. You glanced over the nameless senior boy’s shoulder, searching for him. You saw him across the room, laughing with Tommy and Carol. Nicole excitedly pointed you out to the three of them, and your heart broke as you saw him raise his glass towards you. Egging you on. Not caring another boy was feeling you up for all to see.
It was then that hazy state washed over you for the first time, leaving you with this surreal sense of being that made you feel simultaneously detached from your body and more connected to it than you had ever been before. You barely registered his hands brushing across your body, touching you where no other guy had ventured before. Violating you. He felt up your chest, squeezed and groped your ass, and had just finished working his way to the apex of your thighs before you finally managed to feign a sudden wave of drunkenness that had you on the floor and finally safe from his greedy hands. You were left in that floaty, surreal headspace until Nicole called you the next afternoon. You finally learned his name. Allard Collins. She demanded to know everything that had happened between the two of you. She was disappointed to find out it hadn’t progressed much further than what she saw. You realized she thought you were lying when both she and Carol cornered you, asking you about it on Monday before class.
You felt the haze wash over you again as they tried to dig more information out of you. They kept bringing it up, giggling and talking about what a snag he was and “great catch” and “better give it to him again quick if you want him to stick around.” It wasn’t until Friday, when they heard he had gone home with another girl from the party a week before, that they believed you. But by that point, the damage was done. You had been in that floaty headspace all week, and you weren’t sure you were ever going to come back down to earth again.
You slowly stopped hanging out with them, and slowly the floating stopped. You found some new friends, started to get close to Nancy and Barb, and began separating yourself more and more from the incident. You ignored the voice in your head that hissed it’s your fault and you deserved it. You got over your infatuation with Steve, swearing men in general off after a while. You’d still find yourself in that floaty space every once in a while, but you learned to manage it. You could still function just fine and go about your daily business. You just weren’t... connected. But that was okay. Honestly, sometimes it was nice.
Every time, you were aware it was happening. And there was some small voice that told you it was bad and wrong and shouldn’t feel as... peaceful as it did. But you never had to feel anything when you were there. You didn’t have to feel the pain or the panic or the anxiety that would set in when a guy looked at you funny or a girl would talk about a particularly steamy makeout session. You didn’t have nightmares when you were in that floaty space. You didn’t freak out when you went on dates and a boy tried to kiss you if you were floating. (You had tried to stay grounded once on a date, the first guy after the party, and it ended terribly when he tried to kiss you after walking you back to your door. You almost had a panic attack.) When Barb went missing, you weren’t even fazed. You had already been floating for almost a full week by that point, withdrawing from her and Nancy as the latter started dating Steve. That was the longest time you lived in that hazy existence. It was another week before you finally came crashing back down.
When you crashed, you crashed hard. Everything would hit you, all at once, and you’d often wind up having panic attacks. Not that anyone but your mom knew. You kept it hidden from everyone you could, only turning to her because you didn’t know who else to turn to. Even she didn’t know the real reason they started. You had cited school and bullying, and she had accepted those answers without hesitation. She was content to offer whatever help she could, letting you stay home after your hazy periods when you would crash and be so anxious you got physically sick. She hoped with enough love, it might go away.
You got used to this new reality, drifting along and floating sometimes while being painfully grounded at others. You were content with it, practically even happy. You were fine with only experiencing your love life through a clouded sense of touch until he came roaring into town.
The first time you saw him— the week of Halloween, 1984— he walked into your math class. It was Monday. You were still floating from a date you had gone on the Saturday before. You were floating all through class as he walked in the door, the teacher directed him to take an empty seat, and he scanned the room. You were floating as he smirked, spotting the empty desk behind you. You were floating, barely registering it as he sauntered down your aisle and practically collapsed in the desk behind you. You were floating for the next few minutes, scribbling notes down and paying the new kid no mind (unlike the rest of the girls in class). It wasn’t until he tapped your shoulder that you stopped floating.
You blinked, registering the sudden intrusion into your personal space, and stiffened. A year of flinching every time someone unexpectedly invaded your space and having to make up an excuse as to why had quickly trained you not to draw attention. You ever so carefully leaned away from his finger, trying not to let the panic overwhelm you, as you turned to face him. You turned to meet the prettiest blue eyes you had ever seen, a wild head of blond curls, a sun-kissed face, and a very disarming smirk looking up at you from where his head was resting on his hand.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a pencil I could borrow, would ya doll?” His raspy voice seemed to hum the request. Without missing a beat, you offered him the one in your hand. He sent you a toothy smile and a wink that made your heart stop. You mechanically turned back to face the front, reached down to your backpack, and grabbed a new one as if nothing else had happened. It wasn’t until you were four lines of notes down the page that you realized he hadn’t had a notepad in front of him. Or a binder. Or any paper at all really. You glanced back to see him still watching you, drumming your pencil against his desk without a scrap of paper in sight. He smirked again when he caught you peeking. You whipped back to the front and refused to give him the satisfaction of catching you glancing back at him again.
It wasn’t until the bell rang, signaling the end of class that he caught your attention again.
“Mind if I hang onto this?” You almost shrieked, jolting forward in your seat and practically grabbing the edge of your desk. His voice in your ear and the unexpected presence at your back had sent your stomach into summersaults and your heart flying. It only took you a millisecond to gather your wits, but it seemed like that was enough to make Billy curious. You turned around to face him, and you were quickly caught off guard. He wasn’t smirking in victory at catching you off guard, like you were half-expecting. Nor was he sending you another flirtatious grin. Instead, he was watching you with a hint of... what looked like confusion. Maybe even suspicion? Surprise?
