pairings : frank castle x fem!reader
warnings : argument, crying, hurt / comfort, happy ending, established relationship au, shouting, implied size diff (like my fav trope if you can’t already tell) silent treatment
summary : after an argument with frank, you both end up giving eachother silent treatment, until the tension gets too unbearable for you in the car.
wc : 4.5k
a/n : i got a req for this a few days ago but i think i deleted it or something i can’t find it now💔 but it was from an anon so thank you for this one because i loved writing this ALSO!! thank you to everyone who leaves feedback + little comments on my frank fics i notice it happens more when i write for frank and it’s the absolute sweetest
the air in the apartment felt heavy, charged, like a storm was brewing right there in the middle of the living room. frank was pacing now, his big hands flexing at his sides, his jaw tight enough that you swore you could hear his teeth grinding.
you didn’t fight - not like this. not with him raising his voice and you trying so hard not to let yours crack. it wasn’t how things usually went. frank was tough, sure, rough around the edges in a way that didn’t really go away even when he was at his gentlest. but with you, he was softer. he made an effort to rein it in because he’d told you once, in a rare moment of vulnerability, that he didn’t want you to ever be scared of him. and you never had been.
but tonight, he was angry. angrier than you’d ever seen him at you, and the worst part was you weren’t sure how it had even escalated to this.
“so what?” frank barked, spinning on his heel to face you, his broad frame taking up what felt like the entire room. “you think i’m just gonna sit back and let this slide?” his voice was sharp, cutting, and it made you flinch, even though you knew deep down that he’d never in a million years actually hurt you. “you think that’s who i am?”
you held your ground, even though your heart was pounding against your ribs. “it’s not about letting it slide, frank,” you said softly, your tone calm, measured - a stark contrast to the heat in his voice. “it’s about not making it worse. escalating doesn’t fix anything.”
“escalating?” he repeated, his voice rising, almost incredulous. “this isn’t escalating, this is handling it. you don’t just let people treat you like crap n’ walk away. you should know that’s not how it works.”
“sometimes it is,” you said quietly, refusing to match his volume. “sometimes walking away is the only thing you can do. not everything has to be a fight.”
“bullshit.” the word came out harsh, and the bite in it made your chest tighten. frank rarely swore at you, and when he did, it was never like this, never with this kind of edge.
your hands trembled slightly, so you folded your arms across your chest, not in defiance but as a way to steady yourself. “frank, please. i don’t want to argue about this.”
“yeah, well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you went and tried to handle this on your own.” he threw his hands up, his frustration spilling over like a dam breaking. “you didn’t even tell me, and now i’m supposed to just sit back and be okay with it?”
“i didn’t tell you because i knew this is how you’d react,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.
his face twisted, a mixture of disbelief and something else - hurt, maybe. but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a hard, almost cold expression. “damn right this is how i’d react,” he shot back. “because i give a shit. because i don’t want you getting hurt or screwed over or whatever the hell else might happen if i’m not there to step in.”
“i know you care,” you said, your voice still soft but firm. “but you can’t control everything, frank. sometimes things happen, and you just have to let them go.”
he let out a sharp, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “letting it go gets you hurt. letting it go gets you walked all over. i’m not gonna let that happen to you.”
his words were loud, forceful, like he was trying to hammer them into your head, but they only made your throat tighten more. “i can handle myself,” you said, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts.
“can you?” he snapped, and the doubt in his tone stung worse than any of the yelling.
you flinched, your eyes dropping to the floor. “that’s not fair,” you whispered.
“yeah, well, life’s not fair,” he shot back, his tone still razor-sharp.
silence fell between you, heavy and suffocating. you could feel the sting of tears threatening to spill, but you refused to cry - not in front of him, not when he was like this, which he never had been before. you’d seen flashes of it occasionally, never once directed at you. so instead, you turned on your heel and walked out of the room, your steps quick but steady, your back straight even though every part of you felt like curling up into yourself.
you didn’t look back, but you could feel his eyes on you as you left.
the door clicked softly as you shut yourself in the bathroom, leaning back against the cool wood as you tried to pull in a steadying breath. it felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs back in the living room, and now the weight of it all was crashing down on you.
you stared at the tiled floor, your arms wrapped around yourself like that might somehow hold you together. your chest felt tight, your eyes stinging with unshed tears, but you bit down hard on your bottom lip, refusing to let them fall. not yet, anyway.
you weren’t used to this - not with frank. he could be sharp, blunt, even infuriatingly stubborn sometimes, but he was never cruel. not to you. in the years since you’d met him, since the whirlwind of your relationship had gone from cautiously circling each other to something real and steady, frank had always been your safe place. he was intense, sure, but his intensity had always felt protective, grounding, like you could lean on him no matter how bad things got.
so why did it feel like he was the one knocking the ground out from under you now?
you pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, trying to will the tears away. it wasn’t fair to pin all the blame on him, you knew that. this argument wasn’t entirely about frank’s temper, or his need to protect you - it was about your own unwillingness to let him.
the issue had started small, just a casual remark you’d made earlier in the week about someone you worked with - someone who’d been taking advantage of your kindness. you hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but frank had picked up on it immediately, and the more you’d tried to brush it off, the more his protective instincts had kicked in.
at first, it had been sweet, his quiet grumbles about how people didn’t deserve to treat you that way, how you needed to stand up for yourself more. but somewhere along the line, it had turned into this - a full-blown argument where neither of you seemed to be able to see the other’s side.
you weren’t blind to why he was upset. frank had been through more than most people could even imagine, and the idea of someone hurting you - or even disrespecting you - lit a fire in him that he couldn’t always control. but the way he handled that fire was what made your chest ache. it felt suffocating, like his need to protect you was overshadowing the fact that you didn’t want - or need - him to fight your battles for you.
you let out a shaky breath, the first tear slipping free as the weight of it all settled heavier on your shoulders.
frank had always been larger than life to you - not just physically, though his sheer size and strength made you feel small in comparison, but in the way he carried himself, the way he seemed to command every room he walked into. it was part of what had drawn you to him in the first place, the quiet confidence that bordered on intimidating until you saw the softness he tried so hard to hide.
he’d always been gentle with you, even when his hands were so calloused and rough, even when his voice was so gravelly and low. it made the harshness of his words tonight cut deeper, the sharp edges of his anger something you weren’t used to being on the receiving end of.
you wiped at your face quickly, straightening up as you tried to pull yourself together. you hated crying - especially over arguments like this. it made you feel weak, even though you knew it wasn’t, and the last thing you wanted was for frank to think he’d broken you. he’d never stop beating himself up over it.
still, you couldn’t bring yourself to go back out there yet. not with the way his words were still echoing in your mind, the frustration in his voice still ringing in your ears.
you stayed there for a while, letting the quiet of the bathroom wrap around you like a blanket, giving yourself the space to breathe and feel without the weight of frank’s presence bearing down on you.
meanwhile, in the living room, frank was pacing again. his hands were on his hips, his brows drawn together in that way they always did when he was deep in thought - or pissed off.
he knew you were upset. hell, he wasn’t an idiot, and he’d seen the way your eyes were brimming with tears before you’d turned and walked away. it wasn’t the first time he’d pushed too hard, but it was the first time it had been directed at you, and it was eating at him in a way he didn’t want to admit.
but the anger was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, and he couldn’t seem to let it go. it wasn’t directed at you - not at all. it was at the situation, at the asshole who’d made you feel like you had to handle everything on your own. but frank wasn’t exactly good at untangling those things, at separating his frustration from the people he cared about most.
he scrubbed a hand over his face, letting out a low growl of frustration as he dropped onto the couch. his mind was running in circles, replaying the argument over and over again, each word sharper than the last.
the silence in the apartment felt deafening, and for a moment, he considered going to find you, to try and talk this out. but he stopped himself, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to stay put. you needed space - he knew that much, even if it went against every instinct he had.
he sat there for a long time, the tension in his body refusing to ease as he stared at the spot where you’d been standing just minutes before.
the car keys sat on the counter, untouched, while the clock crept closer to the time you were supposed to leave. it had been a whole thing - this charity function a few towns over. someone important to frank had invited him, and even though it wasn’t the kind of event he’d normally go for, he’d said yes because it mattered to them.
you had said yes because it mattered to him.
but now, with the argument still heavy in the air, the thought of sitting next to him for almost four hours felt like trying to breathe underwater. the quiet that lingered between you wasn’t the natural kind you often enjoyed. it was thick and suffocating, and neither of you seemed ready to cut through it.
you stood in the bedroom doorway, watching frank tie his boots like the act itself had wronged him. his movements were sharp, jerky, and his mouth was set in a grim line. you weren’t sure if it was guilt or frustration written in his expression, but either way, it left your stomach in knots.
he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, yanking it on with a force that looked like it made the seams strain. his head turned slightly toward you as if he was about to say something, but then he thought better of it, his eyes dropping to the floor instead.
you didn’t move, didn’t speak, just hovered in the doorway as he brushed past you toward the front door. the weight of it all - the argument, the way he hadn’t looked at you since - pressed down on your chest like a boulder, and your throat burned with more unshed tears.
when he held the door open for you, you walked through it wordlessly, your gaze fixed on the floor.
outside, the crisp night air felt sharper than it should have, like even the weather was conspiring to remind you how raw everything was. frank locked the door behind you without a word, and the sound of the lock clicking into place made you flinch.
he didn’t notice.
the car ride loomed ahead of you like a punishment, the thought of sitting in that confined space together for hours making your palms sweat. but there was no way out of it, not without causing more problems.
frank climbed into the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles went white. he started the engine without looking at you, the low growl of it filling the space where words should’ve been.
you slid into the passenger seat, keeping your hands in your lap and your gaze fixed on the window. the city lights blurred into streaks as the car picked up speed, but you weren’t paying attention to where you were going. your mind was stuck on everything that had been said - and everything that hadn’t.
he’d been angry. louder than usual, harsher, the words tumbling out of him like he didn’t know how to stop them. but you knew frank. you knew the fire in him wasn’t because he didn’t care - it was because he cared too much, and it scared him sometimes.
still, knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.
the silence in the car was unbearable, the kind that made you want to fill it just so you didn’t have to sit with the weight of it anymore. but frank wasn’t giving you an inch, his eyes glued to the road and his shoulders hunched up like he was trying to shield himself from the world.
you stole a glance at him, your chest aching at the sight of his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. he looked tired - angry, yes, but tired too, like the argument had drained him in ways he didn’t want to admit.
your own emotions were bubbling up, threatening to spill over no matter how hard you tried to keep them in check. your hands trembled slightly in your lap, and you clenched them into fists to try to stop it, but it didn’t help.
you didn’t even realize you were crying until a tear slipped down your cheek, cool against your flushed skin. you brushed it away quickly, hoping frank wouldn’t notice, but you doubted he’d even glanced your way.
the road stretched on, dark and empty except for the occasional glow of headlights from oncoming cars. the longer the silence dragged, the heavier it felt, like it was wrapping around your throat and making it hard to breathe.
eventually, the ache in your chest grew too much to bear. you didn’t know what you wanted - comfort, maybe, or some kind of reassurance that everything would be okay - but the urge to reach out was overwhelming.
your hand hovered hesitantly over the center console, your fingers trembling as you debated whether or not to do it. it felt like crossing some invisible line, like putting yourself out there in a way that left you completely vulnerable.
but then you glanced at frank, at the way his brow furrowed and his jaw tightened, and something in you broke.
with tears brimming in your eyes and a small, helpless pout tugging at your lips, you let your fingers reach up to grasp at his. the touch was so light it was barely there, but it was enough to draw his attention.
he glanced down at your hand, his gaze softening instantly as he took in the way your fingers trembled and the sheen of tears in your eyes, the wet tracks of tears that’d already fallen etched on your face.
“ah, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice rough but laced with a tenderness that made your heart ache.
his hand moved to cover yours completely, his fingers curling around your smaller ones in a gesture that felt both protective and grounding. his thumb brushed over the back of your hand in slow, deliberate strokes, and the tension in your chest eased just a little.
you sniffled, blinking quickly to clear your vision as you looked up at him. his expression had shifted, the hard lines of his face softening as he met your gaze.
“i’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.
frank let out a heavy sigh, his grip on your hand tightening slightly as he pulled the car off to the side of the road. the tires crunched against the gravel as he put it in park, and before you could ask what he was doing, he was out of the car.
your breath caught as he rounded the front of the vehicle, his movements deliberate but not rushed. he opened your door, the cool night air rushing in as he crouched slightly to meet your eyes.
“c’mere,” he said softly, his tone a stark contrast to the anger that had been there earlier.
you hesitated for only a moment before unbuckling your seatbelt and letting him pull you into his arms. his embrace was warm and solid, his arms wrapping around you in a way that made you feel small and safe all at once.
“’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your hair, his voice rough with emotion. “shouldn’t’ve yelled. shouldn’t’ve made you feel like that.”
you buried your face in his chest, your own arms slipping around his middle as you let out a shaky breath. “i’m sorry too,” you whispered.
“you don’t gotta be sorry, you did nothing wrong. my sweet girl’s just nice to everyone, isn’t she?” he cooed, his hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his thumb brushing gently against your temple as he peppered hard kisses over your face. “we’re okay?”
you nodded against him, a small, shaky smile tugging at your lips. “we’re okay.”
he pressed another kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment longer than before. but instead of pulling back completely, frank’s lips trailed down, brushing lightly against your temple, then your cheek.
your breath hitched, your hand tightening around his shirt as he hesitated, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. when your eyes flicked up to meet his, there was something unspoken between you - an ache, a pull that neither of you could ignore.
“frank…” your voice was barely a whisper, and it only made him lean in closer.
his hand moved to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as his lips finally found yours. the kiss was slow at first, soft and careful, but there was a heat behind it, a depth that made your stomach twist in the best way.
he kissed you like he needed you, like he couldn’t get close enough no matter how tightly he held you. his other hand slid to your waist, pulling you against him just enough to make you feel the strength behind every touch, every movement.
when he pulled back, it was with a low, rumbling breath, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to steady himself. “you’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he murmured, his voice rough and tinged with something deeper.
your cheeks flushed, your heart racing as you tried to find the words, but all you could do was nod, your fingers still gripping the front of his shirt.
he pressed one last, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth before stepping back. “c’mon,” he said, his tone softer now, his thumb brushing your cheek one last time before helping you back into the car.
as he slid into the driver’s seat, his hand found yours again, holding on tightly. this time, neither of you let go.
the rest of the drive was quiet, but not in the same way as before. frank kept one hand on the wheel, the other holding yours firmly in his grasp. his thumb moved in slow, lazy circles over your knuckles, a silent apology with every stroke.
you felt the tension melting bit by bit, your chest no longer tight with the weight of everything left unsaid. instead, there was this warmth - a softness between you that hadn’t been there earlier. it was unspoken, but it was enough to ease the ache in your heart.
“we’ll stop soon, yeah?” frank broke the silence, his voice low and softer than usual. “get you somethin’ to eat.”
your lips curved into a small smile, your first real one since the argument. “i’m okay,” you murmured. “we don’t have to stop.”
“nah.” he glanced over at you, his eyes lingering for a second longer than they should’ve. “you didn’t eat much earlier. ain’t lettin’ you sit through this thing hungry.”
the tenderness in his voice made your cheeks heat, and you squeezed his hand lightly in response.
it wasn’t long before frank pulled off at a small diner on the side of the road. the neon sign flickered against the night sky, casting a warm glow over the parking lot.
“c’mon,” he said, cutting the engine and stepping out.
before you could even reach for the door handle, frank was already there, pulling it open for you. his hand was outstretched, waiting for yours, and when you slipped your fingers into his, he gave them a gentle squeeze.
inside, the diner was quiet, the hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes filling the space. frank led you to a booth in the corner, his hand never leaving yours until you slid into your seat.
“what’re you in the mood for?” he asked, his eyes scanning the menu even though you both knew he’d end up ordering the same thing he always did.
you shrugged, your fingers playing with the edge of the napkin in front of you. “maybe just some fries.”
frank frowned, lowering the menu to look at you. “you need more than that.”
“frank, i’m fine - ”
“i’ll get you somethin’ else too,” he cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument.
you bit back a smile, knowing better than to push him when he got like this. instead, you let him order for both of you, his gruff voice somehow softer when he spoke to the waitress.
when the food arrived, frank nudged the plate closer to you, his eyes narrowing slightly when you hesitated. “eat, sweetheart,” he said gently.
you rolled your eyes but grabbed a fry anyway, earning a satisfied grunt from him.
as you ate, the tension from earlier felt like a distant memory. frank had a way of grounding you, of making you feel like no matter how bad things got, everything would eventually be okay.
after the meal, frank walked you back to the car, his hand settling on the small of your back as he guided you outside. the night air was crisp, but his touch was warm, steady, and it made you lean into him just a little.
“y’alright?” he asked once you were back in the passenger seat.
you nodded, looking up at him with a soft smile. “yeah. i’m okay.”
his eyes lingered on yours for a moment, and then, without a word, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. it was quick but tender, and when he pulled back, his hand cupped your cheek for a second longer.
the drive to the function was quieter this time, but it wasn’t the heavy silence from before. it was comfortable, the kind of quiet where words weren’t necessary because you both knew everything was okay now.
as you pulled up to the venue, frank cut the engine and turned to you. his expression was softer, his usual rough edges smoothed out in a way that made your heart ache.
“you look beautiful,” he said, his voice gruff but sincere.
your cheeks flushed at the compliment, and you glanced down at your dress, suddenly feeling shy. “thank you,” you murmured.
he leaned over, his large hand settling on your knee as he pressed a quick kiss to your temple. “‘m gonna keep tellin’ you that all night,” he added, his lips quirking into the faintest of smirks.
the warmth in your chest grew, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. “you don’t look so bad yourself,” you teased, your tone light.
he chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, and you swore it was the best thing you’d heard all day.
“c’mon, sweetheart,” he said, opening his door. “let’s get this over with.”
as you stepped out of the car, frank was already by your side, his hand finding yours once more. he held it tightly, his grip firm and reassuring, and when he glanced down at you, there was something in his eyes that made your breath catch.
it was love - raw and unfiltered, the kind that didn’t need words to be understood.
and in that moment, you knew that no matter what, you and frank would always find your way back to each other.
Summary: The most precious possessions in Prince Aemond Targaryen's life are his gentle wife and his sweet, beloved daughter, Rhaenys. May the gods have mercy on the poor soul who, even inadvertently, causes them any harm.
WARNING: No age restriction. Unhealthy amounts of cuteness and softness, a tiny bit of pain, mentions of blood and anxiety attacks.
Word cont: 6.700 k
Author's note: This story can be read on its own or as a continuation of my other one-shot bravery in love with these same characters. For the kind readers who asked me to see more of this family together (especially this suggestion), here it is! 🥰💖
The first rays of sunlight shone through the King's Landing sky, slowly bringing the warmth of a new day. Prince Aemond and his lady wife lay against the pillows, tangled together, talking. She stroked the ends of his silver hair lovingly, and he smiled sideways.
Y/n was wearing the silk nightgown from the night before, and Aemond wore only his comfortable sheepskin pants. They both felt so soft against each other, just talking and occasionally exchanging sweet kisses. The moment was interrupted when the bedroom door opened with a bang, and they could hear soft, hurried footsteps coming toward the bed.
-Kepah! - Rhaenys's sweet, childlike voice sounded from beside the bed as she reached out her arms toward Aemond, hopping lightly on the floor, as she wasn't yet big enough to climb into bed without effort.
-What are you doing barefoot on this cold floor, Byka sõvion? - (Little butterfly) He asked in a soft voice and a crease in his forehead, already lifting her onto the bed by her armpits and placing her under the covers next to him and his wife.
-Ziry'll zīragon aōha byka dekossa raqagon bona. - (You'll freeze your little feet like this.) He placed a kiss on his daughter's soft foot, making her giggle and writhe with tickling as she clung to her mother.
-Muña, Kepa is tickling! - She cried, writhing with laughter.
-Husband! - Y/n scolded playfully as she snuggled Rhaenys close. -You know very well that's no way to treat a young lady. - She said, leaving smacking kisses through her little daughter's silky hair.
-My apologies, my ladies. - He smiled, snuggling into them and pulling his wife and daughter closer, making Rhaenys laugh and hug him.
The door opened again, but this time much more gently, and Rhaenys's nursemaid's voice rang apprehensively through the room.
-A thousand apologies, Your Highness. - She bowed her head as she spoke. - The princess asked me for water and when I turned to get it she had already run.
Before Y/n could answer, Aemond had already taken the lead, his voice firm and serious.
-It's fine, just leave us.
The young woman didn't need to be told twice; she simply turned and walked as quickly as possible out the door.
It wasn't long before Aemond felt the soft tips of Rhaenys's fingers on his cheeks, near his lips, pulling them upward.
-I like it better when you're smiling, Kepa. - She spoke in that sweet voice that had enchanted him since the first time he heard her speak in those same rooms.
-Then I will always smile Byka sõvion. - He smiled at his daughter and kissed the palms of her hands gently, making her smile and hug him.
-Muña, can we go pick flowers in the garden? - She asked, still leaning on her father's shoulder as she looked at Y/n eagerly, her eyes shining with excitement. - I want to look at the butterflies!
-Of course. - Y/n smiled and placed a loving kiss on her daughter's nose. - The flowers are beautiful this season, I'm sure there will be plenty of butterflies for us to watch!
Rhaenys practically screamed with excitement at her mother's answer, standing up on the bed, slipping on the covers in the process with a soft yelp and falling off the bed. But before she could hit the floor, Aemond caught her ankle and pulled her back onto the bed with a hiss of concern. The girl's eyes were wide as she stared at her father.
-You have to be careful, Byka sõvion. - He warned her gently as he pulled her toward him and his wife again, cradling her between them. - Kepa doesn't want you to get hurt.
Rhaenys just nodded, already smiling again after the scare as her messy silver hair fell into her eyes.
-Did Kepa know I saw a blue butterfly as bright as your eye? - She ran her fingers over Aemond's sapphire eye, which always caught her attention, gently caressing the scar that ran down his cheek.
-Truth? - Aemond asked smiling as he pulled his daughter's little hand and left a kiss on her fingertips, making her give a small childish laugh.
-Truth, Kepah! - Rhaenys's eyes sparkled as she spoke, and she turned toward her mother, still smiling. - Isn't that right, Muña? Wasn't she beautiful?
-One of the most beautiful we've ever seen. - Y/n agreed, smiling and stroking her daughter's silver hair.
-Muñaz said I'll be able to have a tiara when I get a little older, Kepa! - (Grandma) Rhaenys smiled excitedly at Aemond, her eyes shining with anticipation. - I said I'd like one with a blue stone! To be just like you!
The girl chattered happily and smiling, completely oblivious to the effect those words had on her father, how his heart instantly warmed with emotion upon hearing those sweet words from his sweet little girl.
Y/n, on the other hand, couldn't help but see the emotion in her husband's eyes, who leaned in and left a soft kiss on his daughter's silver hair, still ruffled from sleep, making her laugh and hide under the blanket.
•●○●•
The day was sunny and warm, perfect for sitting in the garden and perhaps even having a picnic. As much as Aemond longed to spend the whole day with his wife and daughter, as was his usual habit, he was prevented from doing so that afternoon. Due to the need to participate in one of the small council meetings at the request of his grandfather since Aegon had disappeared to where only the seven knew.
The prince paid attention to everything, occasionally offering his own opinions or rolling his good eye at the rather idiotic opinions of others. The hours passed slowly, and at times his mind would wander to his wife and daughter, causing him, unconsciously, to let out a soft smile that confused those who saw him.
It was almost the end of the meeting when the table fell silent upon hearing the beginnings of a commotion in the Keep's corridors, causing the council members to frown as they looked towards the chamber door. Until Aemond's heart skipped a beat when he heard a pained, childish cry that he recognized almost immediately as his little daughter's.
Without even thinking, taking a breath, or answering his grandfather, mother, or the other members of the small council, Aemond simply dragged his chair back, running toward the sound with long strides and a frightened look. Finally spotting Rhaenys at the end of the corridor, being held by one of the guards, the moment Aemond saw her, it was as if his body were freezing.
There was blood on her lips. Blood on the lips of his little butterfly. The torpor instantly passed at the thought that someone had had the audacity to hurt his daughter. Eyes blazing, the prince marched toward the guard holding her and took her from his arms into his own with careful gentleness, even though at that moment his fury was deadly.
-Ziry iksos byka sõvion. - (It's okay, little butterfly.) Aemond murmured, rocking her gently in his arms while caressing her back with the palm of his hand. -Aōha Kepah iksos kesīr sir. (Your papa is here now.)
Instantly, Rhaenys laid her head on her father's shoulder, hugging him tightly as she wept. Little by little, her crying subsided, leaving only sobs and soft, shaky gasps as she held tightly to Aemond's neck.
When she finally removed her head from his neck and Aemond could face her properly, his stomach dropped with the realization that one of Rhaenys's upper front baby teeth was missing.
At that moment he saw red like he had never seen before in his entire life. He could feel his hands shaking with anger and his breath coming in short gasps, and it took all his self-control not to yell at the guard in front of his daughter and scare her again.
-What happened, Byka sõvion? - Aemond decided to ask Rhaenys gently, trying to understand what had happened, blowing softly against the little girl's face in an attempt to ease the pain.
-I was watching the butterflies Kepah. - She sobbed, her voice trembling, her bloodied lips curled into a pout, her beautiful little eyes shining with tears. - But then they pushed me, and I fell into the flowerbed.
Amidst her sobs, she began to cry again, trying to wipe away her tears with her dress. Standing there with Rhaenys in his arms, Aemond felt as if his own heart were being crushed by that painful sound. Watching his daughter's every movement closely, he noticed that her beautiful lilac dress was stained with dirt and a little blood, as were her small hands, and that a few leaves were stuck in her silver hair.
The prince could barely hear the sound of footsteps running towards him, such was his discontent at that moment. The only thing on his mind was trying to calm his little girl's cries. He only realized his wife's presence when he felt her savage touch on his forearm and heard her shrill voice close to his ear.
-What happened? - Y/n's worried eyes were filled with tears that she held tightly as she looked at her husband and daughter with trembling lips.
-I fell Muña. - She whimpered, laying her head on her father's shoulder, who stroked her silver hair while glaring deadly at the guard above Rhaenys's head.
-Let's take her to the Maester! - Y/n practically begged, her voice cracking as she looked at her daughter, carefully holding her hand in her own and placing a tender kiss on it even with the blood and dirt clinging to it. This instantly made Aemond nod in agreement, his thoughts returning more clearly, his stupor so severe that he hadn't even remembered the Maesters' existence at that moment.
Amidst slight sniffles and tremors, Rhaenys clung even tighter to her father's neck. Hiding her face there, her lips never touching the leather of his jerkin, so as not to hurt her gums, Aemond walked quickly toward the room with Y/n at his heels, staring at his daughter with watery eyes and lips trembling in pure anguish.
Meanwhile, the guard responsible for Rhaenys's care, Sir Jorson, didn't even wait for an order to rush forward, eyes wide as saucers in panic, and ordered the Maester to go immediately to Prince Aemond's chambers to examine the young princess.
•●○●•
-The princess will be fine, my prince. - The Maester declared in a slightly weary tone after examining Rhaenys once more at Aemond's request, as she slept soundly in her parents' bed, clinging to the blanket wearing only a white nightgown with colorful hand-painted flowers and soft socks on her feet that Y/n had put on her after giving her a warm bath as the maester had instructed.
-The impact only knocked out her baby tooth, nothing permanent.
-Only? - Aemond grunted, widening his eyes, causing the maester to swallow hard and lower his head at the same time. -You mean only?- He hissed with a furious look, taking long strides towards the maester, not shouting so as not to wake his daughter. - The fucking impact it takes to pull out a tooth that hasn't even loosened yet!
-Forgive me for my boldness, Your Grace. - The Maester muttered as he finished gathering his things from the table as quickly as possible, eager to get away from the prince's barely contained anger, which seemed on the verge of boiling over and sweeping everything in its path.
Glancing impatiently at the maester, Aemond walked to the door and opened it angrily, no longer bothering with the man's presence in the room now that he was no longer tending to Rhaenys, only refraining from slamming the door furiously behind the elder when he left so as not to disturb his little one's sleep.
-What happened, wife? - He asked as soon as the Maester left them alone, walking to where his wife was watching her daughter near the bed, still with a distressed look. Holding her hands firmly between his, his tone wasn't accusatory, just irritated and filled with concern.
-I don't know. - Y/n sobbed, hugging her husband tightly as she buried her face in his neck, still frightened by the sight of her daughter hurt and crying. -We were both in the garden picking flowers, and she was playing with the butterflies. - She sighed against the leather of her husband's clothes as he gently stroked her hair, soothingly.
-She said she was hungry, and I went to ask a maid to bring her some refreshments, but there wasn't one around, so I moved away a little. -Y/n lifted her head and looked him in the eye as she spoke. - When I returned she had disappeared and I found her next to you.
-This isn't your fault, ābrazȳrys (Wife). -Aemond murmured softly, breathing deeply, trying to contain his anger so as not to take it out on the wrong person.
-It isn't. -He gently pulled her back to him, and Y/n leaned against her husband's chest.
-It's the fault of that damned guard whose sole function in life is to protect you and our daughter. - He practically growled, tightening his hold on his wife as he watched Rhaenys sleeping in the center of the bed, clutching the covers, her lips parted, exposing the empty space where her lost baby tooth had once been.
-But I assure you, ābrazȳrys, it won't stay that way! - The prince growled in a low voice, leaving a kiss against Y/n's scalp, making all the hairs on her body stand on end. With a smoldering look of anger, Aemond left the shared chambers, heading off in search of the guard supposedly watching his daughter.
•●○●•
The door to the courtyard's weapons storage room opened with a dry, ghostly rumble, announcing the furious presence of the Targaryen prince, a sight that would make any man rather face the seven hells than him. Rhaenys's white cloak trembled from head to toe as her gaze met his enraged gaze.
-Mmmh… Now Sir Jorson you will tell me exactly what happened. - Aemond hissed in a dangerously low voice, almost spitting the words at the man as Sir Criston watched him closely at the door.
-T-the princess… S-she fell… - The guard began to stutter, barely able to keep looking Aemond in the eye.
-And how in the seven hells did a simple fall knock out one of my daughter's teeth? - Aemond shouted voraciously, taking long strides toward the man, making him shrink even further, if that were even possible.
-T-the princess was playing m-my prince. - The man stammered, trembling and looking at the ground while tightly gripping his hands together. -She was just picking flowers like she always does. - The guard sighed, shuddering, as he faced the prince and found his eyes shining with barely contained fury.
-Lord Dargood's son… naughty boy… was running and pushed her. - He looked away again, unable to keep his eyes fixed on the prince's angry gaze, his voice falling lower with each passing moment. - In the fall, she hit her mouth on the stones surrounding the flowerbed. I-it was an accident. - The man stammered and whispered the last words, looking at the ground as if he were a scolded child.
The prince's blood boiled in his veins at the thought of that boy, who must have been three times the size of his Rhaenys, pushing her into the damned flowerbed. It wouldn't be a fucking accident when Aemond personally pulled out every single one of that damned Dargood brat's teeth.
-You have only one fucking job within this Keep, which is to keep my daughter safe! - Aemond growled lividly, approaching the man even closer, cornering him as he would a cockroach. -And now she's lying in bed, wounded!
-I got distracted for a moment, my prince. - The man begged in panic, his gaze darting in every direction in pure desperation, with nowhere to run. - It won't happen again, have m-mercy! - He begged with wide eyes.
-You are relieved of your duties! - Aemond hissed through gritted teeth, his red face contorted with fury. - We're not keeping you here to distract yourself.
-My prince, I'm truly sorry… - The guard began, kneeling before him, but was interrupted at the same moment.
-You're sorry? - Aemond practically shouted, still maintaining his fierce tone, his eyes wide and his face contorted in fury. -If anything worse had happened to my daughter, I'd have your fucking head for it!
Sir Jorson cringed even more at that, if that were even possible.
-Don't you ever dare step foot near that fortress again if you want to keep your head on your fucking shoulders, you bastard. - Aemond grunted, clenching his jaw before finally leaving the room under Sir Criston's watchful eye.
•●○●•
-Husband, he's just a child! - Y/n tried to reason with Aemond a few moments later, after her husband returned to their shared quarters even angrier than before and told her everything he'd discovered while threatening the Dargood boy, too crudely to be just lip service.
-Our daughter is just a child too! - He growled softly, pointing toward the bed where the little girl slept soundly, sighing deeply, clutching the blanket.
-I know that, I'm furious too, but you couldn't demand physical punishment for Rodd Dargood. - She sighed, approaching him with a frown. -It would be wrong, and he probably wouldn't even understand the reason for the punishment!
-Do you know what happened the night I lost my eye? - Aemond asked her in complete dismay, his eye wide and bloodshot as he stared at her. -My father barely cared! I was covered in blood and scared, and he interrogated me about what happened as if I were a common criminal!
Y/n's heart sank when she heard those words, Aemond had already told her about that night in Driftmark, but hearing it said in such a raw and painful way made her want to pull him into a hug and never let go.
-What happened went unpunished, he acted as if that bastard had the right to do what he did to me! - He spat the words furiously, pressing the missing eye over the eyepatch with his fingertips amidst growls of rage. -I won't let that happen to Rhaenys! I won't let our daughter feel unprotected and helpless, like her father doesn't care about her, even if I have to pull every tooth out of that little bastard's mouth!
Aemond swore furiously, shuddering as he spoke, his hands clenching, the air he breathed growing thinner as memories of that horrible night mingled with memories of his precious little girl, covered in blood and dirt, huddled in his arms as she wept. Little by little he felt as if he lost his balance and leaning against the sofa he lowered himself and sat on the stone floor staring at the crackling fire in the fireplace.
At the same moment, Y/n crouched down beside him and touched his forearm, feeling him flinch at the touch and slowly pulling her hand away before sitting on the floor beside him and hugging him with all the care and affection she had in her being, her heart breaking at seeing her dear husband, always so strong, helpless like that.
-Husband, I'm here. - She murmured against his neck, trying to comfort him, leaving a gentle kiss there and caressing him through his hair. -I'm here, Aemond, you don't need to be afraid.
-What's the point, wife? - He whispered, raising his head towards Y/n with his eyes full of unshed tears. - Having done so much, having gotten to where I am… If I can't protect our daughter?
Y/n's heart felt like it weighed hundreds of tons as she heard those words leaving her husband's lips so rawly while his eyes looked as sad as she had ever seen them.
Slowly, she raised her right hand and tenderly caressed his face until her fingers curled around the eye patch and she carefully removed it, placing it on the rug and then pulling him closer to her.
-Aemond, I know you try, but you couldn't protect her from everything. - She stroked his back soothingly. - Accidents happen, our daughter will be fine.
The prince let out a shaky sigh against his wife's hair at that.
-Besides, you know… our daughter doesn't think that way of you. - She shrugged subtly.
-What do you mean? - He frowned in confusion the instant he heard the words.
-Aemond, you're the knight in shining armor from her stories. Her hero! - Y/n smiled, stroking her husband's hair tenderly and sweetly. -Didn't you notice how she was today? She was scared, in pain. And she didn't want to leave your arms for even a moment, because she feels safe with you. Because she knows you will protect her no matter what, our daughter doesn't doubt you. You shouldn't doubt yourself either.
Those simple words were enough to, albeit gently, calm the anger bubbling inside the prince. Even though a mere glance toward the bed made his stomach twist again at the sight of his little butterfly so still.
-I don't want her to think that I didn't give due importance to what happened. - He sighed, laying his head on top of his wife's head as they snuggled together on the plush rug. - I want her to know that the aggression she suffered was duly punished.
