Summary: After an argument with his father, Billy finds himself climbing in your window, desperately seeking the comfort and arms of his girl.
Warnings: Strong language, mentions of Billy’s father and an argument with him, Billy loses his temper for a tiny tiny second, reader is shy (she’s so me). Not much description of reader apart from hair, she can be who you want her to be! I think that’s everything!
Authorss notes: Hi dolls, another Billy fic! This one is inspired by Lana Del Rey’s song California, specifically the lyrics “you don’t ever have to, be stronger than you really are when you’re lying in my arms.” Hopefully you like it, please enjoy 🧸
Dividers and images from Pinterest. I do not own any Stranger things characters.
Billy gazed in through her bedroom window, dark eyes brewing with a storm, his breathing heavy almost as if his lungs were crawling out of his chest. His muscles still tense after the fight he just had with Neil, his father, if he could even be called such a thing. He stopped, taking a minute to quietly observe his girl before knocking and completing his climb in through her window as he intended to do so.
She sat perched on her bed, books strewn out in front of her. No doubt studying. Her hair had fallen over one delicate shoulder, blocking her pretty face from Billy's view and buying him extra time to watch her. In her hair was tied one of the pink ribbons that Billy loved so much. She was so perfect, like a doll.
His gaze wandered to the rest of the bedroom. Troubled eyes sweeping over the place in which she existed. The room was washed in the soft and comforting glow of a bedside lamp, its honeyed light turning the pale pink walls warm and softening everything it touched. Upon her bed was a thick quilted bedspread, pink with gentle floral markings dancing along the fabric. At her headboard lay pillows with frilly edging, accompanied by multiple stuffed animals that looked a little tired in the sweetest way, their soft fabric smoothed down from years of constant cuddling.
The room felt quiet. It felt safe, like a private and peaceful corner carved out from the rest of the outside world. It was a world so far removed from his that Billy wasn't sure it was something he was ready to interrupt, or something he even deserved to be apart of.
He shook his head, attempting to rid himself of the thoughts plaguing his mind. He knocked on her bedroom window, his mask of self confidence, and what some might call 'cockiness', slid back on, morphing himself in to the Billy the world knew.
......
Her hand moved gracefully across the page as she worked on finishing an essay for her Literature class. The pen gliding delicately, translating her thoughts in to reality. Suddenly, a knock came from her window. Startled, she flipped her head around, curls spinning around to fall on the other shoulder, her pen dragging of it's course, leaving a streak of ink. Her eyes widened upon the sight of Billy outside of her bedroom window.
She haphazardly threw the book that was resting on her thighs across the bed, kicking her legs over the side and making her way towards the window, the lace trimmed end of her nightgown brushing against her calves as she tiptoed hurriedly. Clasping the window, she carefully dragged it upwards, desperately trying to avoid making any kind of noise that would alert her parents.
“BILLLY!” she whisper shouted as he clambered in, his long limbs filling the space of the window. “What are you doing here,” she whispered frantically, closing the window ever so gently as Billy stood up to his full height from where he had landed on the floor. “My parents could hear! Oh God, if they do they’ll kill me, my dad will kill yo-” Billy smirked, taking in her concerned expression, her eyebrows drawn together and doe eyes wide, pleading.
He reached his arms out, large hands clasping her flailing hands to interrupt her. “Woah, woah hold up doll face. They ain’t gonna hear ok? Now quit your panicking and give me a kiss yeah?” He chewed his chewing gum, that sinful smirk playing on his face, head tilted looking down at her. She took a second to take him in. He was wearing tight denim jeans and a red shirt unbuttoned so far down she could see the plains of golden skin of his muscled chest. The curls of his hair were slightly wet from the rain outside, droplets having fallen off and wetting his long eyelashes, making his dark eyes even more alluring. God, he was handsome. He looked like every parent’s worst nightmare to be stood in their daughter’s bedroom. She bit her lip.
She released a breath she didn’t know she was holding and, placing her hands upon his solid chest, reached up on her tiptoes to plant a delicate peck on his lips. Billy grinned as her lips were on his, she tasted like her signature strawberry lip gloss. She pulled back, glancing up at his eyes as he licked his lips, smirk still playing on his handsome face. She noticed something in his eyes, something off, something troubling.
Stepping back, Billy moved around her, his hands on her hips as he made his way to the chair at her desk behind her. He sat down, strong legs parted wide. She noticed how the tight jeans emphasised the outline of his thigh muscles. “So… what uhm.. what brings you here?” She asked curiously, perching carefully on the end of her bed. Billy glanced at her, his eyes slightly hooded, “What? I can’t see my pretty girl when I want to, that it?” She glanced down, fidgeting at with her hands as a pink blush spread across her features. He knew she loved it when he called her his pretty girl. She was, after all.
“It’s just.. I guess you’ve never climbed in my window before,” she whispered, still anxious of her parents hearing. Billy laughed, “well maybe you should just get used to it then sweetheart.” She looked at him, giving him a shy smile.
He seemed tense. His right leg bounced in a way that made her think that he wasn’t even entirely aware that he was doing it. The hand holding the arm rest of the chair he sat on seemed almost to be gripping it, as though he needed something solid to ground him. “C’mere sweetheart, I came over to see you, you’re too far, need to feel you.” His voice broke her out of her trance in watching Billy. Wordlessly, she stood up, tip toeing across to where Billy sat, avoiding the sections of floor she knew would squeak.
Stopping cautiously in front of him, she took the hand he held out towards her. Their hands slot together like pieces of a puzzle, his large hand engulfing her smaller one. As Billy took her hand, his other came to rest on her waist, tugging her gently until she plopped down on his thigh. She let out a small gasp, her eyes widening. Billy smirked, his tongue poking his cheek to hide his amusement. “That’s better sweetheart,” he spoke smugly. She smiled, raising her arm hesitantly to rest around Billy’s shoulders, her other hand finding a place on the part of his chest that was covered by his shirt, one finger falling to rest on his bare chest. He glanced down at her hand, noticing her pink finger nails.
“Is everything ok Billy?” Her angel like voice brought his attention back to her pretty face. “Sure baby, why wouldn’t I be, huh?” She giggled slightly, her gaze falling down, flustered from the pet name that had slid out. Billy chewed his gum, an open mouthed smile adorning his features, he gently shook her, “Baby, look at you getting all flustered. S’too easy sometimes.” She raised her head, “I just… you seem different… I just want to make sure you’re fine is all”
Billy shifted in his seat, he cracked his neck slightly to the side. Had his mask slipped? “I’m fine sweetheart, honestly quit worrying about me.” She nodded her head, still unsure. “Well… how did you get here? I didn’t hear the Camaro,” she asked, head tilted to the side in curiosity. The hand on her waist loosened slightly. “Uh, I walked,” Billy answered, his voice neutral. Her eyes widened, her shock visible on her face. She never was good at hiding her emotions. “You.. you walked?” she exclaimed. “But.. but you never walk, you always take your car?”
Billy’s gaze was slowly turning colder. “Felt like it,” he answered sharply. He avoided telling her that he had only walked because he was in such a rush to get as far away from Neil as possible that he had forgone getting his car keys and abandoned the Camaro. She frowned, “But it’s raining. You never walk, are you sure you’re ok? You ca-”
Billy felt something in him snap. “Jesus woman, I said I was fine, just drop it.” He watched as her shoulders drooped, her perfect lips moulding in to a frown as she dropped her gaze to the floor with a silent “oh...” Billy sighed, dropping his head as he ran his hand across his face. The anger and frustration towards his father had now turned in to a deep fear that he was turning in to his father. “Fuck,” he muttered, “Look sweetheart I’m real sorry ok, could you, could you look at me please?”
Lifting her head, she saw Billy’s hollow eyes staring back at her. “I.. I just want to help Bills, that’s all,” she whispered sadly. Before she could drop her head again, Billy took her chin between his fingers, forcing her gaze on him. “I know sweetheart, I know. Look the truth is uh..” he dropped his hand from her delicate face, pushing it through his hair and looking anywhere but in her beautiful eyes. “The truth is I had a real bad argument with Neil, and I uh I had to get out of that hellhole. Didn’t have time to take my car, just.. just needed you.”