“Hang onto what?” You hated how breathless you sounded. You knew he clocked it too, from the assessing look in his eyes. It was only there for a moment before he slid right back into that easy, flirtatious persona again. But you had seen it. And you weren’t sure what to do.
“The pencil.” He raised his eyebrow as if it were the most obvious thing. You supposed it was. You just weren’t quite fully firing yet. “After all, you never know when you might need to give a hot chick your number.” You could see his mind working behind the wink he sent you.
You sent him a tight smile, still a little off-guard and not sure how to feel about his blatant flirting. “Keep it. Not that there are many ‘hot chicks’ in Hawkins. At least, not to what I’m guessing are your standards.”
“Not if they’re trying to compete with you.” Oh, he was smooth. You’d give him that. “What’s your name, sweet cheeks?”
“Y/N. You are?”
“The man of your dreams. But you can call me Billy.” That time, you rolled your eyes. You started gathering your stuff as people began filtering out the door and into the hallway.
“Well Billy, keep the pencil. Good luck finding those hot chicks.” You were the last two in the class, and you were hoping to get away with the last word. You should’ve known better.
“I don’t need luck. I already found one!”
You were halfway through the next class before you realized you hadn’t had a panic attack after crashing down to earth from your floating headspace. It was the end of the day before you realized it was the first time in almost three months you had crashed without having a panic attack.
Billy started to become an interesting factor in your life. He was in a decent number of your classes (which surprised you, since you didn’t exactly take it easy in school and he didn’t seem the type to really try). He stopped surprising you with little touches and invading your personal space after a few more attempts at it left you alert and uneasy around him. (You were half-convinced he was looking for something with these little touches. You weren’t sure what though.) Instead, Billy found other ways to flirt with you.
He was still just as verbally flirtatious towards you as he was other girls, but he relied more on eye contact and expressions with you. With other girls, it would be a causal touch here, or pinning them against the lockers there. But you always got the searching looks, the mischievous smiles, the lingering glances that lingered just a little too long. Honestly, he’d flirt with you more than he would them too. Sometimes he’d even stop flirting with one of them when you walked by in the hallway, just to make prolonged eye contact with you or send a little greeting your way. You’d long since gotten used to this little game and started playfully rejecting him or teasing him for his lines. You saw the little thrill in his eyes every time you snarked back. And you enjoyed the little moments with him too.
The stolen glances and fleeting words grounded you. The time you spent floating around slowly became shorter and far less frequent. Before you knew it, you had been grounded for a week. It was like Billy could see the hazy mist wash over your eyes, and he was always there with some sort of line to pull you back down to earth in the most charming way. You looked forward to your little chats with him. You heard the rumors about him getting into fights, and you didn’t doubt he had some anger issues. You could feel it, bubbling under the surface, and you could see it in his open defiance of authority in class. But you saw the gentle way he handled you, as if he knew without asking that you had been hurt. As if he knew the kind of interactions you needed to feel safe. He understood your boundaries in a way nobody else seemed to, and that drew you to him despite everything else. But you refused to do anything more than flirt.
Flirting was fun. Flirting was easy. Flirting was something he did with every girl in Hawkins, something that meant you could stay off of the radars of your ex-friends. Pursuing anything else meant he’d inevitably want to spend time with you outside of school. Pursuing anything else would put you right back in line with Tommy and Carol. And you didn’t want to go back there. You weren’t sure you’d ever come back down if you did. So instead you kept him at arm’s length, content to stay grounded in his stolen glances and flirty smiles whilst pretending to ignore his roving eye and the whispers of his conquests.
It stayed like that through the end of October, into November and December. And every time Billy would take even a moment’s break from his girl of the week to flirt with you, you counted it as a tiny victory. Winter break slowly crept in, and Tina’s annual New Year’s Eve party was suddenly marking the end of break. In true Tina Rager fashion, the girl had procured all the alcohol Hawkins High’s student body could drink and then some. The lawn was crawling with your classmates as you walked up to the house, blaring the biggest hits of the past year from Tina’s brand new sound system. It paid to have parents who were loaded.
You slowly wandered into the house, unsure of how to approach the rager. It had been almost two years since the last time you went to a party like this. You felt the haze start to creep in, clouding your mind before you had even taken a sip of alcohol. You weren’t even really sure why you were here. You had ignored your friends the year before when they tried to drag you to Tina’s party, so you had surprised both them and yourself when you agreed to go this year. All you could think of was a red shirt, left open down to his navel, a leather jacket, and breathtaking blue eyes when you agreed. You had even dolled yourself up, wearing a tight skirt and curling your hair for the occasion. You hadn’t recognized yourself when you stepped out of the house earlier that evening, and now you were stepping into another world.
Your friends dashed ahead of you, making beelines for either the dance floor or the liquor counter. Your eyes tried to scan the room, but you couldn’t find his blond mullet anywhere. The sound of cheers over the music reached your ears, and you followed them to the back door. There, you found a whole crowd of people surrounding what looked like two guys doing keg stands. Or at least, that was your best guess from the fringes of the very dense crowd. You could only guess it was Steve and Billy, facing off yet again. You turned your back on the jeers and the shouts of the rowdy group of teenagers, wandering through the sweat-filled and musty living room to the kitchen. You didn’t pay attention as you grabbed a bottle of what looked like whiskey and the bottle of coke and just poured. You didn’t keep track of how much of each was in your cup. You simply capped the bottles and took a swig, hoping the alcohol would help settle the nervous feeling in your stomach and the voice at the back of your head whispering you shouldn’t be here.