-What would you have preferred? For your father to have ripped out Lucerys's eye or to have taken you in and given you a hug? - Y/n asked him softly as she stroked his hands between hers, the two of them practically embracing each other on the floor now.
Aemond didn't answer her, but he knew exactly what he would have preferred when he was just a little boy.
•●○●•
That night passed as quickly as the wind, and the prince had barely slept, lying awake all night beside his wife and daughter, keeping watch, as if something might happen to one of them at any moment and he needed to be alert.
When Rhaenys woke and smiled at him, hugging him and leaving a kiss with a hint of drool on his cheek still sleepy, then laying her face on his shoulder, Aemond simply held her close, pressing her close as if she were suddenly going to disappear.
At that moment it seemed like nothing had happened, if it weren't for the missing tooth in the front and the slight purple bruise near the lip, the incident would barely have been noticed.
-Kepah? - She called him in a soft, sleepy voice, still lying against him, playing with the thread of her father's shirt.
-Yes, byka sõvion? - Aemond whispered, rubbing his palm against her back.
-Kotago nyki emago cookies syti breakfast?- (Can I have cookies for breakfast?) She whispered in high Valyrian, as always, mixing it with the common tongue and mispronouncing a few words.
-Hen rhinka, Kepah jāhor epagon zirȳ naejot maghagon" (Of course you can, dad will have them bring your favorites). He smiled, tenderly stroking his daughter's silver hair, who snuggled even closer to him.
The moment Aemond looked away from Rhaenys he could see his wife already awake looking at them both with a smile on her lips, and with a sigh the prince guided his free hand to her and tangled it in a soft caress through her hair.
•●○●•
Their morning was uneventful, except for the moment when Y/n gave her husband a subtle scolding for giving in so easily and letting Rhaenys eat three different types of biscuits for breakfast just to make her happy.
As the sun rose high in the sky, Aemond and Y/n shared a delicious pheasant pie with wine, while Rhaenys ate her favorite stew of shredded chicken with carrots and a few other fresh vegetables, prepared especially for her at Aemond's request.
After the meal, the prince could no longer avoid his daily duties, being forced to leave the room with a scowl, which intensified even more when Y/n announced that she was taking Rhaenys for a walk in the garden and some fresh air. He had barely stepped out of the room when he was already scolding the new guard Criston had chosen for Rhaenys earlier, standing by the door next to Y/n's sworn shield.
That afternoon was undoubtedly one of the most irritating of Aemond's life. Lord Dargood's pathetic voice, trying to apologize for the behavior of the wild animal he called his son, made his blood boil in his veins. The only thing stopping him from rushing the man and killing him on the spot was the fact that he had taken Criston with him precisely for the purpose of preventing him from doing so.
Even when the matter had been resolved and his thirst for revenge partially sated, anger still gnawed at Aemond, and with every step he took through the halls of Kepp, people seemed to move out of his way, as if afraid the prince's fury would spill over onto them.
The moment Aemond flung open the bedroom door and entered, Rhaenys's eyes lit up, and she ran toward him, calling out excitedly as she jumped into her father's arms. And as angry as he had been before, Aemond couldn't help but smile as he scooped up his little girl, lifting her into the air as if she weighed nothing.
-Kepah, I found an injured bird in the garden with muña and she said we can take care of it until it gets better. - She smiled excitedly at her father, and Aemond's heart ached at the sight of the missing tooth.
-Truth Byka sõvion? - He glanced around the rooms slightly, searching for his wife as he spoke, finding her organizing his books near the fireplace while Rhaenys merely nodded, wriggling out of her father's arms and pulling him by the hand.
-Look him, Kepa. -The girl's eyes shone with delight as she pointed to the small bird with gray and white feathers and an injured wing, huddled inside the wooden box lined with cloth and a saucer filled with cut fruit. - It's so small.
-But muña said he'll be fine. - She smiled expectantly, looking at Y/n who just watched their interaction with a smile after putting away her husband's last book.
Y/n was so worried about Aemond, afraid that even though they had talked about it at length, he would make some rash move, driven by anger at seeing Rhaenys hurt. She smiled at her husband, but Aemond could see the question mark over her head from miles away, and with a sigh, the prince crouched down, looking at his daughter.
-Are you feeling better, Byka sõvion? - Rhaenys nodded, smiling toothlessly at her father.
-Better! Sir Criston found my tooth in the garden, he came with Muñāz (Grandma) to bring it to me. And Muña said that if we put it under my pillow, a magic dragon will bring me cookies tonight! - She practically squealed with excitement, her eyes shining as she told Aemond everything in a very credulous way, and Aemond arched his eyebrows at his wife as he listened to his daughter speak. Y/n just shrugged, smiling, approaching them both.
-He will come, my love, but only when you sleep. - Y/n stroked her daughter's silver hair, smiling lovingly at her.
-See Kepah? - Rhaenys looked at him excitedly, almost skipping with her bare feet in just socks on the floor. - I want to hear my story earlier today so I can fall asleep faster and get my cookies!
Aemond nodded and smiled at his daughter's excitement.
-Kepa wants to know something very important now, Byka sõvion. - Aemond sat down on the rug and gently pulled her onto his lap, and the girl simply tilted her head to the side as she stared at him. - Do you know who pushed you yesterday in the garden?
-I think it was Rodd who knocked me down. -She whispered to her father as if it were a secret no one knew, looking at him very seriously. - He's always running.
Aemond nodded, knowing his daughter was right.
-Kepa had a very serious conversation with Rodd and his father, Byka sõvion. - Aemond said with a serious look as Rhaenys paid attention. - What Rodd did was very bad, and it won't go unpunished, okay? Rodd will apologize to you for what happened and will be grounded.
Rhaenys looked at her father, still a little confused, not quite understanding what all this meant, but she knew punishments were bad and that her father was really angry with Rodd for knocking her down. So the girl just smiled and hugged her father tightly, laying her head on his chest and just staying quiet for a while.
-Are you okay, my sweet love? - Y/n gently ran her hand over her daughter's back, looking at her slightly worried, and Rhaenys simply nodded.
-Did Kepa ground Rodd for being mean to me? - She asked after a few minutes of reflection.
-Yes, dear. - Y/n replied with a smile, leaving a soft kiss against her hair and still caressing her daughter's back. - No one has the right to hurt anyone and get away with it.
Y/n knew Rhaenys was still too young to understand certain things, and that her little daughter was too sweet for her own good, but seeing the sparkle in her eyes as she looked at Aemond and hugged him once more, while her husband smiled contentedly, was enough.
•●○●•
Night had already fallen throughout Kings Landing, and a very common habit between Aemond and Y/n was putting their daughter to bed together. Except when there was some kind of mishap, as there was that night when Y/n was called by Alicent for a cup of tea after dinner.
So, only Aemond was in his little daughter's room, sitting with her on the bed, telling her a story, some of the parts in high Valyrian while stroking Rhaenys's silver hair. She could feel her eyes growing heavy with sleep when he finally finished the story.
-I don't like it when you're sad, Kepa… - She murmured sleepily, staring at her father with her head slightly tilted to the side, unable to help but notice how sad her father had been throughout the day.
-Kepa isn't sad, Byka sõvion. - Aemond caressed his daughter's chubby cheeks, forcing a smile.
-I know you are, Kepa. - Rhaenys stared at him with those faintly violet-blue eyes that everyone said were identical to his, making him sigh. He didn't think so himself. Even though the color was identical, the sparkle of sweetness and innocence that burned in his daughter's eyes had long since faded from his.
-Is it because I fell? - She leaned closer to him as she asked, her eyes growing worried as she looked sadly at her father.
-No! - Aemond denied immediately, shaking his head negatively as he pulled his daughter into his arms. - It's not because of you at all.
-Then what is it? Muña always says that if I tell her what makes me sad, I can feel better later. - Rhaenys was looking at him expectantly now.
-I was just upset with myself for not being there when you got hurt. - The older man stroked the little girl's slightly curly silver hair.
-But that wasn't your fault, Kepa. - She placed her small hand on Aemond's face, gently caressing him as if he were one of the cats she played with around the keep, while looking at him confused. - It was Rodd.
-Boys are all silly. - The little girl snorted, still hugging her father. -Except you, Kepah. You're smart and kind and know how to tell the best stories!
Aemond just chuckled , leaving a kiss on his sweet little girl's forehead.
-The important thing is that you are okay now Byka sõvion. - He sighed, carefully laying her down on the bed and covering her with her favorite blanket that Y/n had embroidered with flowers, bees, colorful butterflies and her name in blue thread in the center. -Bona's ry bona gaomon.
-I don't know what those mean yet, Kepah… -She murmured confusedly, snuggling into her blanket, smiling and rubbing his sleepy eyes.
-It means you're all that matters. - Aemond whispered, leaving a soft kiss on her forehead in the process. - Issa byka prūmia. (My little heart.)
-Avy jorrāelan Kepah… - (I love you, Daddy) Rhaenys laughed and kissed her father on the cheek, warming his heart, as always, with her daughter's sweet words and gestures.
It wasn't long before she finally fell asleep, and the prince only left the room when she was snoring loudly in her sleep while being watched by one of Kepp's nannies.
Aemond couldn't help but smile as he left his daughter's quarters and turned into the corridor that led to his own shared quarters with his wife, since just like him, Y/n had just appeared at the opposite end of the corridor, but unlike him, her brow was furrowed in a thoughtful look.
-Did you order Lord Dargood's tooth pulled? - She questioned with an arched eyebrow as soon as the two met in front of the door to they chambers.
-Mmmh… - He shrugged with a dismissive pout as he reached for the doorknob, opening the door and politely ushering his wife inside. -Unlike his son, he's a grown man, he can very well deal with the consequences of his inability to raise a well-behaved child.
•●○●•
Not much later that night, Aemond had finally given in to the day's weariness and lay down next to his wife, wearing the more comfortable clothes she had chosen for him.
The yellowish candlelight was low, and the two were cuddled together in a comfortable silence that usually helped calm the prince's troubled mind, until he himself broke the silence with a velvety voice.
-After you gave us our daughter, I began to understand my father and his reasons better. -His brow furrowed as he spoke. - But on the other hand… I began to feel angrier toward him for it.
Listening to her husband's thoughtful ramblings, she looked at him curiously from beneath her lashes, her head still resting on his strong chest.
-If I lost you, I would never be able to love another woman. - He gently stroked his wife's soft hair, each word leaving her lips slowly. - I could never love a child if you didn't give it to me… If it wasn't a part of you too, if it didn't have your sweetness.
-And I hate him for knowing that he also had this certainty when his first wife died, but even so he married my mother and made her unhappy, having other children that he will never be able to love. - He muttered the last part with subtle bitterness in his voice, but Y/n didn't even notice. She had been holding her breath many words ago.
Love. She thought, nearly gasping for breath at her husband's verbal admission of his feelings for the first time in years of marriage.
She knew Aemond loved her. She knew her husband cherished her with all his heart and soul. But hearing those words come from his beautiful lips made her heart swell with the purest, most simple joy, and in that same instant, she hugged him tighter and whispered against his chest the words she had also learned by now, making Aemond sigh with contentment.
-Avy jorrāelan…
•●○●•
The following weeks passed as quickly as the winter winds, and in the meantime, all of Kepp whispered about the frightening fact that Prince Aemond had personally pulled Lord Dargood's tooth because of his eldest son's offense to the young princess.
Even more terrifying, about how the house of Sir Jorson, Princess Rhaenys's former guard, had burned to the ground with him inside shortly after his dismissal from service at Red Kepp. No one could prove anything, but everyone knew that the strange, uncontrollable fire in the man's secluded hut had been Aemond's doing.
In the midst of all this, Rhaenys just cared for her injured bird with all her dedication and love alongside her mother, completely oblivious to the gossip surrounding her name, completely innocent of the atrocities her father could commit in her name. She fed the bird from her own hands day and night, grooming its feathers with all the delicacy in the world, and both Aemond and Y/n had found themselves smiling as she told him one of her favorite stories one afternoon.
Rhaenys's favorite thing was that if she whistled near it, the little bird would repeat the melody almost instantly, no matter what it was. She talked about it to the whole family for days, even dragging Sir Criston from his duties to hear the bird sing.
Aemond, for his part, was very pleased, after all his little girl was happier than ever, even if she had no other topic of conversation other than her precious little bird. Besides, Rhaenys was so absorbed in caring for the bird that she didn't even have time to wander the gardens looking for other little flying creatures as she usually did. And that, well, that brought Aemond peace of mind, knowing that in they chambers, accompanied by her mother, his daughter was safe.
That was until the day the damned bird began flapping its wings again and flying around the room while singing, making Rhaenys scream and laugh, clutching the skirts of Y/n's dress.
-Look, Muña! Look! - She pointed smilingly at the little bird that flew happily around the room, getting higher and higher. - Now he can go back to the garden!
The moment he heard that, the prince's stomach sank and he could no longer continue reading the words on the pages of his philosophy book. He even tried to convince Rhaenys to keep the bird under his wife's incredulous gaze, but the girl was adamant about it.
Four days later, when Y/n and Rhaenys were sure the little bird had truly recovered, the three of them went together to Kepp Gardens to release it. And Aemond had to admit, over the course of those four days he'd seriously considered breaking the damn bird's wing again, but he hadn't, knowing neither his wife nor his daughter would forgive him if he did.
-Are you sure you won't keep him? - Aemond asked, frowning, as his smiling daughter prepared to release the little bird back into the sunny garden. - He might get hurt again if he's left loose out there.
-I can't, Kepa. - She sighed, stroking the bird's soft feathers, now holding him in her hands. -He's a little bird; he has to fly with his bird friends and find his muña again. He'll be sad if I leave him in my room. - She looked sadly from her father to the bird she had learned to love so much. - And if he gets hurt again, muña and I will take care of him again.
-Are you ready, dear? - Y/n smiled at her daughter, her eyes sparkling with pride, and Rhaenys nodded, carefully stroking the bird's soft feathers.
With a sweet, childlike, and still toothless smile, Rhaenys opened her little hands, letting the bird fly free through the flower gardens of Red Kepp. The little bird landed in a nearby tree, humming happily, but then flew off again and circled the girl's head, making her laugh and squeal with excitement as her parents watched.
-See, husband? - Y/n murmured with a smile to the prince, who held her close by the waist. -The bird will return.
-Mmmh… - Aemond watched Rhaenys skipping around the garden chasing the bird with a smile from ear to ear on her lips, and even though the missing tooth reminded him of the unfortunate accident with Rodd Dargood, seeing such a bright smile on his daughter was the greatest of his joys.
It was there, as he watched Rhaenys run happily toward him, tripping over the hem of her own dress and catching her balance to run again, that Aemond thought that perhaps he could give his little butterfly a little more room to flap her wings, even if it was just… a few inches at a time.
A/n²: I'm so happy to finally post this one-short. It's been ready for a few months, and now I finally have the courage to post it! I hope you enjoyed it. The title came from Eminem's song Mockingbird, especially the final part, which makes you want to know more, haha. Thanks for reading! 💖💖🥰🥰
Summary - There was no greater joy that Aemond could think of than having a babe with the niece he had always adored. From watching your belly swell to pushing the very child out, he worshipped you; his queen, his love.
Warnings - Smut. Targcest (uncle and niece), P in V, oral (f receiving), fingering, riding, pregnancy sex, lactation kink, breeding kink, mummy kink, blood, childbirth, fear of medieval birthing practices, crying, Aemond loves his wife and new little one. Reader is described as having silver hair and violet eyes but no mention of skin colour. Translations: ‘ñuha jorrāeliarzy’ = my beloved, 'gevie' = beautiful, 'avy jorrāelan' = i love you, 'jorrāelagon valzȳrys' = my dear husband, ābrazȳrys = wife. "Dōna valītsos" = sweet boy. “Issa taoba” = my boy.
WC: 10.1K
Part 1 & Part 2 - Can be read as stand alone
Swiftly, you found that your favourite thing about married life was lazing in bed. Not for the passions that were shared or the secrets that whispered like crisp sheets, but for the leisure of not having to rise.
Aemond was the king, he was charged to serve from dawn to dusk.
While you were the queen, you had little to do bar attend a council meeting once a week, and see that your marital duties were happening regularly. That was of course, no issue.
The issue was your uncle leaving you at the first cock's crow to tilt with Criston.
"Stay." You begged, eyes still fluttering with sleep as you sat up, watching him brush his hair.
"I cannot."
"You do not want me."
He sighed, and sat himself at the edge of the bed. "That is not it, you well know."
You folded your arms over your chest petulantly. "Well, it is how you make me feel."
Your husband rolled his eye. "My love-"
The covers dropped from your chest, leaving your breasts exposed to the gathering morning light. "Please?"
The sight was a captivating one that could arouse even those with the strongest resolve, long silver hair waved and messy, violet eyes begging, sweet lips jutting out in a pout, nipples perky with the morrow's fresh air.
His grace shut his eye and stood up, regretting indulging you by dressing at the bedside.
"You never did play fair. Not in childhood, and most certainly not now."
He strode across the chamber, grabbing his eye patch and placing it on quickly. His large hand then reached for his belt and scabbard, buckling them around his waist.
The queen remained sat up, exposed, undesired. You rolled your eyes and collapsed back into the bed, pulling the covers over yourself.
That show along with a few choice words had worked to pull him into the comfort of your sheets many a time in the past two moons of your marriage, but now your uncle had gotten stricter. Said his training would turn "lacklustre" should he continue to forgo it.
It was a petty excuse that annoyed you to no end.
"Aemond." You groaned, without much point to it.
The sound of his boots clicking against the stone floor got louder, and he stopped at the edge of the large oak bed, reaching out a hand to scratch at your scalp.
"I will see you when we break fast."
You grumbled and turned away from him.
"Really? Come, your king demands a kiss."
The covers rustled when you bunched your legs up beneath them. "Will he take my head if I refuse?"
Aemond scoffed and braced his hands on the edge of the bed, leaning over to kiss your cheek.
The corners of his lips were upturned in victory. He strode through the ghostly halls to the yard, and began his bouts with Ser Criston.
By the time he had finished, the hot summer sun was high in the sky, and his forehead was damp with sweat.
He had barely begun his walk up the keep's step when the Grand Maester's assistant blocked his path.
"Her grace has fainted."
The king's gaze darkened. "Where is she?"
"Your chambers, my king. Her maids found her laid on the ground, dazed."
Aemond all but sprinted to the holdfast. He stormed through the open door of the king's rooms, eye locking on your figure laid in bed, smiling like sunshine as if you had not scared your husband to the edge of death.
"What has happened?" He asked as he came to the bedside, hand reaching out to cup your face. His question was mildly for Orwyle but mainly aimed towards you and your odd grin.
You took his hand and placed it on your belly, looking up at him with joy all over your face.
It took him an embarrassing amount of time to catch your meaning.
His eyebrows raised and his mouth opened just slightly, before he shared your wide grin. "Truly?"
There was a quick nod like your head was a spring, and immediately, he embraced you, completely uncaring to the fact that Orwyle was right next to him.
You were going to have a babe… he was going to be a father.
"You have made me the happiest man in the realm." He murmured into your hair, pressing kisses against your crown.
A soft giggle left your mouth, arms raising to wrap his shoulders.
The king was smiling brightly — a rather unsettling sight — when he pulled back, smoothing down your silken silver hair.
"You are alright after fainting?" He asked softly, turning his head to the Grand Maester for confirmation, expression growing serious
Orwyle nodded his head pensively. "The queen is uninjured. Fainting is common in the beginnings of pregnancy."
Aemond hummed and looked back at you his smile finding footing once again. His lips pecked yours.
That evening you laid in bed. Naked, after being worshipped so attentively that moving sent thrums of pleasure through your very body.
Your husband was laid on his side, eye level with your belly, gently tracing around your navel, pressing kisses in its vicinity.
His hair was tangled in your hand as you scratched at his scalp.
"I cannot wait for you to be round…" He murmured with a tone you would call wistful, pressing his forehead against your stomach.
"You wish me fat?"
"I wish the babe to have a spacious place to grow." He quipped back, and you chuckled.
That made him grin again, pressing his ear to your middle as if listening for a heartbeat, the arm tight around you rubbed slow circles on your back.
After you had lost consciousness, Orwyle felt your stomach a bit longer than you assumed necessary, tapped it with a sheepskin instrument, and decided that your womb was strong.
While that was happening, the other maesters began pouring over moon charts, and decided that you had gotten with child within two weeks of marriage, leaving you two moons along.
They said that you should be due at the dawn of spring.
Aemond pressed a long, wet kiss to your navel.
"Shall we have a prince?" He nuzzled his nose against your belly, eye shut. "Or a little princess?"
The sound of rustling covers followed by a soft yawn, and then you finally spoke. "I know not. You wish for a son, I assume?"
"No." He murmured quietly, climbing back up to be eye to eye with you, cupping your cheek. "I wish for a daughter."
An incredulous huff left you, lazily tilting your head into his hand. "You have want for a daughter?"
"Why would I ever choose a son with my face over a daughter with yours?"
You rolled your violet eyes to the heavens, making a show of it as you leaned your forehead against his.
A hand raised to his face, fingers stroking his scar. "I would not mind a son with your handsome face."
He huffed softly, smiling with a tired and vulnerable aura only ever yours to witness. "Well, I would prefer one with yours, if my queen would indulge me this once."
Soon after — a month to be exact — your nausea set in.
Many things caused it; the scent of the city, of eggs, of wine, and of your husband.
Early one night, while the sun still bled along the horizon, he had returned to your chambers and held you from behind. It was a few seconds between smelling the rosemary in his hair and having bile rise in your throat. The king swiftly stopped oiling his tresses.
As of recent, the queen was most commonly found on the hard stone floor, with a book in her lap and a chamberpot at her side.
The sight saddened your husband greatly.
"What do you think, my darling?" He asked with raised eyebrows, thumb gently stroking over the large rubies along your collarbone.
"They are nice." You replied hoarsely, leaning your head against his shoulder.
It was unlike you to not perk up at the sight of jewels. He had been showering you with them nearly daily, and you seemed careless to it. The nausea was dimming your light.
"Nice?" He repeated dully as he gently rubbed your stomach.
You nodded. He sighed.
"Then I shall continue my quest to find better than just 'nice'. And to search high and low for a cure to this sickness you so suffer from."
Thankfully, your vomiting subsided rather quickly after that morning.
And as the illness left, the evidence grew.
The babe was four months by the time your belly began to show.
It was only a slight bump, but a bump all the same. The king was utterly delighted by it.
"Look at you." Hot lips kissed behind your ear, the sound of clicking heels deserting your rooms in the background because your maids ran at the sight of your husband.
"The image of the mother." He smirked as he cupped your belly over the thin chemise, pressing kisses to your shoulder with great pride.
His compliments seemed to have grown even more creative as the proof of his seed inside of you got larger and larger.
The unending protection around you doubled as your belly endeavoured to do the same.
Your uncle had become more obsessed and possessive of you since the bump had appeared. The proof of your coupling and his ownership was there for all to see, and he would be damned if anyone would dare to attempt to take what was rightly his.
At five moons, your nameday came.
Each and every year, your uncle went out of his way to spoil you. Allowance spent on jewels, chasing his mother around, begging her to throw something in celebration of you.
Now that he was the king, the realm and its coffers were at his disposal. No expense was spared.
He threw a large tourney in your honour, sat in the royal box and held your hand as if you were going to disappear, and made a pointed effort to dismiss every man who claimed that pregnant women should not look upon such violence.
As the crowd roared for another tilt, he looked over and smiled — just slightly, careful as ever — reaching his free hand to cup your cheek. "Happy?"
You nodded. He always made you feel like the centre of the world.
By the sixth moon of your pregnancy, the king was ravenous.
Day and night, atop and below, anytime he could have you, he would.
Such great hips and thighs, and such amazing swollen breasts so tender to the touch were not to be wasted.
His cheek was carefully nuzzled in the valley between your tits as he caressed one with gentle fingers.
Fucking was becoming a careful business now, yet it left him more breathless than ever.
"Do you think the babe presses against your cunt? I swear it has gotten even tighter."
You chuckled with an indolent breath, hand on his back, still and calm.
"No… I think them sat on my bladder. I cannot go ten minutes without needing to piss."
The king hummed and untucked his head from your bosom, pressing a kiss to your cheek as his hand splayed out over your bump. "Naughty princess, bothering her mummy so soon."
A soft huff left you, far more amused than exasperated. "We do not know if she is a princess-"
The words were cut off with a kick to your belly that felt more like a punch beneath your husband's hand. Before you had felt flutters and slight movement… but never a proper kick.
Aemond's mouth was slightly opened, then he grinned, tapping the spot to urge another jab — like a boy finding a funny new toy. "Regardless of whether or not the child has a cock… we know that it is a dragon."
The following moon came and went swiftly. Now, you had a babe of seven moons thrashing inside of you.
They did so especially whenever you took to the skies on Vermithor — whom you were desperately struggling to climb onto by now — as if they could feel their ancestry through the flesh of their mother.
They also enjoyed kicking when you were in council.
It was nice, like having a friend with a secret language that was shared only between the two of you.
It was often, these days to see the queen smiling down at her belly, ignoring the lords at the table happily. The king joined in her joy, and would stop his usual pacing to feel the kicks of the child.
"My little dragon." He whispered in the dead of night, not wanting to spoil your sleep. "Kepa loves you."
He had begun talking to your stomach the moment he had found out about your pregnancy, but the conversations had been growing lengthier of late.
"You shall be born into warmest embrace."
He kissed your navel, eye shut, completely absorbed in the moment.
"There is no woman more quintessential to be your mother." His long fingers traced the slight, silver stretch marks that had latterly appeared.
"You…" His forehead pressed against your swollen belly. "Are my heir. My realm."
That was taken with a prompt thump to his temple. He breathed out in amusement.
"I shall allow you to sleep in peace. My apologies."
As the child expanded, so too did the extent of your exhaustion. Most especially during court. An uncomfortably padded chair combined with the weight of a dragon pressing on your pelvis had your hips sore and your eyelids drooping.
Oftentimes the king would return from whatever midday task he had to change clothes or freshen himself, and you would be asleep so deeply that you resembled a dead body.
He liked to place a hand to your belly and a finger to your upper lip, to ensure you were breathing, and to let his heir know that muña was alright, just a bit weary. He would peck your lips, order food for your due waking, and continue with his day.
Perhaps his grace's favourite part of your pregnancy was how insatiable you were.
Morn, noon, and night, you would have him on his knees, working you with his fingers, or his cock. Whatever he would give, you would take.
Your uncle gave it all. He never could deny you… but now, as you whined in want, belly swollen with his seed and love, he took your pleasure more seriously than his duties as the king.
Laying on your back during the act had become painful. Being bent over a piece of furniture was no longer possible, and taking him on your hands and knees always had you more focused on not losing your balance than the actual sensations.
To say the least, you were at your wit's end of trying to get your fill and being too frustrated to finish.
You all but smacked your husband when he pulled you on top of him.
"I know, I know!" He replied quickly when he saw the look on your face, adjusting you to spread your legs widely as he slipped a practiced finger between your thighs to rub at your pearl.
Riding was far too tiring. You had no intention of doing so.
"I will accommodate you. Move as you like, sweet wife. I shall bear your weight."
Those words were met with a swift scoff. You looked down at him with boredom in your eyes.
The king sighed. "If you do not want to, you do not have to."
Your eyes rolled, and you planted your palms firmly on his chest. "I did not say that."
That made your husband sigh in victory, and he helped you lower over his hardened cock slowly, the pair of you making relieved sounds of pleasure.
By the end of the minutes, there were reddened marks on your hips, but they were completely worth it.
That night, you fell asleep spent with a smile on your face.
The next few evenings and mornings you spent coupling in that way.
During such intimacy, feelings your husband had thought he would be able to keep buried had bubbled to the surface.
They disgusted him as much as they filled him with arousal.
It happened first when you were sat on his face, your glorious cunt on his lips, and your full thighs in his hands.
Your fist was tugging at his hair as you moaned his name beautifully.
"Mummy." He had groaned against your core.
Immediately, he realised and stilled. You had not heard, thanks be to the gods.
A loud, angry whine left your throat as you pulled his hair, losing the ecstasy you were so close to. Though sense quickly came over you, assuming he needed air, you gripped the headboard to help you stand on your knees.
The king was beneath you, breath heaving. He swore he had ascended to the seventh heaven.
The queen above him, swollen breasts and belly, a wanton blush across her face as she brushed her thumb over his forehead.
"Aemond? My darling?"
He nodded, mouth parted as he licked your arousal from the corners of his lips.
"Sit down."
You obeyed.
After, you laid naked on the bed, on your side, uncovered and in lazy conversation with your husband. "The Baratheons have passed their days of glory."
You murmured lazily, playing with a strand of silver hair with one hand as your other rested on your belly, brushing the barely-there dimple that used to be your bellybutton. "Lord Borros is a fat idiot… he cannot even read."
Your husband hummed, placing his hairbrush down and joining you on the bed.
His hands found your breasts and bump as if they were magnetic.
"Aemond. Are you even listening to me?"
The king blinked slowly. The scolding tone was making this worse.
Every part of him burned with embarrassment, but he needed to expose this part of himself when he was in control, lest he ruin an intimate moment.
"Wife… I feel I must discuss something with you."
Covers rustled as he intertwined your legs, eyes focused on your nipples, then back at your face.
A knit formed between your eyebrows as you lazily brushed his upper abs.
The king did not want you to think him perverted, even though that is what he truly was.
Thoughts of you with child — with his child —, praising him, had run through his mind since that first day your pleasures had been discovered in the library when you were four and ten. When that raunchy book lay forgotten on the windowsill as your uncle learned to rub your pearl the way that made you gasp.
"Mm, what?" You replied with a yawn, laying your head onto the fluffed red pillows.
His hand was still on your belly — resting over your own — while his other gently caressed your tender breast, circling the hardened, enlarged nipple.
"You have the body of a mother now… you have for some months."
"Is that a problem?" You teased dryly, knowing it was not. He loved your bigger breasts, wider hips, rounder arse, and thicker thighs.
"Not in the least." A soft sigh escaped him as he moved both his gaze and hand from your tit to your face. The king cupped your cheek and laid his head on the pillow as well.
"On the contrary, in fact. It- I suppose I enjoy being beneath you, while you are in this state."
"Really?" You murmured sarcastically, too tired to catch his drift, tracing circles over his bicep lazily.
Aemond nodded, about to speak again in riddles but being cut off by your lips assailing his scar and sapphire.
"Handsome." You were always pleased with yourself when you saw his face bare.
He huffed softly. The action reminded him that he did not have to fear judgment, for it was you, his miracle, his wife, his queen who was in possession of every secret he held.
His eye was shut, and his hand drifted along your round belly slowly. "Your figure enlivens me. I am aroused by the thought of it. And the title the babe has given you."
Your brows scrunched together in confusion. "The title?"
A quick nod was his response.
"Ñuha jorrāeliarzy..would it be too depraved if I were to call you by it when we make love?" He whispered.
Oh.
An amused huff left your mouth, as your thumb traced his scar. A soft challenge was spoken in the safe bubble of your bedchamber. "Say it right now."
Aemond breathed out through his nose. This reaction was unsurprising, but he still had to brace himself for the cringe he was sure to feel, baring this part of himself to you.
His fingers splayed out along your belly, and he tucked his head into your neck.
"Mummy." The warrior king mumbled, pressing a gentle kiss below your ear.
Your nails gentle scratched at his nape. The tone you used was soft and sweet, only for him. "Yes, my love?"
Gods, he melted. His legs curled up just slightly, and his head moved to rest against your breasts.
"Did you have a difficult day?" You murmured against his hair, kissing his crown and cupping the back of his head to keep him there.
The warmth of your tits was felt against his cheek as he nodded.
"It is over now, valzȳrys." Your hand found his lower back, and you began rubbing it gently.
The king made a quiet sound of true pleasure, listening to the beat of your heart. One large hand held your breast, feeling its heaviness.
He could not wait for them to swell with milk.
Soft lips kissed his scalp again.
Tonight was sweetness, tomorrow would be frustration.
By now, you were more than eight moons pregnant. No longer could you ride your dragon, or go up a flight of stairs without needing a few minutes to regain your breath. The stride you used to have has been replaced by a waddle, and everything is getting a bit too real.
It came to a head in the gardens.
A group of ladies and their queen having a small luncheon. Then wine began to flow around, and those proper ladies devolved into dim gossips who thought it their place to terrify the queen.
"When I had my second, he was flipped about. The maesters pushed my abdomen so hard that they cracked a rib! I could even hear it!"
Leave was taken rapidly after that declaration.
There was no way to describe the feeling in your gut besides utter terror. Labour seemed so far away for so long, but day by day, it crept closer. Now you were little more than two weeks away from giving birth.
The pout on your lips as you walked towards the holdfast was clear.
Large, heavy doors opened to your chambers, and you called out.
"Aemond?"
There was no reply. But the scent of lemons and incense was wafting through the air. You waddled into the bath in chamber.
The king was slouched in the marble tub, relaxation on his face turning to a grin as he looked you over.
"Gevie."
His hand reached for yours when you got to the edge, kissing the back of it, then slowly rubbing your knuckles. "Did you enjoy your time with the ladies?"
"Do you think I had fun with those prattling cows?" You snapped.
The look on your husband's face morphed into a surprised one. "I would take that as a no." He kissed the back of your hand once again, undeterred. "What is it that ails you, my queen?"
"Lady Webber, she-" Without your leave, tears had gathered and fallen in a matter of seconds.
Soft lips quivered as you let out a weak sob. "Aemond, I am terrified."
Most would assume that you were not afraid of anything. You claimed Vermithor at the age of eight, for the gods' sake. For you to be even startled was a great feat, and this outburst worried your husband to no end.
Water sloshed around the edge of the large tub when he climbed out. The puddle surrounding it was none of his concern.
He embraced you immediately, dripping naked body wetting your deep blue dress. A large hand rubbed your back as the other cupped your head, holding it against his bare chest.
Comforting you with words was not his strong suit. His vocabulary seemed to vanish when it was needed most.
"I know that birth is an intimidating business… but you are strong, ābrazȳrys." He kissed the top of your head with cold lips. "Nothing could take you from me. Let alone our own babe."
Such words were murmured against the top of your head in attempt to relax you, but he still heard muted gasps coming from your choked throat.
The king lifted you without warning, like a bride, held carefully as he strode into the main bedchamber, and set you on the bed like a sheet of crystallised sugar at risk of breaking with a mere glance.
His large hands cupped your face, smiling at you tenderly — trying to make you take it on yourself — while wiping away your tears with his thumbs.
"How may I temper your anxieties?"
The bridge of your nose twitched as you sniffled. You raised your hands to grip his forearm desperately.
The idea had recently plagued you, whenever you thought of labouring. The man you married would never do such a thing to you, would never allow it. Still, it was a nightmare that had haunted you.
"Do not let them cut me open." You begged shakily, teary-eyed.
Aemond's brows furrowed as he looked down at you. "My sweet, I would never. You know that, I would stand between any blade seeking you."
He lowered himself to look closely into your violet eyes.
"Avy jorrāelan, niece." He leaned his forehead against yours. "It is not because I can breed you. I would love you still were you barren. You may carry my heir, but never would I allow you to think that your very life would be forfeit for the mere continuation of my legacy. I swear this to you."
Slowly, you nodded your head.
The king gave you a gentle kiss, and laid with you for a few long moments, before sitting up and helping you out of your bothersome dress. He took you to bathe with him, as you often do. And even though he is awful at it, washed your hair.
You sat between his legs, all your weight against him, sniffling still.
Your husband had thoughts of the past on his mind, as he caressed your belly slowly.
"Do you remember that day on the battlements?" The sound of sloshing water backed his soft words, his chin resting atop your head.
"We always used to go on the battlements." You replied dryly, arms crossed over your chest, not in the best of moods after earlier.
"When we were two and ten. I had just gotten my sapphire in, and I was whining about the pain." He kissed your scalp.