Her eyes softened as Billy opened up to her, her heart breaking at the insecurity and sadness in his voice. His usually bright eyes betraying him with a distant and glassy look. “Oh Billy,” she whispered dearly, “Come here.” She leaned in, wrapping both arms around him to engulf him in a tight embrace. Billy held her cautiously, his body stiff and tense. He took in the sweet vanilla scent of her perfume, the feeling of her soft hair against his skin, and the feel of her body in his arms. After a moment, he allowed himself to melt in to the embrace, choosing to allow himself to seek comfort in his girl.
“Billy,” she spoke gently, moving back slightly to look at him. “You know you can come and talk to me about anything?” Billy sighed, resting his head against her chest, her arms coming to wrap around his head and play with his curls. “I know baby, s’just I don’t want you to think I’m … weak, you know.” His voice came out muffled, and her heart broke for him. She placed both hands at either side of his face, lifting his head up so that she could look at him.
“Billy, you don’t have to be strong all the time, especially when you’re in my arms.”
She held his gaze, a beautiful smile spreading across her face. “Shit sweetheart, how’d I get so lucky with you huh?” She giggled again, the sound bringing a smile to Billy’s face as he embraced her in a sweet hug.
Summary: Billy Hargrove isn’t supposed to notice you.
You’re the quiet girl in the back of class — all soft sweaters, shy eyes, and carefully folded edges — the kind of girl he only bothers with when he’s bored or looking for someone to fluster. And at first, that’s exactly what you are to him: a distraction. A game. Something pretty to poke at.
But then he gives you a nickname — Bambi — and it sticks in places it shouldn’t.
What starts as teasing turns into something hungrier, something he can’t shake, and suddenly Billy’s hovering too close in the hallway, showing up where he shouldn’t be, and driving you home like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You shouldn’t want any of it, especially when he keeps pushing, pulling, and cutting you with the same hands that hold you steady.
You know better than to fall for a boy who breaks everything he touches.
He knows better than to want someone as gentle as you.
But Hawkins is small, secrets are loud, and somewhere between the library’s quiet corners and the rumble of his Camaro, the two of you set off a slow, dangerous collision — one made of sharp words, soft moments, and the kind of longing that hurts to look at straight on.
Because the trouble with Bambi…
is that Billy Hargrove was never meant to care.
And now he does.
Warnings: Teenage Angst, Slow-to-Mid Burn, Cliché, Flirtation and Sexual Tension
Masterlist | Stranger Things Masterlist
Chapter 1: Bambi's Game
Shy and careful, you’ve never been the type of girl who stands out — until Billy Hargrove, the cocky heartbreaker of Hawkins High, notices you. After a fleeting encounter at a party, his obsession with you becomes personal, and suddenly you’re caught in a dangerous game of push and pull.
Chapter 2: You Didn't Say No
As doubts mount, you find yourself reluctantly pulled into Billy Hargrove’s orbit after he volunteers you both for a class project. Despite every instinct telling you to keep your distance, something about his persistence — and the way he looks at you like he already knows you’ll say yes — begins to chip away at your resolve.
Chapter 3: Something He Didn't Mean To Give Away
What starts as a reluctant study session in the Hawkins Public Library turns unexpectedly intimate when the quiet between you begins to shift, charged with looks that last too long and silences that say too much. By the end of the night, you're not sure what just happened — only that something did, and it’s already taking up more space than it should.
Chapter 4: Not When It's You
You tell yourself it doesn’t matter — that whatever’s happening between you and Billy Hargrove is nothing. But Billy is determined to find new ways to get under your skin and you’re finding that the line between irritation and attraction starts to blur.
Chapter 5: Light, Shadow, Light Again
As the project with Billy unfolds, the quiet tension between you deepens, revealing sides of him that challenge your assumptions. What starts as quiet collaboration quickly unravels something deeper, leaving you questioning if the person he’s shown you is real — or just another part of the game he’s been playing all along.
Chapter 6: Careful, Bambi
Billy’s sudden distance leaves you reeling in ways you didn’t expect. Whatever was building between you now feels fragile — and painfully easy to deny.
Chapter 7: That's What It Was Supposed to Sound Like
You stop waiting for Billy Hargrove to explain himself and start holding him to what his words actually mean. You spend the day pretending you don’t notice Billy Hargrove unraveling in your absence, even as his presence lingers everywhere you turn. When he finally corners you in the nurse’s office, you refuse to accept anything less than honesty — and discover that sometimes being seen means standing your ground.
Chapter 8: Bandages That Stayed
You tell yourself you’re not mad at Billy anymore — that everything is back to normal. But that doesn’t mean you fully trust him again. As he starts to change in small, unsettling ways, you find yourself watching closer than you should, caught between old instincts and something new you’re not ready to name.
Chapter 9: Too Close to Call It Nothing
You and Billy Hargrove are just friends now. At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself. But when a quiet moment in the library turns into something you can’t ignore, you’re left alone with the truth you won’t admit.
Chapter 10: And Together, You Keep Walking 2
Billy Hargrove ignoring you should feel like a relief. Instead, it feels like losing something you didn’t realize mattered until it was gone. As tension and gossip follow you through Hawkins High, you’re forced to confront the truth about the kiss, your feelings, and whether you’re brave enough to ask Billy for another chance.
Description In the sticky summer heat of Hawkins, you and Billy Hargrove have carved out a love that’s real, raw, and undeniable—complete with a gold necklace bearing your name that he never takes off. But not everyone believes the town’s bad boy can change, especially Steve Harrington, whose relentless pursuit and refusal to respect boundaries push Billy to his breaking point. When a drunken confrontation at a party spirals into violence, you’re caught in the chaos, fighting to protect the man you love from his own demons and the doubts that threaten to tear you apart.
A/N Okay, so I swear I read a fic or blurb with this trope years ago on Tumblr, and I’ve been searching for it every now and then, but I just can’t find it! It’s been driving me nuts, so I finally decided to write it myself. If anyone knows the fic I’m talking about, PLEASE tell me!!! I’m begging, I need to read it again! Anyway, here’s my take on it. Hope you enjoy!
The air in Hawkins was thick with the oppressive weight of summer heat, the kind that clung to your skin like a second layer, making your clothes stick uncomfortably and the world shimmer like a fever dream. The sun hung low, painting the sky in hues of peach and gold, and you were perched on the hood of Billy’s Camaro, the metal warm and slightly gritty under your bare thighs. The faint hum of cicadas buzzed in the distance, mingling with the low rumble of the car’s engine cooling down, its ticking a reminder of the wild ride you’d taken to get here—a dusty backroad just outside town, where the world felt like it belonged only to the two of you.
Billy stood a few feet away, leaning against a weathered fence post, his silhouette sharp against the fading light. He fished a cigarette from the pack tucked in his denim jacket, the flick of his Zippo lighter sparking a brief flare that illuminated his face. His blond curls, slightly damp with sweat, caught the golden hour glow, framing his sharp jawline like a halo. He took a drag, the cherry-red tip flaring as he exhaled a lazy cloud of smoke that curled upward, dissolving into the heavy air. When he turned to you, those piercing blue eyes softened, the usual storm in them replaced by something warm, something that felt like it was just for you.
“Whatcha staring at, princess?” he teased, his voice low and gravelly, laced with that cocky edge that never quite faded. He pushed off the fence, sauntering toward you with that effortless swagger—boots crunching against the gravel, hips rolling just enough to remind you he knew exactly how good he looked. The gold chain around his neck glinted faintly, the one with your name etched in delicate gold script, that made your heart stutter. He wore it always, a quiet claim no one else needed to see.
You smirked, crossing your arms over your chest, the cotton of your tank top pulling tight against your skin. “Just wondering how I got stuck with a guy who thinks he’s God’s gift to Hawkins,” you shot back, tilting your head to meet his gaze. The breeze carried the faint scent of wildflowers from the field nearby, but it was drowned out by the sharper notes of Billy’s world—leather, motor oil, and the faint tang of nicotine that always clung to him.
Billy laughed, a low, rough sound that sent a shiver down your spine despite the heat. He closed the distance between you, stopping just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, could see the faint freckles dusting his nose from too many hours in the sun. “Oh, you love it,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky drawl that made your cheeks flush. He leaned in, his lips brushing your forehead, soft and deliberate, the gesture so tender it felt like a secret between you. The faint scratch of his stubble against your skin grounded you, made this moment feel real, not like the fleeting fantasies you’d heard about Billy Hargrove from girls who only knew the playboy, not the man.