One of your friends found you with half your cup gone and dragged you on to the dance floor. You swayed there with the gyrating bodies, slowly letting the haze settle over you as unfamiliar hands and bodies brushed against yours. It had been a while since you had felt its familiar presence, but this time it felt wrong. It didn’t hold the same peace and comfort it once had. Now, it was confining. Constricting. But you weren’t sure how to escape it. All you could do was sway and down your drink until suddenly it was gone. As the bodies around pressed closer, the haze thickened. You felt a pair of hands grab your hips, pulling you against a teenage boy (that was very clear by the bulge pressing against your ass). You felt the familiar detachment settle in as the hands started to roam from your hips, up your body, and that heart-stopping dread took root in your core. You closed your eyes, hoping that would help, knowing it wouldn’t. You tried to breathe through your nose, telling yourself to just get through it. You felt it flow into every limb, as warm as the bodies around you, and the mist in your head thickened until it was practically a foggy soup. You were drowning in the familiar haze until suddenly the body against you was ripped away.
You didn’t know what was happening at first. You didn’t register the shouting, the cheering, and the shrieking until you had turned around to see Billy pummeling some boy you had never seen before. You watched blankly as Billy released the shirt of the boy he was beating, causing his new punching bag to drop to the floor. Clearly unable to support himself. Billy stepped back, reeling up for a kick, when his clear blue eyes flickered to yours. And that’s when you knew.
The horror that accompanied the realization swept over your body, and you tore your gaze from the California boy to the asshole at his feet. The asshole whose hands had been all over you. Who you had let feel you up, grope you, violate you yet again without doing a single thing to stop it. You felt the panic begin to set in. Your head began to spin with the information coming in all at once until you weren’t sure which way was up. You felt a hand grasp your arm, and you tried to struggle against it. You really did. But as your panic attack began, you had little strength left to fight whoever was leading you into the yard, away from the mass of people that had gathered at the sight of the fight. It wasn’t until you were seated in a car that you finally heard him.
“Breathe, y/n,” Billy’s voice rumbled through the small space. “Breathe. It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe. That asshole isn’t gonna touch you again.” Your frightened eyes darted over to his face, and you tried to calm down. You really did. But you could still feel both sets of hands— Allard’s and the nameless boy from the party— roving your body. The leather jacket he had draped around your body to keep you warm left you feeling suffocated and stifled. You felt nausea grip your stomach, and the waves of heat crashed over your body. You threw yourself out of Billy’s car and onto the snowy ground, crawling a few feet away before vomiting up the liquor you had downed. You heard a car door slam and someone cursing as you began to hyperventilate on your hands and knees, tears streaming down your face and landing in the snow. You didn’t lift your head as boots stepped between you and your vomit, and you kept your eyes glued to the ground as the owner squatting in front of you.
“You’re safe, princess,” Billy tried to soothe you. Some sardonic voice in the very back of your head, removed from the panic that gripped your entire being, laughed at the pet name. He’s really pulling out all the stops, huh? “No one’s gonna hurt you while I’m here. Come on, breathe with me.” He set a slow rhythm. You tried to match it, finally lifting your eyes to him. You continued to sob and your breaths were uneven, leaving your lungs feeling raw in this slow cadence he set. Ever so slowly, your breaths started to even out. The waves of heat stopped washing over your body. The nausea holding your stomach in an iron-vice slowly relinquished its grip.
“There we go. That’s better. Now, how about getting into my Camaro before I freeze my balls off?” You saw the concern in his eyes, knowing his crass words were his way of trying to bluster through the tenderness he showed. You nodded, letting him help you get back in his car. He turned it on, blasting the heat. You finally realized how numb the cold had left you as your skin began to prick from the hot air thawing you out. The two of you sat in silence, neither daring to admit you were in new territory.
He knew. There was no way he didn’t. Most people didn’t realize it, but Billy was smart. He had to have picked up on your aversion to touch, your dissociative episodes, your tendency to space out when guys got too close. You might’ve been in denial for a long time about it, but you knew somewhere deep down that was why he had stopped leaning into you, touching you, and flirting with you like he did the others. And after tonight, you were sure he’d put together it had something to do with guys touching you. That same voice in the back of your head started hissing at you. He knows you’re damaged. He doesn’t want you anymore. Maybe he never did. But he certainly doesn’t now after seeing the mess you are. Not after seeing how easily you give it up to other guys. Nobody wants you. Nobody worth it anyways.
“You don’t have to tell me shit.” His voice was quiet, but it still felt like it cracked through the interior of his car. “Your call. But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Just know, no other jackass is gonna lay a fucking hand on you. Not when I’m around. Not while you’re my girl.”
Your eyes snapped over to him, and you finally let yourself look at him for the first time that night. You could see the rage still flooding his veins, still itching to be released. You could see the fury, directed not at you but the boy who had put his hands on you. You saw a need to and to defend, a side you had never seen directed your way before. You saw an affection that went past the surface-level flirting you had been doing for months. You saw a desire to claim you, to declare you his, and it sent thrills down your spine. And as his eyes flitted to yours, nervous as you let the silence sit after his declaration, you saw something that chilled you to the core.
You saw an understanding deep in Billy Hargrove’s eyes. You saw an understanding of the fear, the sense of defeat, the panic, the dread, and the helplessness that had washed over you. You saw something in his eyes that told you he was no stranger to someone else laying their hands on him and, while you were pretty sure it wasn’t in the same way you experienced it, it wasn’t any less violating. You saw something broken in him— the same thing you knew was broken in your eyes— and your heart aches for him. As he let you see into his soul with that single glance, you came to a decision. You wouldn’t ask why he seemed to understand so perfectly. You wouldn’t pry, just like he wasn’t prying with you. Instead, you would accept his protection and his affection. You would trust that he would tell you his trauma and pain when he was ready, just as you would tell him yours. And until then, you’d learn to help each other.