A thoughtful expression grew on your face. "That was in your chambers."
He nodded. "Part of it, I know."
"We were hiding from Alicent." You chuckled lazily, relaxing a bit more, slouching delicately.
Aemond's mother was enraged around that time of your lives. She never liked how affectionate her son was with you, and when she heard about your recent flowering, she decided you should not be alone together.
"Mm, but I mean our conversation. About children." Your husband said softly, dipping his head to the crook of his neck.
That day, only four years ago, you had made a promise. That you would never be like your parents. Aemond vowed to love his children, not matter how unremarkable. He would not be Viserys. He would be calm and collected, unlike Alicent. You vowed never to make your children feel replaced, as Rhaenyra had done to you.
Those promises seemed more important than ever as the days went by.
After the bath, you sat on your husbands lap by the cracking hearth — to dry your hair —, a book abandoned on the oak side table. Sugar covered your tongue as your uncle fed you pastries.
Aemond had occupied his spare hand by rubbing your stomach. He was convinced he would never get tired of it. The idea that there was truly a miniature version of you and he merged inside of your belly still befuddled him.
"I cannot wait to meet our little dragon." He murmured quietly, the corners of his lips upturned in fondness.
"Mm." You hummed through a cake-stuffed mouth, swallowing and sitting up straighter, cupping your bump with adoration.
The king's sapphire glinted from fire-light, his face calm and fond.
"I am so proud of you."
A smile formed on your face, and you looked into his lone eye fondly. He kissed your shoulder.
That made a sound of contentment come from deep in your chest, covering his hand on your belly, feeling the weighty kicks the babe was so insistent on today.
One could hear the grin on the king's face without looking at it. "The little one is active."
You nodded, then leaned your head against his.
"They can feel your presence."
"Whenever you say they, you make me want for twins."
"They is neutral to sex."
"So? I already know that we have a princess."
A chuckle left you, he's been so insistent on that fact your entire pregnancy. "It is a prince."
Your uncle rolled his eye. "Did the babe tell you that?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact. I can sense it."
Aemond chuckled but did not fight you. He simply continued to caress your belly and back.
"You will be the best of fathers." You murmured happily against the top of his head, soothing his insecurities with your mere presence.
At nine moons exactly, one would have liked to spend every waking moment attempting to sleep, but the tireless work of holding the realm together continued.
Many ambassadors of different lands passed through the Red Keep, but rarely a representative as important as this one. The Prince of Pentos' eldest son, and his wife had come to sample the hospitality of your home and negotiate trade.
You really did not care. In a plush seat at the side of the throne's foot, you sat, hands clasped over your belly, as the large doors opened.
"Myrion Mopatis, the eldest son of the Prince of Pentos, and his lady wife."
The greeting was brief, the luncheon after it long. But you found that you did not mind. Aemond seemed to find the son sensible, and you thought his wife funny.
Her name was Serenei. She had long black hair and deep brown eyes, she looked almost Dornish. You decided you would keep her.
"I have never seen a woman to hate her husband more." You chuckled, sprawled onto a chaise. Your uncle sat at the end of it, massaging your swollen feet.
He shared your amusement with a quiet huff. "I suppose he is rather dull."
A quick counter came from your lips before a yawn. "You prefer dull people to bright ones."
"I do not." He muttered calmly as he focused down at his task, stroking his strong thumbs over the balls of your feet.
The fabric of your thin nightgown fell from your bump when you untied it, laying your hand there carefully, murmuring conspiratorially down to the child inside. "Kepa knows that I am right."
"Stop turning the babe against me." He murmured in concealed amusement, reaching a hand out to cover yours on your large belly.
"Why would the babe be on your side? He does not know you as well as he does I."
Aemond hummed, feeling around to try and get a reaction, but gaining none.
"The heir is sleepy, I think." He murmured quietly. "It's a tiresome thing, growing."
His musings made you huff in amusement, firelight dancing in your eyes. "As someone with a middle the size of a barrel, I agree."
The king shook his head plainly; he disliked when you talked of your body that way.
"My beloved, do not be ridiculous. You are the perfect size."
A yawn left you.
"Is that sarcasm or exhaustion?"
"Both."
He hummed lowly and scooped you up, walked across the chamber with you cradled against his chest, then set you into bed gently, tucking the covers around your body. Then he began unclasping his tunic.
"I went on a search for eggs again this morn. I cannot choose one out of Dreamfyre's clutch." He murmured quietly, knowing your opinion on the topic already.
Slow, affectionate hands rubbed your belly as you tilted your head to give him the look.
"Aemond, I do not want the babe to have an egg."
"And I think that is stupid."
A scoff left you. "My egg never hatched. Your egg never hatched. Look at the dragons we ride now. They may choose a grown dragon when they are age enough for it, and it shall be far more powerful and worthy than some hatchling."
Aemond's eyes were set down, presumably to unlace his breeches, mostly because he didn't want to face your words.
"The heir to the Iron Throne deserves a dragon at birth."
A sigh left you, struggling not to roll your eyes. "My darling, our child will not think themself unloved if they do not have a hatchling at the grand age of one."
Your husband clearly disliked that, his face twitching as he pushed down his breeches.
A hand left your belly, reaching out in want for his. "Aemond, will you heed me?" You asked softly, like he was a troublesome child only tamed by affection.
The king looked up to meet your eyes at the soft tone, and took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.
"You are not Viserys." You began carefully, gripping his fingers tightly. "The child already knows that he or she is loved." A gentle hand moved your intertwined ones to your belly, holding them there as you looked into your husband's lone eye. "They do not need a dragon as proof of that."
The man before you swallowed, his throat bobbing as he understood you. In childhood, his father had thought him a disappointment for not having a dragon. He disregarded him even more so than his siblings, for something the gods only controlled.
His face crumpled when he sniffled, blue eye suddenly full with salty tears. Leather in the form of his eye patch was swiftly forgotten and fell to the floor, as he took a seat on the edge of the bed and looked at you with a shaky resolve.
How handsome he was when he cried. His sapphire gleamed, wet from the malfunctioning duct on his left side.
The soft sound of breath from his lips was when you knew you had won. The king laid down, burying his face against your breasts as he sobbed silently.
"It's alright, sweetling." You murmured against his scalp, pressing a soft kiss there.
The tone of his voice was gasping and desperate, so unlike the straight warrior he was known as. "I.."
"I have you."
The next day, you ventured out of the keep as you did each morn. Well, it had turned to afternoon more recently.
Your last ride upon your dragon had been at seven moons. Since your belly had grown, climbing onto the beast had become near-impossible, and when your husband watched you nearly fall dismounting, he forbade any more flights.
As much as it saddened you, it was for the best. You still visited Vermithor, each and every aforementioned day.
He grew restless and aggressive whenever apart from you, having gotten even more protective since you became with a babe.
The ride in the wheelhouse was uncomfortable, but you endured it to see him.
Since he became king, Aemond proclaimed that the bays belonged to the dragons, that keepers were unnecessary, and that the pit would constantly be alight with fire, heat growing them as it did in Old Valyria.
When Vermithor spotted you — his waddling rider approaching him with a smile — he scurried over so quickly that the ground shook. He stopped just soon enough that he did not knock you, and touched your chest with his nose.
A soft laugh left you, rubbing his nostrils gently. "Dōna valītsos." You murmured.
The biting sea air lifted your hair, sweeping it about, the scent of salt filling you with melancholy.
"My son missed you." You said happily, standing before the large dragon, like an ant with a man. He nudged your belly carefully, knowing of the child inside.
It warmed you.
A week and a half later, at exactly nine moons, and — according to the maesters — eleven days, you were impatient and insufferable.
In the past few days, the babe had manoeuvred themself into place for the south, their head and body pressing on every organ and bone you had in your middle. Sleep was a struggle, even if you felt like you were always sleeping.
It was the middle of the night, maybe the early hours of the morning — how were you to know? The child had its entire body on your bladder, and you desperately needed to use the privy.
Slowly, you attempted to sit up. Alas, no. Your husband's grip was too tight, and you were too weak.
"Aemond." You murmured aimlessly into the night, his chest pressed against your back. A loud huff of annoyance left you.
"Husband!"
The man behind you made a quiet sound in waking, kissing your neck as if thinking it were him who had woken for no reason, then relaxed.
"Aemond."
The king's eye opened, his head untucking from your neck. He hummed in acknowledgment.
"I need to piss. Help me up."
The covers rustled as he loosened his grip around you, cursing the cold that came right before spring. He stood at the edge of the bed — pushing the awaiting cradle to the side — and gripped your hips; he disliked you doing any type of physical activity that he could do for you.
Your hands clutched his biceps, and you let out a loud sigh, laying your head against his chest for a moment of respite; on the edge of heaving breath just from standing.
Your uncle cupped your nape and scratched slowly at your scalp.
"Jorrāelagon ābrazȳrys." Was murmured softly in High Valyrian, practiced words soothing you as his free arm embraced you.
Then, before you could register the feeling, liquid was splashing out of you into a large, dark puddle on the ground.
The king's grip around you tightened. "Was that..?"
Once you had looked down at the puddle, and the droplets clinging to your legs, you nodded. Your waters.
He joined you in your nod, clearly out of his depth already as he held you tighter, worried. "Alright…"
Twelve hours later, the castle was beginning to bustle. But Maegor's Holdfast had never stopped.
The loud sobs coming from the king's chambers would unsettle those with the strongest of dispositions.
Slow, heavy feet paced around the ostentatious rooms. "Where is my husband?" You sniffled, eyes red and voice hoarse.
A white sweat-damp chemise that was basically see-through by now was draped over your figure, bulging at the belly just like you.
"The king is just in the corridor, your grace." A midwife said carefully, reaching out to touch your forearm to hopefully calm you.
Quickly, you shrugged her off, letting out a loud cry and leaning your temple against one of the tall pillars.
The sound of the massive doors opening reverberated throughout the chamber, along with your husband's quick stride over to you. He had left only for a moment, and was barely outside of the door as he conversed with Tyland.
The king met you near immediately. He was silent as he placed his hands on your hips from behind, squeezing and rubbing in hopes of giving you some form of relief. The touch was careful not to get in the way of your hair, that he had half braided to get it out of your way.
Comforting nothings left him with an empty mouth. Words wouldn't be helpful, he figured; you never liked to deal with communication when angry or in pain, so he stayed quiet, and kissed your shoulder as you let out cries of differing intensities.
It felt like your insides were parting ways. Oh gods, you were pushing without even realising. A hopeless wail left you, your knees buckling. "Aemond-" You babbled, voice shaken an useless with tears.
The midwives recognised the action and rushed over, all but pushing your husband out of the way.
The cords in the back of your throat almost ripped with the screech you let out, on your knees. Aemond rushed to kneel with you, taking your weight as his, laying your arms over his shoulders as if you were a rag doll.
A loud sob left you, face scrunched up in both agony and fear.
"You are almost there, sweetling." The king murmured, leaning his forehead against yours to keep you present. "Focus on me."
A minute later, with a dragging scream from you, soft, innocent cries filled the chamber. A babe was born.
Immediately, you slumped against your husband, relieved and exhausted. The afterbirth slipped out with one lazy push.
His gaze was set on you incandescently, and he could not resist kissing your lips just briefly. "Well done, my love. You were so perfect." He almost whispered, holding the back of your head tightly as he eyed the child just a step away, watching a midwife cut the pulsing cord.
Another woman slid a number of pillows under you, and helped you manoeuvre onto your bottom. Then you were handed the babe.
It was screeching its little heart out, fighting the swaddle of white linen. So weighty yet so delicate. Silver hair and its mother's violet eyes. Its father's nose.
A tear tan down your cheek. "Hello…"
Your husband's arm was still tightly around you, and he was sat beside you now. His own eye was teary. A careful finger brushed the child's cheek.
"A boy." A midwife said quietly, then backed away to give space.
A soft cry left you, bottom lip trembling as the babe began to calm in your arms. "Issa taoba.." You sniffled, looking at your husband. "I told you."
A soft, exasperated breath of pure joy left him.
Once in bed, comforted and tucked in, you named your son.
"Vaemon." You murmured as you looked down at him latched onto your breast, suckling as if his first day was his last.
The king had a gentle grin on his face, "A strong name." sat on a chair beside the bed, looking at his wife and child with nothing but adoration and reverence.
"He is the image of you." Your husband said warmly, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. His heart swelled by the picture of you nourishing the babe with your own body.
He felt emotional, to think that your love created this sweet, sinless little being. His temple pressed against your bicep. The sapphire was uncovered, glinting with the daylight. He had wanted no barriers.
The prince's mouth had stopped sucking when you looked down, a sleepy milk-drunk expression across his little face. You stroked his cheek gently. Then murmured into your husband's hair. "Would you like to hold him?"
Aemond was incredibly worried of dropping him, making him cry, anything along those lines, but there was nothing he wanted more the to feel the babe's weight in his arms. He nodded avidly.
You handed Vaemon over slowly, careful not to jostle his weak head.
The king looked down at his son in his arms with a growing lump in his throat, watching the child squirm for a moment and then relax. His wide violet eyes staring up at his father with the same gaze of his mother.
"I cannot believe that you made him." He murmured with quiet awe, gaze set downwards as he gripped the swaddle for dear life, terrified of letting him slip from his grip.
"He has your nose." You murmured with a lazy lilt of fondness, head tilted into the pillow.
Aemond, thumb brushed across the bridge of their son's nose, staring into his massive violet eyes. "Everything else is of yours."
Vaemon began to squirm, letting out quiet coos that sounded like discomfort to his inexperienced father.
Your husband's eye snapped up to meet yours. "What is wrong with him?"
A soft breath of amusement left you. "Nothing at all."
When Aemond later went to inform the court of the heir's birth, he was coined 'The Spring Prince', for the break of winter had been confirmed, a raven carrying the news from the Citadel when you were in your labours.
The succession was at rest. A healthy babe was in your arms. The realm rejoiced.
The king showered you with affections beyond comprehension, you had not ceased smiling since marriage, with the birth of this child, your face was like to freeze that was.
Love was the oddest of things, ever-growing and changing, always soft. Like the gentle wisps of silver on your son's head.
"The prince has much hair." Orwyle said with almost amusement as he held the babe wrapped in pink gossamer, the small council gathered in your bedchamber, lined up in a half circle shape around the bed you laid in.
There was a lazy grin on your face, head leaned against your husband's bicep — Aemond stood at the edge of the large piece of furniture, an arm draped over your shoulders possessively, eye trained on his son to ensure his safety.
"Doesn't he? I had no notion that it could be so long." You murmured, looking at Vaemon with such googly eyes one would wonder if you were the first woman ever to have a child.
It had been time enough, your husband decided silently. He promptly snatched his son from the Grand Maester, taking him carefully, with precision — still petrified of hurting him.
"My wife must rest." He said plainly, looking away from them, uncaring, his words polite code for 'fuck off', though that phrase awaited in case.
The council obeyed, and scurried out.
Heavy eyelids blinked around your engorged pupils, looking up at your husband with a dreamy expression.
How attractive he was. The aura of protectiveness emanated from him, mixed with fatherly nurture as he stared down at your child, trying to gauge by the babe's facial expressions if he was holding him correctly.
"Comfortable, little one?" He asked in a low whisper, eyebrows raised like he was looking for an eloquent answer. But it was clearly a tease, the corners of his mouth upturned.
The prince began to whimper. The king began to rock him. He was so good with him, it made you wish to cry.
"Gevie." He said with a growing grin, staring down at his wailing son with pure pride. "You get that from your mother."
The babe's cries began to relax after a few moments, and the father smiled even wider, cradling him tightly.
"My love?" You murmured tiredly, head melting into the pillow even more with the movement of your jaw.
Your uncle looked at you with tenderness, his sapphire glinting under the candlelight of the chamber, black leather hugging his body as he did the same to your son, cradling him carefully. "What can I do?"
"Nothing." A soft whisper came from you.
Aemond took his seat at the edge of the bed again, holding Vaemon against his chest.
"Sleep, sweet wife. I have you both."
A weak pop came from your neck, barely managing a single nod before drifting off.
What happy dreams they were. Of your future, of your beautiful babe and his wonderful father.
It was three hours later when you woke to the sound of pained little cries, eyes fluttering open to see your husband shushing his son and rocking him desperately.
He caught your eye accidentally, and looked guilty as he strode to the edge of the bed. "I know not his issue." The king said with a self-deprecating frown.
"He is hungry." You murmured with a yawn, untying the chest tie of your fresh nightgown.
"So soon?" Your uncle asked — genuinely surprised, taking a seat at the edge of the bed and carefully placing the screeching babe onto your chest.
A nod was your answer, as you adjusted the little prince against your breast, helping him gather your nipple and suck deeply. Once he got it, you smiled, and cupped his body.
Aemond was unsurprised when you vowed early in pregnancy not to let another woman feed them. It was unheard of for a child of a noble to be fed around the clock by their mother, let alone by a queen. But your love knew no bounds, and your possessiveness would never allow another to nourish your own son.
He braced his elbow at the edge of the bed, free hand coming up the cup your cheek. You leaned your head into his hand and smiled.
"You must be starving, my darling." He said seriously, tucking the covers securely around you. "Supper is coming."
A yawn left you, resting your chin against your collarbone, looking down at your son with a indolent grin.
The sounds of nursing, the smacking of his lips and his desperate breathing filled the room.
Aemond grinned in amusement, stroking his long fingers over the babe's head. "Who is going to tell him that he will not be ripped from your breast?" He joked.
It was four days after you gave birth that you escaped the very attentive eye of your husband, and in true Targaryen fashion, climbed your dragon with a child strapped to your chest, and flew above the clouds.
The king was livid.
He sat the Iron Throne and gripped the arm rests so tightly it was a wonder he was not cut. At the base of the steps was the hand, being less than helpful. Its not like his sire was listening, anyway.
The king rolled his eye. "Go."
Tyland slipped out, and almost simultaneously, the heavy throne room doors opened, revealing the most beautiful of sights.
The hall was dark and dull in the spring evening, but the light of the queen brightened it. She, with loose windswept hair, wearing black, contouring riding leathers, and a babe tied to her with a crimson wrap.
Gods, it was so impossible to stay angry at you…
"I hear you went for a flight." He said dryly, keeping his voice neutral as you practically skipped across the large hall.
"He adored it!" You grinned, cupping Vaemon's head and bottom as he cooed, holding him tightly despite how securely he was wrapped to you.
Aemond raised a hand to his temple and rubbed it. You take years off of his life.
He began carefully, standing from the throne and slowly descending. "My love, you should not be out of bed. Let alone climbing a dragon. That cannot be beneficial for healing."
"Nonsense." You muttered back without even glancing at him, eyes set down on your son's silver hair.
The king sighed. There was one person in the realm who could defy him and not be threatened; his queen.
After a moment, he was off of the iron steps and reached for your cheek, his other hand touching the wrap to feel his son's safety for himself.
A smile was on your face when you looked up into his eye.
"Wife."
"Yes?"
"You left without informing me. I feared for you." He murmured quietly, a genuine concern washed over his face.
You leaned your head into his palm, still smiling because you were the victor.
"I did not mean to frighten you…"
He sighed and caressed your cheek. "You gave birth four days ago. Whenever you shift it bed, it scares me."
The look on his face made you reconsider just slightly. "I should have informed you. But you would not have let me out of our chambers if I had."
"That is for your own good."
The whites of your eyes made an appearance as you rolled them.
The king sighed again. "Go to bed, niece."
A week after birth, you had settled into a routine with the babe.
Vaemon slept between you and your husband at night, and suckled whenever he wished. He was proving to be a lusty boy who didn't like anything as much as eating.
Unfortunately, it seemed your breasts were swollen no matter how much he drank.
This past night, you had gained no rest whatsoever. The pain in your chest was too large.
When the sun began to rise, and dark circles had settled beneath your eyes, you broke, and sobbed uncontrollably.
This woke your husband, who was worried to no end within a moment of consciousness.
He tightened his arm around you on instinct, and noted that his son was in the cradle at your side of the bed. You never placed him there.
"My love, please. What is it?" He pleaded, gruffly, sitting up like a horse's ear would prick, looking down at you, trying to see the issue.
Your lip was quivering, tears rolling down your face as you met his eye. "My breasts, they-" Another loud, unattractive sob left you.
Ah. His eye flickered down to your chest, noting your swollen flesh and aggressively peaked nipples. Poor thing, he thought.
Your husband raised a hand to one of your exposed tits, and held it carefully. Gods, it was like a rock.
Simultaneously, you winced and buried your face against his shoulder, voice whiny and hoarse. "They are so full."
Aemond nodded, brows furrowed as he thought of what to do. The king looked into your eyes once again, a question in his lone blue one.
Immediately, you nodded through tear-blurred sight — anything to stop this ache.
Your uncle made eye contact with your nipple, and leaned his head down to latch onto it, sucking greedily.
The milk was so sweet, gods it aroused him. It would be a lie to say that this was not a fantasy of his, to drink from your breasts while you praised him.
It was a feckless thing to try and shake himself out of that mindset, for the liquid tasted so saccharine; the deepest form of a mother's nurture in his mouth, filling him with warmth and acceptance.
What a strange, perverted man he was — and he knew it.
Fortunately, his desire did not rob him of his sense of duty, and he switched sides, keen on giving you relief.
Still, you cried, overwhelmed from pain and the overactive emotions that came after giving birth. Fingers dug and scraped at his back as they did whenever you fucked.
The king held both breasts in his gentle hands, and redoubled his efforts, pulling hungry mouthful after hungry mouthful of honeyed milk from your tits until they were practically empty.
Then — only when your cries halted — he lifted his head, dribbles of milk on his chin. He eyed your poor reddened face.
"Better, ābrazyrys?" He whispered softly, raising a hand to cup your face just as he straightened up.
A swift nod was your answer, sniffling and curling into him limply.
Aemond gladly scooped you into his lap, and pulled the covers over the pair of you.
You nuzzled your cheek against his pec, seeking closeness, and receiving it as he stroked your hair.
"The gods curse women." You murmured, voice watery and in no way kind, petulantly cowering into his embrace.
The king nodded against your scalp, his chin rested there. The loose curtain of his hair around your face was comforting, as was the sound of his hum.
You felt something poking your thigh. Then you thought of his depravity. "You are hard."
A sound of surprise left him — as if he was unaware — and he spoke quietly, shifting you in his hold. "My apologies."
You snivelled and laid back, pulling him by the bicep to join you. He obeyed and followed, drawing you to him by the waist, pressing a few reverent kisses to your head.
Careful fingers brushed the edge of your breast. "The pain is gone?" He murmured into your hair.
"Almost." You whispered back, voice weak and defeated. He sighed at your tone and pressed his lips to your temple.
The king continued to massage your chest, trying to relieve the lingering discomfort."I left some… just in case he wakes."
On cue, the babe's heavy breathing and whimpers began to fill the large rooms.
Aemond huffed softly, leaning over you to look. The babe laid in the cradle, his legs tucked up, his little face scrunched in sadness.
The king lifted him swiftly, cupping his bottom and head as he laid him on his hard chest.
"What is it, hmm?" He murmured against the child's silver hair, leaning his head against yours as your son began to cry.
"The cold world." You said against his shoulder, words muffled. "He misses my womb."
Aemond hummed in agreement.
It was after two weeks when your uncle finally felt like he was getting the hang of fatherhood.
You loved it, for he looked so handsome holding Vaemon. So nurturing. You would climb atop him if you could.
The lithe man paced around your bed, tapping his son on the back with such little force that it didn't make a sound.
"He will not burp."
You were laughing to yourself lazily, sat up against the pillows — he refuses to let you out of bed — enjoying the sight.
"You must actually pat his back."
The king scoffed and paced to the side of the bed, bare feet silent against stone. "That is what I am doing." He replied dryly, still tapping the babe's back.
Your poor soon had a look of discomfort on his little face.
"You are doing it wrong."
Aemond huffed, but relented. Vaemon was squirming at this point, head rested haphazardly on his father's strong forearm. With one firm pat against the child's back, he spat up half of his feed onto the floor.
A soft sigh left you, still utterly amused. Your husband looked up like a deer in headlights, readjusted the babe, then reached for a cloth to wipe his mouth.
The spill was cleaned swiftly by a nameless maid, and your son was placed in your arms, his father having far too much to process to be in possession of him.
"He is so happy." Your uncle murmured thoughtfully to the babe while he sipped water, brushing his little back as he laid flat on your chest, cooing happily.
A happy hum was your response as you laid your head on his shoulder. He set down his cup, wrapped an arm around you, and kissed the side of your head.
"You are such a wonderful mother."He said quietly, chin nuzzling the top of your head.
A soft sigh left you, as you shut your eyes and caressed your son's head. "He adores you."
Aemond kissed your cheek, and then eyed Vaemon, who seemed to have drifted off. "I did not grow him inside for nine moons. Nor nourish him, as you do."
"So is my duty." A yawn left you, nuzzling your husband's collarbone. "I am a mother now."
The king let out a breath of almost disbelief. "And I thought that you could not be any more perfect."
The corners of your mouth tugged upwards into a lazy smile, eyes shutting, and sheets rustling.
"Sleep, my sweet." He rubbed your side slowly.
With that, you drifted off. Aemond murmured of his love for you, and for his beautiful son.
You were the queen, a Targaryen of Old Valyrian heritage, and the mother to the next king. But none of that mattered.
You were a wife to a man who loved you, and mummy to the most adorable son the gods had ever graced a woman with.
This little family was sure to grow, and you could not wait. Soon, high laughter would be wracking the walls, and the patter of wet, tiny feet would fill the holdfast.
This very keep would be bursting at the seams to accommodate the brood you wished for, and your husband would be the happiest to order and extension.
Anything to see you contented, beautiful, and swollen with his children to the point that no man or woman could ever question whose you were.
Aemond Targaryen m.list 🗡
hello my apologies for the length lol... hence the wait
pls forgive any typos and random bs, like i said this ho is long and i cannot proofread a fourth time
i actually really do like this tho <3 had it lying around for weeks and decided now was the perfect time in honour of the end of akotsk (still sobbing) and the hotd teaser
i am taking requests so hit my inbox!! also if u js wanna thirst i love those asks too <3
★ american teenagers - a stranger things series ★ steve harrington x reader
0:00 ───|────── 0:00
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
♪ say what you want, and say it like you mean it- ♪
★ summary: following the plotline of stranger things - steve harrington has been your best friend since you moved to the quaint town of hawkins, indiana, from the bustling city of new york in third grade, a move prompted by a familial tragedy. in your junior year of high school, you get swept up in a world full of monsters, other worlds, and strange little girls with powers. when standing in the face of death, will you do the impossible and face your feelings?
★ paring: steve harrington x bestfriend!reader
★warnings: violence, gore, angst, slow burn (like, very slow), fluff, suggestive content (MDNI - 18+), swearing, light substance use, steve is clueless for like, pretty much the whole story
Summary: There's a new girl in town... and Billy doesn't know if he hates her... or wants her.
WC: 1K
Warnings: smoking, jealous billy, fluff?
Request: @samanddeansannoyingsis Can you write a oneshot of Billy Hargrove x reader where the reader is cooler then him and he can't stand it? Like this punk goth girl with big hair and a bigger ego, always dressed to the nines, parties, smokes and drives a bitchin car and he just gets so jealous that she won't date him. But he never asked her. Just resorts to cat calling and getting angry when she flips him off and blows him a kiss.
ao3 // tag list
The first time Billy saw you, he stopped mid-sentence. It was a Friday night at the arcade parking lot—someone’s older brother had lugged out speakers and a cooler full of beer, and the local hellraisers had gathered like moths around the sound of a revving engine. Billy’s Camaro, as always, was front and center, polished within an inch of its life. He was halfway through bragging about his last drag race when your car pulled up—a black Firebird, gleaming like a storm cloud under the flickering streetlights.
You stepped out like the scene was made for you. Leather jacket draped just right, big teased hair catching the neon glow, dark lipstick that could stop a heartbeat. The whole crowd turned. Even the music seemed to quiet for a second.
Billy’s grin faltered.
Because you weren’t looking at him. You were too busy lighting a cigarette, your eyes sweeping over the lot like you were already bored of it. Like Hawkins, Indiana, and every soul in it, existed for your mild amusement.
And then— You looked right at him. A slow smirk. A drag from your cigarette. Then you turned away.
Billy couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss you or start a fight.
From that night on, you were everywhere.
In the school parking lot, leaning against your car with your Walkman on, boots crossed at the ankles. At parties, dancing like you didn’t give a damn who was watching. Sometimes Billy swore you’d deliberately stand just close enough that your perfume—smoky and sweet, like burnt sugar—would drive him insane.
You didn’t flirt back. Not really.
But you knew he wanted you. And that seemed to amuse you more than anything.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Billy drawled one afternoon, leaning out the Camaro window as you walked past after class. “Wanna take a real ride? I’ll even let you shift the gears.”
You didn’t even slow down. Just flipped him off without looking back.
Billy’s grin twitched. “Yeah, love you too, princess!”
He watched you disappear around the corner, that leather jacket glinting in the sun, and his jaw clenched hard enough to crack a tooth. He told himself you were just playing hard to get. But deep down, it burned—how you didn’t need his attention. How you already had everyone’s eyes without trying.
At the next party, he saw you again.
You were sitting on the hood of your Firebird, smoking with some guy from the basketball team. Your lipstick left a perfect print on the cigarette filter, and when you laughed at something the guy said, Billy nearly crushed his beer can in half.
He stalked over before he could think twice.
“Move along, pal,” he snapped at the guy, shoving him lightly in the chest. “You’re blocking my view.”
“Billy,” you said, voice calm as smoke. “Don’t be a dick.”
He turned to you, jaw tight. “You got something better to call me, sweetheart?”
You took another drag, your eyes glittering under the cheap fairy lights. “Yeah. Predictable.”
Someone nearby snorted with laughter. Billy’s face went red. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you think you’re dangerous,” you said, hopping off the car and stepping in close. “But everyone’s already seen the act, Hargrove. You drive fast, you drink, you fight, you flirt. Congratulations. You’re a cliché in tight jeans.”
Your perfume hit him like a slap. His pulse thundered. You were so close he could see the reflection of the firepit in your eyes.
He didn’t know what came over him—some half-feral instinct, maybe—but his mouth twitched into a grin. “You think you’re better than me, huh?”
“Oh, baby,” you murmured, leaning forward just enough that your breath tickled his jaw. “I know I am.”
Then you flicked ash off your cigarette, brushed past him, and climbed into your Firebird.
Billy turned, furious and half-aroused, just in time to see you blow him a kiss before peeling out of the driveway.
The crowd erupted into whistles and cheers.
He spent the rest of the night trying not to think about you.
Didn’t work.
Didn’t work the next night either. Or the one after that.
Every time he saw a flash of black leather or caught a whiff of smoke and perfume, his stomach knotted. He’d find excuses to drive by your house, or rev the Camaro outside the diner where you worked. And when you ignored him, when you just laughed and shook your head—God, it drove him crazy.
Billy Hargrove wasn’t used to being jealous. He wasn’t used to wanting something he couldn’t just take.
Then one night, he found you alone. Behind the bowling alley, where the parties always spilled into chaos, you were leaning against your car, cigarette between your lips, eyes on the stars. The air was cool, quiet, for once.
He hesitated. Then— “Can’t decide if you hate me or if you’re just scared.”
You didn’t look at him. “Scared? That’s cute.”
Billy scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You keep acting like I’m the joke, but you’re the one running every time things get real.”
That got your attention. You turned, slow, eyebrow raised. “Real? Billy, you’ve never said a real thing in your life.”
He stepped closer, the swagger fading. “You got everyone fooled, huh? Like you don’t care. Like nobody can touch you. But I see it. You’re just—” He stopped, realizing too late that his voice had softened.
“Just what?” you asked.
He swallowed. “Like me. Only worse.”
You stared at him for a beat, unreadable. Then you smiled—sharp, dangerous. “Flattering, but I’d never be caught dead being like you.”
You tossed the cigarette, climbed into your car, and looked at him one last time through the rolled-down window.
“Next time you wanna talk, Billy,” you said, voice low, “try asking. Instead of barking.”
Then you revved the Firebird and tore off into the night, leaving him standing in the drifting smoke, teeth bared in something halfway between a grin and a curse.
That night, Billy realized two things. One—he’d never hated anyone so much. Two—he’d never wanted anyone more. And god help him, you probably knew both.
warnings: 18+, lots of kissing, lots of flirting, sexual comments/conversations, a non-explicit/descriptive sex scene (definitely not full smut), sweating, mentions of neil, swearing, billy and reader are engaged!!
synopsis: it’s safe to say that being engaged to billy—and building a life with him—unlocks a new side of the man you love.
a/n: i kid you not, this is the first fic i’ve been thrilled about in so long! i had fun writing it, was able to immerse myself, got back into billy—the whole lot. the creative juices have been flowing and i’m so glad to have them back. i’m marking this fic as 18+, so please see the warnings above! this story can be seen as a part two to this fic, but they can be read separately too! this is chock full of whipped billy and i hope all you billy lovers enjoy ♥️
————
It’s the time of night where the neighborhood has gone quiet. Not too late, but the silence that has fallen on your street, on your home, says that everyone has settled down. This makes the world seem calmer. Slower.
Billy walks down the hallway, looking in on you. You sit in your shared bed, filing your nails and talking to your best friend on the phone with the handset sandwiched between your cheek and shoulder. In order to accommodate this odd position, your hand is tilted to align with your gaze, leaving you a little sideways. The smallest smile graces his lips and he directs his body toward the bathroom. He doesn’t bother shutting the door. The rushing sound of water drowns out your voice, but he can still hear your loud giggles. In the shower, he turns the heat up as far as it’ll go. He washes his face, works a small knot out of his curls.
The two of you haven’t been engaged for long, only about a month, but since that day, everything has felt lighter. Less of a chore. Billy doesn’t think he’s ever felt this specific kind of peace before. It’s like when you take a deep breath, and instead of your anxiety remaining at the forefront of your mind, it moves away and your brain goes all quiet.
When he’s all clean, Billy walks back down the hallway, towel-drying his hair and attempting to make a mental list of the things that still need to be done to the house. He steps around a box full of new curtain rods and film for the bathroom windows. Everything smells like paint and his hand is still bruised from a slip-up replacing the front door. He knows you don’t care if there’s a mess, but he can’t help wanting you to come home to a nice place. He wishes he could blink and everything would be finished. Half the time when he gets off work he doesn’t wanna do anything other than glue himself to your side.
Susan and Neil divorced in the fall of ‘85. Neil moved back to California, though only after weeks of back-and-forth fighting to try and get Billy to join him. He claimed they could build something great out there, without all this drama, without women on their backs. Neil tried to argue that Indiana wasn’t Billy’s home anyway, and if he stayed, he’d never belong.
Billy refused, staying with Susan and Max until Susan decided she wanted to move and buy a little land, a house that felt more like a home and not a reminder of the darkness that often thrived under its roof. It was only for a short time, but it was like Billy remembered how to breathe in his own house for a while. They’d banished the demon.
Although Max is in college now, she decided to keep living with her mom because of all the costs of university living. With some negotiating and a few months of renting-but-not-really, Billy took the house off Susan’s hands. Now, it’s yours. Maybe it’s because of the renovations, maybe it’s because of the lack of an abusive father, but Billy is happy here. In Hawkins. It’s not like before, when his heart was pulling him elsewhere, begging him to listen to the pull and leave as fast as he could. In all honesty, he’d probably be happy anywhere if you were there with him.
The house isn’t a complete mess or anything; Max’s room has been repainted and made up for her, the bathrooms have been checked for water damage, your bedroom is alright–though cluttered. Every morning, Billy loves to watch you move room to room, opening each set of blinds because everything deserves some sunlight. Right now though, he’s watching you stare at your ring. The covers are pushed back on the bed, leaving your bare legs exposed. You’re moving your hand back and forth in the lamplight, seeing how the yellow bulb reflects on the stone.