You couldn’t help but melt a little, your arms uncrossing to rest a hand against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath the thin fabric of his half-unbuttoned shirt. This was Billy—notorious bad boy, king of reckless charm, the guy who’d once had a new girl on his arm every week. But with you, he was different. Real. Committed. He’d traded fleeting thrills for late-night drives, for quiet moments like this where the world faded away and it was just you, him, and the hum of something true.
“Careful, Hargrove,” you teased, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze, your fingers brushing the edge of his collar where the gold chain peeked out. “Keep looking at me like that, and I might start thinking you’re serious about me.”
His grin was all teeth, sharp and dangerous, but his eyes betrayed him—soft, unguarded, like you were the only thing that mattered. “Maybe I am, princess,” he said, his hand finding your waist, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over the thin fabric of your shorts. “Maybe I’m real serious.”
The moment hung there, heavy and perfect, the kind of moment you wanted to bottle up and keep forever. Because this was your Billy—not the myth, not the rumors, but the guy who wore your name against his heart and meant it.
It had been six months since you’d started dating Billy Hargrove, and despite the whispers that swirled through Hawkins like dust in a summer storm—whispers that Billy couldn’t be tamed, that he was trouble with a capital T—he was yours. Wholly, undeniably yours. The bad boy who’d once left a trail of broken hearts and bruised knuckles had changed his tune. He’d stopped flirting with every girl who batted her lashes at him, stopped picking fights just for the thrill of it (mostly), and started showing up for you in ways that made your chest ache with a warmth you hadn’t expected. Like the gold necklace he wore, your name etched in delicate script, always tucked under his shirt—a secret promise, a quiet claim that only you knew about. But getting to this point hadn’t been easy. Falling for Billy Hargrove wasn’t a lightning strike; it was a slow burn, one you’d resisted until he proved he was more than his reputation.
It started at the Hawkins community pool, late last summer, when the air was sticky and the chlorine scent hung heavy. You were there with a few friends, lounging on a towel, a book propped open on your knees, half-ignoring the chaos of splashing kids and the thump of music from someone’s boombox. Billy Hargrove was impossible to miss—shirtless, all tanned skin and lean muscle, strutting around like he owned the place. His laugh was loud, his grin sharper than the edge of a blade, and the girls giggling by the lifeguard stand were eating it up.
You weren’t impressed. You’d heard the stories—Billy, the new guy from California, with a reputation for charming his way into hearts and beds, only to leave both in pieces. You weren’t looking for a fling, especially not with someone who seemed to thrive on fleeting thrills. So when he caught your eye from across the pool, that cocky smirk tugging at his lips, you looked back at your book, determined to ignore him.
But Billy didn’t take the hint. He sauntered over, water dripping from his curls, and dropped onto the grass beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. “What’s a girl like you reading at a place like this?” he asked, voice all smooth confidence, like he already knew you’d fall for it.
You didn’t look up. “Something that doesn’t involve guys who think they’re hot shit.”
Your friends stifled giggles, and Billy’s laugh was low, unbothered. “Ouch. You always this tough, or am I special?”
You flicked your eyes up, meeting his gaze—blue and piercing, like he could see right through your defenses. “You’re not special,” you said flatly, turning the page. “Just loud.”
He grinned wider, undeterred, and leaned back on his hands, stretching out like he had all the time in the world.
That was the beginning. Billy didn’t give up, despite your best efforts to keep him at arm’s length. He’d show up at the arcade where you worked, leaning against the counter with that infuriating smirk, tossing quarters in the air and catching them without looking. “C’mon, Y/N, one game. I’ll let you win,” he’d tease, and you’d roll your eyes, telling him to bother someone else. But he didn’t. He’d linger, asking about your day, commenting on the music you hummed under your breath, noticing things—like the way you tied your hair back when you were stressed—that made you pause.
It wasn’t the charm that got you. It was the moments when the mask slipped. Like the time you were closing up the arcade late, and a group of drunk guys outside wouldn’t leave you alone. Billy, who’d been hanging around waiting for you to cave and talk to him, stepped in without hesitation, his usual swagger replaced by something protective, almost dangerous. He didn’t throw a punch—just stood between you and them, his voice low and threatening until they backed off. When he turned to you, his eyes weren’t cocky; they were soft, searching. “You okay?” he asked, and for the first time, you saw something real.
Still, you weren’t convinced. You weren’t looking for a one-night stand, and Billy’s reputation screamed that’s all he was good for. So you kept him at a distance, testing him, waiting for him to get bored and move on. But he didn’t. He started showing up with small gestures—a coffee from the diner, left on the counter with a note that just said, “For the toughest girl I know.” He’d drive you home when your car broke down, no strings attached, no flirty lines, just a quiet, “Get in, Y/N.” One night, when you were both at a bonfire party, he didn’t join the girls fawning over him. Instead, he sat beside you on a log, sharing a beer and talking—really talking—about California, his sister Max, the weight of his dad’s expectations. You saw the cracks in his armor, the boy beneath the bravado, and it scared you how much you wanted to know more.
The turning point came one evening in the fall, when the air was crisp and the leaves crunched underfoot. You were walking home from the arcade, your breath fogging in the cool night, when Billy’s Camaro pulled up beside you. He rolled down the window, his usual grin softer, almost hesitant. “Need a ride?”
You sighed, ready to say no, but something in his eyes stopped you. You got in, and instead of driving you straight home, he took you to the quarry, where the stars were bright and the world was quiet. He parked, cut the engine, and turned to you, his hands fidgeting in a way you’d never seen. “I know what you think of me,” he said, voice low. “And maybe I was that guy. But I’m not that guy with you. I don’t want to be.”
You studied him, heart pounding. “Why me, Billy? You could have anyone.”
He looked away, jaw tight, then back at you, his eyes raw. “Because you see me. Not the bullshit. The real me. And I don’t wanna screw that up.”
He reached into his shirt, pulling out a delicate gold chain with your name etched in script. “Got this last week,” he said, almost shy. “Figured if I’m gonna do this, I’m gonna do it right. For you.”
That was when you knew. He wasn’t just chasing a thrill. He was chasing you—wholly, undeniably. And when you leaned across the console to kiss him, soft and tentative, it felt like the start of something real.
Now, six months later, he was yours. The whispers around town didn’t matter. The gold necklace he never took off, your name resting against his heart, said everything you needed to know. Billy Hargrove had changed—for you.
But not everyone believed Billy Hargrove could change. Especially not Steve Harrington.
It started small, subtle enough that you didn’t think much of it at first. Steve Harrington’s lingering glances during your shifts at the Hawkins arcade, his “friendly” smiles that stretched just a beat too long, the kind that made you feel like he was waiting for something. You’d known Steve forever—Hawkins was a small town, and you’d grown up trading jabs in the school halls, sneaking out to split milkshakes at the diner, laughing over stupid inside jokes from middle school. He was a decent guy, all things considered, the kind of friend you could count on to cover a shift or give you a ride when your car acted up. So when he started hanging around more, you brushed it off as Steve just being Steve—charming, a little flirty, but harmless.
But lately, his attempts to “catch up” felt less like catching up and more like… something else. It was the way he’d lean against the arcade counter, his brown eyes following you as you hauled boxes of prizes from the back, his voice taking on a tone that was just a little too smooth. You’d be restocking the prize shelf, arranging stuffed bears and plastic trinkets, and there he’d be, arms crossed, hair perfectly tousled, tossing out comments that made your stomach twist.
“C’mon, Y/N, you’re too good for Hargrove,” he said one afternoon, his voice casual but pointed as he leaned closer, his elbow brushing the counter’s edge. The arcade was quiet, just the hum of machines and the occasional clatter of quarters. His grin was all charm, the same one that had half the girls in Hawkins swooning, but it grated on you, like sandpaper against your patience. “Guy’s got a reputation. You really think he’s gonna stick around?”
You rolled your eyes, shoving a plush bear onto the shelf with a bit more force than necessary. “Steve, I’m happy. Billy’s not who you think he is. Can you drop it?” Your tone was light, teasing, the way you’d always talked to him back when you were just friends trading jabs. You didn’t want to snap—Steve was still the guy who’d helped you cram for algebra finals, who’d driven you home after a party when you drank too much punch. You figured he’d back off, like he always did when you pushed back.