“Your girl, huh Hargrove?” Your voice rasped out, not quite full after the shouting from the party and the vomit in the snow. You cleared your voice, hoping it would help. “That’s quite a claim to stake. And I don’t know if you’ve picked up on it, but I’m a bit of a handful here.” You sent him an uneasy smile, hoping he’d catch your hint and let the events of the night go without any explanation.
A searching gaze as he scanned your face was the only response you got at first. When he saw you were okay, that you would manage for now, he let the worry slide for a mischievous (if not a little cautious) glint in his eye. “Oh sweetheart,” he drawled in response. He playfully let his eyes scan over your body, checking in to make sure it was okay before letting his gaze linger a little longer on your chest. “I’ve noticed. And let me say, I can’t wait to get a hand full.”
The lecherous wink he sent your way really sealed the deal as you felt a giggle bubble up. He was trying to act as if nothing had changed, as if it were business as usual, and you appreciated that more than he could ever know. He wasn’t perfect. And neither were you. You were both broken, but a small part of you wondered if just maybe you were broken in compatible ways. You got the feeling he wasn’t the only one in this car who helped the other feel a little more grounded.
A little celebration for 40 followers! I took a bit of a break, and I came back to find you guys here. What a lovely surprise! Thanks, you guys. Here’s a little piece devoted to his beautiful, beautiful lips.
The first thing you noticed about Billy was his lips
They were honestly just kind of perfect. Full, pink, and Oh-So-Delectable
Funny. You had never noticed a guy’s lips before. But once you started noticing Billy’s, you couldn’t stop
Your psychology teacher might’ve said you had an oral fixation, but what does she or Freud really know anyways
It all started with the first time you saw Billy Hargrove
You were running late on your way to school again when you passed the new boy leaning against his Camaro
He was the picture of sexy indifference, and had just lifted a cigarette to his lips
You watched as he brought his little zippo lighter not that anything of Billy’s could be described as little up to the white stick clenched between his lips, almost in slow motion
You inhaled in sync with him, as he drew a breath in to help the light catch
You were immediately hooked
You spent the rest of the day replaying that little moment in your head, daydreaming about those lips and what they might feel like against yours
The next time you saw Billy was at a party
And the staring you did at his lips here proved even more detrimental than that day at school where you missed the instructions for five homework assignments because of him
As your eyes scanned the crowded backyard for him, you finally found him
With those beautiful lips wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle as he chugged
You wondered what those lips might feel like wrapped around something else, something a little more you
Naturally, he caught you staring
Naturally, you turned away before he could do or say anything about it
And if your heart fell in disappointment when he got swept away by Tommy before he even started in your direction, you didn’t let it show
And if you started to fantasize about his lips even more after that party, then no one needed to know
You lived completely in your own world until one glorious day, you caught him. Staring.
It took you a second to register what
The easy first guess was your chest. But his eyes were too high for that.
The next guess was your eyes. But nope. Too low. Plus Billy Hargrove would never do something so blatantly sentimental as stare into a girl’s eyes. At least, not in public.
It took you a second to realize he was staring at your lips.
It took him the same second to finally look away.
But you already knew.
So you decided to fight fire with fire.
You started resting the eraser of your pencil or the end of your pen against your lips in classes you shared with him when waiting for the teacher to continue with notes
You made sure to start biting your lip in concentration when you caught him sneak a glance at you during a test once.
You started wearing lipstick more often— softer, gentler shades during the day and bolder shades at parties while your mouth was wrapped around the rim of a drink somewhere in his vicinity
And you started keeping a fresh supply of lollipops nearby at all times, just in case the other methods failed
It was a few weeks of this from you before Billy’s lips did your favorite thing yet
You were sucking hard on a lollipop, gathering your homework from your locker at the end of a fall day when you saw him approaching you out of the corner of your eye
You shut your locker door, perfectly timed with his cliche lean against the lockers
And you watched those lips as they pulled into an easy, almost effortless smirk and finally asked you out
This was one of those ideas that just wouldn’t stop nagging me until I wrote it. It’s my own little take on a Byers!Reader. I really had fun writing it. It starts out super dramatic, but turns fluffy quickly (or at least as fluffy as it can get). Honestly, it’s got a healthy dose of angst and fluff. Also please excuse any mistakes as I wrote this at like two am. Once again, I have an idea for a continuation of this piece. If there’s enough interest, I’ll post it!
Word Count: 2,325
Warnings: Mentions of abuse, mentions of racism, violence, and lots of swearing but it’s Billy so what else is new
Let me know if you want to be tagged in this or any other writing!
You weren’t thinking when you threw the punch. Fuck, you don’t even know if you were breathing or in full control of yourself when it happened. All you knew was that the asshole who had been bullying your twin brother was here, in your house, threatening one of your younger brother’s best friends for his fucking skin color, and you were done with it. Distant memories of your own father shoving your mother into that very wall whilst screaming at her, just like the blond teenager was, flashed before your eyes. So you just reacted. And the world sort of blurred together as your fist connected right below his ribs, next to his spine, and in a perfect kidney shot. You knew it hurt too. You had a mean punch. Between protecting Jonathan from bullies growing up and teaching yourself how to fight just in case Lonnie decided any of you looked like a good target, you could hold your own. You knew when it landed, it fucking landed. But you added a “get the hell away from him, Hargrove,” just for good measure.