“What’re you doin’?” Billy asks. He throws his wet towel in the hamper and bends, two fingers nudging your chin to the side so he can press a kiss to your cheek.
Your feet slide across the bed sheets. “Just lookin’.”
Billy laughs through his nose.
“It’s so pretty. I’d never really thought about what I’d want in a ring, but you figured it out.” You swipe your thumb over the emerald on your ring finger. It’s small, held up by a silver band inlaid with teeny diamonds. It’s perfect, and every time you look at it, you think about how you get to spend the rest of your life with Billy and it makes you teary. You never imagined feeling like this. It’s like pure, romance novel shit.
“It felt like you,” Billy says.
He flops down on the bed beside you and drapes an arm over your waist. He pushes your nightshirt up just a little so that he can rub at the plush skin of your stomach. You look at him and smile, pushing a strand of wet hair out of his eyes.
Billy gently tugs your hand into his line of sight, allowing himself to examine gthe ring on your finger. “Looks good on you,” he says, voice quiet. His thumb moves over the silver, feeling the delicate setting, the smooth surface of the stone.
“Do you want one?” You blurt.
Your gaze falls on Billy’s face. He’s got so many more freckles on his skin than usual, what from basking in the sun and working outside. His blue eyes lock on yours and you blush.
Billy’s fingers slip under the waistband of your underwear to rest on your hip bone. “Do I want one what?”
You clear your throat. Billy smirks at you.
“An engagement ring? I know it’s not traditional or whatever, but I thought I’d ask.”
His hand slides further under your panties, resting on your ass. “Do you want me to have one? Want everyone to know I’m taken?”
Your breath hitches and Billy’s laughter hits your neck, the smallest puff of air. He’s been able to fluster you like this since you first met; you hope it’ll go on forever.
“That’s not what I meant,” you say, lighting popping him on the chest. He grabs your hand and brings your fingers to his mouth, pressing them against his lips. “Maybe you could have something simple, to go with the rest of your jewelry. We’re engaged to each other—I never got why only one of us has a ring.”
Billy moves his hand from your butt and places it underneath your knee, using it to pull your body on top of his. You wind up on his chest, your legs between his, and both his palms come down to playfully smack the skin they’ve just barely left. He makes himself laugh, pleased. You roll your eyes at the realization that he just wanted to watch your ass move.
“All I’m hearin’ is that you want everyone to know I’m taken. Nothing wrong with just sayin’ so, baby.”
You rub your nose across his collarbone and his brows furrow, lips ticking up so he’s making the face he does right before he giggles. He places two fingers under your chin and lifts your gaze, acting stoic.
“You’re an asshole, Billy Hargrove.”
This time he does smile, a real one that might as well light up all of Hawkins, and then he’s rolling the both of you again, settling against you in a way that says time to sleep now. He’s a cuddly sleeper, but it won’t last long because he’s too damn warm and you’ll shove him off. His eyes are shut when he says “And you are annoyingly beautiful,” followed by a whisper of your full name.
————
As usual, you hear Billy come home before you see him. His driving might have gotten less reckless with age, but the volume of his music will never lower.
Your knees press into a soft, pink gardening cushion, while your hands pat and then smack at a chunk of freshly-turned soil until you’re satisfied. You like to think of it as tucking the plants in.
The bed you’re currently working on is full of flowers. You’d spent forever at the feed and seed in town talking to the owner, trying to figure out what would be able to survive in your and Billy’s yard. He’d sent you home with a cart full of sprouts and mulch heavy enough that you’re sure you’ll feel it in your thighs tomorrow.
You wouldn’t say that Billy and you are cheap, but the idea of spending less money buying your produce when you could just pluck it out of your yard was something you both found appealing. It’s worked out even better considering your neighbor has chickens. She trades you eggs for lettuce or fruit, if it’s in season.
This is where Billy finds you: his old Niagara Falls hat sitting backwards on your head, the cuffs of his too-big sun shirt tucked into your gloves. A large cloud has just covered you in shade. He watches as you lean back and relax for a moment in the reprieve.
Your skin glistens with sweat and Billy watches as it beads down your throat. You’ve got this tiny pair of shorts on, and when you lean forward he can see the crease where your ass meets your thigh. He wants to plant his mouth there and leave a mark.
“Hey, sexy.”
“Afternoon, William.”
You don’t look up at him when you speak, your focus solely on the hydrangeas you’re watering. You can feel his gaze on you; it hardens when you choose not to give him your attention. His boots crunch on gravel and then go quiet when he reaches grass.
“The fuck you ignorin’ me for?”
You grin to yourself, knowing he’ll see. You let up on the hose and toss it to the side before throwing yourself at him. You run the few feet to him and wrap your arms around your neck, jumping. He grabs your thighs and lifts you up so you’re looking down at him. His brows knit together and he squeezes the fat of your ass, his grip only a little mean.
“You think you’re cute, huh?”
“You seem to think I am,” you quip. You bring your hands to his cheeks and lean in to kiss him but he jerks his head away. You frown.
“Take your damn gloves off. Not gonna put those hands on me if I can’t feel ‘em.”
Small chunks of soil flick off your gloves when you pull them off and then toss them over your shoulder, hopefully in the same direction as the garden hose. Then, Billy lets you kiss him. He threads the fingers of one hand through your hair, massaging the base of your scalp. You were going in for a short, sweet kiss, but Billy doesn’t let you separate yourself from him, nipping your lip and taking what he wants from you. He pushes his tongue between your lips and you let out a squeal.
You pull back, kicking your feet against the back of his thighs so he’ll let you down. “Why are you being so…horny?”
“Why are you complaining?” he asks, crossing his arms. His lips are flushed a dark red.
“Because you could’ve said ‘Hey baby, how was your day? You’re doing such a good job out here, workin’ your ass off.’”
Billy’s lips tick up briefly. “Hey, baby. How was your day? You’ve been doin’ such a good job out here, workin’ that ass off.”
He practically hears you roll your eyes. “Remind me why I said I’d marry you?”
“Because I’m so good in bed.”
“Yeah, I definitely never said that.”
Billy’s brows lift and his mouth opens slightly. “Oh, you didn’t have to say it, sweetheart. You’ve got such a set of lungs on ya,’ I’m pretty sure the whole damn neighborhood knows how good I am to you in the bedroom.”
“Actually, our neighbors aren’t even that close, so they don’t know shit.”
“Aw, you upset about that?”
You spin on your heel and put a few steps between the two of you. You bend over, reaching for the hose. Billy’s palm cracks down on your ass. He’s too distracted to realize what you’re doing until a stream of freezing water hits him in the face. You bite back a smile at his expression; there are water droplets clinging to his eyelashes that he doesn’t bother to blink away.
You know what’s coming.
You take off around the corner of the house, Billy’s hat flying off of your head. You let out a surprised giggle at the speed at which you’re going. It’s kind of impressive.
“Are you fucking laughing, you little shit?” Billy’s voice carries through the yard as he chases after you. You know he’s faster, so you start kicking things over to try and slow him down. The empty plastic pot your hydrangeas came in, the watering can. He jumps over everything, though he stumbles when you kick a basketball in his direction, catching himself on his hands. He’s laughing now, too.
You make one more complete lap around the house and are heading towards the mailbox when he finally catches you. He hooks both his arms around your stomach and scoops you up, spinning you around. You yelp, giggling fiercely. He maneuvers you until you’re draped over his shoulder.
“Billy! Billy, you dick! Put me down!”
He just laughs and takes you around back. He squats, grabs the hose, and shoots water into your face–though not nearly as aggressive as you’d done to him. Once satisfied, he plops you down onto your feet.
You’re both silent for a moment, staring at one another, waiting to see who’ll make the next move.
It’s you.
You get nose to nose with your fiancé and stick your bottom lip out. “That was not nice.” Your hands wrap around his where they’re still gripping the hose and squeeze, directing the stream at his chin. The water shoots up his nose and you howl with laughter.
Billy wrestles with you, laughs as he tries to get you again, but the water just hits him instead. His hair is dripping all over, hitting you in the face with every jerk of his head. At some point, he gets the hose from you and slips his fingers under your collar, directing water straight down your back. You scream as the cold liquid rushes down your spine.
It’s in that moment that you dart to the far end of the backyard and hold your hands up in front of you. “Okay, you motherfucker! I surrender!”
Billy is cackling. You thought you’d learned all of his laughs–but this one is different. It’s competitive. It’s pure, unbridled joy. It’s teasing. He lets go of the water hose and you watch as he walks to the spigot and shuts it off. When Billy approaches you again, you keep jumping away in these little creeping movements like you’re trying to prepare yourself for another attack.
Billy’s gaze drags up and down your soaking form. “You look so hot right now,” he says, and he’s on you, wrapping his arms around your thighs and hoisting you up so you're pressed right against where he’s warm and hard. He walks you back inside the house and throws you on the bed.
He traps you underneath the length of his body, pushing your hair out of the way so he can get at your neck. You feel his tongue slide over your skin, feel him licking at you like he might just go ahead and consume you because that’ll be the only way he can get satisfied. He sucks at your pulse point, the motions of his mouth lewd. He’s put you in a trance.
“B-Billy,” you fuss, pulling at his hair. “The bedding’s gonna be a mess.”
He looks at you like you must be joking.
“The fuck do we have a washing machine for then?”
It’s like he predicts your flash of frustration, grabbing your wrist before you can pop him on the shoulder. He starts kissing up your forearm but then gets up suddenly.
“Where are you going?” you whine.
“Hush, I’m just getting somethin’.” You pout anyway, watching him sift through clutter on the dresser before coming back to you with the polaroid in hand. Your brows lift in confusion.
“Literally what are you doing?”
He aligns the lens with his eye, directing it at you. “Just look up at me.” It takes you a moment to comply, but when he reaches down to tickle your side, you give in. He takes your picture and then sets the printed photo down on his side table, going in to kiss you once more.
“What’d you do that for?”
“You look so beautiful right now. Needed a picture of my gorgeous fuckin’ fiancée.”
“Well that’s not fair. I want one too.”
Billy doesn’t argue, only blindly reaches for the camera again. He hands it to you. He thinks for a moment that he’s falling in love with you all over again just from the way you’re looking at him. You snap the photo. “Angel,” you say. He sets it down for you and rolls the both of you so that you’re on your sides.
You kiss first this time, sucking Billy’s full bottom lip between your teeth. You feel yourself warming from the inside out. His knee slots between your thighs. You sigh in relief. He swallows the sound.
You scratch your nails over his scalp, down his back when he pulls his shirt off for you. Your fingers linger in the dip between his shoulder blades. You can’t help but grind down against his knee and he nods. That’s what it’s there for, baby.
You are overcome by him. Feel the need you have your mouth on every inch of his skin. You might explode without it. You grasp the hair at the base of his neck and pull. He moans and bucks into you. You do it again and again and then you move, sucking on his neck, his collarbones, licking up his stomach like he’s the only form of oxygen you need. He watches you, pupils blown wide, chest heaving.
Your mouth is mean. It’s bruising. Every inch of him is touching every inch of you and it’s still not enough.
You drag your nails down his chest, watching as red lines develop on his skin. You let the pads of your fingers feel everything, memorizing every ridge, scar, mark on his body. An ache has built between your legs, and it hurts so good. You burn for him.
When you’re both stripped bare, Billy notices the lack of your ring. He places gentle hands on your hips, slowing your movements. The feeling of being inside you, but without friction, makes his eyes squeeze shut.
“I took it off to work in the yard,” you say, matter-of-factly. You retrieve it and he takes it from you. Billy slides the ring back onto your finger.
“Want it on.”
He doesn’t need to say why. His face tells you his reasoning. And so does the way his body moves with yours.
————
A few weeks later, you come home mid-afternoon. Billy finished repainting the outside of the house over the weekend. He’s screwing the legs back onto the dining table. It had needed to come apart in order to get home from the antique store.
You smile because his hair is pulled back in a low bun. You smile bigger because it’s held up by one of your pink scrunchies.
“Hey, Billy baby.”
You lean down to kiss him. He tries to swat you away because there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead, but you dodge his hand and kiss him anyway. You offer him a hand, which he takes, and then you’re standing eye-to-eye. His gaze drops down momentarily.
“Is that a weird little box in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”
You feel yourself flush. You wedge your fingers inside the small front pocket of your jeans and pull out a little velvet square. “Got you a little somethin’.”
“Does it bite?” Billy asks, taking the gift from you.
“No, but I do, if that’s what you want.”
Billy grins at you and lifts the lid. His heart feels like a battering ram against his ribcage, because he knows what this is, but he’ll be damned if he shows it. Some habits never die, or whatever.
Inside the box is a simple silver band. When he looks closer though, he sees the engraving in it, and realizes it’s not that simple after all. It’s just understated. It’s a small pattern of vines and leaves, everything swirling together. Billy drags a hand across his nose.
“Where’d you find this?”
“At that shop in town. The one across the street from the library? It’s a mom-and-pop. They said someone had given them a big ‘ol bag of jewelry a couple months back, and that was in there. They had someone look at it, said the engraving was probably a request since they don’t usually come like that.” Billy nods and you keep going.
“I couldn’t not bring it home. It’s perfect for you. And I know we haven’t really talked about wedding rings, but I figured you could take it for a spin as a we’re-not-married-yet-but-someone-has-to-figure-this-out ring.”
“As an engagement ring, you mean.”
You giggle. “Sure, if you wanna call it that.”
Billy clutches the ring box in his hand and tilts his body forward until his lips collide with yours. His arms come around you and he uses both palms to pat your ass, almost like he’s using you as a bongo drum. Every time you think he’s done kissing you, he kisses you again. His movements are playful, though the look on his face remains serious. He kisses you over and over and over until your lips feel swollen.
“Try it on, please?”
He does as you ask. It’s the tiniest bit big, but it’s not gonna fly off his hand. You can get it sized before you really make things legal.
“Thank you,” he says, leaning in until his nose is an inch from yours. “I mean it.”
“You’re welcome,” you respond, closing the gap and smooshing your noses together. “I know.”
Billy looks at the table, still mostly disassembled, and then back at you. His arms are soon behind your back and knees and he’s carrying you to the bedroom to worship his queen.
————
note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!
word count: 3336 / masterlist | inbox (please request ! ) | WIP list
summary: max starts breaking out and needs to develop a skincare routine. billy's girlfriend y/n steps up to the role of older sister and walks her through each step. billy lingers by the bathroom doorway, putting himself in the position of the perfect model.
Contents/Warnings: afab!fem!reader
A/N:...sorry i haven't posted in like. years. i lowkey kinda fell off of stranger things!! i still liked it but I wasn't watching it and I found it hard to write without the inspiration. but I'm back! I can't guarantee it'll be for forever but I'm gonna milk it for all it's worth right now. And I can finally cross something off of my wip list YAYYYY :D send me some requests to kickstart my writing again!
reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)
Billy’s surprised, pleasantly so, when you show up at his door with a… big metal box? He’s not sure what’s in it, but it looks important, there’s a lock on it and you’re holding the key. The situation gets less pleasant when you remain stony faced, unreactive to his grin at your presence, and shoulder past him.
“Sorry Billy,” You march through the house, down the hallway and to the bathroom, “Urgent matters to attend to.”
He doesn’t even get to finish latching the door shut when the bathroom door starts to close, and he rushes after you to catch it.
“Hey!” He reaches you just in time, stopping it from slamming with a large, rough hand that thumps against the wood, “What the hell? Why are you holing up in my bathroom with a safe?”
“My bathroom, dickhead.” Max sneers, seated on the lid of the toilet, “You like to use the empty beer cans under your bed.”
“Someone’s bitchy today,” He gripes, leaning against the frame, “Period?”
“Billy,” You scold, unlocking the latch on the box and flipping it open, “Be nice! This is girl time, you’re intruding.”
His eyes widen, and he scoffs, “Unbelievable! So they put me in charge, then my girlfriend comes over into the house that I’m responsible for, storms off without even a hello, and tries locking herself away in the bathroom with the middle schooler, yet I’m the problem here!”
“Yes,” Max insists, eyes icy as she shoves down the lid of the box so that Billy can’t see the contents, “Just get out!”
“No.” He crosses his arms, glaring her down, “I wanna know what you’re doing.”
“I told you,” You try placating him, voice smooth and sweet, “Girl talk. It’s private.”
“What, is it about periods? I already know all that shit,” He scoffs, and you and Max share an amused, side-eyed grin, “I took health in freshman year. My girlfriend is here and I’m going to spend time with her while she is.”
His chest heaves slightly with the force of his insistence, and you sigh, glancing over at Max. You communicate silently, your eyes holding the words you can’t say in front of him, then you turn back to flash him a single pointer finger.
“One minute,” You promise, “C’mere, Max.”
She huddles closer to you, and you cup your hand over her ear, whispering into it. Billy doesn’t appreciate even more secrets, huffing and puffing at your display of dramatics. After a few nods, a smirk, and a giggle are released, you separate, and turn back to him with an eager smile.
“Okay, Billy,” You start, grin wicked, “We’re creating a skincare routine for Max. If you want to stay and be part of the fun, be my guest. But you’ll have to be our model.”
“Skincare?” He narrows his eyes, “Just wash your fucking face, Max.”
“That’s not how it works,” You groan, “She needs a multi-step routine, and that’s what we’re going to work out today, with this.” You pull up on the case’s latch, and Max doesn’t stop you this time. Inside are individual packages, what Billy identifies as face masks, bottles, tubes, wipes, cotton pads; he’s honestly surprised there’s not a beauty technician stored in there, too.
“If you’re so insistent on spending time with me,” You bargain, and there’s a sweet smile on your face as you say it that lets him know you’re not really as annoyed with him as you tease, “Then you’ll let me demonstrate on you.”
“No way.” He stands tall, shoulders stiff, “I’m not letting you put that shit on my face.”
“You could use it,” Max mumbles under her breath, and the only reason Billy doesn’t gripe back is because he thinks you’ll scold him for it. Instead, he watches as you take out a bottle, showcasing the greenish gel inside.
“Soap,” You inform him, “That’s all it is, Billy, is soap. Would you just wash your face for us?”
“Soap..” He narrows his eyes at the suspicious bottle, “That shit’s just soap?”
“Just soap,” You promise again, “Please?”
He doesn’t need to look into your eyes to know they’re shiny, and he won’t admit defeat because of them. So he succumbs on his own terms, sighing heavily and reaching for the bottle, “Gimme the damn soap.”
The tap water is cool, and he relishes the feeling against his burning cheeks. He can feel his hair getting wet, and some of the longer strands threaten to dip into the water and become completely soaked, ruining his curls. He’s not happy to be giving in so easily, but those damn eyes of yours, that sweet ‘please?’, and he’s a sucker. A sucker who smears green gel soap over his face, scrubbing extra hard at his cheeks like it’ll wash away the pink stains there.
“Okay, gentle,” You chide him, pulling at his elbows, “Max, don’t scrub this hard. You want to lather it in but you don’t want to damage your skin in the process.”
“Unbelievable,” Billy blubbers, bubbles encroaching on the gap of his lips, “I’m being your life sized beauty doll and you’re telling me I’m doing everything wrong.”
This time, you don’t hold back the unamused glare that you and Max share.
“No, Billy.” You placate him, smoothing a hand down his back while he rinses his face, biting back a smirk as Max lets one fall over her face, “We’re not telling you you’re doing everything wrong. I just want you to be nicer to your skin.”
“There,” Billy drawls, smoothing over his bubble-free face with a damp washcloth and staring down his nose at you, a few unfortunately drowned strands of hair sticking to his cheeks, “That it?”
“Uh,” You falter, eyeing the kit you brought, “Not quite. Just a few more steps.”
His face falls, “A few? I washed my face with soap, it’s clean. What more do I need?”
“Well, when you wash your hair with shampoo but you don’t condition it, it gets really dry, right?”
“Yeah,” Billy nods cautiously, eyes narrow, “So?”
“So your skin’s the same way,” You reach for a foil-lined packet in the case, hot pink silhouettes of Barbie littering its surface, “And you need to moisturize it.”
When you draw the package from the confines of the box, BIlly’s eyes go empty. It’s like he’s trying to fathom how he’s gotten there, how he’s in a bathroom with a freshly-washed face surrounded by people who want to stick Barbie all over his cheeks.
“It’s just a face mask,” You try calming him before he can even get started, “It helps moisturize your skin so that it’s not so dry after washing. It’s just a little sheet that you lay over your face, you’ve seen me wear them before.”
“Yeah, and you walk around looking like you fell asleep next to a toddler with a marker.”
“If you’re going to be antagonistic, you can leave,” You finally snap, brows lowering in a condemning glare, “This is supposed to be me pampering your sister because she’s struggling with being a teenager, I will not let you ruin this for her with your shitty attitude.”
Billy’s own brows, impeccably groomed and slit on one side, nearly reach his hairline, one now obscured by a damp curl that hangs down over his forehead.
“Okay, okay.” His gruff voice concedes, the wind successfully taken from his sails, “Barbie me, baby.”
The sheet mask leaves a thick, gelatinous layer of product on your fingers as you unfold it, and the chill of it nearly sends a shiver up your spine. Billy shrinks away from you as you hold it up towards his face, but true to his word he lets you stick it to his skin and smooth away the wrinkles.
The sheet mask intrudes on the seam of his lips so he can’t complain- at least not until you readjust it. You consider not doing so at all, and ensuring that you won’t be hearing any bitching and moaning out of him, but you take pity on him and tuck the mask into place around his mouth.
His stunted groans turn into a panted protest, “This shit feels disgusting.”
“Beauty is pain,” You recite, “Or in this case, mild discomfort for ten to fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes?”
“Fifteen minutes.” You tilt your head downwards, glaring through your eyelashes at him, “Got a problem with that, Barbie?”
“No.” Billy grumbles, “No problems.”
Max snickers, and now Billy has a problem.
“You don’t need to use one of these every day,” You peer at Max, “The more you do it the more you’ll understand your skin. If you need to do one every day, that’s one thing. But most people usually only use them once a week, or a few times a month. And that’s if you have them on hand. If your allowance runs out,” You watch Billy try and fail to itch a patch on his cheek by jabbing his nail into the gooey mask, “You can go without them. It’s an extra moisturizing step, but it’s not essential.”
“Then why the hell is it on my face?” Billy drawls, his voice grating and rough, “I thought you said it was just gonna be a few steps, not the whole tour.”
“This is the only extra step I’m adding,” You turn towards Max to roll your eyes, exaggerating the movement so that she snickers into the palm of her hand, “Just sit down and relax for fifteen minutes! Better yet-” You point towards the open doorway, “Go lay down. Take a little nap,” You suggest, “I can use the time to go over the rest of the process with Max.”
“Don’t get slime on your pillow,” Max grins wickedly at her step-brother, and you honestly think he might have complied were it not for the sibling rivalry. Instead, he plants his ass firmly on the lid of the toilet, resting his ankle on his opposite knee and subsequently kicking Max with the toe of his socked foot.
“Ew!” She jerks away, her back hitting the shower door and rattling it in place, “Y/N, he kicked me with his gross socks.”
“Billy,” You scold, reaching out to tug at a curl that hangs over his shoulder, “Be nice.”
He glares mutinously at you from the eye holes of the pink face mask, but it’s not as lethal as it would be if you weren’t his girlfriend. Although, you suppose, he wouldn’t have put the face mask on if you weren’t his girlfriend, so you drop your hand to his shoulder and rub comfortingly between the blades.
He grunts in response to the impromptu massage, apparently helpless to the comfort despite the mortifying situation he finds himself in. You keep your fingers working diligently against his clenched muscles until he loosens them, “It’ll dry out a bit in the air, but the serum is gonna soak in. After the timer is up, we’ll peel it off, and he’ll rub the rest of it into his skin. Then, toner,” You hold up the bottle, “And moisturizer. Eventually,” You sift through the rest of the bottles in your case, “You may need specific products like undereye serum, or additional creams that do one thing over another. But for right now, I think three steps will be perfect for you. And I’ll leave you with some of these,” You gesture to the numerous packs of face masks you’ve acquired over years of convenience store runs, “So that you don’t have to buy more for a while.”
“Thanks,” Max breathes, her expression breaking into a grin that bunches her cheeks up. It’s genuine, which is something you don’t always see from the oft-sarcastic girl, but it suits her beautifully, and you use your free hand to tug affectionately at one of her braids.
Fifteen minutes eventually passes, but you damn near have to restrain Billy for the amount of times he tries peeling it off before his timer is up. Once the kitchen clock buzzes on the counter his hands fly to his face, but he’s not accounted for the way that the mask has partially dried against his skin, still sticky and gooey but much less dripping.
“Ew,” He twitches, the pads of his fingers now glistening, “Get it off of me.”
“Say please.” You gripe, and you can hear his teeth clacking together in his mouth.
“Please get this shit off of me.”
You acquiesce instead of further tormenting the man, peeling the sheet mask off of him with practiced ease. He grimaces at the way that it clings to his face, but blinks when it’s off of him, like he hadn’t been able to see properly beneath it despite the eye holes.
“Finally.” He grunts, and you bring your hands to his face, gently smoothing the remaining substance into his skin. His eyes, previously scrunched shut, fly open when your hands meet his face, and he locks his gorgeous blue eyes with yours as you rub your fingers over his cheeks.
You share unashamedly back, briefly lost in the moment. He’s got such pretty eyes, and they’re framed by lashes that might be better than your own, resentfully. It’s easy to find yourself suspended in time, and you stroke along the ridges of his cheekbones with a reverence that your thumbs easily sway with. The solution is long gone, but you continue kneading your hands over his face the way you’d eased the sore muscles of his perpetually-tensed shoulders.
You’re not sure how long you stand there, pinned between his knees where you’re standing at the toilet. He’s completely relaxed despite all of his earlier grumblings, limbs loose and resting in his lap. Your fingers rove easily, adoringly over his features, and you honestly forget there’s anyone else there besides the two of you until Max clears her throat, and you glance backwards over your shoulder to see her leaning against the wall, legs and arms crossed. She’s got a flat, unimpressed expression on her face, and you try stepping out from between Billy’s legs until you realize he’s trapped you there.
“Do I have to stare longingly at myself in the mirror when I do it?” Max asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “Or- should I get Lucas in here to do it for me? Do we have to stand like that,” She glances at Billy’s large hands now slung around your waist, “Like we’re trying to fit two people into a dressing room at JC Penny?”
“Okay, okay.” You wrestle your way out of Billy’s hold, fighting against his hands that try desperately to drag you back between his legs, “I get it. Sorry. I got distracted.”
Max’s lip curls into a sneer, clearly disbelieving that her step-brother is anything to be distracted by, “Whatever. So you rub it in, then what?”
“Toner.” You secure a cotton pad, dabbing the liquid onto it with two fingers pressed tight against the back, “Don’t use it if you’ve just popped a pimple. Don’t pop any pimples anyways,” You level a stern glare at her, “But if you do, don’t put this on broken skin. It stings.”
Billy’s eyes darken, and he jerks his head away when you try smearing the pad against his face.
“It’s fine.” You assure him, “It won’t hurt. You don’t have any cuts on your face, right?”
“Baby,” Max snickers, and you have to redirect Billy’s chin towards you when he shoots Max a glare over your shoulder.
“It won’t hurt.” You repeat, taking his face in your hands again to begin smoothing it over his skin. It picks up any excess moisture you’d left behind while staring dreamily into his eyes, but it picks up a layer of dirt that he hadn’t managed to scrub away with the soap, and you show off the stained pad with pride.
“See? That’s why you need toner. It gets rid of everything, and it leaves your skin ready for the moisturizer.”
Max wrinkles her nose again at the sight of the dirtied cotton pad, but Billy doesn’t seem perturbed. He watches carelessly as you toss it into the bin, and pick up your bottle of moisturizer. You pump the nozzle once, twice, thrice until there’s a sizeable amount on your palm, showing Max the size of the portion.
“No more than this,” You tell her, “You’ll go through it too fast and it won’t absorb properly.”
She watches dutifully as you spread the moisturizer over your hands, then rub it into Billy’s face. It’s excessive, because the face mask has already soaked into his skin, but he’ll simply be extra moisturized tonight, and you’re looking forward to cupping his face under cover of darkness in his bedroom tonight. You can be the softest and sweetest when there’s no one else around, and even though Max was understandably uncomfortable witnessing it, you long to continue worshipping your boy.
“There.” You step back, admiring your handiwork, “That’s it. We’re done.”
“Finally,” Billy grumbles, but you know from his recent lack of fidgeting that he’s not as put out by the whole thing as he tries appearing. He stands, looming an impressive distance over you and Max. It’s awkward to edge between the two of you in the small space, but he manages to do so without knocking you over, though he does bump into Max harder than he needs to. He pairs it with a lazy, grating, “Now that you know what you’re doing, I’m gonna go ahead and take back my girlfriend. Enjoy your slime,” Billy grabs your hand, tugging you across the tiled floor so forcefully that your socks slide against it, “Don’t get it in your mouth because I’m not calling poison control.”
“I will!” You yelp, as Billy drags you down the hallway to his room, “But- just don’t eat it anyways!”
When Billy’s door shuts with a whoosh of air you whirl on him, almost getting lost in admiring the way that his skin glistens, “You’re mean to her.”
“She’s my sister,” He looks affronted, “I’m supposed to be.”
“You could be nicer.” You insist, your own face hardened into a frown, “She just wanted girl time.”
“I wanted girlfriend time,” He shrugs, “You came to my house, you really thought I wasn’t gonna steal you?”
“It’s good for her to have girl friends,” You hum, still lost in thoughts of Max who’s insanely deprived of a womanly figure in her life. Billy wastes no time getting you into his bed, his jeans stretching tight over his thighs as he pushes you down, then crawls over you. He flips you when you’re both laying down, settling your body weight over his so that you’re laying against his toned chest. You prop your chin up against his pec, peering down at him as he closes his eyes in bliss as your new napping arrangements, “Promise me you’ll let us have one-on-ones every once in a while?”
“Alright, I promise.” Billy grunts, his eyes still firmly shut, “But don’t act like you guys didn’t enjoy tormenting me in there.”
“Your face is so smooth,” You’re certain he can hear the grin in your voice, and you trace against the contours of his face again with your pointer finger. It’s slightly tacky from the excess moisturizer, but it’s smoother than it’s ever been, and you busy yourself with drawing lines down his nose and curves beneath his chin.
“Stop doing that,” He gripes after a few long moments of nothing but your finger against his skin, “I’m gonna fall asleep.”
“We were gonna nap anyways,” You reason, “Just let me admire my handiwork.”
A grunt is your only answer, and Billy’s lips don’t part again as he drops into a hazy, blissful sleep, though they do lazily pinch together to pucker against the pad of your pointer finger when you drag it against them.
reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)
Summary: Despite Billy's relentless pursuit of you, you continuously shoot him down. And well, Billy Hargrove has always liked a challenge.
Requested by @monkeyyellowsunshine (i had this in my drafts and the stranger things teaser reminded me this existed even tho i started writing this probably two years ago haha)
Warnings: smut, mdni 18+, misogyny, violence, mean!reader, drinking, p in v, oral (f! receiving), lowkey a little dubcon, reader has red-dyed hair, no use of y/n, reverse misogyny (we love), angst, Billy does have a soft side, fluff, he's got that big dick energy, jealous!billy, hair pulling, fingering, pining, lil' bit of a cat-and-mouse game, it's so toxic i can't even⏤
Word-Count: 24k (i swear i just don't know how to write short fics)
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head in exasperation, moan dying on your tongue as the male above you changed his pace for the tenth time—rudely ripping away the specks of an incoming orgasm. For a moment longer, you remained silent, your eyes flickering across his face, taking in the scrunch of his face. Huffing, you pushed upward with a grunt, shoving his lean body underneath yours. Touching him with merely your fingertips—careful to avoid the cooling sticky sweat glistening on his chest—you took hold of the bed’s headboard, rocking forward in deep, steady thrusts, chasing the high that he had obliviously edged away from you. At least you tried, until you felt the male shutter beneath you, a small groan tumbling from his lips. You stilled when he softened within you, blinking down at the guy and his blissful expression.
What the fuck?
What a fucking waste of time. You slipped off him, falling down onto the bouncing mattress beside him with a sour look on your face, perfectly shaped brows—thank you, Tina—dipping low.
The guy had looked so promising at the mall, with chocolatey curls and a sinful glint in his eyes that had you thinking he must have somewhat experience with picking up girls.
Picking them up? Yes, perhaps. Making them actually fucking orgasm? Big fat no on that front.
When his breathing slowed and his eyes slowly began to flutter open, he turned to you with a questioning look in his eyes. “Do you want me to finish you off?”
Your eyes flickered to him once more. Yeah, no. You could do without carpet burn on your flaps and your insides getting skewered like a shish kebab.
Instead of accepting, you sat up and swung your legs over the side of the bed, gathering the clothes strewn about. “Actually, I gotta go.” Clasping your bra shut, you hurriedly pulled your shirt over your head, shimmying your pants over your ass. “You can drive me to the roller rink, though.”
“Sure thing, babe.”
You scrunched up your nose at the nickname, remaining silent as you zipped up your maroon boots and fluffed out your hair. “Let’s go,” you said, swinging your purse over your shoulder, the reddish leather matching the one on your feet.
“Already?” he asked, stretching his arms out with a tired yawn. “Don’t you wanna, like, stay a little? Get a bit of a cuddle in, maybe?”
“I would,” you said—over your dead body—sighing in false frustration as you gifted him a pitiful look. “Gotta meet my friends, though.” Before he could say anything else, you told him you would wait for him at his car and turned on your heel. You wanted to go home and take a shower and scrub off whatever dirt was now clinging to your skin, but the thought of a greasy burger and cheesy fries made your stomach grumble.
Plopping down in the passenger seat of the old Ford, you opened the visor, eyeing yourself in the small dusty mirror. Fixing the black smudges beneath your eyes, you re-applied the berry-colored lipstick, tapping whatever residue was left on your fingers onto your cheeks.
The drive to the roller ink was quiet—thank fuck—with merely a radio station playing softly in the background. Your head was turned to the right, watching as you passed through familiar neighborhoods that all looked eerily similar. Simple houses with chipping paint, head-dried lawns and colored minivans in the driveways. Welcome to suburbia.
The moment the car rolled to a stop in front of the roller rink—you weren’t even certain if it had fully stopped—you shoved the car door open. “Bye, Peter.”
“Patrick,” he corrected, a frown sliding onto his face as he stared after your retreating form.
“Right, sorry,” you said, closing the door behind you. “See you around.” When you took note of the car not departing, you quickened your steps, concerned that Patrick would actually follow you and demand your telephone number.
Inside the lowly lit establishment, you greeted the familiar clerk with a wave of your hand, heading straight for one of the booths surrounding the rink. You stopped in front of the booth with your friends, eyeing the only free spot right across from Tina and beside Billy—who gave no indication that he planned to move over.
A sly grin was directed toward you, before he cocked his head and patted one of his beefy thighs. “Got room for you right here, Cherry Baby.”
You rolled your eyes. “Scoot.”
He did no such thing, merely making a show of spreading his legs wider, resting his left arm on the back of the booth with a shit-eating grin.
Huffing, you slapped his arm. “Scoot over, you nitwit.”
He laughed, deep and throaty, making space for you to sit down beside him. “You’re always so harsh, Cherry Baby,” he grinned with a wink, leaning in and lowering his voice, breath tickling your neck. “I like it.”
You eyed him, raising a brow at the cocky smirk before wordlessly turning your head away, giving your attention to Tina, who had taken a lock of your hair between her fingers.
“Love the touch-up,” she mused and sighed. “I should get my hair dyed, too. What’s that color called again?”
“Dark red,” you answered bluntly, taking the burger and fries Billy was pushing in your direction with a small thanks.