But he didn’t. Not that day, and not the days that followed. Every chance he got, he’d slide in with a comment—about Billy’s temper, how he peeled out of the school parking lot like a maniac, how he was “that type” of guy. “You know he’s trouble, right? Always has been,” he’d say, leaning over the claw machine as you cleaned the glass, his voice low like he was letting you in on a secret. “You deserve someone who’s not gonna bail when things get real.” The implication was clear—he thought he was that someone. It was like he couldn’t fathom that Billy, the notorious playboy, was serious about you, and worse, he seemed to think he had a shot.
At first, you weren’t too bothered. Steve was your friend, after all, and you chalked it up to him being overprotective, maybe even a little jealous that you were spending less time with him now that Billy was in the picture. You’d laugh it off, tossing back quips to keep things light. “Steve, you sound like my mom,” you’d tease, flashing a grin as you handed a kid their prize tickets. Or, “If I wanted a babysitter, I’d hire Dustin.” He’d laugh, but there was a glint in his eyes, a stubbornness that told you he wasn’t letting it go.
As the weeks wore on, though, the comments started to wear you down. The arcade’s neon lights felt harsher when Steve was there, his presence shifting from familiar to stifling. He’d linger after his “visits,” making excuses to stick around—offering to help you close up, commenting on your new sneakers, standing just a little too close when he talked. One evening, as you were wiping down the counter, he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing your cheek. “You look nice today, Y/N,” he said, his voice soft, too intimate for the empty arcade.
You froze, your smile faltering as you stepped back, putting the counter between you. “Steve, c’mon, don’t do that,” you said, forcing a laugh to keep it from getting awkward. Your heart was pounding, not from flattery but from discomfort, the realization that this wasn’t just friendly anymore. “I’m with Billy. You know that.”
He held up his hands, that easy grin still in place, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just saying, Y/N. You could do better. I’m just looking out for you.”
You wanted to snap, to tell him to back off for real, but you swallowed it down, clinging to the old friendship you didn’t want to ruin. “I’m fine, Steve. Really.” You turned away, busying yourself with restocking the candy dispenser, hoping he’d take the hint.
But Steve wasn’t getting it. The next week, he was back, leaning against the Skee-Ball machine, watching you with that same persistent gaze. “Saw Hargrove screaming out of the lot again,” he said, his tone light but laced with judgment. “You sure you’re okay with a guy like that? I mean, you’re you, and he’s… well, him.”
You forced another laugh, but it came out strained, your patience fraying like an old rope. “Steve, I’m not having this conversation again,” you said, keeping your voice light but firm, your hands gripping a stack of prize tickets a little too tightly. “Billy’s my boyfriend. I’m happy. Can we just… be friends like we used to?”
He shrugged, but the look in his eyes said he wasn’t done. “Just don’t want you to get hurt, Y/N. That’s all.”
You turned away, your jaw tight, the arcade’s cheerful beeps and whirs suddenly grating. Steve’s persistence wasn’t just annoying anymore—it was crossing a line, making you feel cornered in a place that used to feel like yours. You loved Billy, and you hated that Steve’s words made you second-guess, even for a moment, what you knew was real. You’d shot him down every time, firm but polite, because you didn’t want to make things weird. But it was getting weird, and you were running out of ways to laugh it off.
The tension had been building for weeks, a slow simmer that you could feel every time Billy’s eyes darkened when Steve’s name came up. Billy wasn’t blind—he’d noticed the way Steve lingered around you at the arcade, the way his “friendly” comments carried an edge that wasn’t so friendly. You’d told Billy about Steve’s persistent remarks, how he kept questioning your relationship, dropping lines about Billy’s reputation like they were casual observations. You’d laughed it off at first, tried to keep things light, but Billy wasn’t laughing. His jaw would clench, his knuckles whitening around whatever he was holding—a cigarette, the steering wheel, your hand. He’d been holding back, for your sake, but you knew it was only a matter of time before the dam broke.
It nearly did one Friday evening at the Hawkins High parking lot, the sky bruised with the purples and pinks of a late summer sunset. You’d just finished your literature club meeting, as you stepped out into the cooling air. Billy was waiting for you, leaning against his Camaro with his arms crossed, the sleeves of his denim jacket rolled up to his elbows, exposing the taut muscles of his forearms. The gold necklace with your name glinted faintly under his open shirt, a quiet reminder of his commitment to you. He was early, as usual, his eyes scanning the lot like a hawk, and you knew he was looking for one person in particular.
You were halfway to the car when you saw Steve’s BMW pull into the lot, the engine purring as he parked a few spaces away. Your stomach sank. Steve had been relentless lately, his comments growing bolder, his presence more suffocating, and you’d mentioned it to Billy in passing—maybe a mistake, in hindsight, because Billy’s protective streak ran deep. Steve stepped out, his hair as perfect as ever, and his eyes locked on you immediately. He flashed that charming grin, the one that used to feel like a friend’s but now made your skin crawl.
“Hey, Y/N,” Steve called, striding over with that easy confidence, like he hadn’t been pushing your boundaries for weeks. “Long day? You look like you could use a break. Wanna grab a burger or something?”
Billy’s head snapped up, his body uncoiling like a spring as he pushed off the Camaro. “She’s got plans, Harrington,” he said, his voice low and sharp, cutting through the evening air like a blade. He took a step forward, his eyes never leaving Steve.
You hurried over, your heart pounding as you reached Billy’s side. “Steve, I’m good, thanks,” you said quickly, keeping your voice firm but light, hoping to defuse the situation. “I’m heading out with Billy.”
Steve’s gaze flicked to Billy, then back to you, and that stubborn glint in his eyes made your stomach twist. “C’mon, Y/N, you don’t have to go with him. I’m just saying, you deserve—”
“Back the hell off, Harrington,” Billy growled, stepping forward so he was inches from Steve. The air crackled with tension, and you could see the muscles in Billy’s jaw twitching, his fists clenching at his sides. A small crowd of lingering students nearby started to turn, sensing the brewing storm.
Steve didn’t back down, his own posture stiffening. “What’s your problem, Hargrove? Can’t handle a little competition?”
Billy’s laugh was cold, dangerous. “Competition? You’re outta your league, pretty boy. And I’m real tired of you sniffing around my girl.” He took another step, his chest nearly bumping Steve’s, and you could feel the heat of his anger radiating off him.
“Billy, stop,” you said, your voice sharp as you grabbed his arm, your fingers digging into the denim of his jacket. You could feel the tension in his muscles, like a coiled snake ready to strike. “He’s not worth it. Let’s go.”
Steve’s eyes narrowed, his grin turning smug. “She’s only with you ‘cause you got her fooled, man. Everyone knows you’re just gonna break her heart.”
Billy seized Steve by the collar, his fists trembling as he growled, “Say it again, and you’re finished.” Your pulse spiked.
“Billy, now,” you snapped, yanking at his arm harder, your voice cutting through the haze of his fury. You stepped between them, your back to Steve, and pressed both hands against Billy’s chest, pushing him toward the Camaro. “He’s trying to get a rise out of you. Don’t give him what he wants.”
Billy’s eyes, stormy and wild, flicked down to you, and for a moment, you thought he might shove past you. But your touch seemed to ground him, his breathing slowing just enough. He glared over your shoulder at Steve, his voice low and venomous. “You come near her again, Harrington, and I won’t stop next time.”
Steve scoffed, but you didn’t turn to look at him, keeping your focus on Billy. “We’re leaving,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument. You tugged at his jacket, guiding him toward the car, and he let you, though his body was still rigid with anger.
He hesitated, his eyes still locked on Steve, but then he looked down at you, and something in his expression softened. He nodded once, sharp and quick, and slid into the driver’s seat. You hurried to the passenger side, your heart still racing as the Camaro roared to life. As Billy peeled out of the lot, tires screeching, you reached over, resting a hand on his thigh. “You okay?” you asked quietly.
He didn’t answer right away, his grip tight on the wheel, but then he let out a shaky breath. “He’s been harassing you, Y/N. I can’t just let that slide.”
“I know,” you said, your fingers squeezing gently. “But I can handle Steve. And I need you to stay out of trouble, okay? For me.”