So when Billy dropped Lucas, you weren’t surprised. When he grabbed his side in pain, you weren’t surprised. And when he turned to you with a sort of manic look in his eyes, you weren’t surprised. It was when he laughed (and not that fake barking-laugh shit he got away with at school, but full-on chortled), that you were finally surprised. Nobody dared to move or breathe— everyone was just a little too afraid of what the unstable maniac you had just fucking kidney punched was going to do. He held onto his tender right side as he sent you the most lecherous look you had ever received. It was a look he usually reserved for girls like Tina Carpenter or Nicole Harland. Never you, the weird-Byers-kid’s twin. But the smirk he threw your way sent thrills down your spine and in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
“Well, well, well,” the Hargrove boy drawled. “Look who can pack a fucking punch. I never would’ve thought you were such a little spitfire, Byers. I mean, both your brothers are such pussies.” You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your temper flaring and just rising as you realized he knew exactly what he was doing. He was enjoying getting you all riled up. His eyes narrowed as he delivered what he clearly thought was a devastating final blow. “Tell me, are you this much of a spitfire in bed?”
It was Billy’s turn to be surprised when it wasn’t you who launched themselves at him, but Steve Harrington instead. The fight happened so fast, no one could quite keep up but the two boys in the middle of it all. Somewhere between the posturing, the taunting, and the chaos, it started to go downhill. It wasn’t until Billy was wailing away on poor Steve that someone finally managed to intervene again. Max grabbed the syringe full of sedative and drove it into her step-brother’s neck. You didn’t dare intervene as she finally stood up to the jackass, but you immediately rushed to his side to check on him after if only to make sure he wasn’t dead from that much tranquilizer. You had essentially become the Party’s medic after everything last year (their healer, if you wanted to get nerdy about it like the kids often did). You immediately checked for Billy’s pulse and found it, a little fluttery but definitely there. You glanced at the syringe where it had landed, knowing it had been filled, and seeing it completely empty.
“He’ll be out until tomorrow morning, easy. Maybe even later.” You sighed, turning to look at the mess that was the living room. Your poor mom would understand, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t suck any less when she came home to this disaster. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught an unconscious Steve on the floor. You had a feeling you wouldn’t be making it back to the lab with overnight bags for everyone like you’d promised. There were more important things to handle here. You turned your gaze to the rest of the teenagers in front of you.
“Right. So. We can go kill the demo-dogs, but you little shitheads listen to me. When I say mission over, it’s over. Got it?” They all nodded eagerly, clearly desperate to do something to help. You searched around for Billy’s keys, only to see them in Max’s hands. She sent you a guilty— but very hopeful— grin, and you couldn’t help the slight smirk that crossed your face. You both knew how much it would piss Billy off that his kid step-sister drove his car—and right now, you were all for a little bit of petty revenge. Still, you had to at least pretend to be responsible.
“Alright,” you mock sighed. “But only because I need to tend to Steve and make sure he’s eventually conscious enough to help. Help me get him in the back, and then we can roll.”
——————————————————————
Billy woke up feeling like he had the hangover to kill all hangovers. He laid on his back, not understanding why the middle-right-side was so sore and why he was in an unfamiliar room. As he shifted to the side, he saw you laying there on the other side of the bed and on top of the covers that he was so meticulously tucked under. He tried to sit up and find some water, but a loud grunt of pain tore out of his throat as the ache in his right kidney intensified.
You shot up, locked eyes with the heartthrob bully in your bed, and immediately scrambled over the edge. He would have laughed at your lack of grace if his head hadn’t been killing him. Instead, Billy opted for a glare. A really mean glare. (At least he hoped it was.)
Without a word, you handed him the glass of water you had grabbed for him the night before. After a few seconds of thinking, you handed him some Advil too. Apparently incapable of actual words, Billy merely grunted in appreciation as he downed the water and the pills. You two sat in uncomfortable silence, waiting for the Advil to (hopefully) ease his headache. He was the first to break it. “So. What the hell happened?”
“Well...” You weren’t quite sure how to go about answering. Direct was best, right? Better start somewhere simple... “You’re in my room.” You saw his eyebrows shoot up at that, an excited and smug grin stretching across his face. You rushed to correct him. “Not because of that, jackass. Will’s friends, your step-sister included, were worried about going home last night. By the time they managed to... clean everything up, you were still out cold. Mom decided to let them stay the night, call it an impromptu sleepover, and phoned everyone’s parents this morning to let them know where their kids were. And we couldn’t exactly have you taking up the couch and the living room, so...” You trailed off, refusing to look at the still-too-smug teenage boy in your bed. Neither Jonathan nor your mom had really been all too happy about it (or Steve, for that matter). You calmly reminded everyone that not only were you the most suited to treat his injuries, but you were also fully capable of defending yourself. The kidney punch you had landed was your key piece of evidence. They couldn’t exactly argue with you there, but they made you promise to call them at the first sign of trouble. So what if they didn’t know you had let him stay in your bed? As far as they were concerned, Billy had slept on the cold, hard ground...
As you spoke and the pain began to subside, Billy suddenly realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He leered over at you, a very hot despicable smirk slowly stretching from one cheek to another. You saw that detached glaze settle over his eyes again, locking the confusion and discomfort (and was that embarrassment?) away as his typical jackass mask slid into place.
“You know, kitten, if you had wanted me shirtless that badly, you could’ve just asked.” He drawled it so lazily, like the crass words meant nothing to him, as he practically posed on your bed. You bit back the blush snippy remark that was just itching to fly free as you grabbed his shirt off the ground.