“Geez,” Tommy chuckled at the sour expression on your face. “What crawled up your ass and died?”
Rolling your eyes, you plopped off the top bun, your hand instinctively reaching out to pluck the three little pickled cucumbers off, only to find none there. Your eyes flitted to Billy for just a moment. You always forgot to order your food without them, though apparently he didn’t.
Tina shot Tommy a glare before turning back to you, her fingers retreating from toying with your hair. “Ignore him, Cherry, he’s being mean because Carol wouldn’t take him back this time.”
Tommy scoffed, unfazed by the jab. “Never wanted her back anyway.”
You and Tina shared a look, knowing that by Monday morning Tommy and Carol would be back together as though nothing had happened, dry humping each other at their lockers for everyone else to see.
“Anyway,” Tina started, dipping her fries into a wad of ketchup. “You were late, what were you doing?”
Tommy chimed in. “She means who were you doing?” Extending your leg beneath the table, you delivered a sharp kick to his shin in reply, which had him hissing out his next laugh. “Judging by that and that frown on your face, he wasn’t very satisfying.”
“Tommy, I swear to God, shut your mouth or I’ll tell Carol what happened with Nicole last May,” you threatened, watching as the corners of his mouth dropped within seconds. He mumbled something about you not being able to take a joke before getting up under the pretense of getting another round of milkshakes.
“Serves him right,” Tina giggled, eyes flickering to Billy once in a while, who had taken to frowning at you—no doubt since your prior activities were mentioned. You paid him no mind. “I need Care to take him back, like, yesterday. He’s got such a big mouth when she lets him off the leash, I actually can’t deal with him anymore. He needs to, like, take a chill pill or something.”
“Totally,” you hummed, more interested in dissecting your fries than waste another moment talking about the mess that was Tommy and Carol’s relationship. For the past few months—ever since Carol had seen Tommy drunkenly making out with another girl at a party—the only topic of conversation had been them.
Tina, saying she was going to powder her nose really quickly, stood and disappeared, leaving you alone with Billy.
Noticing him still staring at you, your gaze landed back on the male beside you, looking awfully pleased with… himself or whatever. “What?” You huffed pointedly, taking the tall glass of chocolate milkshake that was resting between his fingers, bringing the straw to your own lips.
Billy watched you, a smirk stretching on his lips, clearly amused by your irritation. “That bad, huh?” His voice was laced with a mix of curiosity and something else—something closer to satisfaction. Instead of answering and giving him what you knew he wanted to hear, you simply hummed and dipped your fry into his milkshake.
Billy leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur as he eyed you through the thickness of his lashes. “Sounds to me like you need someone who actually knows what they’re doing.” He let the suggestion hang in the air, his eyes never leaving yours.
You rolled your eyes, snorting dismissively. “And you’re volunteering? Please.”
He chuckled, undeterred by your sarcasm. “I’m just saying, Cherry Baby, how many times do you have to strike out before you realize you’ve been playing in the minor leagues.” He leaned back, casually draping his arm back across the back of the booth, just barely—but obviously purposefully—brushing your shoulder.
Your gaze wandered back to his, catching the gleam in his eyes. Billy had always been relentless, never missing his chance to flirt with you, no matter how many times you shot him down. Perhaps it was the frustration still buzzing in your veins that made you want to squirm beneath his hungry blue eyes, getting under your skin when he usually wouldn’t.
Instead of giving in, you leaned forward with a sultry lick of your lips, tasting salt and chocolate as you placed your palm on his thigh. His grin widened as you came so terribly close the tips of your noses were almost brushing. “Big talk for a guy who couldn’t get it up last time,” you shot back then, your tone sharp and teasing, knowing the comment would get under his skin like nothing else. You pulled back instantly, watching closely as his grin became rigid, a flash of annoyance crossing his blue orbs.
“Stop with that fucking rumor, Cherry. You know better,” he warned, poking you playfully in the side, making your squirm away as you let out a surprised laugh.
You wrinkled your nose at him, trying to stifle your giggles as he continued to poke at your side. “That rumor’s been making the rounds, though. Heard it being confirmed from a few different girls, in fact.” You knew, of course, that the rumor was just that—high school gossip that Vicki Carmichael had spread when Billy had refused to take her virginity at the New Year’s party. You had been there to see her running out of the bustling house with tears streaming down her face and Billy casually sauntering out of one of the rooms with a cigarette hanging from his lips.
Billy’s grin widened then as he leaned in even closer, his breath warm against your ear, your cheek, your neck. “If you don’t believe me, I could always prove it to you.” His hand slid from the back of the booth to rest on your thigh, much like you had done to him only moments prior, his touch light but deliberate. “Trust me, Cherry Baby, that’s a ride you wouldn’t regret.” His grin was wolfish, his grip on your thigh tightening just slightly.
You raised a brow, a mixture of curiosity and skepticism crossing your face as you hummed. “And how exactly… would you prove it?”
Billy’s eyes gleamed with a playful confidence that you had heard was well-earned by most of the females in the senior class. “Well, if you’re up for it, we could find out tonight. You let me take you out and I’ll show you firsthand that I’m as good as my word.”
You looked him over, close to actually weighing your option with how sure he was of himself. His persistence was almost endearing, you thought. And for the first time since you had known him, there was a part of you that was tempted to see where this could lead. But you had standards, and being one of Billy’s trophies was not something that would land on your bucket list anytime soon.
“Nice try, Billy Boy,” you said, taking his hand off your thigh and dropping it back in his lap. “Maybe another time.”
His smile faltered ever so slightly, but he recovered, giving a scoff much like Tommy had done when you had threatened to tell on him, mumbling ‘your loss’ under his breath as he took back the milkshake you had stolen.
Tina reappeared, plopping back into her seat with a bright smile and her hair in a different updo than it had been when she left. “Miss me?” She chirped, completely oblivious to whatever it was that she had just interrupted.
“Always,” you replied lightly, watching as she pulled a scrap of paper from the back pocket of her pants.
She held it out for you, nodding over to the other table across from the rink. “The cute guy in blue asked me to give this to you,” Tina grinned with a wink.
You unfolded the paper, finding a telephone number hastily scribbled down. Brows rising, you eyed the brown-haired guy on the other side of the rink, only to find him already looking at you. He was cute. You took two quick bites of the burger, washing it down with a few sips of the milkshake that Billy refused to hand back to you before standing and shouldering your purse.
“Teeth check,” you said, and Tina was alert immediately, eyeing your teeth closely for any remnants of food. She gave a thumbs-up and you winked at her, telling them you would see them later as you headed to the other side of the rink.
Billy watched from where he remained seated as you came to a halt on the other side of the rink, holding up the scrap of paper for the guy to see, undoubtedly saying something teasingly rude that—somehow—made guys eat out of your fucking hand. The guy grinned sheepishly at you, scratching at the back of his head, saying something that made you laugh.
Tina sighed from across the table, watching the scene as well, her cheek resting on her hand, a pout on her lips. “I swear, it’s like she’s got a magnetic pull or something,” she muttered, her tone a mixture of admiration and perhaps even a little bit of frustration. “She breathes and guys just come crawling, it’s so unfair.”
Billy on the other hand was less impressed, in fact, he was pretty fucking pissed at the scene. His gaze was sharp as he followed every move you made, his jaw tightening as he watched you laugh, clearly enjoying the other guy’s attention. When he spotted the other guy getting up, leading you out of the door of the rink, he huffed bitterly, grabbing half the burger and fries you had left behind.
Tommy returned, three fresh milkshakes in his grasp, eyeing the empty spot. “Where did Red Hot go?”
“Picked up a guy and left,” Tina pouted, curling her fingers in her dark brown locks. “I should dye my hair, shouldn’t I?”
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
You lay sprawled across the backseat of Jake’s car, your breath coming in heavy, satisfied pants, the interior dimly lit by the soft glow of streetlamps, casting a warm glow over your flushed skin. The aftermath of the—impromptu—encounter lingered in the air, though you definitely weren’t complaining. Jake, equally exhausted, sat slouched against the backrest, his breathing gradually slowing as he kept glancing over at you. You turned your head slightly, catching his eyes with a content grin as you patted his shoulder and sat up, ready for departure. “Thanks for that.”
Jake looked back at you, a little taken aback despite the smugness that had been on his face. “Anytime,” he nodded. “Call me sometime?”
You chuckled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Sure thing,” you said, tone light and free of any commitment whatsoever. “I’ll definitely give you a ring.”
His smile widened, clearly pleased with your response. He reached forward and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. “I’ll be waiting.”
With a final wink, you fixed the fly of your jeans, pulling your top back down. “See you,” you hummed as you opened the car door.
He bid you goodnight, his voice trailing off as you stepped outside without looking back. You were met with the cool night air of Hawkins, the crispness of the evening washing over you. The streets were quiet, bathed in the soft light of the scarce streetlamps that cast long shadows on the empty roads. You took a deep breath, savoring the solitude as you began your short walk home. You passed a couple of familiar spots—the old diner, the park where you and your middle school friends used to hang out, the library that had long since closed—moving with practiced ease. When you rounded the corner onto your street, the lights of your house came into view.
You quickened your pace, eager to get inside and unwind comfortably on your bed, maybe call Tina and tell her how it went, knowing she would question you tomorrow anyway. Quietly, you opened the front door and slipped inside, closing it softly behind you. Your mom was perched on the edge of the couch, a magazine resting forgotten in her lap as she looked up to you through her reading glasses with a curious smile. “Hey, honey,” she greeted, her tone warm. “How was the roller rink? Did you have fun?”
You offered her a tired, though genuine smile as you slipped off your boots and put them beside the door. “Yeah, it was pretty good.” As you started toward the stairs, she suddenly sighed and shook her head. “You know, you should stop dyeing your hair that awful color. You’ll never bring home a boyfriend looking like that.”
You offered her a disinterested ‘I know’ in response, receiving the same comment each time you re-applied the color, and headed up the stairs.
The first thing you noticed was the answering machine, its red light blinking insistently. You crossed the room, stepping over some clothes that were strewn about, sliding out of what you were currently wearing and tossing it to join the pile carelessly. You grabbed a big shirt—a relic that a fling of yours had to leave behind after you had shoved him out of your window onto the roof when your mom had come home early one day. It was washed out and slightly ripped by now, though still the most comfortable thing you owned by far.
Pulling on the shirt, you took a packet of makeup wipes with you as you settled on the bed, pressing play on the answering machine. The first message was from Carol, her voice edged with frustration as she began to rant about Tommy, and how he was being such a jerk, before she ended the long message with a ‘call me back when you get the chance’. You rolled your eyes, wanting to just plop your eardrums and avoid hearing it all again—still, you knew you would call her back anyway. The second message began to play and you groaned. “Hey, it’s Carol again. Seriously, this is getting ridiculous. He was being all sweet again and now he’s back to being an ass. Call me!” The third message was more of the same. “Carol again. I don’t know what you’re doing…or with whom, not sure I want to know, but I really need to talk to you. Call me back,” she drawled out the last part until her voice became a mere whine and the message ended.
You were about to fast-forward through the rest when Tina’s message came through, her voice a nice contrast to Carol’s. It was cheerful and full of energy, sweet. “Hey! It’s Tina. I hope you not picking up means it went well this time! You have to call me, like, the second you get home and tell me all about how it went. I’m literally dying to know! Anyway, talk soon, love you!”
You grabbed the phone from your bedside table, your fingers quickly punching in the numbers. You hit dial, waiting as the phone rang. “Hey, finally! Tina’s voice crackled through the receiver, bright and cheery. “I’ve been waiting for your call!”
“Hey, Tee,” you said, trying to match her enthusiasm. “Just got back home actually.”
“Just now?” She screeched excitedly. “Tell me everything. Was it, like, totally tubular or what?”
Before Tina could get too far into her excited questioning, you cut in, a peeping coming from the phone. “Hold on a sec, Tee, I’ve got another call coming in.”
You hit the hold button and switched lines. A screech of your name echoed through the receiver so loudly, you had to hold the phone further away in the hopes of shielding whatever remained of your eardrum.
“Finally!” Caro huffed. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all night. You won’t believe it. Tommy’s being a total spaz.”
“Ugh,” you made, eyes rolling on their own accord. “What did he do now?”
“Oh my god, Cherry, you wouldn’t believe it. He is such a mess. He called me earlier, saying he wanted to talk things over, and then he starts talking about how he was just so misunderstood and that he didn’t mean it. Like, seriously? That’s such bogus!”
You stifled a yawn, turning onto your back, knowing this was going to be a rambling marathon. “Oh, he is always so full of excuses, isn’t he? He acts like he’s the king of the world or something.”
“Right!” Carol cried out. “And you know what? He—”
Quickly you hit the hold button again, switching back to Tina before you could hear Carol continue. “Hey, Tina,” you hummed, twirling the cable between your fingers. “Sorry about that. You were saying?”
Tina merely giggled. “Oh, just spill the beans! Was he a real stud or another scrub? Did you have a blast, or what?”
“Honestly, he was a bit boring,” you said, scrunching up your nose as you turned back onto your stomach. “But his hands were amazing, if you know what I mean.”
Tina screeched and laughed in reply, beginning to ask another bunch of questions, which you answered until your eyes fell to the clock on your nightstand. “Hold on another moment, babes.”
You switched lines again, just as Carol’s voice was rising in urgency. She sighed unsure. “What do you think?”
“Ugh, he can be such a dick, honestly,” you said, knowing it would satisfy her, confirming everything what she had been saying—whatever that was. “I can’t believe him sometimes. Who does he think he is?”
“Yes!” Carol exclaimed as though you’d just validated her life’s struggles with two sentences. “Totally bonkers! And you know what? He had the nerve to tell me he was having a rough day. Like, seriously? I don’t care if he’s having a rough day, like—” As Carol’s rant picked up, you hit the hold button again, switching back to Tina.
“I’m back,” you said, telling her that Carol was close to combusting on the other line. “I love her, don’t get me wrong,” you started, having been friends with Carol since you had thrown sand at each other in the sandbox and cried together about it. “But I just wanna strangle both her and Tommy with the phone cord sometimes.”
You kept both calls going for about an hour, which had become something of a nightly routine in the past years. You finished chatting with Tina, who had to cut the conversation short because her mother needed the phone. After a brief goodbye, you switched back to Carol, who was still ranting in the background.
“—and then he has the nerve to act like it’s all my fault! Like, seriously, how self-centered can one person be? I just don’t get it!” As her voice died down, you could hear her heave a deep sigh on the other line. “Anyway, enough about Tommy, he’s not worth my time.” Worth over an hour holding her breath in favor of ranting, apparently. “What’s up with you? Are you coming to the party tomorrow?”
“Wait, who’s throwing a party?” You asked, confused. It was the middle of the school year, with no special event in sight. Most parties in Hawkins were thrown on holidays or, sometimes, birthdays, but not on random Saturdays—neighbors were too prone to calling the sheriff about a noise complaint.
Carol’s tone shifted to a more casual, dismissive one. “Don’t know, don’t care. I just know everyone’s going. You have to come, too. I need someone to keep me away from Tommy, he should grovel a little longer before I even think about forgiving him! Plus, I could really use a wing-woman! Help me get Tommy out of my mind. It will be fun, you’ll have a blast, promise!”
“I don’t know, I’ll decide tomorrow, alright?” You said, telling her you were going to go to sleep. Hanging up the phone, you fell back onto the bed with a sigh, finishing removing the make still clinging to your skin. There was no way you were going to that party, you could do well without beer spilling on your shoes and drunken bodies bumping into you left and right. No, thanks.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
The bass of the music thumped through your chest as you navigated the crowded living room, dodging people gyrating to the beat and stumbling over half-empty cups scattered on the floor. The flickering strobe lights created a kaleidoscope of colors that painted the walls and cast erratic shadows over the dancing—stumbling—people. Carol, having arrived already pretty tipsy, was in her element with her arms thrown up into the air as she bounced to the music with excited screams, trying to (and failing) to follow the lyrics.
You laughed at her, trying to keep up with your friends as you swayed to the music. The air was hot and sticky, filled with mixed scents of spice cologne, fruity perfume, and, most of all, sweat. When the shoving and shouting became too much for your sober self to take, you told Carol you were going out for a little bit of fresh air, before slipping through the crowd out the back door into the cool night air. Although not fully quiet, the backyard was a welcome relief from the throbbing beat inside. A few girls and guys were lingering outside having a smoke or little make-out sessions against the shed to the far left. You chuckled at the careless couple, leaning against the cool façade of the house and taking a deep breath, letting the air calm your racing heart.
Just as you were starting to relax, a shadow fell over you. You looked up, finding a guy you vaguely recognized standing before you with a drunken grin. “Hey,” he said with a slur of your name, stepping closer and holding onto the house wall to keep himself from falling over. “You look like you wanna get out of here. How about you come with me? I live real close.”
You straightened up, trying to maintain your composure through the irritation you were feeling. “Yeah, no thanks, I’ll pass.”
He didn’t take the hint—or the blatant rejection. “Come on, don’t be like that. You look like you could use some fun.” Just as he reached out, his hand brushing against your waist, a voice cut through the night air with a sharp edge.
“Hey, shithead!” Billy, a cigarette dangling from his lips, appeared from the darkened edge of the backyard. His eyes narrowed as they fixed on the guy harassing you. Without hesitation, Billy took another long drag from the cigarette and flicked its remnants at the stranger, bud bouncing off the stranger’s chest. “Back off,” he said, stepping closer, his voice low and itching for a fight.
“What’s your problem?” the drunk guy mumbled, clearly having trouble grasping the interruption and also clearly not understanding he would be eating grass in a few short moments if he didn’t back off.
Billy smirked, his confidence radiating—like it always was when he was picking fights. “My problem is you’re bothering someone so far out of your league, she could squash you with the dirt under her boots, you ant. Now, get your ass out of her before I make you regret it.”
The drunk guy, mumbling something neither you or Billy fully understood, stumbled away, eager to rejoin the party and escape further confrontation—which would have ended in a broken nose, no doubt.
Billy turned his attention to you, his smirk turning into a genuine, if slightly teasing, smile. “You alright, Cherry Baby?”
You nodded, threading a thin line between gratefulness and annoyance. It was a relief that the situation had been dealt with so swiftly, but still, you would have been fine handling it by yourself (since the guy had barely managed to stand on his own two legs). “I was just trying to get some air,” you huffed, staying leaned against the wall as you looked him over. Damn him and damn whoever kept selling him these jeans.
Billy looked you over, checking again if you truly were all right before nodding himself. “How about I give you a ride home?”
You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms to shield yourself from the chilly wind that was flowing through the night. “I barely just got here.”
Billy shrugged, a sly grin spreading on his full lips—on which you might have been able to spy some remnants of a pinkish lipstick. You ignored it as he continued. “How about just a little drive then?”
You gave him a skeptical look. “Are you even sober enough to drive?”
Billy placed one hand over his heart, holding the other up as though he was swearing an oath. “Sober as a nun,” he grinned, pearly whites on display as he lifted one of his legs off the ground. “What do you think?” He leaned to the far left, keeping balance on one foot, acting as though he was going to fall. Repeating the action on the right, he put his pointer finger against his nose and as if he was finishing a show, he bowed at the waist, clearly (mostly) sober.
Despite yourself, you smiled back at him. “Fine, one drive. But if you start doing donuts again, I’m jumping out.”
Billy chuckled, offering you a mock salute with two fingers. “No donuts, scout’s honor. Just a smooth ride and some fresh air.” With that, he led you to his car, a beautiful blue Camaro that you knew was one of the few things he truly loved. The smooth purr of the engine welcomed you as you settled into the passenger seat.
The wind was whipping against your face, trashing your hair as you leaned out of the window. The streetlights blurred by in a dizzying streak of orange and yellow, the speed at which Billy was going—highly illegal, no doubt—filling you with a sense of freedom.
An idea sparked in your mind. You pulled your head back into the car, grinning at him. “Billy,” you started, already batting your eyelashes. He sighed knowingly, having spent enough time with you to notice when you wanted something. “Can we go to the spot? Please.”
Billy’s brows shot up to his hairline as he gave you a sidelong glance. “You know I hate getting baby dirty.”
You pouted, giving him your best pleading look. “Come on, Billy, please? I haven’t been there in ages.”
Billy’s eyes softened just a fraction as he considered your request. He sighed, clearly torn between his poor car and your big, pleading eyes. “Fine,” he huffed, lifting a warning finger at you. “But you’re washing the car. And I swear, if you wear anything more than a bikini, I’m never bringing you here again.”
“Pervert,” you commented, slapping his shoulder with a grin as he took a turn onto a dirt road.
“For you? Always.”
You rolled your eyes, putting your feet on the floor of the car harder, hand going to its roof as the road became rough and uneven. The car jostled and bounced as it made its way through the muddy terrain, the tires splashing through puddles, sending up sprays of mud. After what felt like an eternity of bouncing and swerving, Billy finally brought the car to a stop at the clearing you’d both discovered a while back when the sheriff was trying to stop Billy and give him a speeding ticket. It was a secluded spot in the woods, surrounded by tall trees and overlooking a silent, moonlit lake. The view was breathtakingly beautiful, something one would perhaps find painted on canvas.
Billy shut off the engine and turned to you with a resigned but affectionate smile. “Here we are. One muddy car later.”
“I swear I’ll clean it!”
“You better,” he grumbled good-naturedly, pushing open his car door. You followed suit, hopping out of the car into the squelching softness of the mud below. You made your way to the edge of the water, where rocks were scattered about, big enough to take a seat. Pushing yourself onto one of the rocks, you let your legs dangle off the side, staring out onto the lake, its surface shimmering silvery under the moonlight.
Billy leaned against his car, the cool night air ruffling his hair. After a few moments of comfortable silence, he broke it, his voice casual. “So, how did the rest of your night go? With that guy from the rink.”
You turned your head to him, taken aback by the sudden question. His tone was nonchalant, but there was an edge to it that made you pause. “It was fine,” you replied finally, trying to keep your tone light. “Nothing special. Just, you know, the usual.”
Billy raised an eyebrow, his gaze steady on you as he played with the gum in his mouth, pushing it against his teeth with his tongue. “The usual? That’s it?”
You shrugged, not sure how to respond to his tone. Talking with Billy was different than talking to Tina about the guy, despite both of them being your friends. “I mean, it was okay, good enough, I guess.”
Billy’s jaw tightened slightly, his eyes darkening as he looked away from you. “Sounds like you had the date of the century.”
You frowned, sensing the undercurrent of his words. “Is there something you want to say, Billy?”
He looked back at you, his expression softening just a little. “Nah, I’m just curious. You turned down my offer just to go off with some random guy. Just wanted to know if it was worth it.”
You could feel the tension in the air, and for a moment, you considered your response carefully. Billy’s frustration was more than noticeable, in the way his jaw was ticking, the tension lingering in his shoulders, the glint in his eyes—you saw them, no matter how nonchalant he was trying to act. Not wanting to stoke the flames, you shrugged again. “Honestly,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “It wasn’t anything special. Just a quick thing. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”
Billy chuckled, a sound that was more bitter than amused. “Just wasn’t expecting you to go fuck someone else right after I asked you out. Bit of a dick move if you ask me.”
You echoed the last of his words, with a roll of your eyes. “I’m not interested in just being another notch on your fucking bedpost, Billy.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not like that.”
“What is it like, then? You wanna date me? Become another Carol and Tommy?” You asked with a scoff. “Fuck no. I don’t need that.”
The air grew thicker within seconds, the quiet atmosphere of the moonlit lake doing nothing to calm the storm about to spew out of control between you. Billy’s jaw clenched as your words hung in the air, his composure slipping just enough to reveal the irritation simmering beneath the surface. “Carol and Tommy? That’s what you think this is?” he shot back, his voice rising. “You are comparing us to those idiots?”
You jumped down from the rock, the smooth, cold surface of the stone slipping under your feet as your frustration bubbled over. “What am I supposed to think, Billy? You’ve been here a little over a year and you’ve gained a worse reputation than anyone else in a lifetime! I’m not looking to be the next girl you brag about to Tommy. I don’t want to play that fucking game.”
Billy’s eyes flashed in anger as he pushed off the car, taking a step closer to you. “I’m not playing games with you, Cherry. But you’ve got this delusion in your head that you got me all figured out. Maybe if you’d just give me a chance instead of running off with every guy who flashes you a smile, you’d see that.”
Your heart pounded in your chest, his words hitting close to home. You hated how he could get under your skin like this, how he could make you feel exposed and defensive all at once. “Maybe I just don’t want to fucking give you a chance, Billy. What, you think because you got your dick sucked by half of Hawkins that you’re something special? Be fucking for real.”
His expression darkened, and for a moment, you could see the hurt behind his anger. “You’re not giving me any credit. I’m not like those other guys, and you know it. I’m not just another asshole trying to get in your pants.”
“Because that’s exactly what it feels like!” You shouted, your voice echoing across the clearing. The words came out harsher than you intended, but you were too far gone to care. “You think I don’t see the way you look at me like I’m some piece of meat? The way you act like you’ve got a claim on me just because you’ve been asking me out? Newsflash, Billy, I don’t owe you anything.”
Billy’s fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, you thought he might snap and spur all the hateful things you had said back in tenfold. But instead, he took a deep breath, his gaze hardening. “Fine. You know what? I’m done. Let’s just get out of here.”
“Fine,” you shot back, crossing your arms as you stormed toward the car. “Take me home.”
Billy didn’t respond, just yanked open the driver’s side door and slid in, slamming it shut behind him. You followed suit, your blood still boiling as you climbed into the passenger seat, not bothering to look at him. He turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. But as he tried to pull away, the car lurched forward, only to come to a sudden stop, the tires spinning uselessly in the mud.
“Shit,” Billy muttered under his breath, trying again to no avail. The car was well and truly stuck.
“Great,” you muttered, your irritation reaching new heights. “Just great.”
Billy shot you a glare, his anger rekindling. “This is what happens when you insist on coming out here. Now we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere.”
“Oh, so this is my fault now?” you snapped, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “You didn’t have to take me here, Billy.”
“You begged me to bring you here,” he shot back, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. “And now look where we are.”
You glared at him, the tension between you almost suffocating. “Just get us out of here, Billy.”
“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “But you’re pushing.”
“What?” You stared at him in disbelief.
“You heard me,” Billy said, unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out of the car to assess the situation. “Get your ass out of the car and push while I floor it. Maybe then we can get out of this mess.”
You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” he shot back, his expression hard as he stood by the driver’s side door. “You wanted to come here, so now you’re gonna help get us out.”
With a groan of frustration, you pushed open your door and stepped into the mud, your shoes sinking into the muck. This night just kept getting better and better.
As you positioned yourself behind the car, your hands once again pressed firmly against the trunk, you braced yourself for another attempt. The mud squelched beneath your shoes, threatening to pull them off with every movement. You could feel the tension in your arms and shoulders, your muscles straining as you prepared to push.
"Ready?" Billy's voice called out from the driver's seat, a mix of determination and frustration lacing his words.
"Just do it," you gritted out, your focus entirely on the task at hand.
"Alright, on three. One… two… three!"
The car's engine roared to life again as Billy floored the gas, the tires spinning wildly against the thick mud. You pushed with all your might, digging your feet into the ground for leverage. For a moment, it felt like nothing was happening, like the car was still firmly stuck in place. But then, just as you were about to give up hope, the car lurched forward. But instead of the smooth movement you were hoping for, the car only moved a tiny bit—just enough to send a spray of mud flying right at you. You barely had time to react before the cold, wet muck splattered across your front, drenching your clothes and hitting your face with a disgusting splat.
"Are you kidding me?!" you shouted, your voice half-frustrated, half-incredulous as you wiped a thick layer of mud off your face. You could barely see through the sludge that clung to your eyelashes and dripped down your cheeks.
Billy cut the engine and stepped out of the car, trying his best to hide the smirk on his face but failing miserably. “Hey, Cherry,” he called out in that infuriatingly casual tone. “You’ve got a little something on your face.”
“Really?” You huffed at the teasingly malicious glint in his eyes. “I hadn’t noticed,” you shot back sarcastically, wiping another glob off your cheek with the back of your hand.
Billy just chuckled, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “You might want to clean that up. Wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re a swamp creature.”
You narrowed your eyes at him and, without saying a word, you bent down, scooped up a handful of thick, sticky mud, and hurled it straight at him. The mud splattered against his chest, leaving a satisfying smear across his shirt. Billy’s eyes widened in surprise before narrowing into a playful glare. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that, Cherry.”
Before you could react, he bent down, grabbing a handful of mud from the ground. “You think you can get away with that?”
You didn’t hesitate. “I think I just did.”
He grinned devilishly, launching the mud in your direction. You ducked, laughing as it sailed over your head and landed with a splat on the ground behind you. “Is that all you’ve got, Hargrove?”
“Oh, it’s on now,” Billy shot back, grabbing more mud.
What started as a playful throw quickly escalated into an all-out mud war. You both ducked and dodged, flinging mud at each other with reckless abandon. The more you threw, the more you both laughed, the tension from earlier melting away in the absurdity of it all.
Billy managed to land a particularly messy shot right on your shoulder, sending a wave of mud splattering everywhere. You gasped, then grabbed a double handful of mud and charged at him, hurling it with all your might. Billy laughed, trying to dodge, but you managed to hit him square in the chest again.
“Oh, you’re dead!” Billy called out, dropping all pretense of dodging as he scooped up more mud, but you were already sprinting away, laughing uncontrollably as he chased after you.
You ran around the car, barely avoiding his muddy missiles as you darted behind trees and over rocks, laughing so hard you could hardly catch your breath. Billy was right behind you, and you could hear his laughter mixing with yours, the sound echoing through the night air.
Finally, he caught up to you, grabbing you around the waist and spinning you around as you both tumbled into the dirt together, a mess of laughter and mud. You landed on your back, Billy hovering over you, both of you panting from the exertion and the hilarity of it all.
You looked up at him, seeing amusement on his face beneath the layer of dirt, and couldn’t help but burst out laughing again. “You’re such an idiot,” you managed to say between gasps for air.
Billy grinned down at you, his eyes twinkling. “Takes one to know one.”
Noticing that his guard was down, you subtly reached beside you, fingers curling around another handful of thick, cold mud. Feigning innocence, you brought your free hand up to gently wipe a stray smear from his cheek. "You missed a spot," you said softly, your voice laced with playful sweetness.
Billy's gaze softened for a split second, his lips curling into a small, genuine smile. "Oh yeah?" he replied, clearly unaware of your devious plan.
Seizing the perfect moment, you swiftly brought your other hand up, smearing the gooey mud all across his face, making sure to cover as much surface area as possible. The look of pure shock and disbelief that crossed his features was priceless, and you couldn't contain the burst of laughter that erupted from you, echoing through the quiet night. Billy blinked through the mud now dripping down his face, his mouth opening in mock offense. "Alright, that's it. You've asked for it now."
Before you could react, his strong arms wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. Your laughter turned into a surprised squeal as he effortlessly pulled you along. "Billy, what are you—" your protest was cut short as he began striding purposefully towards the shimmering lake just a few yards away.
Eyes wide, you wriggled in his grasp, half-heartedly trying to break free while still giggling uncontrollably. "Don't you dare! Billy, it's freezing!" you exclaimed, though the excitement in your voice betrayed any real protest.
He looked down at you with a wicked grin, his blue eyes dancing with delight. "Should've thought about that before you decided to redecorate my face," he teased.
In a matter of seconds, you felt the soft mud give way to the cool, smooth pebbles lining the edge of the lake. The silvery surface of the water rippled gently under the moonlight, looking both beautiful and daunting in the chilly night air.
"Billy, wait!" you tried one last time, but it was no use. With a triumphant laugh, he took one final step and plunged both of you straight into the lake.
The cold water enveloped you instantly, seeping through your clothes and shocking your system with its icy touch. You gasped as you resurfaced, spluttering and pushing your now-soaked hair out of your face. The chill was intense, but the adrenaline and sheer absurdity of the situation had you laughing despite the shivers that ran down your spine.
Billy emerged beside you, shaking his head like a wet dog and sending droplets flying everywhere. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and his clothes clung to his toned frame, but the triumphant, boyish smile on his face was unmistakable.
"You're insane!" you exclaimed, splashing water at him in retaliation.
He laughed, dodging the splash with a playful glint in his eye. "Maybe, but you started it," he retorted, splashing back at you.
The two of you continued your water fight, the lake erupting with waves and laughter as you chased each other through the shallows. The cold was soon forgotten amid the fun, your earlier argument completely dissolved into the night. You tried to escape his onslaught by wading deeper into the water, but Billy was quick, closing the distance between you effortlessly. Before you knew it, he had caught you again, his arms encircling your waist as he lifted you slightly, spinning you around. The world became a blur of moonlight and water, your laughter mingling with his as the stars above glimmered down at you. Finally, breathless and exhausted, you both trudged back to the shore, collapsing onto a patch of soft, damp grass. You lay there side by side, staring up at the vast expanse of the night sky, your chests heaving as you tried to catch your breaths.
Billy turned his head to look at you, droplets clinging to his eyelashes and a soft smile playing on his lips. “You wouldn’t believe the shrinkage right now.”
You looked at him for a second, at the seriousness in his eyes, before a loud laugh tore forth from your throat, your head throwing back. Only when shivering overtook your laughter did you sit up, both of you scrambling to get back to the car, the chill of the night truly starting to creep back in.
Billy yanked open the driver’s side door and practically dove inside, immediately reaching for the ignition. The engine roared to life as he cranked up the heat, the vents blasting slowly warming air into the car’s insides. You scrambled into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind you as you huddled near the heater, soaking in the warmth, with the leather squeaking under your sopping wet behind.
You both shared a glance, a silent agreement as you both instantly began peeling off your soaked clothes, the fabric stubbornly clinging to your skin. Free from the cold fabric, you tossed it into the backseat, along with Billy’s. Sitting in the front seat in merely your underwear, Billy didn’t seem phased at all, already down to his boxers, his skin glowing faintly in the dim light of the car’s interior. Your eyes moved on their own accord, taking in the muscular physique he made no secret of hiding, while both of your arms were resting in front of your barely clothed body with uncertainty.
Billy gave you a sideways glance, a small smirk playing on his lips. “What? Shy all of a sudden?” He teased, though his tone was light.
You rolled your eyes, mustering up a defiant grin. “Not at all,” you shot back, your cradling arms falling away, giving him a full view of the lacy black bra and mismatched panties. You shivered as the cool air hit your skin, quickly moving closer to the heater.
The warmth from the vents was a welcome relief, and you both sat there for a few moments in silence, the only sounds being your heavy breathing and the whir of the car's heating system. The situation was oddly intimate, the two of you sitting in the front seats in nothing but your underwear, trying to stave off the cold together.
Billy leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes as he soaked in the warmth, his chest rising and falling steadily. You couldn't help but sneak another glance at him, your eyes tracing the contours of his muscles, the faint scars that marred his otherwise perfect skin. Despite everything that had happened tonight, there was something undeniably comforting about being here with him, sharing this quiet, private moment.
As the heat finally began to chase away the last of the cold, you both started to relax, the tension that had built up earlier now almost completely gone. Billy cracked an eye open, catching you in the act of staring at him, and he gave you a lazy grin.
"Comfortable?" he asked, his voice low and slightly teasing.
You rolled your eyes again, but this time, there was no real bite to it. "As comfortable as I can be sitting in a car, in the middle of nowhere, in my underwear."
He chuckled, leaning forward to adjust the heat, making sure it was on full blast. "Could be worse," he said, glancing over at you with a playful glint in his eye. "Could be with anyone else.”
You hummed softly, the sound filling the small space between you. "Yeah, I suppose this is a good option."
The two of you sat there for a while longer, letting the warmth seep into your bones. It was quiet, the kind of quiet that was rare in your life, and you found yourself appreciating it more than you would have expected. Eventually, you leaned back in your seat, your eyes fluttering to stare outside tiredly as the heat and exhaustion from the night's events began to lull you into a state of relaxation.