Billy glanced at you, his eyes softening further, and he reached down to cover your hand with his, the cool metal of his rings brushing your skin. “For you,” he muttered, and you knew he meant it.
The Camaro sped into the dusk, leaving Steve and his stubbornness behind, and you leaned back in the seat, the weight of the moment settling into your bones. Billy was yours, and no amount of Steve’s doubts could change that.
The breaking point came at a party at the quarry, the kind of night where the air was thick with the acrid scent of bonfire smoke and the sharp tang of cheap beer, mingling with the earthy dampness of the lake nearby. You were tucked against Billy’s side, his arm slung possessively around your waist, his fingers warm and steady through the thin fabric of your shirt. Laughter bubbled up from your small group of friends, the kind of easy camaraderie that made the world feel right, but it was Billy’s presence that anchored you—the way his thumb traced lazy, soothing circles on your hip, a silent reminder that you were his, and he was yours. The music thumped from a nearby boombox, bass vibrating through the ground, and above it all, the stars glittered like scattered diamonds.
Then Steve showed up.
He stumbled into the circle of firelight, his usual polished charm frayed at the edges by too much beer, his steps unsteady and his eyes glassy. He zeroed in on you immediately, ignoring the way Billy’s body tensed like a wire pulled taut. Steve’s lopsided grin was sloppy, desperate almost, as he pushed past a couple of people, his gaze locked on you with an intensity that made your stomach twist.
“Y/N, there you are,” Steve slurred, his voice thick and uneven, carrying the weight of unspoken frustrations. He reached out, his hand brushing your arm in a way that was too familiar, too bold. “God, you look… damn, you look so good tonight. Always do.”
You felt Billy go rigid beside you, his arm tightening around your waist like a vice, his breath hitching in a way that screamed restraint. The air grew heavy, charged with unspoken threats, and your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of anger and unease bubbling up. “Steve, back off,” you said, your voice sharper than intended, edged with the exhaustion of having to say this again. “I’m here with my boyfriend. Just… go sober up or something.”
But Steve didn’t listen. He laughed, a hollow, bitter sound that echoed in the sudden quiet of the crowd, waving a hand dismissively as if Billy were nothing more than an inconvenience. “Boyfriend? C’mon, Y/N, you know Hargrove’s just playing you. Guy’s got a new girl every week—hell, every night. You’re smarter than this. You deserve…” His eyes softened, a flicker of something raw and vulnerable flashing through the drunken haze—regret, maybe, or longing. “You deserve someone who actually gives a damn.”
The words hung in the air like smoke, stinging your eyes, your throat. You felt a pang in your chest, not for Steve’s misguided affection, but for the doubt he tried to plant, the way his persistence chipped away at the fragile peace you’d built with Billy. The crowd around you had gone silent, sensing the shift, the way the night teetered on the edge of chaos. Billy’s arm dropped from your waist, and he stepped forward, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sent chills down your spine. “You got something to say, Harrington? Say it to my face.”
Steve, too drunk to sense the peril, squared up, his chest puffing out in a pathetic display of bravado. But his eyes weren’t on Billy—they were on you, filled with a desperate, aching plea. “Yeah, I do. She deserves better than some sleaze who’s gonna ditch her when he gets bored. Like you ditched all the others.” He stepped closer, his breath reeking of beer, and before you could react, his hand cupped your cheek, his face leaning in as if the world had narrowed to just the two of you. “Y/N, please… I’ve always—”
Time slowed. His lips brushed the corner of your mouth in a clumsy, unwanted attempt at a kiss, and a wave of revulsion crashed over you, mingled with a sharp stab of betrayal. This wasn’t just persistence anymore; it was violation, a line crossed in the haze of alcohol and unresolved feelings. You jerked back, your hand flying up to shove at his chest. “Steve, no! What the hell?”
Billy exploded. His fist connected with Steve’s jaw in a blur, the crack echoing like thunder. Steve staggered, but Billy was on him, fueled by a storm of rage and something deeper—hurt, the kind that twisted in his gut at the sight of someone else trying to take what was his, at the reminder of his past sins thrown in his face. “You touch her again, and I’ll kill you,” Billy snarled, his voice breaking with raw emotion, his punches landing with the weight of every insecurity Steve had poked at.
You grabbed Billy’s arm, your fingers digging in desperately, tears stinging your eyes from the whirlwind of emotions—anger at Steve, fear for Billy, and a deep, aching love that made your chest hurt. “Billy, don’t! He’s not worth it.” Your voice cracked, pleading, because you knew this fight wasn’t just about Steve; it was about Billy proving himself, fighting the ghosts of his reputation that haunted you both.
But Billy’s eyes were locked on Steve, a tempest of fury and pain swirling behind them, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. “You don’t know shit about me, Harrington. Or her. She’s mine—mine—and you’re too blind to see it.”
Steve, blood trickling from his split lip, smirked through the pain, his eyes hazy but defiant. “I know enough. Y/N’s way out of your league, man. Always has been. She’ll see it eventually.”
Now, Billy was a storm unleashed, his fists a blur as they slammed into Steve’s face, each punch fueled by a primal need to protect, to claim, to prove.
Steve staggered under the onslaught, blood streaming from his nose, his lip split and swelling, his once-perfect features marred by the brutal force of Billy’s rage. The crowd around the bonfire had formed a loose circle, their shouts and gasps fading into a dull roar as you pushed through, your heart hammering in your chest. Billy’s knuckles were raw, streaked with blood—some his, some Steve’s—as he landed another blow, his chest heaving, his eyes wild with a mix of anger and something deeper, something wounded. Steve crumpled to the ground, his body folding like a broken doll, his breaths ragged and shallow, his face a mess of crimson and bruising.
“Billy, stop! Please!” you yelled, your voice cracking as you shoved through the last of the onlookers, your hands trembling as you reached for him. But he didn’t hear you, not at first, too lost in the tempest of his emotions—anger at Steve’s audacity, pain at the doubt his words had stirred, and a desperate need to show the world that you were his, that he was yours in a way no one could question.
Steve’s eyes, glassy and unfocused, fluttered as he tried to lift his head, his body splayed on the gravelly earth, the firelight casting harsh shadows across his battered face. Billy towered over him, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts, his fists still clenched, blood dripping from his knuckles to the ground below. The top buttons of his shirt had torn open in the scuffle, the fabric hanging loose to reveal the sweat-slicked planes of his chest, where a delicate gold necklace gleamed against his skin. It was the centerpiece of the moment, the symbol that held you both together—your name, etched in elegant, looping script, dangling from the chain he never took off. It caught the fire’s glow, flickering like a beacon, a quiet but unyielding declaration of his devotion.
Steve’s fading gaze drifted upward, locking onto the necklace as his consciousness wavered. He saw it clearly, even through the haze of pain and alcohol—your name, resting against Billy’s heart, a tangible mark of the bond he’d mocked, the love he’d refused to believe in. It was the last thing he saw before his eyes rolled back, his body going limp, the weight of his defeat sinking into the dirt.
pairing: bully!eddie munson x bully!billy hargrove x reader x best friend!steve harrington
summary: Steve and y/n have been friends for years. In those years, they’ve always been on and off with Billy and Eddie. Steve and y/n can handle a simple conversation with them, but Billy and Eddie always seem to take things too far. Especially when it came to teasing Steve. For years, the two bullies have tried getting with y/n and teasing Eddie. What if one night makes their long progress work?
warnings: cursing, manhandling, name calling, slight stalking, intoxication, secret love interest, teasing, begging, lots of moans, threesome, slight foursome, rough sex, throat fucking, breeding, dub con, etc
note: we apologize if this story is too long and all over the place. long and heavy smut used to be our style, so here you all go!
WE DO NOT ACCEPT COPYRIGHTING! DO NOT READ IF THE WARNINGS TRIGGERS YOU!
“Maybe they like you or something. There’s like no way two dudes that attractive are out for your head,” Steve said, having a good point, but even if they were bully-flirting, y/n despises that.
“Maybe if they were a bit nicer, I’d give them a chance to make out or something, I don’t know,” y/n chuckled. As she and Steve laughed, Billy and Eddie looked their way. Their tables have always been close to each other, so most jokes had to be made quietly.
“Oh god, here they come,” y/n said, making her and Steve straighten themselves up and act like they weren’t just talking about them. It was obvious, but still worth a try.