“I wanted to check on your back,” you ever-so-calmly replied, chucking his shirt at his face and hoping to cover the alluring stupid smirk he still had plastered on. “You know, from where I punched you. I wanted to make sure the bruising wasn’t too bad. And I wanted to check if Steve had done any awful damage to you.” The unspoken like you did to him hung in the air between you two. You saw the carefully detached gleam in his eye give way to some indecipherable emotion. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was regret. But the violent teen quickly scoffed, and you were sure you had imagined it.
“Guess I’m just built to last, sweet-cheeks,” he lazily threw the innuendo your way as he pulled the shirt back on. He doesn’t even have to try with these, you thought. You refrained from the eye-roll a comment like that usually would have elicited as you realized he was trying to keep his back out of your sight. He was even shifting so you couldn’t see it as he pulled the shirt over his head. But you had already seen everything. And from your own experience with an abusive asshole of a father and a teary mother who needed patching up (which was left to you since she refused to call the hospital and Jonathan used to get squeamish at the sight of blood), you knew what it meant.
“Billy,” you started quietly. The air in the room suddenly seemed thick with the tension of the situation. “I saw the other bruises on your back. And sides. And the really faded one on your stomach.” The boy in front of you froze, looking like a lion with his curly mane of bedhead that had just been backed into a corner. He carefully watched you, only half-finished with pulling his shirt down over his toned stomach. The detached facade was entirely dropped now as a sheer fight or flight response seemed to kick in. You jumped to beat him to (what could literally be) the punch.
“I’m not going to pry. I’m not going to ask questions.” You rushed to reassure him. After all, you didn’t need to. In your few conversations with Max, you had managed to chat with her enough to recognize a girl dancing around talking about her broken home. You had a hunch where those older bruises had come from. “I’m just going to say this: I know those bruises didn’t come from a fight. You’re too good at fighting for anyone to land a hit that smarts like that. But. Anytime you need to get away from the person who did that, you can come here.”
The offer seemed to sit in the air between the two of you with a huge, weighted presence. You saw the suspicion immediately set in as his jaw set and his eyes started to harden again. How could a guy who had said so little so far communicate so much? You were starting to think he was easier to read than you realized...
“I’m not trying to dig up some dirt on you or gain any kind of upper hand here,” you said, slowly approaching the bed. “And I can guarantee Jonathan won’t try to use it against you. I love him, but he’s too fucking scared of you to even breathe when you’re around.” You tried to joke with him. It didn’t quite land. Joking had never really been your strong suit though— helping was. “But if there’s any household that might know what it’s like to deal with abuse, it’s ours. My dad was a jackass. And while Jonathan tried to protect Will, I was left to help my mom clean up and face him again afterward. And now I want to help you.” You were sitting on your bed by this point, careful not to get too close to Billy. You wanted to leave him with his personal space, in case he needed to run. Instead, he looked you over with an assessing (and dare you say hopeful?) gaze.
“I’m not some fucking charity case, you know,” he practically hissed at you.
“I know,” was your calm response.
“I’ve been managing just fine on my own. Why would I need your fucking help?”
“You don’t. But I want to offer it anyway.”
He sat back at that, seemingly turning the words over in his head. You watched him slowly pull down the first of the many, many walls up in his eyes. “You’re pretty alright, you know that Byers? Nothing like that pussy brother of yours.” You rolled your eyes at the dig and playfully huffed. If this was the game he was gonna play, you could keep up. But you weren’t going to let him get away with being a total dick.
“Jonathan has a lot more going for him than you give him credit for. But thanks.” You sent him a small smile. “And please, call me (Y/N).”
“(Y/N), then.” He wasn’t quite ready to return your gentle, friendly smile. You hoped he would be soon though. In the meantime, you’d settle for the charming smirk that quickly stretched across his face.
“Why haven’t I taken you for a drive yet, huh (Y/N)?” He put an emphasis on your name like he might any of the ridiculous pet names he insisted on calling girls. Billy playfully wiggled his eyebrows at you, blurring the lines between flirting and being friendly. You laughed at him, sending a smirk right back. He didn’t offer you an apology for the night before (of course, there were others who deserved to hear it way more), and he wasn’t trying to fix the damage he had done. It didn’t even come close to patching up the issues his anger and his ego caused. And it didn’t explain or excuse any of it. But it was a start.
“Please, Hargrove. You couldn’t handle me. You said it yourself, I’m a spitfire. And I’m not as easy as the other girls you... drive with. You wouldn’t know what to do with me.”
“Maybe not,” Billy admitted. His smirk lessened slightly, but his eyes maintained that playful glint. “But I’d sure like to try.”
Soooooooo this is super angsty. But I needed a different kind of angst from the one the season finale left me with, and lo-and-behold this was born. I really enjoyed writing it, despite the obvious angst and feels. Feel free to let me know what you think!
Word Count: 2,738
Warnings: Character death, violence, season 3 spoilers, gore, blood, mentions of abuse, swearing
Most people didn’t believe it when they found out the Billy Hargrove—King of Hawkins, King of the Keg-Stand, and King of the Bad Boys— was dating a total brainiac. They’d scoff, or laugh, or (at least the girls) would shriek in dismay. But no one really believed it. Everybody knew Billy was too wild to be tamed, to settle down, to pick just one girl— everyone but you.