Beside you, Billy shifted slightly, his hand brushing against yours as he adjusted his position. The touch was brief, almost accidental, but it sent a spark of warmth through you that had nothing to do with the car's heater.
Before you could talk yourself out of it, the words slipped out, almost like an involuntary reflex. “Fine, one date.”
Billy’s eyes snapped open, any trace of sleepiness gone as he turned his head sharply to look at you. His brow furrowed in confusion as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly. “What?”
You turned your gaze from the window to meet his eyes, your heart pounding just a little harder in your chest. “One date,” you repeated, holding up a single finger for emphasis. “One. Don’t get any ideas.”
For a moment, he just stared at you, as if processing your words. Then, a slow grin spread across his face, lighting up his features in a way that was almost boyish, a terribly obvious contrast to the cool demeanor he usually projected. “You’re serious?”
You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of indifference. “Yes, I’m serious. But don’t get too excited—it’s just one date.” Shrugging, you tried playing it off even though your heart was still racing. “Don’t make me change my mind, Hargrove.”
His grin widened, and there was a glint in his eyes that told you he wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip away. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his voice tinged with a mix of excitement and challenge.
You could feel the shift in the air, the playful banter from earlier replaced by something more charged, more real. There was no backing out now—not that you wanted to, not really. Deep down, part of you was curious about what a date with Billy would be like, what it would mean for the two of you.
But you weren’t about to let him know that.
“One date,” you repeated firmly, giving him a pointed look. “And you better make it good, because that’s all you’re getting.”
Billy’s gaze locked onto yours, his expression serious despite the playful tone of the conversation. “Trust me,” he said, his voice soft but sure. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
You let out a huff, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned back in your seat. “We’ll see about that.”
Billy chuckled again, but this time, there was a softness to it, a warmth that made you feel like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t making a huge mistake.
For now, you’d let yourself see where this could lead. Just one date. Nothing more, nothing less.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
You were on your knees, scrubbing away at the stubborn dirt caked on Billy’s car, your muscles starting to protest from the effort. A hose lay coiled at your side, ready for the next round of rinsing. Sweat was gathering on your forehead, making you wipe at it every once in a while with damp hands. It was a terribly hot day, the sun beating down on you, making you regret agreeing to wash Billy’s car. Every now and then, your eyes flitted to Tina and Carol lounging comfortably in lawn chairs a few feet away, lazily sipping on lemonades and gossiping about the latest drama in Hawkins.
Carol tilted her sunglasses down, watching you with a teasing smirk. “You missed a spot, Cherry.”
You shot her a look, turning your attention back to the sponge in your hand, tempted to hurl it at them both. Instead of doing what had been on your mind, you pressed the sponge back to the blue surface, scrubbing even harder at a particularly stubborn patch of mud. Taking the hose, you rinsed the foam away, water spraying across the car’s side, splashing back onto you, soaking through your shirt. You sighed, knowing you had at least another hour of this.
Tina leaned over, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “Did you hear about Becky and Steve? Total disaster. She caught him flirting with Nancy Wheeler at the party. Can you believe it?”
“As if!” Carol rolled her eyes, “I told you Steve was a player. Becky should’ve known better.”
You finished with the hood, stood up, and stretched, feeling the ache in your back. The half-cleaned car gleamed under the sun, but there was still so much left to do. You grabbed the hose and rinsed off the suds, watching as the water ran off in murky rivulets, carrying away the grime. Finally, you plopped down on the grass between Tina and Carol, leaning back onto your elbows. Wordlessly, Tina handed you her glass of lemonade and you took a grateful sip, the cold, sour liquid refreshing as it slid down your throat.
Carol narrowed her eyes at you, a grimace on her face. “So, why are you washing Billy’s car anyway?” she asked, suspicion lacing her tone.
You shrugged nonchalantly, handing the lemonade back to Tina. “Lost a bet,” you lied, keeping your expression neutral.
Carol raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it but interested nonetheless. “Uh-huh. What kind of bet?”
You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your expression neutral. “Does it matter?” A bet’s a bet.”
Carol gave you a skeptical look, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, turning the conversation back to Becky and Steve, her voice dripping with malice as she recalled all the wrongs Steve had ever done. A year back, when Tommy and Carol had been on one of their breaks, Carol had hit on Steve—he had been a vital part of your group of friends back then—only to be shot down. Ever since then, Steve had distanced himself, distancing himself from Carol’s snarky comments and spiteful looks. You had found out about the situation only after Carol had gotten drunk at a party and spilled the beans to you, crying that she was unlovable.
Before you could get back up to finish cleaning the car, Tina cut in with a sly grin, “Oh, C, did I tell you? Billy asked Cherry out again.” Your head snapped in the direction of your brunette friend, a warning glare in your eyes, knowing you had made her swear above and beyond not to mention it to Carol.
Carol let out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes. “Well, it’s getting pathetic by now. The guy just doesn’t know when to quit.” She wrapped her sparkly lips around the baby blue straw, taking a few sips of the lemonade, looking to you for confirmation.
Before you could reply, Tina leaned forward further, grin widening. “Cherry said yes!”
Carol choked on her lemonade, eyes widening with surprise. She couched, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, staring at you in disbelief. She screeched your real name, the one nobody but your mother used. “You can’t be serious!”
Picking at the grass beside you, you shrugged, pursing your lips—not without giving Tina the stink eye she deserved—trying to play it off. “It’s just one date, Care. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
Carol continued to gape at you, clearly flabbergasted by the revelation. “But—it’s Billy! What changed?” She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Is he black-mailing you?”
“Carol,” you scoffed warningly.
She wasn’t letting it go, though, leaning forward, her expression intense. “I just don’t get it. You’ve shot him down, like, a million times. Why now?” She didn’t even give you the chance to answer, huffing instead and leaning back in her chair. “I just hope you know what you’re doing. Billy’s not exactly boyfriend material.”
You shot her a sharp look, your patience wearing thin. “You’re one to talk. Remind me again how many times I held you while you cried because Tommy’s tongue was down someone else’s throat?”
Carol’s face flushed, her eyes narrowing. “That’s different, and you know it!”
“Is it?” You countered, not backing down.
Carol stood up abruptly, her face still tinged with annoyance. She grabbed her purse, smoothing her skirt as she huffed, “I have to get home for lunch.” She hesitated for a moment, then added with a pointed glare, “But don’t come crying to me when he hurts you.”
You rolled your eyes, the annoyance bubbling up inside you as her words grated on your nerves. Carol always acted like she had it all figured out, but you’d seen her cry over Tommy more times than you could count. You weren’t about to let her get away with that kind of condescension.
Sharply, you shot back, “I don’t cry over boys, Carol. Boys are just placeholders—they come and they go, and they for sure aren’t worth my tears.”
Carol’s eyes widened in surprise at your retort, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t have a comeback for that, and after a tense moment, she just shook her head and turned on her heel, walking away without another word. You watched her go, your irritation still simmering, but there was also a sense of satisfaction. You weren’t going to let anyone, not even a friend, belittle your decisions or act like they knew what was best for you. You were in control of your own life, and you’d handle things your way.
As the sound of her footsteps faded, Tina broke the silence, her voice hesitant. “That was really mean, Cherry.”
You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you tried to shake off the lingering frustration. “She just doesn’t get it. I’m not looking for some epic romance or whatever. I’m just… seeing where things go. And if Billy screws up, that’s on him. I’ll move on.”
“If you say so.”
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
You were fuming as you stepped back into your house, frustration bubbling up inside you. You had spent the entire evening waiting for Billy, all dressed up and ready for the surprise date he had been teasing you about all week. You’d gone all out in a tight black dress that complemented your hair, your makeup perfect. You had actually felt somewhat excited, seeing where Billy would take you, since he had spent all week teasing you, saying he had everything planned down to perfection. But as the minutes ticked by and Billy failed to show up, your excitement quickly turned to anger. An hour had passed, then another, and still no sign of him. You tried calling him, but he didn’t answer, nobody answered. Your patience wore thin, and you felt a mix of humiliation and rage bubbling up. By the time you decided to head back inside, you were seething.
On Monday morning, you were over it—or, at least, you told yourself you were. When you saw him approaching you in the school hallway, you ignored him completely, walking away so briskly that your boots clicked sharply against the floor.
“Hey, Cherry!” Billy called out, catching up with you. His voice was casual, but you could tell he was… flustered? “I was trying to reach you—”
“Yeah, well, I was busy,” you hummed, your tone frosty as you raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “I have better things to do than wait around for men.” Billy stopped in his tracks, his face falling. You noticed the bruise on his left eye and your anger flared even more. The sight of it made you think, that instead of picking you up, he had been out drinking and gotten himself into another fight.
“Cherry, listen—” Billy began, but you cut him off again.
“Save it,” you said bluntly, your eyes flashing with irritation. “I don’t need excuses. You clearly had something better to do and, frankly, I’m not interested in your drama.”
Billy’s jaw tightened. He took a deep breath, trying to control his rising anger at your dismissal. “Look, Cherry, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“I’m done with this,” you said firmly, turning away from him. “See you in class.”
You stormed into the locker room, fuming as you kicked off your boots and headed for your locker. The events of the morning had you well and truly seething, not caring about the looks you were getting as you fumbled with your locker, trying to get the cheerleading uniform out. You hastily pulled the green and white uniform on, white sneakers in your hand, when suddenly the locker room door swung open, followed by an enthusiastic squeal. “Guys, you won’t believe it!” A girl from the squad burst, her gray eyes wide with excitement—Jenna, a sophomore who had been accepted into the team at the beginning of the year—bounced with every step she took. “Billy Hargrove just asked me out!”
You looked up, your anger momentarily forgotten as your eyes narrowed in disbelief. Jenna continued, the rest of the girls having gathered to hear the story of how it had happened, none noticing the effect her words were having on you.
“He was like all charming and stuff. I thought it was so sweet—”
“Sweet?” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Billy Hargrove isn’t sweet, so if you don’t want him to cut your date short, I’d buy a box of condoms if I were you.”
The room fell silent as the rest of the squad around you gaped at the blunt comment. Jenna’s excitement faltered slightly, her eyes wide as she stared at you, taken aback. “What do you mean?”
You let out a heavy sigh, shrugging as if it were no big deal. “Oh, come on, don’t act like you don’t know what they are saying about him. He’s not the guy to show up with flowers and love letters. He’s going to take what he wants and then disappear before you even realize what happened and he won’t give you the time of day again.” Your tone softened. “Be smarter than that, Jenna.”
A few of the girls exchanged uneasy glances, while Jenna’s face merely continued to fall further. She looked crestfallen as she nodded slowly. “Thanks for the heads-up, Cherry.”
You managed a tight-lipped smile and turned back to your locker, feeling a pang of guilt for being so harsh. It wasn’t Jenna’s fault she was excited; it was just frustrating to see Billy’s charming façade still working its magic on everyone. The conversation shifted back to other topics as the cheerleaders began to prepare for practice, but the tension from your comment lingered in the air.
You were going to be smarter than that, too.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
You had managed to steer clear of Billy Hargrove for over a month, keeping your distance and focusing on literally anything else. Though ignoring him, also meant ignoring plans your friends made, which, more often than not, included Billy, too. Even though the tension from your last encounter with him had slowly faded, being near him felt awkward—at least that’s what Tina said it felt like when she had been sitting alone with both of you at your usual booth at the roller rink. The buzz of Fourth of July was quickly approaching, and with it, Nicole’s annual party that weeks before and weeks after would be the talk of the town. Each year, her parents would leave town to visit her grandparents, leaving Nicole with the house all to herself—and dozens of drunken teenagers to make a mess of it. The invitation had been passed out everywhere—school, the mall, the arcade, even on the street to strangers that Nicole thought looked cute.
On the day itself, you found yourself standing in front of Nicole’s house, dressed in a backless blue denim jumpsuit, the zipper in the front just enough undone to reveal the beginnings of a red bra beneath—with two white stars painted on the back pockets of the jumper. Tina and Carol had insisted on a festive theme, both of their cheeks smeared with red, white, and blue stripes that you had oh so gratefully refused.
The night air was warm and filled with the sounds of drunken laughter and loud music as you walked up to the house, trailing your friends. Red, white, and blue streamers adorned the front porch, a large banner hanging above the entrance, declaring ‘Stars, Stripes, and Sips—Let’s Get Lit!’. You shook your head at the hand-painted banner and walked past it into the already bustling house. Some of the people you recognized, while others you weren’t even sure were citizens of Hawkins.
Tina, enthusiasm quite literally painted on her face, immediately took hold of both your and Carol’s hands, pulling you into the kitchen of the familiar house. “Come on, ladies!” Tina urged, her eyes gleaming with excitement—and mischief. “I starved myself all day, so this would be worth it!” She said, grabbing a tray of shot glasses and starting to dole out tequila with shaking hands. Ignoring the spilled substance, she handed each of you a shot, taking the saltshaker and a lime for herself. She urged both of you to lick your hand before eagerly salting the spot, telling you to take a lime already. Tina lifted her shot, toasting to freedom, fireworks and something you didn’t understand because a loud cheer had gone through the crowd. Without waiting, she licked the salt away, tipping her head back with the shot, swallowing and quickly taking a bite of her lime. Her face twisted with disgust and the sour tinge of citrus—though she wasn’t affected by it long, already beginning to pour herself a second glass.
You licked, swallowed, and bit, squinting your eyes shut to keep from gagging at the taste. A burning warmth worked through your esophagus, traveling to your stomach. You immediately regretted spending the whole day in the company of Tina, with her not stopping to eat for just a second, you hadn’t done so either. Although you perhaps shouldn’t have, you accepted the second shot she had poured without complaint, downing it together with Carol and Tina—solidarity and all that.
Straying from tequila, you mixed some sweet drink for yourself in one of the blue plastic cups, refusing Tina when she told you to add another few ounces of alcohol. Carol told you she would see if Tommy had gotten here yet—they had reconciled for the time being—and vanished in the crowd. An excited screech left Tina’s lips as she hammered the palms of her hands lightly against your bare arm, pointing toward the group that was gathering on the couches to play stupid little games.
“Please?” She pouted, already beginning to pull you along.
You scrunched up your nose and shook your head with an apologetic smile, suggesting that you’d watch instead. She was content enough with it not to argue further, jumping over the back of the sofa and plopping between a few people from the senior class. You stood behind her, sipping your drink, slightly propping yourself against the couch as a girl started explaining the rules. Not bothering to listen, since you weren’t going to participate anyway, you took to looking around the decorations Nicole had put up. She always went all out, even though nobody really cared if there were balloons and confetti as long as there was beer and music.
“Never have I ever done the dirty with Billy Hargrove,” some girl giggled—that had you snapping your head back to the group. The blonde smirked as she raised her own glass on took a sip, clearly not giving a damn about the sense of the game. Almost all the other girls, excluding Tina—thank God—immediately took a sip from their drinks, giggling and exchanging knowing looks as they began to gossip about their experiences. You rolled your eyes and grimaced, patting Tina on the shoulder to let her know you were leaving the scene, heading toward the dancing crowd.
You spotted the cheer squad in the thick of it, moving in sync with the beat and enjoying themselves with some half-assed choreography they were making up on the spot. They chuckled as someone suggested another dance move, copying it, swaying all drunk and silly. You slipped through the crowd to join them, being greeted by an excited chorus of your name and messy hugs. Swaying and dancing until sweat was warming the nape of your neck, you let the bass and the flashing lights wash away the annoyance of the evening.
Lost in the music, you barely noticed some guy sidling up, until some of the girls gave excited noises and a hand wrapped around your waist. “Hey, there,” he said, his voice smooth and flirtatious. He had a confident swagger, a smile that seemed far too eager. “Mind if I cut in?”
You looked him up and down, unimpressed. He wasn’t really your type—lacking the edge and cutting charm that usually attracted you. But as you glanced over his shoulder, you caught sight of Billy Hargrove standing by the wall, his eyes fixed on you and the guy. For reasons beyond you, your heart hopped at the thought of him having watched you, having eyes for merely you in a crowd of people far more eager to go along with whatever he wanted. The look on his face was unreadable, stony almost, though you thought you might have spotted a hint of annoyance within.
Before you knew what you were doing, you turned back to the male before you and smiled, a sly, sultry smile that always got you what you wanted. “Sure, why not?” You said, pulling him along and turning him around. Barely interested, you pressed your back against his front, lifting an arm to wrap around his neck while his wrapped around your front. You swayed to the music, ignoring the compliments and whatnot being whispered against your ear, your eyes once in a while flitting to Billy, making certain he was still watching.
The longer you danced, the more tightly the guy held you, the more you could spot Billy’s fist clenching firmly, the furrow in his brow deepening. The more you engaged with the guy, the more Billy seemed to fume—so terribly, you could feel the heat of his stare even from the distance. Billy’s blue orbs found yours as you leaned your head against the guy’s shoulder, Billy’s demeanor shifting. There was a tick in his jaw as he squeezed the life out of the plastic cup in his hands, shooting glares toward you. Deciding to push it further, you stretched your neck, pushing a little at the back of the guy’s head, who got the clue immediately. You grinned knowingly, eyes falling shut only after seeing Billy with his jaw set tight, your red-painted lips falling open in a satisfied moan. Before you could fully immerse yourself in the show, you felt a firm grip on your arm.
You turned to find Billy’s face inches from yours, his expression a mix of anger and something darker. His eyes were stormy, the tension radiating from his so thick, you could have cut it with a knife. Without waiting for a response, he roughly tugged you through the crowd, ignoring the curious stares and murmurs from partygoers. Despite your protests, he didn’t slow down, his grip on your arm unrelenting as he guided you toward the back of the house. The fresh night air hit you, sharp and clear after the stifling heat of the party.
His strides were purposeful, seething with frustration. He dragged you along by your upper arm, away from prying eyes and ears of the party. As you reached a secluded wall, he spun you around, shoving you firmly against it. The suddenness of it made you gasp, your back hitting the wall with a jarring thud.
Billy’s eyes were fierce, the glint of anger and something deeper reflecting in them, taking your breath away at the intensity. His face was so close to yours you could feel his hot breath on your skin, his eyes boring into yours with a ferocity that was making you shift. “You think that shit is funny?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Damn it, Cherry, answer me,” he growled, his hand slamming into the rough wall beside your head, making you jump.
You could barely breathe, the pressure of his gaze squeezing the air from your lungs. With a shaky exhale, tongue heavy, you whispered, “Yes.”
Billy’s eyes burned with a combination of frustration and something else—an emotion that was hard to pin down. He kept you pinned against the wall, his face dangerously close to yours, his breath mingling with yours. The night air felt charged, every breath between you feeling electric.
“So, you think it’s funny?” Billy’s voice was raw, barely controlled, his anger spilling over. “Grinding against some guy like a bitch in heat?” He spat out the words, his tone dripping with disdain. “You wanted to make me mad? Make sure I saw you with someone else?”
You scoffed then, composing yourself, trying to mask your own rising emotions behind a veil of nonchalance. You met his gaze with a defiant look, standing your ground. “Don’t be sour just because someone’s beating you at your own game,” you shot back. “All the games you play, I can play all of them too. Easily.”
He shoved you back against the wall, his anger simmering just beneath the surface but his voice turning colder, more calculated. “Oh, Cherry Baby, I don’t play games like that. If you wanted to make a statement, you’ve done it. But don’t think for a second that I’m just going to roll over and take it.” He leaned in even closer, his lips almost brushing against your ear. “And if you want to keep playing, just remember this: I don’t play fair, and I sure as hell don’t lose.” Billy’s gaze remained locked on yours, the intensity in his eyes unwavering. His anger seemed to morph into something else, something raw, primal. Without warning, he gripped the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair roughly. You gasped in surprise, opening your lips just slightly as he surged forward, pressing his lips against yours in a deep, fervent kiss.
It was rough and demanding, all anger and frustration, causing your heart to thud heavily in your chest as a surge of desire shot through you. He tightened his grip on your hair, digging his other one in the flesh of your ass, pulling you against him, making you feel exactly what you were doing to him. You moaned, clawing your hands in the fabric of his silky dress shirt, a tingling sensation spreading through your core. Breathing seemed so much less important as his hand came forward, ripping the zipper of your jumpsuit down as far as it would go. You gasped against his lips, his fingers harshly squeezing the skin of your breast through the lazy red fabric. He brought his thumb up to the hardened buds, greedily pinching them between his fingers, enjoying the sounds tumbling from your lips in reply.
“You wanted to make me jealous, didn’t you?” He cooed as his fingers slipped down further, stretching the material of the jumpsuit as they found their way into your underwear. “Well, congratulations, Cherry Baby, you got my attention.” All breath fled your lungs as his fingers toyed with your clit, all thought of anyone seeing you shoved to the back of your mind. You writhed underneath him, hips helplessly bucking forward for more. Billy laughed, bastard that he was, attentively rolling your sensitive nub under his thumb. You gripped the arm that was holding your head by your hair, keeping you from moving too much, your head lolling back in pleasure.
“That feel good, hm, Cherry? Better than those little boys who don’t know how to handle you.” Despite the tight bite you had on your lip, a sound of agreement tore from your throat before you could stop it. “Could’a had this all along if you weren’t so damn stubborn.” You whined, desperately rolling your hips when he slowly sunk two of his fingers into your cunt. Billy’s gaze was glued to your face, the glossiness in your eyes, the dip in your mouth as it dropped open to spill the sounds you had been fighting to keep quiet but couldn’t hold back anymore. He curled his fingers, working himself deeper, and deeper, rubbing that spongy spot inside of you that had your stomach twitching. Out of reflex, your body tried pulling back further, trying to get away from the pleasure Billy was giving you, only with his hand and the wall caging you, there was no space for you to go. Instead, you dug your nails into his skin, yelping, as he started thrusting his fingers in and out of you, always sure to keep brushing up against that spot that he had found far too easily.
“Look at you, Cherry,” he cooed, biting your lip and pulling with a sly grin, licking the throbbing spot. “Never seen you so obedient.” Billy noted the way you melted into him, the way your body responded to his touch. He could feel the heat radiating from you, and it only fueled his ego. Just as you were about to lose yourself in the moment, tightening around him and gripping him for dear life, Billy abruptly pulled back, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest, your sound of protest instantly following.
His breath was hot against your lips as he leaned in close, a teasing smirk curling at the corners of his mouth, when your eyes snapped open at the orgasm that had been so rudely ripped from you. “Enjoying yourself, huh?” he taunted, his voice dripping with cocky arrogance. He let the question hang in the air for a moment, watching bliss and confusion flicker in your eyes. You could still feel the lingering ghost of his touch, his fingers as your mind raced to process the sudden shift in his demeanor. Before you could say anything, he straightened up, his hand slipping from your hair as he took a step back. “If you want more,” he said, his voice laced with challenge, “you’re gonna have to work for it, Cherry Baby.”
His eyes glinted with mischief, his smirk widening as he took in the sight of you, breathless and wanting. Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel, leaving you standing there against the wall, your hair a mess and clothes disheveled. As he walked away, you could still hear the echo of his laughter, leaving you with a mix of frustration and something you weren’t ready to admit yet—desire.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
Ever since you had first noticed that boys were showing an interest in you, you had made it your rule to never chase a man. It wasn’t just a rule—it was a principle. A game you didn’t play but had created, one in which you were pulling all the strings. You’d learned early on that the power lay in making them come to you, in letting them believe they were the hunters when, in reality, you were always the one in control.
Boys were easy. Flash a smile, give them just enough attention, and they’d follow you like lost puppies. It was a thrill, knowing you had them wrapped around your finger, knowing you could pull them in and push them away whenever you wanted. You’d seen too many girls let themselves get caught up, lose their sense of self in the pursuit of some boy who didn’t deserve them—Carol, for one. That was never going to be you.
But Billy Hargrove was different. He didn’t just follow the rules of the game—he rewrote them. He was infuriating, cocky, and dangerous, with a way of getting under your skin like no one else ever had. He challenged you, pushed back when others would have crumbled, and for the first time, you found yourself second-guessing your moves. The thing was, you knew Billy had his own game too, that he wasn’t like the others. He didn’t just want your attention—he wanted to see if he could make you break your own rules. And that was something you couldn’t let happen. The moment you chased him, the moment you let him think he had the upper hand, it would all be over.
So, you did what you did best. You pulled back, kept your distance, tried making him come to you. You’d seen the frustration in his eyes, the way he couldn’t quite hide his irritation when you strutted out past him in the hallways of the school without sparing him a glance, and when you, despite sitting beside him in the booth at the roller rink, refused to even allow your thighs to touch. It was satisfying, knowing you still had the power, knowing he was the one being drawn in now.
But as much as you hated to admit it, there was a part of you that couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss, his touch, about the way his lips had claimed yours with a fierceness that left you breathless. It had been a mistake to let him get that close, but fuck, it had felt good.
It had been going on for a few weeks by then, the cat and mouse thing happening between you and Billy—who was who had yet to be determined. If Tina or Carol noticed a shift in the air (they definitely did, because you and Billy had gone from close friends to not talking to friends again) they didn’t dare mention it. You had gone back to regularly joining in on group activities again, no need to hide away from Billy when now you had made it your mission to tempt him—to get him to finish what had been started.
It was a late afternoon, the summer sun just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the town. Carol and Tommy had broken up again, causing her to call an emergency meeting at Benny’s Burgers with you and Tina. As usual, the diner was busy, filled with the hum of conversations and the steady clattering of dishes. You were sitting in a booth near the back, casually sipping on a chocolate milkshake, fingers busying themselves by flicking through a magazine. You were trying to entertain yourself as Carol went on and on about what had occurred to make her break up with Tommy for the umpteenth time, while Tina, pretending to listen, was attempting to eye-fuck the new waiter.
Eyeing the clothing articles that Harper’s Bazaar deemed to be the fashion statements of the summer, you felt a sudden shift in the air, even before looking up. Perhaps it was the way Carol slowed her yapping, her orbs flicking between you and the door, or perhaps it was merely in the way a tingling sense enveloped your back that let you know that something particular—or someone—had entered. When you glanced toward the door, your heart sank a little.
Billy had just walked in—and he wasn’t alone. He had some girl hanging from his arm, one you didn’t recognize but who looked all too pleased to be there with him. She was laughing at something he said, her hand resting on his chest as Billy began to order for them, the sight of it making your stomach twist uncomfortably. You stilled in your seat at the realization—what the fuck. Frowning, you forced your eyes back down to the magazine, pretending to be engrossed in the article about what might possibly be in trend for the coming fall, but you weren’t really reading the words, instead, an echo of confusion danced through your ear. You weren’t the kind of girl to care about what men did to entertain themselves, and you for sure weren’t the kind of girl to feel anything when seeing a man with another girl. No, you were the girl to shrug and find the next toy to busy yourself with. This wasn’t normal. He was merely a pawn in your game, a challenge—a fleeting amusement, nothing more. So why the fuck did the sight of him with another girl feel like you got punched in the gut?
You flicked through the pages of the magazine with more force than necessary, trying to push the irritation out of your mind. But the laughter from their booth kept pulling you back, each giggle like a tiny needle pricking at your carefully maintained indifference. You clenched your jaw, determined not to let this get to you. If Billy wanted to parade some girl around to get a reaction out of you, fine. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction. You were better than that.
Still, you couldn’t resist a glance in their direction, just to see. The girl was hanging on his every word, her expression adoring and Billy was soaking it up, a smug smile playing on his lips. He was putting on a show, and you hated that it was beginning to work—you glared back at the magazine.
Tina, noticing the shift in your mood, nudged your foot under the table. “Cherry, are you even listening?”
You looked up, blinking. “Sorry, what?”
Carol’s eyes narrowed at you before she raised a brow and folded her arms in front of her chest. “What’s up with you? You’ve been staring at that magazine like it insulted your mother.”
Keeping your expression nonchalant, you pursed your lips and gave her a once-over that you knew would make her feel some type of way. “Literally just waiting for you to talk about anything else than the mess you call a relationship, Care. It’s making me want to bash my head in.”
You kept your gaze steady on the ginger—a color she had only attained after you had dyed your hair for the first time—watching as her expression darkened. “God, Cherry,” she hissed, her voice low and venomous. “You’ve been acting like such a bitch lately, you know, even more so than usual. What the hell is your problem?”
The retort was already on the tip of your tongue, sharp and cutting, ready to slice through whatever delusions Carol had created in her mind. But before you could say anything, Tina interjected, her voice loud and cheerful—far too cheerful.
“There’s a baseball game coming up this weekend, I was thinking we should go! Support Billy and Tommy—and Steve. Everyone is going.”
“Sure,” Carol rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything else, her lips pressed into a thin line as she turned her attention back to the menu. You forced yourself to relax, to let the tension in your shoulders ease as you leaned back in your seat, acting as if the exchange had barely registered. Pushing up from the table with a sigh, your irritation shimmered just beneath the surface. “I’m going to the bathroom,” you muttered, not really caring if Tina or Carol heard you. You needed a moment away from the bickering—and away from Billy and his new arm candy.
As you walked across the diner, the new waiter caught your eye, giving you an awkward wave and a hopeful smile. You didn’t bother acknowledging him with anything more than a roll of your eyes, the heels clicking purposefully against the linoleum as you strolled past the counter—past the dumfounded waiter—and into the hallway where the bathrooms were located. Men, you thought with disdain, the thought punctuated by a shake of your head.
Shutting the door behind you, you leaned over the sink, turning the cold water on and wetting your hands. You brought them up to your neck, the coolness soothing the warmth that had crept up your skin. You stared at your reflection, noting the slight smudge of eyeliner beneath one eye. You grabbed a tissue and carefully wiped it away, then reached into your bag for your lipstick, reapplying it with a steady hand.
As you sprayed a bit of perfume onto your neck, the scent wafting around you, you considered the girl Billy had walked in with. She was pretty, in a generic sort of way—blonde, bubbly, and probably all too eager to please him. If that’s what Billy wanted, if he wanted someone who would hang on his every word and laugh at all his jokes, then he could have her—should, in fact. You let out a small huff, shaking out your hair as if to rid yourself of the thought.
As you stepped out of the bathroom, Billy was there, his tall frame casting a shadow over you. He had that familiar cocky smirk on his face, the one that usually made every girl in Hawkins weak in the knees. Without missing a beat, he ducked in, going straight for a kiss, his hand already at your waist, trying to shove you back into the bathroom like it was a done deal.
Your hand shot up, slapping over his mouth, shoving him aside with a strength that caught him off guard. "Go do that with your bimbo," you sneered with a disgusted scoff, pushing past him.
As you strutted down the hallway, you heard Billy chuckle behind you, low and taunting. He drawled, his voice dripping with that infuriating arrogance, "You’ll come around. They always do." You didn’t bother to slow down or turn around. Instead, you simply lifted your hand, throwing him the finger without even looking back.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
The taste of the guy’s lips had felt wrong from the start. His mouth was too soft, too eager, like he was trying to prove something with every clumsy kiss. You barely felt anything but the wrongness of it all, your mind somewhere else—somewhere it definitely shouldn’t be, but had been continuously venturing to, nonetheless. Billy’s face kept flashing in your thoughts, his arrogant smile, the way his eyes darkened when he was pissed off or amused, how he always seemed to know exactly what buttons to press to get under your skin.
You groaned inwardly, your fingers tightening on the guy’s shoulders as he moved his lips along your neck, his hands wandering aimlessly. It was no use. His touch felt like nothing but static, a pale imitation of what you really wanted—craved—to feel. With each second that passed, the irritation building inside you grew stronger, Billy’s image refusing to fade.
The guy pulled back, probably expecting you to look pleased or at least interested—instead, you shoved him off, cutting off whatever lame attempt at a compliment he was about to offer. His expression twisted into one of confusion, maybe even a bit of hurt, but you didn’t care enough to apologize. You didn’t even bother remembering his name, so what was the point?
“Uh, everything okay?” he asked, awkwardly wiping his mouth as if he’d done something wrong.
“Yeah, fine,” you muttered, not even sparing him a second glance as you picked up your purse, brushing some stray grass and dirt from the artificial leather. “Just… not in the mood anymore.” It was a lie, of course. You were in the mood—just not with him. You left him there, standing under the bleachers, probably (definitely) wondering what the hell had just happened. You weaved through the crowd, shoving past people already settled in their spots, ignoring their annoyed mutters and irritated glares. Every step you took seemingly only made you angrier, the frustration bubbling up inside you like a boiling pot about to overflow.
When you finally reached Tina and Carol, they were still lost in their conversation, drinks in hand, barely noticing your return. You dropped down beside Tina with a huff, pushing your sunglasses back onto your nose and crossing your arms, glaring out at the field without really seeing anything.
Carol glanced at you, sensing the tension radiating off you like a storm about to break. “You okay?” She asked, her voice laced with genuine concern, which only made you feel worse.
“Fine,” you snapped, harsher than you had intended. Then, softer, “just…annoyed.” Annoyed wasn’t even half of it. You were furious, not just at Billy but at yourself. Furious because no matter how much you tried to push him out of your mind, he was always there, lurking like a shadow you couldn’t escape—like a pesky little roach you couldn’t get rid of. And it wasn’t like you cared about what he did, who he was with, or what kind of games he played. You didn’t care. You couldn’t care.
Huffing once more, you furrowed your brows at the lively baseball field below you. Billy and Steve, both visibly sweaty and visibly competitive were shouting downright hostile at each other—it was perhaps more entertaining than the actual game. Every throw, every strike, every aggressive look they exchanged spoke volumes about their mutual dislike for one another. You could almost smell the hatred wafting through the air, stronger than it was when they would encounter each other in the hallways, for sure.
It hit you then, so forcefully you ripped the glasses from your face, startling Tina so much so that she yelped. Checkmate.
“Jeez!” She exclaimed, frown appearing on her face as she used the straw to swirl around the blue slushie in her cup. “What is up with you today?”
“You know what, Tee? I’m suddenly feeling so much better,” you grinned, checking the watch on Tina’s wrist to get an idea of how much longer the team would be playing. Hurriedly, you shouldered your purse, glossy and red, just how you liked it. “I have business to attend to, see you later,” you winked and pushed back through the crowd, not giving your friends a chance to question your hasty escape. When the final whistle blew and the game came to an end, you had already positioned yourself in the hallway in front of the guys’ locker room. Your hair was fixed, lipstick applied perfectly, a spritz of perfume here and there—you were ready.
When Steve Harrington finally emerged, freshly showered and looking relaxed in his casual—preppy—attire, his confusion at seeing you there was immediate. You caught his eye, flashing him a sly grin. “Steve.”
“Hey, Red, long time no see,” Steve said, nodding to you in greeting, his tone friendly but not missing the cadence of curiosity.
“Yeah…” You leaned against the wall nonchalantly, giving him a little shrug. “Carol was bitter and threatened us not to talk to you.”
Steve’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Since when do you listen to Carol of all people?”
You bit your lip playfully, letting a glint of mischief dance in your eyes as you shrugged again. “Well, I’m here, talking to you, so…” You grinned.
Steve’s expression shifted from confusion to intrigue. He looked you up and down with a raised eyebrow, clearly uncertain about your sudden interest. “So, what’s the deal then? Anything specific bringing you here?”
You pushed off the wall, stepping closer to him with a confident, seductive sway in your walk. “Saw you play and thought we could catch up. Maybe over milkshakes and fries?”
Steve’s eyebrows shot up, clearly taken aback by your direct offer. He gaped at you for a moment, a mix of surprise and disbelief playing across his face. “R-right now?” he stammered, clearly caught off guard.
You gave him a playful but insistent smile, leaning in a bit closer. “Yeah, why not?” Tongue peeking out to lick your grinning lips, it lingered between your teeth for a second. “I’m in the mood for something different, and I thought you might be up for it.”