“Here we go again — The rich prick and queen of Hawkins making a fool of us like we wouldn’t know,” Eddie said in his annoying, sarcastic voice. “I’m not the queen of Hawkins, Munson,” y/n said like she has always said. It’s been years, and they still tease her.
“Oh, but you are — You should accept my date offer,” Billy smirked with that stupid toothpick in his mouth, making y/n and Steve laugh. “In your dreams, Hargrove,”
“So, you’d go out with rich boy here, let him work you up, but not us?” Billy asked, trying to get under y/n’s skin. “He’s my best friend, so he’s not working anything up- And why would I go on a date with you? Billy Hargrove…”
As y/n was making conversation with the two young men, Steve felt a bit off about what she said just a second ago. He wished y/n would go out with him, but he swore she wouldn’t. It’s almost like the two young men always bring that conversation up to annoy Steve.
“C’mon, I bet you’d love the feel of my rings. Just give me a chance,” Eddie smirked as he played with the rings on his fingers. Somehow, y/n’s stomach dropped, but not from disgust.
Y/n felt ashamed at the thought of someone’s rings twirling around in her. That doesn’t mean she was thinking about Eddie, though, right? She would never… Billy and Eddie rarely flirt with her like this, so that sexual comment was unexpected.
At times, the two boys would tease y/n at parties or when they saw her out at the mall, telling her she should just accept them. Of course, she denied them, but she can’t lie and say the thought hasn’t crossed her mind. It’s Eddie Munson and Billy Hargrove for God's sake.
“Thank you, but no thank you, guys,” y/n rolled her eyes to appear uninterested, despite her stomach twisting and turning. “You know — You should be thankful when it comes to us. Anyone would die to be in the position you’ve been in all these years,” Billy couldn’t hold back his cockiness for too long. He never could.
“I’d gladly give it up if it means you two dickheads will take my no for an answer,“ y/n let out. “We know that’s a damn lie,” Eddie scoffed. He and Billy have always felt like y/n would fall to her knees for them. They were just assholes, but if they stopped for just a second to be a bit nicer, y/n would have no excuse to deny them.
“Like, c’mon guys- It’s been four years, we’re graduated, and in college — Shit, you’ve always been a bit older than me, Eddie, so don’t you think your time has expired to continue asking me to fuck?” Y/n angrily went off. Now she’s really annoyed.
“I bet you don’t give a damn about my age with all the people you’ve fucked,” Eddie snapped back, making y/n’s eyes widen and face drop. What was he talking about? No one knows about her personal life. Not even Steve, her best friend.
“The fuck are you talking about-” y/n tried to stay tough and act tough, oblivious, but was cut off. “College graduates are very much older than me, so I don’t think my age is the problem here, princess,” Eddie said, knowing he had y/n’s tongue.
“I think I know what your problem is — It’s you being a stubborn bitch,” Eddie spat, calling y/n out of her name in anger, but not meaning much rudeness behind it. “Hey, hey!- Watch your fucking mouth,” Steve finally stood up in front of Eddie’s face.
“Ohh, don’t act like you’re not thinking the same thing, Harrington — You’re telling me, you’ve been best friends with y/n for four years and haven’t thought about fucking her? You’ve never gotten mad at the men she’s probably fuck that isn’t you?”
“No, now leave! We’re trying to have lunch,” Steve slightly shouted as he tried to keep his cool. “What do you think? — I think he’s lying,” Eddie asked Billy, who stood there with a cocky look, knowing they were both getting under the two best friends' skin. “He definitely is.”
Steve knows the two had suspicions about his feelings for y/n. In all honesty, every man can tell, and that’s why y/n was and is too blind to see it. Steve knows Billy and Eddie love poking at his sad friendship, which he wishes were more. He hated it.
Thankfully, Billy and Eddie walked off without saying a word. They both felt like they've said enough to the two.
“Who would’ve known Billy Hargrove and Eddie Munson would be the worst duo in Hawkins University's history?” Y/n joked, trying to get rid of the awkward silence they were sitting in.
Steve laughed, but still couldn’t shake his mind off what they said. Yes, Steve is hurt by the men y/n goes around with. He just can’t get upset. He doesn’t own her. They’re not even together. She shouldn’t have to stop her sex life for a friendship.
“Holy shit,” y/n cursed right after she chugged a cup of hard mixed alcohol. She’s been at this house party for a good hour now, and knows some of them from her team. Some she can talk to, and others she’ll drink with. Sadly, she’s still missing one person. Steve, who didn’t want to come tonight.
He lied and said he wasn’t feeling well and needed to study anyhow, but in actuality, he didn’t want to stand around and watch people flirt with a girl he wanted the most.
Steve knew y/n would get drunk at the party, so he’ll still be ready to pick her up whenever she calls him.
“Well, isn’t it little miss princess at a jock party?” y/n quickly turned around to the familiar voice, just to see who she hoped wouldn’t be here tonight. She could've sworn Billy’s ex-girlfriend was at another party, and he’d go there to do his usual.
“Dude, c’mon — You’re not even an athlete,” y/n sighed, speaking about Eddie. “But he’s my best friend, and I believe that’s enough,” Billy smirked as he took a step towards y/n, just like Eddie.
“Whatever you say,” y/n went to step by them, but both of them got in her way. “Why are you here? Lookin' for a new fuck?” Eddie jokingly asked. Y/n could feel the liquor in her, and for a second, she was about to lash out, but instead, she kept her cool.
“No, I’m literally on your basketball team, Billy,” y/n rolled her eyes at how stupid they could be at times. It seems like all the time, if you ask her.
“Where’s your little lover boy at?” Eddie asked, confused about why he wasn’t with her. “At home, and for the last time, we’re not dating. We’re just best friends.”
“Believe what you want, but we know a man in love when we see one,” Billy said. “Don’t care, now leave me be,” y/n said, tryingto pass them again, but of course… They got in her way. This time she slightly stumbled, showing how tipsy she really was.
“Can you guys just fuck off? Damn!” Y/n shouted in anger already. That alcohol instantly hit when she yelled. Maybe Steve should come pick her up now before she accidentally punches one of them in the face.
“Watch the tone, princess,” Eddie said as he leaned into her face, intimidating her without wanting to. “You good? — Lookin' a bit tipsy,” Eddie chuckled as he looked at her pupils.
“You finally gonna let me fuck?” Eddie asked more seriously than he’s ever asked before. “E-Ew,” y/n suddenly stuttered. “Just- Just leave me alone,” y/n slurred as she finally pushed past them.
After a good hour or so, y/n walked around the house to find a house phone if these people even had one. She eventually found one upstairs since people were using the one downstairs for pizza delivery or prank calls.
“Yeah, and they t-tried walking up on me, but I left,” y/n said with a smile, proud of herself even though Eddie’s comment made her feel a certain way once again. He always had a good way with his words and that damn face. God, she hated them.
“Wait, where are you?” Steve asked. “Upstairs, but I’ll go back down once I hang up,” y/n said, thinking nothing of how empty the hallway was for a college frat party with mostly athletes.
“Y/n- Go down right now! Hurry up, t-that shit is dangerous,” Steve panicked. Y/n quickly understood and went to hang up the phone, but saw someone coming up the stairs. It was Eddie and Billy. Of course
“Well, well, well,” Eddie said, eying the drunken girl on the phone. The way she slightly wobbled back and forth showed how many shots she should’ve denied, but it’s y/n. She’s known for outdrinking the men all the time.
“Well, isn’t it pretty little princess on the phone with her obsessive boyfriend” Billy teased. “Y-Yeah, and he’s on the way! S-So fuck off!” Y/n slurred with shouts for no reason. She wasn’t thinking about her being alone and vulnerable.
“You sure you wanna go? How about you stay for a little while? There are a few rooms open,” Eddie suggested, sounding the most serious he’s ever sounded. “H-Hell no,” y/n forced her disgust.
“C’mon, I bet you’re so lonely, right? Harrington isn’t here to tell you what to do. You might as well have a bit of fun before he gets here,” Billy started getting into her head as the two men made their way towards her.
Y/n was silent, still holding the phone, but not saying anything. She had no idea what to say. Should she yell at them, yell for Steve through the phone, run downstairs? Steve continuously yelled through the phone, but y/n ignored him. Why? She didn’t know why…
“C’mon- We’ll give you what you want — Been waitin’,” Billy said as he softly grabbed y/n, hoping she wouldn’t put up a fight, but surprisingly, with her frozen state, she did.