In all honesty, you weren’t completely sure why he picked you either. Maybe it was the quiet help you’d offer him when you two were assigned to be desk neighbors in English, then partners in a History project, then lab partners in Science. It was like the world or maybe just the teachers were determined for you two to work together. Maybe it was the calm, collected way you’d dissected that frog when he was clearly too squeamish to do it himself (not that macho-man Hargrove would ever admit it, and you didn’t even make fun of him for it). Maybe it was the silent help you’d offer when he’d wince from raising his arm too high (something you soon diagnosed as a dislocated shoulder), or when you subtly re-bandaged his bloody knuckles at the back of the classroom, or that time you quietly pressed your favorite concealer in his hand to try and help with a black eye. Maybe it was because you just happened to have an amazing rack (something you knew definitely didn’t hurt). Whatever the reason, few people believed it. But that was just fine by you; no one else needed to understand it. All you knew was that it worked.
Billy protected you, and you took care of him. That was the deal. You let each other pretend to be whole. You accepted his anger and his violence, and he accepted your perfectionism and anxiety. You two never pushed the other for more than they were willing to give or say, and you respected each other’s boundaries. Hell, you didn’t even find out he had a step sister until week three of dating him. But because of this mutual respect of boundaries, you two quickly became inseparable. Soon, you were sharing even the most intimate, awkward details without a second thought. Neither of you really knew what was in store when you two would leave in the fall for California (you to attend college and him to move home), but you both knew it’d be fine so long as you had each other.
So that summer when Billy abruptly withdrew, you knew something was wrong. Your boyfriend wasn’t without his flaws— after all, he had certainly earned his reputation as an asshole— but you knew there was good in him. You had seen the sweet, funny, mischievous, caring side he buried so deep down. You knew him like you knew your multiplication tables or your SAT vocabulary— you just did. You didn’t question it. You simply trusted yourself, trusted in your knowledge, and trusted him.
That seemingly nondescript summer evening when he didn’t call you to let you know he had survived another day under his dad’s roof, you got nervous. You tried to call him a few times, and you’d either get the machine or Max or Susan, and both would tell you he wasn’t home (one time you got Neil, but you hung up before speaking to the monster). After the umpteenth unanswered call, your nervous energy began to morph into worry. That worry persisted over the next few days until you ran into his kid step-sister and her odd little friend who spoke in somewhat broken sentences at the pool. When you cornered them about Billy and they shared their strange findings with you (after a lot of convincing), that worry blew up into panic. The last straw was when someone told you they saw him drive up to Heather Holloway’s house, dressed up for a fucking date. Even when he had made it his mission his first year in town to sleep with anything in a skirt at Hawkins, he hadn’t so much as considered Heather for a second. You knew something was very, very wrong with your boyfriend. And you were determined to get to the bottom of it. You agreed to help the kids lure him into the sauna. Whether it was the promise of another victim or the supposed “normalcy” of your relationship the Mind-Flayer was after, you hadn’t ben sure. You barely managed to get out of the way before he was shoved into the sauna, where you saw the heartbreaking truth. You saw the possession, then the shift to the poor whimpering mess he was. You could see the terror in his eyes. You saw it persist in his eyes even when the Mind-Flayer took back over and broke him out of the sauna. You knew you had to save him.
You really shouldn’t have even been there that night at Starcourt, but you refused to leave. You had never been a fighter—that had always been Billy’s job— and the Party didn’t want to bring in any more people than they already had, but you refused to take no for an answer. It was your job to take care of him, and you were going to do it dammit. When the teams split up, you immediately volunteered to go with whatever team had Eleven. The girl was the only one who didn’t look at you with fear, or concern, or trepidation. She understood. She had seen Billy’s mind, after all. She confided in you later that she had seen you there, in his happier memories. They had just been a few brief glimpses, and there was nothing as lasting or influential as his memory of his mom. But you didn’t expect there to be. You had only been dating a few months. And besides, what she had seen spoke volumes. She told you about the quick glances she had of you cleaning him up ever so gently when he came to your house after Neil really laid into him, and of you sitting on the roof of his car with him between your legs while the two of you shared a smoke on one spring evening. She even told you about a memory she caught of you two just lying on the floor of your room, staring up at the ceiling and listening to music as he quietly promised to take you to California so you could see the beautiful ocean he loved so much. She knew no one could bring him peace like you did.
So Eleven understood later that night when Billy seemed so jarred after pushing you aside to get to her. She saw the swift flicker across his face, his resolve cracked and the Mind-Flayer’s hold briefly damaged as he pushed you aside. The sickening crack as your head collided with the hard floor of the mall seemed to echo in the massive space. It was easy after that. She could see he was still in there, that there was still a fraction of his soul and his mind worth saving. El saw the pain, and the heartache, and the grief as her words sunk in and she reminded him what he had left to fight for and of his mother. And Eleven understood what happened next, although that didn’t make it any less tragic.
Your eyes opened to a dark world, lit only by the fluorescent lights of the stores around you. There was a suspiciously wet feeling where your head had collided with the floor, but you paid no mind to it. You frantically searched the scene around you, eyes darting around for your boyfriend and the girl you had promised to protect. You found them off to your right, his domineering figure crouched over hers, his hands around her throat, until... suddenly, his hands were by his side again. You blinked, mind and vision a little fuzzy (you knew you probably had a concussion). Your vision cleared, and you couldn’t believe the sight before your eyes.
There was Billy— your Billy, you were certain of it— fighting off this massive... monster. It was the only word for it. As he grappled with the freakish and terrifying tongue-like appendage, you saw what he didn’t. You saw the tentacles creeping through the cloud of light and debris, snaking their way towards him. You saw him struggle to keep the creature at bay, and you knew in that moment he had no idea what was coming for him. But you did. You saw the scene flash before your eyes as the tentacles slowly seemed to open at the ends, revealing horrific fangs. In your heart, you knew there was only one way this would end if you didn’t intervene. And you refused to watch it happen.