Steve shook his head slightly as if trying to clear the haze from his mind. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool despite his evident intrigue. “Well, this is…out of the blue, I gotta admit. I wasn’t expecting, uh—”
“So, you’re saying no?” You blinked at him, pulling your brows up in a pout—God, guys.
“Yes!” Shot out at the look you were giving him, until his mind seemed to catch up with what he had been asked. “I mean no! No, I’m not saying no! I mean—I would love to.”
You chuckled, twirling a strand of your hair around your fingers. “You’re so cute sometimes, you know that?”
Steve’s smile gradually widened, his shock fading into a more relaxed, captivated grin. “You know what? Suddenly I’m starved for milkshakes and fries. Lead the way.”
With that, you reached out and took Steve’s hand in yours. His grip was warm and firm and just in time. Right as you were beginning to move away from the locker room door, a familiar figure emerged. You turned slightly and saw Billy Hargrove exiting, his gaze immediately locked onto you and Steve. His eyes narrowed as he saw the way your fingers were intertwined with Steve’s, seeming momentarily stunned, his usual confident stride faltering just a bit. Not ceasing your walking, you couldn’t resist but wink at Billy with a sly smile, letting your gaze linger just a second too long before you turned back to Steve and giggled.
There was no need for you to turn around to know Billy’s expression had shifted from surprise to annoyance, a tight clench in his jaw as he watched you and Steve walk away. There was fury and confusion battling behind his eyes, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of any further acknowledgment. Instead, you pulled Steve closer, allowing him to lead you to his car, with confident, deliberate strides. “Let’s get out of here,” you said, your tone light and carefree.
“Let’s,” he agreed, the corners of his mouth upturned happily.
You gave him a cheeky smile as you slid into the passenger seat. As Steve drove off, you glanced back one last time, finding Billy standing in the parking lot, a cigarette burning between his lips, illuminating the furious gaze through the rearview mirror. You couldn’t help but smirk as you sank into the seat with satisfaction in your veins. The engine humming beneath you, your mind wandered. The night was still young, there was no point in letting it go to waste. You thought back to the usual spot where the team gathered after a big win—at least from what Tina had told you—a place everyone knew well. It was the new diner near the roller rink. Well, new by Hawkins’ standards, even if it had been around for a decade.
You glanced at Steve, your fingers tapping idly on the dashboard. “Hey, Steve, would you mind heading to Bop ‘n’ Burger instead of Benny’s? I’ve been craving their fries.”
Steve shot you a curious look, his brow furrowing slightly. “You know the whole team’s probably gonna be there, right?”
You shrugged casually, not letting on that you were well aware of that fact—and that this was precisely the reason you wanted to go. “I don’t mind. I really want those fries.” The lie rolled off your tongue smoothly with a pleading grin, and Steve, none the wiser, nodded.
“Sure, why not?” he agreed, making a quick turn in the direction of the diner. The drive was short, the streets of Hawkins quiet as the car rolled up to the diner. The neon sign flickered above the entrance, casting a warm glow over the parking lot. You and Steve walked inside, and as you slid into the booth, you made sure to sit close to him, your thigh brushing against his. The waitress came by to take your order, and just as the menus were being collected, you heard the loud, familiar voices of the Hawkins High baseball team. They were pouring into the diner, still riding the high of their victory. Steve looked over, grinning as he greeted some of his teammates, but your attention was elsewhere.
Billy.
He walked in with the others, his gaze sweeping across the diner until it landed on you. The moment he saw you cozied up next to Steve, his expression darkened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. You smiled sweetly as if you were completely oblivious to his presence, but inside, you were reveling in the tension. You and Steve chatted for a bit, making light conversation as you nibbled on your fries. But your mind was only half on the conversation, the rest focused on timing as you tirelessly indulged in flirting—which Steve ate right up. You waited until he was getting touchier, with you playing right along with it, laughing and grinning. When his eyes fell to your lips for the first time, you took notice of it immediately, taking your chance. You leaned in, closing the distance between you and Steve, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was soft, teasing and just long enough to draw attention. You could hear the sudden murmur of voices, the shift in the diner’s atmosphere as the team took notice—then came the chant. “Harrington! Harrington!” The guys were egging him on, laughing and cheering as if this were some sort of victory lap for him.
Steve pulled back, looking both surprised and pleased, his cheeks flushing slightly under the attention. But you weren’t done yet. You glanced sideways, catching Billy’s eye—his face a mask of barely contained fury. The satisfaction of having riled him up filled you with a heady sense of triumph. Turning back to Steve, you leaned closer, your voice low and sultry. “Wanna get out of here? Maybe go somewhere more… private?”
Steve blinked at you, his grin widening as he nodded eagerly. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Without a second glance at the team—or Billy—you grabbed Steve’s hand, pulling him out of the booth and heading for the door. As you stepped out into the cool night air, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder one last time, catching the sight of Billy, his eyes burning holes into your back as you and Steve disappeared into the night.
Tonight, you were in control—and Billy knew it.
You and Steve pulled up to your house, the car coming to a smooth stop in the driveway. Steve looked over at you with a small, hopeful smile, clearly expecting the night to continue. You had played this part well, your voice sweet and full of mock surprise as you turned to him with wide eyes. “Steve, I’m so sorry,” you said, faking a wince. “I was so sure my parents wouldn’t be home, but it looks like I was wrong.” You gestured vaguely toward the house, where a light was on in the living room.
Steve’s face fell slightly, but he quickly masked it, giving you a reassuring smile. “Oh, it’s no problem. We can always take a raincheck, right?”
You nodded, flashing him a grateful smile. “Definitely. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
With a slight sigh, Steve leaned in to give you a quick, chaste kiss before pulling back. “I’ll call you tomorrow?”
“Sure,” you replied, giving him a wave as you got out of the car. You watched him drive away, the taillights fading into the distance before you turned and headed up the steps to your front door. As you stepped inside, you saw your mother lounging on the couch, a book in her hands. She didn’t even glance up as you walked in, completely engrossed in whatever she was reading. You checked the clock on the wall—it was getting late, but you knew you had some time to kill. “Hey, Mom,” you said, your tone light and casual. “A car’s gonna pull up in like an hour. When it does, can you call me down?”
Your mother simply nodded, her eyes never leaving the page. “Sure, honey,” she replied absentmindedly.
You grinned to yourself, the excitement bubbling up inside you as you headed upstairs to your room. The plan had worked perfectly—Steve had been the perfect decoy, and now all you had to do was wait. You plopped down on your bed, grabbing a magazine from your nightstand. As you flipped through the glossy pages, your mind wasn’t really on the fashion trends or celebrity gossip. Instead, you were thinking about Billy. You had provoked him enough tonight—enough to push him over the edge.
The minutes ticked by each one dragging longer than the last. But finally, after an eternity, you heard your mother’s voice calling from downstairs.
“Honey, there’s a car outside!”
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
You followed your special routine as you always did—checking your reflection, touching up the fading shade of red on your lips, fluffing your hair. All of it before you even considered taking a step down to where your mother was curiously leering at the blue Camaro waiting for you outside through the barely open blinds. You told her goodbye, saying that a friend from school was picking you up and would bring you right back. Your mother had always trusted you—trusted you to hold your own, to be strong, to make mindful, good decisions. So, even as you stepped outside the house at that late hour, she didn’t say much, merely telling you to be careful.
Outside, the night air was thick with the humidity of a summer’s night, the streetlights casting long shadows against the pavement. And there it was—a blue Camaro parked right outside her house.
Perfect.
You sauntered toward the car, hips swaying in that complacent way that you had mastered to the T, taking your sweet, sweet time. Billy was leaned back in the driver’s seat, one hand draped lazily over the steering wheel, the other bringing a cigarette to his lips. The tip of it flared a bright orange, his sharp jaw tightening as he took another drag. He didn’t look at you. Not at first. But you felt when he did.
You reached his door and leaned down, resting your arms against the open window, tilting your head. “Aww,” you teased, voice syrupy sweet and so terribly mocking you thought you saw his eye twitch. “You came all this way for little old me?”
Billy exhaled, the smoke curling in the air between you, drifting into the warm night air. And then—finally—his head turned, his gaze locking onto yours.
There wasn’t the anger in his eyes which you had been expecting. Instead, it was flat and unreadable but no less intense. It was the kind of look that could make a girl shrink. Wilt.
You, though, only tilted your head, unbothered, amused. “What? I don’t get a hello?”
His blue eyes burned, but he stayed silent, taking another few drags of his cigarette until he flicked it away. Then— “Get in the car.” No teasing. No taunting grin. Just those three words that knocked the wind out of your smirk. You weren’t exactly expecting that. You had mentally prepared for a fight. Banter. Something to toy with before you inevitably ended up in the car anyway. But the way he said it? Like there wasn’t another option? Like he had already decided? Your pulse skipped.
For a moment.
Then, you just grinned.
You straightened up, letting your fingers drag against the frame of the window as you moved, just slow enough to make your point. Then, wordlessly, you opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat, the scent of leather, cologne and cigarettes enveloping you immediately. It was the scent of him that you had gotten to know rather well in the past year.
You kicked your boots up onto the dash, shifting in your seat, turning to face him, knowing that at any other time, he would have gripped your legs and shoved them off the dash. Now, he did nothing. Nothing, except lighting another cigarette.
He still wasn’t looking at you. But his fingers? His fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, his jaw clenching so forcefully you feared for his teeth.
You bit your lip, smothering another smirk.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
You drove for a little while until the asphalt beneath Billy’s tires shifted to gravel and dirt as you headed down a familiar road, the car kicking up dust behind you. Within a few moments, the trees cleared, and you found yourself at the spot. Your spot. The little hidden oasis away from the rest of the world. The headlights cut through the darkness, reflecting off the still water of the lake. The only sound was the hum of the engine until Billy killed it, plunging you both into a deafening silence.
You didn’t speak right away and instead took to watching him. He was still gripping the steering wheel, his jaw still set, and he still didn’t look at you. Not yet, anyway.
When the silence stretched too long for your liking, you kicked your feet back down onto the ground, let out a dramatic sigh and opened the door before stepping into the cool night air. Even the nature seemed to have quieted in your presence, except for the occasional rustle of wind shifting the leaves. You heard Billy’s door shut behind you, the soft thuds of his footsteps as he approached.
“So?” you asked, voice low and teasing.
Billy stood a few paces behind you, hands braced on his hips. He was silent for a moment, then let out a low, humorless chuckle. “You’re a real piece of work you know that?”
You’re one to talk. Rolling your eyes, you turned, a smirk dancing on your painted lips. “Took you this long to figure it out?”
His eyes flicked down your body, slow and deliberate, before snapping back to your face. He stepped forward, closing the distance. “You think you’re real funny, huh? Throwin’ yourself at fucking Harrington just to piss me off?”
You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Who said that was about you?”
Again, his jaw clenched, his blue orbs narrowing as the tension between you thickened—suffocatingly so. Without warning, he closed the gap between the two of you, standing so close you could feel his breath on your lips, taste it, taste him.
Whatever game you two had been playing, Billy had lost the second he had pulled up to your house. You knew it and he knew it too.
“You wanted me to come after you?” Billy growled, his voice deep and raw, his eyes blazing with heat. “To sit there and watch you shove your tongue down Harrington’s throat just to get a rise out of me?”
Your pulse spiked, but you held your ground and instead of giving in, you merely shrugged. “Looks like it worked.”
Billy laughed though it was devoid of even a speck of humor. “You think this is funny?”
Again, you shrugged, digging the tip of your boot into the dirt below, trying to act nonchalant even as your heart began hammering in your chest. “Shows me you care, doesn’t it?”
That was the breaking point.
Billy’s hands were suddenly on your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips crashed onto yours, angry, desperate, raw. There was nothing soft about it. It was a collision, no longer a game but a fight neither of you were willing to lose. You gasped as his hands wandered, digging into the flesh of your hips, but you kissed him back just as hard, your nails scraping down his back. It wasn’t gentle and definitely wasn’t sweet. It was heat and fire and all you had been craving for weeks.
When you finally broke apart, you were both breathless, lips swollen and hearts pounding. Billy gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at him as his eyes searched yours, intense and raw. “You win, Cherry,” he muttered, voice thick. “Happy now?”
You stared at him, your lips still tingling from the kiss. There was a rush of adrenaline as his nose brushed yours, eyes latching onto yours only to find his pupils blown. A slow smile spread on your lips, your hand wandering from his back into his locks. You drew your brows together, giving him the best doe-eyes you managed. “We were playing a game?”
Billy’s hands returned to your waist, his grip tighter this time and his breath hot on your skin. He pulled you closer, his lips brushing over yours once more. It was different this time. There was no anger, no frustration. There was something else—something heavier and deeper and scarier.
“You think you’re so goddamn clever, don’t you?” Billy’s murmured, his voice low as his lips brushed against yours.
You met his glare, chin lifted and smirking as you hushed, “I know I am.”
Billy chuckled, shaking his head slightly as his hands tightened around you. “You drive me fucking insane, you know that, Cherry Baby?”
You didn’t flinch. You threw it back at him. “Good. Now you know how it feels.”
Billy snapped. His hands were in your hair, his lips crashing against yours with a ferocity that left no room for doubt. No teasing. Just need. You moaned, melting into him as his hands moved over your body, grabbing fistfuls of your curves with a satisfied hum. You kissed him back with everything you had, because now, now it wasn’t merely a game anymore. It was something else entirely.
Billy shoved you back against his car, a gasp flying from your mouth as the cool metal pressed into your back. Without hesitation, you let him lift you onto the hood of the car, your body arching into his. Billy popped open the fly of your pants with quick fingers, shimmying the material down your thighs before his hands returned to your body, sliding you forward until your core pressed up against his denim-clad thigh.
You breathed out a moan, head falling back as he moved your body against his, grinding you against his burly thigh, the muscle pressing sinfully against your clit. His lips fell to your neck, biting and sucking and teasing in a way that was purely and wholly and wickedly Billy Hargrove. One hand moved from your hips over your body, trailing the flesh of your breast before finding the cherry locks of your hair and pulling. His other hand slipped between your thighs, rough thumb finding your sensitive nub through the dampening fabric of your panties. You moaned, brows screwing together at the touch.
“That what you wanted, Cherry Baby?” He murmured against your throat, nibbling at the skin with a cocky smirk.
Your teeth sank into your bottom lip to keep from begging him to slip beneath the constricting fabric, instead you huffed a breath that wasn’t half as annoyed as you wished it to be. “Not even close.”
“No?” He questioned with a chuckle, clearly feeling your tensing legs around his hand as he thumbed at your clit.
You breathed through the moan threatening to give you away, shaking your head. “Can’t see what all the fuss is about.”
Before you could blink, his face was hovering in front of yours, a glint in his eyes that made the pit of your stomach tingle in an unfamiliar way. His blue orbs trailed your face, his finger drawing quick, tight circles on your panties, making your legs twitch in an attempt to keep them from instinctively shutting. Billy kissed you then, tongue slipping into your mouth, stealing whatever breath you had left.
When he pulled away, he was smirking. “Careful what you ask for, Cherry Baby.”
“Awfully full of yourself, aren’t you?” You breathed, hand pressing into the hood of his car beside you, looking for anything to take a hold of, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of you gripping him.
He hummed, grinning. “Just taking a page out of your book.” Before you had any chance to react, he ripped your panties down your legs with such force, he almost pulled you off the hood. “Lie back.”
You huffed. “Bossy, are we?”
His fingers were tangled in the back of your hair in the blink of an eye, pulling your head back to look up at him. “Let me make something clear to you, Cherry. You do as I say, or you can get those skimpy fucking panties back on and I’ll drive you home, you got that?” His eyes flitted over your expression, watching your face contort in what he could only explain as a mixture of seething anger and a fucking pout that let him know you were going to give in. “Now, you wanna finish this?” When you nodded, a sly smirk took over his face before he brought your face to his for another kiss. “Good,” he breathed after pulling away. “Then shut your mouth for once in your life and lie back, Cherry.”
Huffing a little, you did as you were told, settling against the cool metal of the blue Camaro, the sting of the cold making you hiss in surprise. Billy was settled between your thighs, hitching them around his hips as he leaned in and pressed a kiss just above your bellybutton. You watched him as you trailed his lips up your body, nibbling and sucking on the skin as though he was the one savoring the feeling. His hands slid up along your bare side, teasing fingers dipping beneath the fabric of your top, your stomach clenching in anticipation. With one fluid movement, he slipped the fabric from your head, discarding it somewhere beside the car. You had half a mind to remind him that the ground was dirty and thus throwing your clothes down, was not okay—until he bit your nipple, that is.
You gasped, arching upward, feeling his teeth through the lacy material of your bra. With furrowed brows and an open mouth, your eyes flickered down only to find him already looking at you, grinning around your breast as though he knew exactly how he was making you feel. That bastard.
His hand slid underneath your back, urging you to lift upward just a little before he unclasped your bra blindly, pulling the pesky material away as though its mere existence was insulting him. You were left butt-naked in the middle of the woods—and you didn’t care one fucking bit, not when Billy was bringing his mouth back down, warm tongue licking and sucking your hardened buds back into his mouth.
You couldn’t help the little whine that tumbled from your lips, your eyes falling shut as he played with your body as if it belonged to him. Torturously and deliciously. Wet from his mouth, the gentle breeze made you gasp at the sudden sensation.
Billy slipped further down your body, hands melting down your curves, your thighs and the roundness of your ass, before he pulled you forward to the edge of the hood.
“Tell me, baby,” he hushed, dipping between your legs and placing a kiss to the dip of your thigh as his blue orbs found yours, “are you sweet like cherries?” Within seconds his arms wrapped around your thighs, eyes piercing yours as he tilted forward and brought his tongue to your center.
The suddenness of the warm and wet muscle made you gasp, legs tensing around his head. You didn’t know what you had been expecting—though whatever it was, it wasn’t this. When you thought of Billy with another girl, you thought of no foreplay at all, you thought of a selfish man, selfishly exploiting women’s bodies for his selfish pleasures. It was the same thing you had been doing to men for years before he had shown up in Hawkins.
Perhaps he was still being selfish even now, because with how desperately he moved against you, tongue slipping through your folds and groaning against you, he was more content than you would ever have thought him to be. Not that you were complaining.
He was tasting you like he needed to make up for all the times you had denied him. You moaned, hands diving into his hair, gripping his curls in a tight fist. There was a slight prickling sensation as you moved against him, the stubble of his mustache gliding over your skin.
Appearing as blissfully as you felt, he dipped his head down further, nestling his tongue inside as though he had made it his mission to lap you dry, to take everything you were ready to give. He drew his tongue from your hole to the very tip of your center, curling it around your clit before enclosing it with glistening lips and sucking. Moaning, you tried moving against him, trying to get more of what he was offering, but his burly hands held you locked tightly against the hood of his car, making any attempts at moving futile.
With his gaze locked onto yours in a pointed stare, that told you exactly he didn’t appreciate you trying to grind against him, he slipped one of his hands from your thigh, slipping two fingers into your snug walls. He was gentle at first, feeling around the plushness of your cunt before he slid in deeper and deeper, and you arched. He pressed forward with his fingers, massaging against the spot inside of you that had your teeth clamping down onto your lip.
Fuck.
For a mere second, he pulled away from you, breathing heavily, his eyes shimmering with something you couldn’t possibly put into words. He leaned over you, pressing a feathery kiss to your forehead, your cheek, your nose before brushing against your ear, hushing words so softly you almost didn’t grasp them, “I want to watch you cry for me.”
Gone was all gentleness as he latched his mouth back onto your clit, sucking and licking and enjoying each sound he managed to draw from you, relishing it, reveling in it. His fingers moved harder, more insistently. Faster, until he could feel your walls clenching and your legs tensing around him.
“Good girl,” he hummed, feeling your body throb for him before he reattached his mouth, smirking.
Your legs shook, clamping shut around his head as far as it was possible, as you lifted your back off the hood, trying to pull him impossibly closer, moaning with no care for who might hear. Orgasm subsiding with Billy working you through the waning zips of pleasure, you settled back against his Camaro, brows furrowing as the sensation of his lips was becoming far too sensitive.
“Billy,” you gasped, trying to close your legs but he merely wrapped his arms around your thighs and pushed them further apart—holding them open. “Billy, I came, stop,” you moaned, tugging at his hair, trying to get his attention but he continued to ignore you, lips and tongue coiled around your sensitive clit. Your legs trembled at the overstimulating sensation, a whimper ripping from your throat. “Billy! Stop, stop, stop! Fuck,” you whined, hips lifting off the metal, trying to get away from him, but his arms held you locked tightly against his mouth. You cried out, pushing at his head, your legs shaking as he continued.
Something white-hot snapped through you, your back aching, legs tensing as your body went rigid with another orgasm. You cried out, voice dying into a cacophony of whimpers. Your heart was hammering, legs weak and twitching with the aftershocks as Billy finally detached his lips from your center, wet and glistening. Squeezing your eyes shut, they burned with overwhelmed tears with how forcefully your orgasm had ripped through you.
A warm palm pulled you upward against a warm, solid body, caressing over your skin with a softness you hadn’t thought possible from someone like Billy. He held you close as your arms went around his neck, his hand running up and down your leg reassuringly as he encouraged you to calm down, continuing until your shivers subsided.
“Good?” He murmured into your hair, still stroking your thighs, your side, your back.
You hummed, your eyelids feeling terribly droopy as you rested your forehead against his shoulder. “That was—” You had never come so hard in your fucking life, “—good.”
“Yeah?” You could feel him smirking as he stroked the length of your back with a reassuring palm before he pressed a kiss against your neck. “Did so good for me.”
Before you had a chance to settle, his hands were pulling at your hips, lifting you away just far enough for him to undo his leather belt and zipper. Slowly his hand reached for yours, drawing your palm against the hardness within his briefs. His forehead grazed yours, noses slightly brushing as a grin adorned the sharp features of his face. “You always have me so hard, Cherry Baby,” he hummed, lips trailing down to our neck. “Every time I see you—” his longue lapped at the sensitive spot beneath your ear, his teeth soon following, “—smell you, taste you.” A sound you could only describe as resembling a growl reverberated in his throat. “You drive me insane, Cherry. But you know that, don’t you?” He nodded to himself, lips teasing yours. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you, Cherry Baby?” Billy tutted, one hand returning to your thighs, fingers finding the aching spots where he had gripped you earlier before digging back in, drawing a gasp from your lips. “You aren’t a good girl are you, Cherry. No, you’re fucking filthy.”
You felt it then, the hardness against your naked thighs as he guided himself against your sore pussy. The tip of his cock parted your lips, trailing from your seeping hole to your oversensitive button, making you flinch with a surprised squeal.
“Cherry Baby, you’re dripping for me,” Billy groaned, circling your clit once more, smirking slyly at the uncontainable tremble of your thighs he received in response. “Poor baby.” Amusement tinted his voice, cadence drawn and condescending. “It’s all achy, isn’t it? All for me. Could have made it all better so long ago if you hadn’t been such a bitch about it.”
Bitch. You drew back at that, frowning at his words but Billy remained smiling. Before you knew what you were doing, your hand had lifted, ready to strike him. His hands caught your wrist not a second later, and with one final tsk, he plunged his cock into you to the hilt. You moaned, nails digging into his shoulders at the sudden intrusion. There was a burn as the size of him stretched you, though the blissful tingle in the depth of your pussy, where his member grazed your walls had you holding onto him in pleasure.
“Say thank you, baby. I’m making the ache go away, aren’t I, honey?” Billy cooed as one of his burly arms wrapped around your hip, the other crossing your back to your shoulder, bringing you impossibly closer to him. “What did I tell you?”
When you remained silent, he pulled back and rutted back into you with one forceful thrust, making you cry out, your eyes squeezing shut. “Thank you, Billy.” The whine left your mouth pathetically, pleasure burning in your lower belly as Billy continued to rut into you so impossibly deep that you felt the effects of his thrust coursing through your legs to the tips of your toes.
“Fuck,” Billy cursed, pushing into you once again until the tip of his cock hit the deepest part of you. You gasped, the pleasure too much and too uncomfortable for you to stay still. “Have been wanting that pretty pussy wrapped around me since the first time I saw you.” The steady rolls of his hips turned desperate as he rutted forward harsher, pulling you to him tighter, his head dropping into the crook of your neck. You cried out as his teeth sunk into your neck, his thrust loud and filthy in the night air as your body rocked with every single one. He shifted one of his arms, his hand creeping between your bodies before his thumb landed on your sore clit.
“No,” you protested weakly, your hand clutching his wrist as he drew quick circles on your pulsing nerves. “Billy—’s too much, hurts.”
“Shh,” he hushed, hand staying between your legs even as you strained to push him off. “Shh, baby, ‘s gonna feel so good,” he murmured, pinching your clit once before resuming his quick little circles, that had you trying to close your legs, trying to force him away. There was a burning in the pit of your stomach, low and hot and so fucking overwhelming that tears were once more gathering on your lashes. “There we go,” Billy cooed, fingers continuing their strokes as your legs drew up further, thighs shaking. It happened within a second—the burning sensation spread through your body, tingles coursing throughout every limb as your orgasm snapped through you. “There we go, honey, fuck—” His hips stuttered as you clenched around him, eyes shut tightly as he drew out your orgasm with every rut of his hips. Billy drew back, slipping out of you as his hand, stained with your wetness, wrapped around his cock, finishing himself off with quick jerks of his hand. A deep groan sounded in the back of his throat as white ropes of cum squirted from his tip, his member twitching satisfied within his grasp.
Still partially hard, Billy stepped back up to you, eyes glued to the glistening mess he had made between your thighs. As if transfixed by the sight, his hand crept forward as he let his pointer run through your folds. He bumped against your swollen bundle of nerves, causing you to twitch away from his. Billy grinned down at you at that, doing it again just out of sheer amusement, earning a whine from you as you shoved at his hand. “No—"
“Ask me nicely, Cherry Baby.”
“Please,” you breathed out, shaking your head. “Please, I can’t—”
Billy shushed you, arms wrapping around your frame before you were pressed up against him. His lips found yours, not tame or nice but wild and messy and possessive. His tongue slid into your mouth, free hand falling to your chin as he held you in place for his pleasure, his taking.
“Let’s get you dressed again, huh, honey?”
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
You sat in the passenger seat, wrapped in Billy’s jean jacket, your legs pulled up onto the light faux leather. The windows were getting foggier with every moment spent sitting beside each other in silence. Neither of you had spoken a word after getting re-dressed and slipping out of the cold air back into the Camaro. Billy lit a cigarette, the tip flaring in an orange glow as he brought it between his lips. He didn’t look at you, eyes trained to his left and he looked so casual, so careless as though he hadn’t just spent the last hour giving you the best orgasm of your life. It vexed you somehow, how comfortable he was—and you couldn’t help the thought that crept up in the back of your mind, that all of his ease was because he had finally gotten what he wanted. No need to make an effort now that he had had you.
You leaned your head back against the window, watching him from the corner of your eye as the silence stretched on between you. Your teeth clenched, nails picking at skin on your cuticles as your heart stuttered at the thought of having been used by him.
“So,” you spoke up finally, voice far too casual for what you were actually feeling, “that’s it then?”
Billy glanced at you, one brow raised. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You shrugged, but your stomach was twisting. “I mean, I guess that’s what you wanted, right? Another notch. Congrats.”
He blinked, then scoffed, shaking his head. “Are you seriously starting a fight right now?”
“I’m just saying,” you snapped, defensive anger curling through your words, “I’ve seen the way you go through girls, Billy. It’s like a revolving door. So excuse me if I’m not exactly booking a date for round two.”
His jaw tightened, cigarette clenched between his fingers. He turned to you fully now, irritation flickering across his face, but something else too—something softer beneath the usual fire. “You really think I’d chase your ass all over Hawkins just to fuck you once and dip?”
You crossed your arms, heart pounding. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone did.”
Billy exhaled sharply, flicking ash out the window. Then, finally, he looked at you. Really looked at you. And his voice, when it came, was low and rough but uncharacteristically steady. “You were never a game to me, Cherry.” Your chest tightened. “I mean it,” he continued, softer now, like it hurt to admit. “You were always... I don’t know. Untouchable. And yeah, maybe I was pissed you kept pretending not to like me. Like I wasn’t an option.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “But I like you. Always have.”
“I’m scared,” you muttered, the words falling out before you could stop them. You stared at your hands, picking at the fraying edge of Billy’s jacket. “I’ve never done anything like this before. Not the sex—I’ve done that. But this… whatever this is.”
Billy was quiet for a moment, then murmured, “Yeah, me neither.”
That made you laugh—quiet, humorless. “We’re a mess.”
He smirked. “No shit.”
You glanced sideways at him. “I don’t want a relationship.”
“Didn’t say you had to have one.”
“I’m just saying, I’m not good at all that couple crap.”
Billy nodded slowly. “Never thought about it much.”
You paused. “We could keep fucking though.”
His head turned to you so fast it was almost comical. “Exclusively,” he said without missing a beat, voice sharp.
You raised your brows. “Jealous much?” He didn’t deny it, just looked at you, eyes dark and serious. You smirked. “Fine. Exclusively. But I want you to take me out, too.”
Billy narrowed his eyes. “That sounds like a date.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not,” you said, playful glint in your eye. “It’s... exclusively fucking, with occasional food.”
His lip curled into a grin. “You’re out of your goddamn mind.”
You leaned your head back again, a smile tugging at your lips. “Takes one to know one, Hargrove.”
He took another drag from his cigarette and shook his head, but he was smiling too now and even if neither of you said the word for what this was, the air between you felt different, like something had finally settled. Like maybe, just maybe, you had stopped running.
Series Synopsis - The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your Dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.
Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au
Warnings - smut. age gap (but all legal and consensual - they don’t meet until reader is in her 20s). cursing. angst. alcohol consumption.
Word Count (so far) - 65k
Author's Note - another idea i've had for so long!! set in a beautiful coastal beach town - picture sunshine, sailing, beaches and your dad's hot best friend. what more could you want?
everything feels like love when you're drunk... right?
pairing - bestfriend!steve harrington x female reader
warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol consumption. characters who wouldn't even recognise their own feelings if they smacked them in the face.
word count - 3k
author's note - I love it when people walk each other home... if you couldn't tell. I think some of our most honest conversations happen on the street at 3am. thank you so much for all the love on Cherry!! I hope you enjoy this part two. friends to lovers might just be my favourite trope ever. it gets me everytime :(.
as always, if you enjoyed, please reblog!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics <3. thanks, angels.
part one. part three. series masterlist. masterlist. inbox.
His eyes are glued to you.
They have been since he watched you pour just a little too much cherry vodka into your red plastic cup.
He keeps trying to catch your gaze across the smoky room, multicoloured lights clouding his vision. There's some sort of punk song playing through a stereo system somewhere, the beat of the guitar thumping through the wooden floorboards and into Steve's bones.
You're laughing, head thrown back at something Eddie has said. He's funny, Steve thinks. But not that funny. He watches carefully, refraining from intervening right up until the moment you almost trip over your own foot and into the curly haired boy. Steve's moving across the room before he can even process it.
"Cherry," he teases, hand snaking around your waist to hold you upright. "You okay?"
You turn in his hold to throw your arms around his neck, looking up at him with big doe eyes.
"Stevie."
You say his name so sweet that he stumbles and almost takes you down with him.
"You okay?" you giggle.
"I'm good. You good?"
"I'm good."
You sway with him for a second, closing your eyes and revelling in the warmth of his hands on the bare skin of your waist.
"You're a little tipsy, huh?"
"Just a little."
"You wanna go home?"
You chew on your lip for a moment, weighing up your options.
"Can we go to your place? I don't wanna face my parents like this."
Steve leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, brushing the hair back from your face.
"Of course. Let's go, hm?"
"Let me grab my jacket. I'll meet you by the door."
You slink off upstairs, leaving Steve alone with Eddie.
"Just friends," Eddie mocks under his breath quietly.
"What?"
"Nothin'."
Steve stares at his friend with a brow quirked, stormy look on his face.
"All I'm sayin' is - I don't look at my best friend like that. Don't hold 'em like you just did. Don't have sleepovers either."
"I've known her since we were kids. It's different."
"I've got friends I've known since kindergarten. I don't kiss them on the forehead."
"I wouldn't put it past you," Steve mumbles, finished with the conversation. "Whatever, man. You don't get it."
"Oh, I get it. You're in love. Steve and Cherry, sitting in a tree-"
"Don't call her that."
"See? You're defensive over her nickname, because you gave it to her. Don't be an idiot, Steve. Life's too short."
"Yours will be, if you don't shut up."
Eddie takes that as his cue, shaking his head as he leaves to go and complain about the music choice.
Steve meets you outside, chuckling when he sees you shivering as you hold your jacket.
"Cherry, put your coat on. You're freezing."
You look up at him, slightly bewildered, and he fights to keep the smile off his face. Taking it from your hands, Steve slips the jacket around your shoulders, hands skimming up your arms to warm you.
"Better?"
"Better."
You slip your hand into his and begin to walk away from the noise, finally taking a deep breath when you're down the street.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," you reply, nudging him with your shoulder. "Feet hurt though. Fuckin' shoes."
You both stop, Steve kneeling down in front of you to unbuckle your heels. You look at him questioningly and he winks, cheeky and full of love.
He slips them off your feet and sits down on the curb, taking his sneakers off and gesturing for you to step into them.
"No, Steve. I chose to wear these, it's my own fault."
"I know, and they looked cute. But now you're going to wear these."
You step into the shoes reluctantly, holding back tears when he kneels and ties your laces tightly. Rising to his feet, he presses a kiss to your forehead before intertwining your fingers again, picking up your heels with his other hand.
You're both quiet, as you walk. Neither of you needs to say anything. It's always been this way. Steve's not good with silence usually, but with you, it's more than comfortable. Sometimes, you'll sit for hours in his bedroom doing your own things, content to just know the other person is there.
"Minnie Lawson kept asking about you tonight."
You try to keep the disdain from your voice as best you can, praying Steve doesn't pick up on it.
He does. He doesn't mention it.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
You keep walking, smiling occasionally when you catch sight of Steve's socked feet next to yours.
"What did she say?"
You mentally kick yourself for bringing it up, but take a deep breath and tell him anyway.
"Kept asking if you were single."
"And what did you say?"
"Told her she needed to ask you herself and that I'm not your secretary."
Steve cackles at this, loud and endearing. The sound makes you grin, whether you want to or not.
"Shit, Cherry baby. What did the girl ever do to you?"
"I didn't mind when she asked the first couple times, but the more she drank, the more she forgot. She couldn't remember if she'd already asked so kept asking again."
He laughs again, squeezing your hand where it still holds his tightly.
"She didn't talk to me."
"Didn't think she would."
He looks at you for a moment too long, your eyes meeting the floor to avoid his gaze.
"Mikey was asking about you tonight, you know."
You'd had a crush on Mikey in ninth grade, the summer after he'd gotten tall and started to look less like four walking limbs and more like a man. He was a nice guy, if not a little boisterous sometimes.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Said you looked pretty. Wanted to know if you were still with the Douchebag."
You chuckle at the hatred in Steve's voice at the mention of your ex boyfriend.
"And you said..."
"That he was in the wind, thankfully."
"Dodged a bullet with that one."
You lean into his arm, savouring the warmth of his skin you can feel through your jacket and his long sleeve shirt.
"Mikey wants to ask you out."
"Really?"
"Yeah, really. Is that so hard to believe? You're a catch, you know."
"I don't know. Boys like Mikey never look at me, usually."
"I look at you."
Your breath hitches in your chest. It's like your heart has forgotten how to beat.
"Yeah," you whisper. "But you're Steve."
After a moment, you add,
"My Steve."
You rest your head onto his bicep, still clutching his hand. He leans down to press a kiss into your hair, resting his cheek there for a moment.
"You're worlds apart from boys like Mikey, Steve. He's nice, but he's not you."