“Let me go,” y/n pushed softly. “I said, let me go!” Y/n tried raising her voice a bit louder, but this was Billy and Eddie… If they saw a chance, they’d take it, and she panicked about that. She can’t get along with them. Not Eddie Munson and Billy Hargrove.
Steve yelled through the phone a few times before hanging up and running out of the house. He needed to get there fast. He had no idea what was happening.
“Billy, let me go,” y/n dragged her words started forcing her into a room that Eddie closed the door to when they finally all made it through. The two didn’t want to waste any type of time. Y/n wasn’t fighting to the point she really wanted them to let her go, so before she did want them to leave her be, they needed to hurry.
“This bed is small as fuck,” Billy said, keeping a tight grip on y/n. “Doesn’t matter, we’ll make it work,” Eddie said right before Billy placed y/n on the small bed that seemed like people had already used through the night had already used.
“Don’t touch me,” y/n whined, eyes looking up at Billy as she went to get up, but was pushed back down by Billy, and yanked towards him. Her head dangled a bit off the bed because of how small it was. It was perfect for what they needed.
“Billy,” y/n whined again as she weakly tried to slap Billy’s hands away from her miniskirt. The young man chuckled at the sight of how drunk and vulnerable she was. She looks good, and he swore she knew that.
“Gonna fuck you so good, princess- Just don’t piss me off,” Billy pulled y/n’s mini skirt off along with her panties, trying to speed the process up instead of confessing how much he’s been wanting to use her like this.
“Fuck- Her pussy looks so plumbed and juicy,” Eddie said as he leaned over y/n’s head to get a better look at her cleavage. “I know, right?” Billy said, taking in the sight he’s about to ruin.
“Definitely worth the wait, I bet,” Billy said as he began pulling his jeans and boxers down right after unbuckling his leather belt he had been fumbling with. “You gonna take me good?” Billy asked y/n, knowing she could barely keep her head up.
Billy rubbed himself around and threw y/n’s lips a few times before slowly pushing himself into her. Y/n couldn’t help but let out a pleasurable whine.
“Shit,” Billy groaned as he thrusted his hips. “Squeezing me so fucking tight,” Billy muttered as he slowly picked up the paste. The sound of y/n’s pussy and the sight of himself in her made his head spin.
“B-Billy,” Y/n moaned, now pushing at his lower stomach to prevent him from thrusting into her too roughly. “Help me out and shut her up,” Billy said, making Eddie move fast and pull himself out of his jeans. The older man stroked his cock right over y/n’s face.
He’s so huge…
“Relax your throat, baby,” Eddie said as he steadied his cock in front of her mouth as he leaned her head back. Y/n closed her mouth, acting like she didn’t want him in her throat, but soon opened up. She couldn’t stop herself.
“Just relax,” Eddie rubbed at her cheeks to calm her some. He knew he was big, but he needed her to take him. “Good,” Eddie pushed further into her mouth.
“Free her tits,” Billy said in a slightly desperate tone. Eddie wasted no time and grabbed her thin crop top to rip in half. He quickly unclipped the front of her bra and watched her breasts bounce freely.
“Hey,” y/n’s whine was muffled by Eddie’s cock, sensing vibrations through his body. “Fuck!” Eddie grunted as he gripped one of her tits. The way these two men used her body made her shiver. She wanted to hate it, but she loved it.
“What a fucking slut — I knew you were whoring around, but never knew you’d be this much of a whore,” Eddie teased the young lady. “So calm and a moaning mess with my dick down your windpipe — Yeah, I fucking love this.” Eddie just couldn’t get enough of her.
“Billy!” Y/n's muffled moan filled the room as her back arched and a wet mess tightened around him. “Ah huh- Ah huh,” Billy kept fucking into her with harder thrusts as she gushed all over him.
Billy pushed deep into y/n’s to spill his load into her. Eddie did the same in her mouth, causing her to gag from his deep thrust, pushing into her with no type of room left to breathe.
Soon, the two men pulled out of y/n to take a breath. In that time, y/n started processing everything that had just happened. Especially after seeing the two men switch spots.
“Oh my god- No — No, no, no,” y/n started overthinking. That’s when she tried to get up, but Eddie pushed her back. “No- Let me go this time, I’m serious- Please!” Y/n tried telling him with cracks in her voice. Eddie had really done a good job on her.
“Lie back before I fuck you so hard, your insides go fucking numb,” Eddie threatened. The older man quickly got in between y/n’s legs before pushing into her with one good thrust. Y/n instantly threw her whole body back with a loud cry from how deep he got in seconds.
“Wait- E-Eddie!” Y/n tried begging him as he fucked into her harder than Billy did. He knew she was easily enjoying every last inch he had for her.
Billy came in and forced his own cock into y/n’s moaning mouth as he pinned her wrist to the side, preventing her from pushing him away. Now she felt overstimulated. It was so good.
“She takes dick so good,” Billy admitted as Eddie chuckled. He knew that already and knew he’d need more in the future. He refuses to let this be a one-time thing.
“Those pretty little moans will only do it's magic and make me cum in your mouth quicker, baby,” Billy said as his knees began to buck. “So fuckin’ wet — Never knew you were this good, princess. No wonder those boys fall in love with you so fast,” Eddie said, thinking about some rumors he had heard.
“Fucking shit- I can’t hold this one,” Billy stuttered, trying to keep himself back, but he felt too good. When he tried to pull back, his mind forced him to stay in y/n’s mouth and pump a huge load.
“Y/n! — Y/n!” Steve's voice was heard down the hall. He can only think the worst, but the worst is happening while y/n, on the other hand, was getting wetter by the second. She couldn’t help herself.
“Y/n-“ Steve cut himself off after bursting through the room door. He was shocked at the sight of y/n lying across a small bed, being pounded into by Eddie and throat fucked by Billy as she moaned, and wait… Did she just cum?
“There he is! We’ve been waiting,” Eddie said as he grabbed y/n’s waist. The older man started slamming into her, making sure to show no mercy. Now, all anyone in that room could hear was y/n sobbing for her life.
Steve shouldn’t be turned on, but something in him sees the enjoyment in her. That gave him a bit of relief from not being a pervert. She came right as he walked in, so she’s not embarrassed, right?
“Pull out of her mouth and let Stevie here, hear his best friend beg for some help,” Eddie said. Billy did as told and pulled out of y/n’s mouth. Instantly, y/n started crying Steve’s name, apologizing and begging him to forgive and help her, but something in her voice was off.
“Steve, p-please!” Y/n sobbed, feeling another orgasm in her stomach. She wanted Steve to stop Eddie before she came, but burst all over Eddie before anything was done.
“A goddamn slut, isn’t she, Harrington?” Eddie asked as he groped one of y/n’s breasts. “Bet she’d love for you to fuck her- Huh, princess? Want your best friend to fuck you?” Eddie mocked y/n as he looked into her eyes. Tears and lust grew in her wet eyes, and it was hot. Eddie needed a Polaroid picture of this somehow.
“C’mon, Steve,” Eddie said as he pulled out of y/n. Steve couldn’t help but look down at Eddie cock, seeing how his cum was leaking from his tip. While Steve was standing her, Eddie was filling her up. Oh my god…
“We don’t have all night, Harrington,” Eddie said as she walked over to Steve, grabbed his shoulder, and softly pulled him over and in front of y/n. His best friend. “Just look at it — It won’t hurt,” Eddie said as he rubbed his fingers up and down y/n’s pussy. The slightest touch made her whimper.
“Just use it — I bet she won’t have a problem with it, right, sweetheart?” Eddie asked, slowly unbuckling Steve’s pants before she said a word. Steve was in so much shock that he wasn’t processing how much Eddie was trying to convince him to fuck his own best friend.
“Steve,” y/n spoke low with a small sob, not knowing if she wanted him to pick her up and leave or for him to fill her up like the other two did.
“Christ, Harrington — Didn’t know you’d be packing,” Eddie joked as he grabbed Steve’s shaft, tugging on it so he’d move forward, closer to y/n’s entrance. “Just do it — Look at her- She’s begging for you, Harrington,” Billy said, rubbing a few tears from y/n’s cheek.