You knew a little something about physics. You had been fascinated with it ever since you broke Jamie Foster’s arm in elementary school. After apologizing to the poor boy profusely, you tried your best to understand what had happened. He had been braced against the wall, his arms in front of him to avoid running into it while playing a game of basketball with his friends. It just so happened at that exact moment, you tripped and feel forward into the direct line of his left arm. The arm that had previously been braced against the bleachers quickly gave way, snapping like a twig and creating a sickening s-shape. You were baffled by how something so strong, so firm as a child’s bone, could break just like that. You quickly came to learn that his weight and energy had all been braced forward, meaning there was little resistance to any energy or forces that would’ve caused a change in direction. It was a lesson you’d never forgotten, and one that had inspired you on the cold floor of the mall. thirst for knowledge and love of learning. AAs you rushed towards your boyfriend, you remembered the ease of crashing and breaking something that should’ve been immovable.
You slammed your body into Billy with your full body weight and the momentum of the short sprint behind it. The usually stable mass of muscle that was your boyfriend slammed into the floor, as all of his strength had been thrown forward into resisting the Mind-Flayer’s attack. He was helpless to your unexpected shove, just as he was helpless when the bites meant for him sunk into your abdomen and back.
You were breathless, suspended in time for just a moment, as you watched him hit the floor. You couldn’t quite believe it had actually worked. His beautiful, piercing blue eyes were focused on you in a way they hadn’t been for— was it days? Weeks? You’d lost track. All you knew was that you never wanted him to stop looking at you like that: like he’d never really looked at you before. You tried to send him a small, reassuring smile even as his eyes screamed at you. You could practically hear him berating you, calling your sacrifice stupid and wrong. You didn’t mind though. You had made your choice the second you opened your eyes.
You felt the pain as the first bite sunk into your stomach, still facing the boy you had knocked out of the way. It sunk deep into your stomach, following the fangs as they tore into your flesh. The stabbing sensation tore tears from your eyes and the breath from your chest. You felt it again as the second one latched onto your back, colliding with the middle of your spinal column. After that, the pain numbed. You weren’t sure if it was shock or paralysis, but you appreciated the reprieve. You felt a strange sort of calm wash over your body. You barely registered the rest of the bites and the attacks on your battered body, barely heard the screams of Billy and Max as they cried your name. You didn’t even realize the monster had been defeated until you were laying on the ground, gasping for air, finally feeling the burning pain of the bites and the blood soaking the floor around you as it seeped out of your body. You finally realized it when you saw him crouching over you, with what looked like tears in his eyes. But that couldn’t be right. Billy Hargrove didn’t cry.
He did feel betrayal though, and you saw it. You felt his heartbreak as he looked at your beaten body, covered in blood and bites that were too deep to even pretend could be fixed. You saw the betrayal as he realized you had broken your unspoken deal: you hadn’t let him protect you. Instead, you had taken it upon yourself to protect him and now there would be nobody left to take care of him when you were gone. There’d be nobody left to patch him up, nobody there to help him pass his classes, no one there to cuddle him on the hood of his Camaro in the evenings. Maybe someday, but it would never be you again. You could see him fighting the anger that would’ve been so much easier to deal with, simmering under the surface. You could tell he had to bite his tongue, wanting to yell and rage and scream but refusing to let that taint your final moments.
You felt the aching and the warmth slowly start to leave your body as your breaths started to become quick, shallow gasps. It was almost painful to feel your chest compressing with the futile effort. Having taken more than your fair share of health classes, you knew you didn’t have much time left. You felt the sleepy haze of blood loss start to settle over you, but there was still so much you had to say. You still had to tell him just how much you loved him, how much you believed in him, how you just knew there was still so much out there for him, how he had to go and live that life in California for the both of you. You had to tell him to learn to let his anger go, to try and repair his relationship with Max, to let himself be vulnerable and love someone else—someone who wasn’t you. You had to tell him to live his dreams, to find the man you already knew he was, and to shave his mustache that had always itched when he kissed you. You opened your mouth, desperate to say something—anything—but he quickly shushed you.
“Shhh, Y/N. Don’t say anything. The cops are coming, and after they patch you up I’m going to kick your ass for scaring me like this. Just stay with me, princess.” You don’t think you had ever heard his voice so tender. You appreciated his empty promises, knowing neither of you wanted to really confront what you both knew was inevitable. He sounded so broken, trying to be brave and strong for you. You tried to grin at him, but your world was starting to fade. You knew your last moments were here.
“Forgive yourself.” You rasped up at him as your body started to give up. You could feel your heart begin to skip, to stop working, as the cardiac arrest started setting in. “I love you.” And you tried to convey just how true that was, even with your dying breath. You tried desperately to send him all the love and hope and strength you could as your vision slowly started to fade, reassuring him that you knew exactly what choice you had made. You had seen the way things would have ended, how you would’ve had to watch him die instead and then continue to live on in a world where he was gone. Go to California by yourself, a stranger in your dead boyfriend’s world with no one there to guide you. Selfishly, you chose to force him to continue on instead. He’d be fine. The infamous Billy Hargrove always made it through. As he sat there holding you, those fabled tears finally spilling from his beautiful blue eyes as he cried ever-so-silently, you quietly marveled at how he had still managed to keep his promise and show you the beaches and water he so loved in your last moments—even if it was just in the tempestuous waters of the oceans in his blue eyes.