You're not sure where all this sudden truth is coming from, but you're wondering if the cherry vodka has maybe hit you a little harder than you first thought.
"And you and Minnie Lawson aren't even in the same league. You've got nothing to worry about."
You both process Steve's words, before he starts stuttering.
"I mean, not that you, not that - it's not like you were worried, I'm sure. I bet you weren't. I just mean... you know what I mean, right?
Thankfully, you do.
"I know what you mean. I always do."
He stops walking, turning to face you on the sidewalk, hand never dropping yours. You're not sure where you are, but you know Steve knows. He'll keep you safe. Always.
"Okay," he breathes.
"Okay," you breathe.
"I love you," he breathes.
"I love you," you breathe.
"I don't want you to date Mikey Carter," he breathes.
"I don't want you to date Minnie Lawson," you breathe.
You both inhale deeply, following the other person's lead.
"I can't stop thinking about the other night," Steve whispers, so quietly you'd have missed if it you weren't so in tune with him.
Your lungs constrict for a second, all the air leaving you at once.
"Me neither."
You're stood in the street whispering to each other, frightened you'll burst the bubble you've accidentally created.
"I feel bad," you confess.
"Why, honey?"
"Because I... I didn't return the favour. I just let you get into bed and fall asleep. Sorry."
Steve's hands come up to cradle your face, eyes searching yours as if he's reading his favourite book.
"I didn't want you to. I told you, it wasn't about me, it was about you. I didn't... I didn't initiate it so I could get something in return."
"Sorry."
"Stop apologising, Cherry. You've got nothing to apologise for."
"Sorry," you reply without thinking, causing both of you to double over into fits of laughter.
Steve wipes the happy tears from your cheeks, gaze never leaving yours. You look at each other for a moment, feeling the atmosphere shift. The world could collapse around you both, and neither of you would notice. It's just you and Steve. Nothing more, nothing less.
He leans in gently, pressing his lips to yours in a featherlight kiss. He tastes like beer and spearmint.
"You're wearing your lipbalm."
"You've been chewing your gum."
He chuckles, kissing you again softly.
"You wanna go home?"
"Please. You're in your socks, and I look like a clown."
He looks at your feet and laughs, the sound much too loud for the early hours of a Sunday morning.
"Let's go, Cherry baby. My warm bed awaits us."
The stars guide you home hand in hand, Steve stealing the occasional kiss when you happen to be looking in his direction. You kick off his shoes by the door, running straight up the stairs to change out of your uncomfortable dress. Steve stops by the kitchen to grab you both a glass of water, bounding up after you and spilling half the liquid in the process.
He stops in the doorway when he reaches his room, breath caught in his throat. You're stood in just your panties, bare back to him, rifling through his drawers to find the soft grey shirt you always steal.
It's a sight he's seen before. Something is different this time.
"Where is it?" you ask, not turning around.
You know he's there. You know he knows what you're looking for.
This is what love is, he thinks suddenly. The knowing. The unknowing. The knowing that the other person knows. The other person knowing that you know. Unspoken knowledge.
"Bottom drawer, left," he chokes out. "Washed it."
You slip it on and turn around, pouting. The boy quirks a brow at you in question.
"Doesn't smell like you. Smells like your detergent, but not you. Will you wear it, when I leave?"
"Yeah," he chuckles, fighting the blush from rising across his chest. "Anything you want, baby."
Steve shrugs off his clothes, slipping on a fresh pair of boxers before sliding into his side of the bed. You're in the bathroom, humming a tune that he can't quite place but knows he heard tonight. He watches you through the open door as you sway gently, ready to jump up and catch you if need be. You pee with the door still open, and Steve chuckles. It's like you've been married for twenty years.
"Can you please turn the fan on? I'm hot."
"Anything for you, Cherry Pie."
You jump into your side of the bed, sitting up to face the boy next to you. It might be 3am, but you're both wide awake, veins buzzing with endless possibility.
"I've been thinking," you murmur quietly.
"Never a good sign."
"Shut up."
You both laugh, and you can't help but grin. What a miracle, you think. To be alive at the same time as a boy like Steve Harrington. To know him. To love him.
"Will you let me return the favour?"
It's a vague question, but Steve knows exactly what you're asking. He chokes on his breath, tilting his head to look at you.
"Babe, you don't have to-"
"-I want to. So badly."
Steve inhales deeply, willing himself to calm down.
"I don't have to, if you don't want me to. But I can't stop thinking about the way you'd taste."
The boy thinks he's died and gone to heaven. Dreaming, maybe.
"Honey... fuck."
Steve nods, bottom lip caught between his teeth.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Please. Jesus."
He's breathing so frantically, you're worried he might pass out. The last thing you need is your best friend unconscious.
"Breathe, Stevie. It's just me and you."
"Me and you."
"Always."
He comes back down to Earth, so you lean in to kiss him, all tender and cherry flavoured. Tangling your fingers into his hair, you push him backwards so he's leaning against the headboard. You straddle his hips, plush lips pressing into his neck, his chest, his collarbones. Steve's practically melting, a puddle of love and affection beneath you.
"Let me take care of you," you whisper into his ear, and who is he to deny you when you ask so sweet?
You crawl down his body until you're situated between his legs, thick thighs bracketing you in. You kiss along the inside of the muscle, nipping as you go and revelling in the way he jumps and hisses. It's nice to be the one in charge for once.
You scratch your nails along the bulge in his boxers, smirking when his hips buck up into you. You think, for a moment, that you'd happily lie here and tease him like this for hours, just to see when he'd snap. But this isn't the time for games, so you store that thought for another day.
"This still okay?"
"More than okay," he replies, all breathy and ungrounded. You link your fingers with his and squeeze, and all his nerves melt away.
You don't let yourself begin to think about why he's nervous. You know Steve's a ladies man, you know he's done this many times... so why is it different with you? You wonder if maybe you should talk about it afterwards. You're not sure if either of you are ready for that.
Mouthing at him over his underwear, you hum in contentment at his warmth. He's always run hot, every part of him. It's one of your favourite things.
You hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tug them down, throwing them onto the floor somewhere. The room is dimly lit by the lamp on the nightstand, the lightbulb casting shadows across Steve's slightly sweat damp skin. The fan acts as a soundtrack, white noise breaking up the silence.
You look at him and bite your lip, buzzing with anticipation. It's not like you haven't seen each other naked before, but it's different like this.
"Just... tell me what you like or what you don't like as I go along, okay?"
Steve smiles in adoration, running his thumb over your cheekbone gently.
"Okay."
You wrap your hand around him and curl your wrist, holding back a smirk when the boy whines. It's a pretty sound. You'd like to hear it again and again until he loses his voice.
Leaning in, you lick up the length of him, groaning at the salty musk. His taste, his scent, his sounds... it's all so Steve. He's the centre of your universe, everything around you just Steve Steve Steve.
Taking him fully into your mouth, a hand flies into your hair, tangling his fingers. He doesn't move you, just tethers himself to something real, something grounding. You take him as much as you can, working up a rhythm between your tongue and your hand. Steve's breathing as if he's just ran a marathon, chest heaving and lungs burning.
He finds his voice, suddenly.
"Oh fuck, baby."
"Shit, Cherry. Fuck, just like that."
"That's it, atta girl. Perfect girl. My girl."
"Oh, you're so good. So fucking good."
He tenses, fingers tightening in your hair once again.
"So close, baby. Don't stop. Please."
You double down on your efforts, twisting your wrist in that way you've figured out he likes as you hollow your cheeks and suck. The boy sees stars, vision going white.
The noise he lets out as he finishes will be forever engrained in your mind, a never ending symphony that no orchestra could ever recreate.
He goes lax, collapsing back against the bed as you swallow, never breaking eye contact. You stick your tongue out as proof and he groans, deep and gutteral.
"Kiss me," he chokes, too blissed out to move.
You crawl up his body and press your lips to his, squeaking in surprise when he slips his tongue into your mouth to taste himself.
"Filthy," you laugh, resting your forehead against his.
"You love it."
You shake your head, but can't wipe the grin from your face.
"I love you."
"I love you more."
After a second, you giggle.
"What's funny?"
"I'd like to see Minnie Lawson do that."
Steve laughs, loud and melodic in the low light of the room.
"She's got nothing on you, Cherry baby. No one does."
You process the words, heart stuttering in your chest.
"We should talk about this," you whisper.
"We will," he assures, tugging you into him so your head is resting on his chest. "Tomorrow."
Lines have been crossed, lives have been changed, but the stars above your heads remain the same. They'll always guide you back to Steve.
The lamp flickers, the fan hums, the crickets sing their night time lullabies.
The boy leans down to press his lips to yours. He tastes like cherries and every kiss for the rest of your life.
Synopsis - The lines of friendship get a little blurry, one unassuming Friday night in December.
Pairing - Bestfriend!Steve Harrington x Female Reader
Warnings - smut. cursing. steve's got an ego, but for good reason.
Age Rating - 18+
Word Count - 2k
Author's Note - hi lovelies!! my first steve fic!! listen, I actually really didn't enjoy stranger things, but... I love this man. he's charming and he's a softie and he's such a good character to write. hope you enjoy this - it's got me all warm and fuzzy. please feel free to send me a christmas request if you fancy, I'm in the mood to write some seasonal fics. much love, always!! <3
as always, reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics!! please, if you enjoyed, consider reblogging this so it gets further reach. comments and feedback are always appreciated!! thanks, angels. <3
Part Two. Masterlist. Inbox. The Moodboard. Series Masterlist.
Three rocks ping off the panes of your bedroom window in quick succession.
You're applying your moisturiser in the mirror, winding down and almost ready for bed. Your reflection is illuminated by a faint glow from the fairy lights you've draped over the headboard for the festive season, warm and comforting. A soft, jazzy melody is drifting from the radio softly, a welcome noise to break up the silence.
Another rock hits your window.
You fly out of your seat and towards the source of the trouble, worried that he's going to throw one too hard one of these days.
"Steve," you hiss as you yank it open. "Cut it out. Just come through the door."
"Where's the fun in that?" he chuckles, eyes rife with mischief.
You roll your eyes but step back anyway, making room for him to climb the tree and dive through the window into your room.
"Hi, sugar."
"Hi, Steven."
He grins at you, bright and awake despite the late hour.
"Don't you have better plans on a Friday night, King Steve?"
"And miss out on seeing you in your little pink pyjamas? Absolutely not."
You shove at his chest, smacking him upside the head for good measure. He feigns pain and wraps his arms around your middle, picking you up off the ground and spinning you in circles. You shriek, and the sound makes him laugh.
"Okay, okay! I'm dizzy! Put me down!"
He obliges by throwing you unceremoniously onto your bed, smirking when you almost bounce off it.
"So," he begins, sitting down across from you. "How was it? Do you feel like a whole new woman?"
You scoff.
"What? That bad?"
"Yeah, that bad. We didn't even do it."
He quirks a brow in curiosity, tilting his head to look at you.
"I thought tonight was the big night?"
"Yeah, it was supposed to be. But he was kissing me, and it just didn't feel... right? He started grabbing at me and I realised that you can only lose your virginity once - and that definitely wasn't how I wanted to lose mine."
You shrug, trying to play indifference, but Steve can see the hurt in your eyes.
"You always deserved so much better than him."
"Thanks, Steve."
"Come on, Cherry. The guy is an asshole who happens to be attractive. His face is the only thing he's got going for him."
The mention of your childhood nickname has memories of fruit flavoured popsicles on summer days flooding back. Laughter by the pool, pushing Steve in and screeching when he dragged you with him, staying out in the sun until you were both exhausted. Cherry. You've always been Steve's Cherry, for as long as you can remember. You still wear the lip balm he bought you last year, fitting for your moniker.
"You didn't like him from the start. Actually, you've never liked any guy that has ever liked me."
"Because they're not good enough for you."
"Says who?"
"Says me."
"And you're the boss of me and my love life now?"
"I'm the person that knows you better than anyone in the entire world. I think I have a pretty good view on things."
You huff, but accept your defeat in knowing that he's right. No one knows you like him. Steve always does this. He pisses you off, but makes you love him a tiny bit more each time.
He grabs your foot from the bed, pressing his thumbs into your sole. You relax instantly, tired of half arguing with him.
"I give up."
"With what?"
"Dating. Fuck it."
He chuckles, rubbing soothing patterns into your ankle gently.
"You've barely even started."
"Ooo, sorry Mr Womaniser."
"Stop it," he chides, pinching your calf. "Maybe The One for you just isn't in Hawkins. This place has always been too small for us anyway."
"Yeah, maybe. It'll all change when we go to college, hopefully."
"Exactly. It'll be a whole different ball game. There'll be tonnes of hot guys begging for your attention."
"And you'll be fighting them off."
"Yes I will."
You laugh, poking him in the chest with your foot teasingly.
"And maybe the college guys will actually know what they're doing in bed."
"Hey, some of us do know!"
"Yeah yeah, Steve's good in bed. I've heard it all before."
"Don't be jealous, Cherry baby."
"Jealous isn't quite the word I'd use."
"No?"
He drops your foot and scoots closer, settling in between your parted legs.
"You're not even a little bit curious what all the rumours are about?"
"Steve," you laugh. "I think they're probably just exactly that. Rumours."
He inches in towards you, so his forehead is almost touching yours. Running his fingers up and down the outside of your thigh, he takes a deep breath in.
"You should let me show you just how much I know. We're not all clueless, Cherry. I'm confident I could make you feel good."
You exhale with a shudder.
"I'm not letting you take my virginity, Steve."
"I don't want to. There's a thousand ways I can make your legs shake without fucking you, baby."
You stare into his big doe eyes, admiring the way a single strand of hair has fallen across his forehead. You look for a shred of doubt, or amusement, but all you see is love. Admiration. Trust. Sincerity.
"Okay," you breathe, before your mind has truly processed what you're saying. "Show me what you got, Harrington."
He grins, slow and saccharine, like the cat who got the cream.
"Steve?" you whisper.
"Yeah?"
"This isn't going to fuck things up between us, is it?"
He smiles, big and bright.
"Never. Nothing is ever going to fuck things up between us. It's you and me forever, Cherry Pie."
You chuckle at the nickname, stroking his cheek with your thumb.
"Well, then what are you waiting for?"
He shakes his head and grabs your ankle, pulling you across the bed and into his body. Wrapping a hand around the back of your neck, he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.
"If at any point this gets weird, or you don't like it... Just say the words, okay?"
"Okay," you breathe, inhaling the scent of mint from his tongue. "Promise."
"Can I kiss you?"
"You don't usually ask," you tease.
It's no secret that you and Steve have kissed a few times. Once after prom, once at a party here and there, once when you were cuddled in bed comforting him after a break up. But it's never led to anything more. Which is probably why this feels a little different.
"I know, but this is a little more... intense, than usual."
You try to ignore the way your heart swells at his consideration for you, and nod your head gently.
"Kiss me. Please."
Steve wastes no time, leaning in to press his lips to yours. He tastes like spearmint and soda, with a hint of the cherry lipbalm he steals from your nightstand. You instinctively shuffle closer to him, straddling his lap as his arms bracket themselves around you. It's like he can't decide where to put his hands - they're roaming up your back, squeezing your ass, kneading your thighs. He's antsy and impatient, eager to feel you.
"Lie back," he whispers against your mouth, tipping you onto the bed.
Your head hits your pillows and you crane your neck to watch him as he crawls down your body, eyes never leaving yours.
"Steve-"
"Stop thinking so hard, Cherry. I can practically hear your thoughts."
You huff but can't keep the smile off your face, willing your mind to stop racing.
"Let me quiet things down, hmm?"
Steve presses a gentle kiss to the inside of your knee, trailing up and up until he reaches your hip. He licks across your hipbone before nipping it with his teeth, smirking when you gasp.
Grasping the waistband of your pyjama shorts, he asks for permission with his eyes, no words needed. You nod and lift your hips, letting him slide them down your body.
You've never been so exposed, which is causing a sudden realisation that the two of you are crossing a line that can never be uncrossed. As if he can read your mind, Steve presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, tender and full of love.
"Babe, if you want to stop..."
"I don't, I promise. I'm just nervous. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologise," he murmurs, resting his head on your thigh and looking up at you. "Never apologise. You're doing so good, Cherry. I love you."
You didn't know what you were expecting, but it wasn't I love you. You've both said it to each other a million times, but something about saying it in this exact moment makes it feel... weighted. You'll talk about it later. You'll make sure of it.
"I love you too. So much."
You're whispering, scared to ruin the peace you've created. Steve kisses your skin again gently, gazing at you like you've hung the stars just for him.
"Let me make you feel good, okay?"
When you nod, Steve nudges your core with his nose, arms wrapping around your thighs to keep you anchored in place.
He starts slow, easing you in carefully. Kitten licks and gentle nips, testing the waters. When you tangle a hand into his hair and tug, Steve gets the message.
"You want more, pretty baby?"
"Yes," you confirm, more breathless than intended. "Please."
He dives back in, this time with more intention. His nose keeps nudging your clit, the friction licking up your spine deliciously. It's like he can't get enough, eating you out like a man starved.
He groans into your heat, the vibrations making you whine. When he curls his tongue just right, you keen, the sounds leaving your mouth foreign to the both of you.
"Fuck, you sound so beautiful. You're perfect. God, you're perfect."
"Stevie," you pant. "So close."
"I got you. Atta girl, I got you. That's my girl, give it to me."
Maybe it's the my girl, or maybe it's the way he's slipped two fingers into you, but the coil snaps. Your back arches off the bed as white heat engulfs your body, vision going black for a moment. You can hear him talking you through it, loving and encouraging. Eventually, your grip on his hair loosens as you go lax, collapsing back against the comforter.
Steve grins at you as he licks his fingers clean, crawling up your body to kiss you. You groan when you taste yourself, arms wrapping around his shoulders to keep him close. Resting his head on your chest, you run your fingers through his hair, humming gently when he relaxes.
"You okay?"
"Never better," you laugh. "You're good with your mouth, Harrington. I'll give you that."
"Told you the rumours were true."
You shake your head and reach over, grabbing the glass of water from your nightstand and taking a sip. You offer it to Steve without a second thought, rolling your eyes when he downs the rest.
He plucks your cherry lipbalm from the drawer and applies it to himself, before leaning up to carefully do the same to you. He pecks your lips sweetly before returning it to its rightful place.
"You replace it, don't you?"
"Hmm?"
"The chapstick. I've had it for a whole year, and I've never even come close to reaching the end."
He blushes as he looks at you, suddenly bashful.
"It's special," he murmurs. "It's our thing, you know? And it smells good. I like knowing that I'm the only one who knows you taste like cherries."
You want to poke fun at him, say something to make him laugh. But you can't. He's rendered you speechless, for the second time in one night.
"I like knowing the reason you taste like spearmint is because I've been slipping pieces of gum into the pockets of your jeans for ten years."
"I knew it," he laughs, leaning up to kiss you firmly. "I can't tell you the last time I bought gum."
"You're welcome."
Steve shucks off his jeans and his shirt, climbing into your bed with just his boxers on. You slip your underwear up your legs before getting under the comforter with him, tangling your limbs with his.
The tunes from the radio still hum gently as the fairy lights flicker.
The room is unchanged.
The people in it are not.
read Part Two here. Part Three here. Part Four here.
★ american teenagers - a stranger things series ★ steve harrington x reader
0:00 ───|────── 0:00
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
♪ say what you want, and say it like you mean it- ♪
★ summary: following the plotline of stranger things - steve harrington has been your best friend since you moved to the quaint town of hawkins, indiana, from the bustling city of new york in third grade, a move prompted by a familial tragedy. in your sophomore year of high school, you get swept up in a world full of monsters, other worlds, and strange little girls with powers. when standing in the face of death, will you do the impossible and face your feelings?
★ paring: steve harrington x bestfriend!reader
★warnings: violence, gore, angst, slow burn (like, very slow), fluff, suggestive content (MDNI - 18+), swearing, steve is clueless for like, pretty much the whole story
♪ -with your fists for once... ♪
★ season one (coming soon)
chapter one: the vanishing of will byers (coming soon)
Disclaimer/Pairings: EddieMunson x Exbestfriend!Reader AU—ish (st storyline isn’t mentioned, but timeline is the same) also let's pretend Eddie is not a super senior in this.
Type: slight angst, fluff, reunion?
Warnings: swearing, mentions of fighting/friendship breakup, negative self image from eddie
Word Count: 3.7k
It had been awhile to say the least, awhile since you last spoke to the boy who was once your best friend. You'd met Eddie in the sixth grade. He came up to you with his buzz cut and crooked smile and offered to sit with you at lunch since you were alone and the rest was history. It's like the two of you became attached at the hip. You'd always make some dramatic story of fate based on the stars aligning way before you were even born, but he always rolled his eyes at the idea.
Eventually, his Uncle Wayne met your mom and after some begging you two were even allowed the occasional sleepover, which usually took place at Eddie's trailer, squished into his far too small twin bed since his uncle worked nights and you two could basically do whatever you wanted. All of those nights, however, staying up way too late, eating far too many snacks, and even stealing a beer or two from the fridge were long gone, but never forgotten by either of you.
The second you both entered the ninth grade it's like all of the odds started stacking against you. Eddie found people who understood D&D enough to play with him and you found a new love for cheerleading—a sport Eddie found stupid, but he was willing to overlook it, at first. The two of you still hung out, but your time together dwindled until you officially made the cheer team, and that's when everything seemed to crash and burn.
Eddie lashed out at you, claiming he no longer wanted to be friends if you were also going to hang out with 'dumb jocks' and you, at only fourteen, took great offense to that. So, just like that, your friendship ended. Eventually, you got over the weird tension and offered him smiles in the hallway, always hoping he'd one day return them, sometimes you'd even throw in a wave to make sure he got the message, but to no avail, he still ignored you like you never existed, like the stars you spoke of before were wrong or misplaced.
The years went by and Eddie grew more into himself, he was almost a foot taller now and actually had hair—a lot of hair, alongside a plethora of tattoos, and a fully decorated battle vest. When the two of you finally had a class together you found yourself secretly admiring the vest, and maybe him. Your eyes would trace the outline of all the new pins from behind that he'd gotten while images of the vest with just one pin plagued your mind. You still remembered how excited he was when Wayne gifted it to him on his twelfth birthday.
Currently, you were seated in your History class with Eddie once again, tuning out the lecture as you stared at the Dio album cover on the back of the vest. Your ears perked up, however, when you heard his name called alongside yours. You heard a groan from in front of you as he turned around to glance at you, the pieces falling together in your mind. You'd been randomly paired to work on a group project together.
You'd be lying if you said you weren't a little bit excited, you'd wanted to talk to Eddie for so long, maybe this was the way to do it. Your mind raced with things you might say to him, ways you could possibly turn things around, or at least fix them enough to get a smile back in the hallway until the teacher finished talking.
When she was done he turned around in his seat. "Hi." You mumbled, it coming out way less confident than you intended. "Hi." He said back, his tone slightly mocking. An awkward silence followed his response, he didn't try to break it and you didn't know what to say. "So—group project huh?" You stutter out, cringing as the sentence came out.
He let out a bit of a breathy laugh, an annoyed look on his face "Yeah." He replied and the awkward silence returned. You fidgeted in your seat until a sigh escaped your lips. "Can we just—I don't know, not make this weird?" You ask, thinking nothing of it and he scoffs, causing your eyebrows to furrow.
"Why because I'm such a freak?" He says, his tone sharp. "What? No! I-I just—I don't know." You mumble, biting at your bottom lip. Eddie just sighs, "Yeah—sure Y/N, let's just do the project and go back to our own worlds." He mumbles. You frown at his words, you didn't want to go back into your own worlds, you wanted to be apart of the same world.
You don't say that though, "Ok." You shrug, pulling out your textbook. "So I say we just put this guys life out on a poster board and call it a day. Maybe—write out some notecards for when we present." You say and Eddie nods along, seemingly uninterested. You groan, "Can you at least act like you're listening?" You ask and he scoffs again. You roll your eyes, your previous excitement fading, "Look—we have a week. Why don't we do this after school as soon as we can. We even could today, I'm free after 5:30–I just have practice until then. We could go to your trailer or maybe my house—I don't care." You ramble.
He sits in silence for a moment, "We can just go to your house." He sighs, "I have Hellfire until 6:00 though." You nod, "Ok, come by as soon as you're done?" You ask and he nods again as the bell rings. You open your mouth to speak but he's already gone, his bag slung over his shoulder as he stalks out of the classroom.
You huff, puffing out your cheeks as you pack your things and stand up, going about the rest of your day. The classes pass by slow until cheer practice, a time you usually enjoy, but were now distracted during since talking with Eddie, making you mess up simple cheers and routines. When it was finally over you decided to sit on the curb in the parking lot near Eddie's van, hoping he'd give you a ride so you didn't have to walk. Maybe it was a ploy to try and talk to him, but he was also going to your house anyway so—why not?
You waited, drumming your fingers on your thigh until the drama room doors popped open and Eddie walked out, looking in a better mood than earlier. "Hey!" You mumble, giving him a smile as you push yourself up with your heels, "I usually walk home after practice, but I thought since you were coming maybe you could.." You trail off and he sighs, "Get in." He mumbles and you comply, climbing into the passenger seat.
He follows behind you, getting into the drivers seat and squealing out of the parking lot towards your house. You wanted to give him directions, but a part of you hoped he'd just remember the way, and he did exactly that. He pulls into your driveway and sits for a moment, the silence awkward.
You sigh, "Well." You mumble, opening the door and getting out. Eddie follows suit and follows behind you reluctantly. You twist your key into the lock and open the door. "Hey Y/N/N!" Your mom calls from the kitchen, the smell of whatever she was preparing for dinner hitting the both of you. "Hey!" You call back, slipping off your shoes near the door, Eddie doing the same like it was natural, because it once was.
Your mom rounds the corner, coming into the living room from the kitchen to give you a proper greeting and gasps. "Eddie?" She says cheerfully, a little confused. He turns to her, his eyes widening as she pulls him into a hug, "Look at you! You're so—grown." She says, gesturing to him as she pulls away from the hug. You hold your breath, waiting for his response, but to your surprise he laughs, really laughs. "Yeah—it's been awhile." He shrugs and she nods, "Too long." She replies.
"How's your uncle?" She asks, her head cocking to the side. He replies, in more detail than you expected as you stand there, nostalgia coming in weird and unwelcome waves at their conversation. Eventually it ends and you two walk upstairs, your mom shooting you a grin as she goes back into the kitchen. You're halfway up the stairs when your mom calls out, "You'll have to stay for dinner Eddie—it's your favorite." He stops and your heart sinks at the possibility of his response, "Ok!" He replies and your mouth practically falls open.
You knew that Eddie had always loved your mom, she treated him like a son, but with the way he'd treated you these past few years, you expected him to be rude, or at least not this normal, like nothing had changed. After his reply you make it up to your room and you open the door. Eddie pauses in the doorway. The room looked different, but some parts remained the same.
His chest felt weird as he glanced around the room he used to spend so much time in, the twin bed still placed in the corner, a princess sticker still stuck on an unreachable part of the ceiling. "Welcome—back." You mumble, your tone light, trying to break the tension. Eddie lets out an awkward sounding laugh as he steps inside. "So uhm, you-you don't actually have to stay for dinner if you don't want to." You mumble, biting at your lip, a nervous habit you'd always had.
Eddie notices the habit, of course he does, it used to drive his little thirteen year old brain crazy, especially once he started viewing you as more than a friend, but he decides to ignore it. "No, I'll stay, I like your mom." He shrugs and you nod, not wanting to make something out of nothing. You sit on the ground as you close the door and pull out your textbook. You're too distracted to notice the way Eddie's eyes widen and linger on a homemade Corroded Coffin poster still hanging on the back of your door, the paper looking more warn, the colors from old crayons slightly faded.
He clears his throat as he looks away and to your textbook. "We could write some notes, things we want to say in the presentation and things we want on the poster board. I don't have one right now, but if you help with the notes I don't mind writing it all down and making it presentable so we don't have to do this again." You ramble. He nods, wanting to say he'll come over again to help, but not knowing how. How can he tell you that since he's stepped foot in your room he never wants to leave? How can he say this is convincing him he might truly believe in your crazy little star theory?
You nod back, pulling out two notebooks and handing him one before laying on the floor on your stomach and setting the textbook between you two. "I'll cover his early life to—I don't know, when he got involved with the war and you can do his time in the war until his death?" You offer and he just nods, still not speaking.
The two of you work in silence, the tension a bit awkward, but you ignore it, thinking you're the only one who notices. Eddie notices, although he's distracted. He's writing some things down but he can't help but let his eyes wander every few seconds, around the room, around the way your face is half the same and somehow so much more beautiful, and a bit too shamelessly, around the way your uniform hugs your body as you lay on the floor.
After about thirty minutes you notice his lack of work and sigh, "Look, I know you like hate me now or whatever, but could you please just do your half of the project." You mumble. He freezes, stopping in the middle of the paragraph he was pretending to read as his eyes meet yours. "I am, I just keep getting—distracted." You furrow your eyebrows, "From what?" You ask, gesturing into your room, "There's no noise."
He just shakes his head, sitting up now, "Everything." He mumbles, looking at the wall. "You, your room, the fact that I'm staying for dinner I just—fuck Y/N." He sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. You swallow harshly, "How is that distracting?" You shoot back and he groans, "I might act like I don't know you but that doesn't mean I forgot about you Y/N, about how things used to be." He admits.
Your heart skips a beat at his admission, this was the most you'd gotten out of him since your friendship ended. "Well I'm glad you haven't forgotten." You reply, "I haven't either—by the way." You add. He bites at his lip now, unknowingly mirroring the habit he hated yet still picked up from you as he sighs, not replying. You stare at him, willing him to look at you but when he doesn't you sit up to be more level with him.
"We could talk about it." You offer, your tone hopeful, but his immediate shaking of his head feels like a punch to the gut. "What's there to talk about? We're not friends anymore. You're riding high with the dumb jocks while I'm labeled as some town freak." He bitterly spits out. You frown at his words, "You're not some town freak Eddie. You're a good guy, and you used to be my best friend." You reply and he scoffs.
"So I can't call myself a freak but your friends can?" He asks, annoyed. It's your turn to scoff now as you cross your arms, "They're not my friends." You mumble and he raises his eyebrows "Right well even IF that is true, you're still one of them." He replies which angers you more. "How can you say that when you don't even know me at all anymore? You lost interest in being my friend the second I got my own interests that didn't intertwine with yours." You angrily reply.
He rolls his eyes, "I lost interest in being your friend when you became friends with the people who bullied me Y/N—who bullied YOU when we were younger but I guess that's just water under the bridge now that you're all in their little fucked up circle huh?" You sigh, rolling your eyes back, "Maybe they did, but I actually like cheerleading Eddie. I didn't do this to fit in, I still wanted to be your friend but all you did was push me away!"
"I did not! You ran off with your new friends and didn't care about me anymore!" He says back, his voice getting louder. I frown, "Is that really what you think?" I ask, my chest tight at his accusation. He sighs, "I—no." He bites at his lip again, "That's just what I tell myself to make it easier." You furrow your eyebrows at his sudden shift in tone and admission.
"Make what easier?" You mumble, already assuming the answer, but selfishly wanting to hear it come out of his mouth anyway. "To make the fact that I pushed away my best friend easier." He practically whispers. "You didn't have to do that." I reply, my tone matching his. "Yeah well that's all over and done with now so—why don't we just finish this project and go back to how things were. I'm sure you can't wait for that." He mumbles, his eyes widening with his words and you scoff for the hundredth time tonight.
"How would you know? How do you know I don't want to talk to you Eddie—I've tried so many times. I know you see me waving or smiling in the hallway. I didn't reach out much because I didn't want to force you to talk to me, but that doesn't mean I didn't want to be your friend. At first I-I called your trailer everyday and had to listen to Wayne give me some run around answer of why you couldn't talk until I just stopped trying." You admit but he already knew.
He runs a hand through his hair again, "I know—ok fuck Y/N/N I know." He says in a low tone. "Then why'd you push me away?" You ask, slightly leaning forward. "I was mad at first, mad that you'd want to join some stupid sports team, but then I saw how happy it made you and I tried to like it, but I thought you being my friend would just drag you down." He frowns.
Your expression matches his, "That's bullshit. The whole squad could hate me and I'd still cheer, I don't care about that. I did, or still do, however, care about losing my best friend." His frown deepens, "I didn't think you'd care that much." He mumbles, "Of course I'd care Eddie. You were my best friend for years. It was just you and me—always, like the stars intended." You throw in the bit at the end hoping for it to spark something inside of him, if he even remembered the dumb thing you'd say every time he'd doubt your friendship or wonder why you two became friends.
Eddie's chest tightens at your words, nostalgia crashing over him as his mind wanders to all the times you'd talk about how the stars were arranged for you two to become friends way before you ever met. It might've been a little cringe, but he didn't care, he always secretly loved it. Your eyes bore into his, waiting for a reply while he sits in silence, his mind racing. "I'm sorry." He finally whispers and your breath hitches. You never thought you'd hear those words come from him, as sad as it made you, you were sure you'd never be apart of his life again.
"Don't be." You finally say, deciding against arguing, "Just—I don't know, why don't we just, become friends again." You shrug. "It's not that simple." He mumbles. "Why can't it be? Why can't we just forget all the middle bullshit and let the stars realign." You say, your eyes looking up into his, borderline begging. The more the conversation unraveled the more you realized how much you truly missed him, and maybe staring at him too.
He sighs, "I guess I'm just scared, I don't know." He admits. "All the more reason to just jump back into it—like ripping off a bandaid. The Eddie I knew would never let being scared keep him away. The Eddie I knew used to fight dragons in imaginary alternate dimensions." I reply, a slight smile across my face.
Eddie's chest tightens at your words as his breath hitches when you smile. You'd somehow become even more beautiful to him the older you got, he noticed before, when he'd see you at school, but now that you were right in front of him he felt like he couldn't breathe. "Ok." He finally replies and your smile grows. "Just like that?" You ask and he nods, "Just like that."
A silence hangs in the air after, but this time not uncomfortable as you practically stare at each other. Your eyes tracing the features he's grown into, bordering on admiring his sharp jaw as he does the same, but you assume he's just staring for no reason as does he. Eventually you smile again which causes him to smile. "What?" He asks and your smile widens as you laugh, "I just cant believe we lost three years of friendship over something stupid, and how quickly it resolved itself, but I think, in a way, I always knew it would at some point." You shrug.
He arches a brown, "You always knew it would?" You nod, "The stars told me so." You reply, a small smirk on your face now. He smiles bigger, "Those damn stars." He whispers as he leans a little closer. "I missed you." He adds and you silently gasp at his blunt admission, but return the words quickly. He smiles and before you can think you're pulling him into a hug.
His body freezes and you debate pulling back until his arms tighten around you. You let yourself slightly relax against him, your head falling to his shoulder. "You smell the same Ed’s." You whisper, nostalgia plaguing you again as he huffs out a laugh, "I hope that's good." He replies, his chest tight from the nickname and you nod.
Eddie goes to pull back, realizing the hug was probably too long but you tighten your grip, "Five more seconds." You whisper and he nods, tightening his grip again. The hug lasts longer than five seconds, but is eventually broken by your mom yelling that dinner was ready. You smile as he pulls back and gets up to go downstairs, an odd feeling of familiarity and relaxation running through you as you follow him down the stairs.
You weren't sure how this would exactly work, or if things would click exactly back into place, but you were sure you wouldn't let the friendship end again. Eddie felt the same, his heart calming as he sat alongside you and your mom at the dinner table like he did so many times before. He happily ate the food, catching up with your mom while you watched him, a new feeling emerging as you silently sit across from him, but you ignore it, for now.
—
A/N: dun dun dunnnnn... anyways. i finally wrote something i kind of liked so here's this, i kind of really really really want to do a part two that goes into the beloved friends to lovers trope but idk what do you guys think.