Steve looked into the still drunk girl's glossy eyes, only making him harder than before. She looked so beautiful and fuck out.
Eddie placed both of Steve’s hands on y/n’s waist. “A bit closer, Harrington,” Eddie said, trying to push Steve’s back to move him forward. Finally, his tip pushed into y/n’s messy heat.
“Fuck…” Steve sighed as he pushed further into her without Eddie’s help. “Steve-” Y/n choked on a moan as her best friend filled her with every inch he had. He’s been needing this for years, and now he’s got it. His mission was complete.
“Jesus, you’re so wet,” Steve breathed heavily as his mind went crazy. “Steve,” y/n moaned as she started shifting on the bed. She tried lying and telling herself that it was to make him pull out, but in actuality, she was trying to move with his rhythm.
I should’ve done this a long time ago… Was all Steve thought as he watched his best friend get sick drunk just for him.
“Fuck, baby,” Steve cursed as the sound of their skin clapping grew louder in the room. “God,” y/n cried as Billy finally let her wrists go. Y/n’s hands instantly went to push on Steve’s lower stomach.
“Steve, please- Please, Steve,” she begged, again, trying to tell herself that she needed this to stop, but she actually needed more. “I got you, baby — I got you,” Steve spoke low as his grip tightened on y/n’s waist so that he could slam into her.
Now Steve’s growling with heavy breaths. He’s never felt this way with another woman before. This felt amazing. This felt like a dream. He needs this in the future, just like Eddie and Billy.
“Fuck!- You’re pussy’s gripping me,” Steve huffed as sweat began to form. “A-And you’re so warm — Fuck! — You’re also so fucking wet- Jesus Christ, y/n,” The praising made y/n’s head spin. She never knew that having her best friend praise her would be her new kink.
“Never knew my best friend was so fucking special. Never knew you felt so fucking good. God, I wish I knew earlier,” Steve thrusts started getting sloppy as he leaned down towards y/n’s face.
Billy and Eddie were enjoying the show. They finally got the two they love bullying every day, to fuck. This wasn’t just a normal session either. They were humping it out like rabbits with rabies.
“Please, let me cum in you — Please!” Steve begged as his nose touched y/n. “Do it, Steve,” y/n’s voice echoed in Steve’s head, causing him to release. Y/n couldn’t help but cum all over him too.
“Damn,” Billy said with a surprised laugh. The young man never thought this would work. Of course, he went with Eddie’s plan because it involved the two getting into y/n’s pants, but Steve? He didn’t believe Steve would crumble like that.
“Told you he was one of those,” Eddie said. “Not a virgin, but moans so pathetically when he gets a taste of some pussy,” Eddie teased. Steve ignored him because he knew he had never sounded like this in his life. Y/n was truly something else.
“Fuck — Fuck- y/n, I’m so sorry! I-I’m sorry,” Steve apologized as he leaned up from her body, but y/n quickly pulled him back down. “No, no- Don’t be,” y/n grabbed his face softly.
Steve stared into his best friend’s eyes for just a split second before wasting no time to smash his lips onto hers.
Summary: Billy was never known as Mr. Niceguy. Hell, almost everyone was scared of him. But one night leads you to see the real Billy Hargrove.
Requests: CLOSED
Reblogs mean the world 🤍
You and Billy have a lot in common.
Bad families.
Bad friends.
Fighting. Pain. All the scare no one talks about.
You learned early on that life didn't hand out second chances. Billy? He wore that lesson like armor. Loud, reckless, untouchable. Everyone knew him as the guy you avoided if you didn't want trouble.
And yet, somehow, you saw through it.
You saw the fear hidden behind the madness in his eyes. And somehow, that made him human.
At your locker, he leans against the metal with that trademark scowl, jaw set, and eyes narrowing like he was daring anyone to come near. To the rest of the hallway, he looked like trouble, like he might snap at the next person who breathes too loud.
But to you, his voice is low and careful, soft enough that no one else could hear.
"You coming over tonight?" A small smile tugs on his lips, soft enough for you and you only.
"Yeah. Max needs my help with something, but other than that, I might be able to." You smile, closing your locker up and twisting the lock.
"I can not believe you are friends with her." He says playfully.
"Just think... if we were friends, me and you wouldn't be together." You back lightly, walking down the hallway.
He stumbles forward, catching up to you. "Woah- woah. No. I think we would be together any other way. Not just through that redheaded little punk."
Your mouth drops open, a small laugh slipping out. "Aren't you just confident?"
"I am. I am also... charming and delightful." He smirks.
You round the corner into the hallway next to the gym, dropping your bag down on the floor. Billy follows closely behind.
"You are charming. I'll give you that." You point, looking around as the class sits in a half-circle. You lower your voice. "But delightful? I mean... a little."
"A little?" He echoes, smirk widening. "Right. Right. We'll see about that."
"Mr. Hargrove! Ms. Y/L/N! Welcome! Glad to see you are late once again!" Coach Thomas shouts, making all heads turn to you.
He walks toward you, away from the demonstration he was performing. "Why are we late again?"
"We were just... talking to a teacher." You deadpan.
"And do you have a hall pass from this teacher?"
"No." Billy says instantly.
"And why not?"
"Because."
Coach Thomas blinks, glancing between both of you. "Points off your grade today. Go sit with the others." He snaps, turning to walk away. "Quickly, please!"
"Yessir." Billy mumbles sarcastically.
You shake your head, silently walking over and sitting behind the crowd of students.
The coach begins his demonstration on basketball, going step-by-step as if the others are actually listening.
"So was that a yes to coming over?" Billy whispers, leaning close into you but keeping his eyes locked on the coach.
"If you sit out of class with me... I'll consider." You tease, leaning back on your hands.
"I will. And when you come over... maybe me and you can work out."
You turn, meeting his gaze, expression flat. "Please... you wish."
He lets out a quiet huff of a laugh, shaking his head as he faces forward again. The coach's voice fades into background noise as he dismisses everyone from the circle.
You move instantly, walking off to go sit near the main door in the gym. Billy follows closely behind, dropping down against the wall first, legs stretched out, back pressed to the cool cinderblock. You sit beside him, close enough that your arms brush when you shift.
The gym is loud, ball thudding, sneakers screeching, but with the two of you, it's quiet. Billy tilts his head back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, jaw tight like he's thinking about something he doesn't want to say.
"You still coming later?" He asks, not looking at you this time.
You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve. "I told you. Depends on how long Max's thing takes."
He hums in response, low and thoughtful. "Right. The counselor."
There's something softer in his voice when he says it. A silent protectiveness that he doesn't bother showing to many around him.
"You should try it. Might help." You suggest lightly.
He scoffs, looking at you in amusement. "Says the one who quit. What'd you say again?"
He leans closer, waiting for your answer.
A small smile creeps up on you. "Counselors are a bunch of pricks who take your money for shit advice."
"Thank you. So no." He pauses, tilting his head. "Working out is my counselor. Free therapy right at home."
"Right. Right." You smirk.
He huffs a laugh through his nose, shaking his head like you're ridiculous, like you always are. He shifts beside you on the floor, stretching his legs out farther until his sneaker nudges yours.
"Careful." He mutters. "That attitude's the reason you got stuck in counseling to begin with."
"Oh please," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "That was one chair I threw."
"Across the room." He adds flatly. "That you launched."
"It slipped."
He turns his head just enough to look at you, eyebrow lifting. "You've got a real violent definition of 'slipped.'"
You laugh quietly. Billy doesn't. But when one of the guys glances back your way, Billy's eyes flick over. Just once. Sharp enough to make the guy look away.
And then, he relaxes like nothing happened.
"You ever think about actually going?" You ask. "Like counseling?"
He scoffs without missing a beat. "What, so I can sit in a chair and cry about my childhood?"
You wrinkle your nose. "God, no. Please don't do that."
That gets a real reaction. A short laugh, rough and quiet, just meant for you. He drops his chin, looking at you sideways.
"Christ." He mutters. "You're something else."
"Awe," you tease. "You like me."
"Don't push it." He says quickly, but there's no heat behind it. "I just... don't hate you."
"Wow. I feel honored."
"Yeah," he smirks. "You should."
The bell rings a few minutes later, sharp and final. Relief floods the room as everyone bolts for the hallway. Billy stands, offering you a hand without thinking. You take it, letting him pull you up before either of you realizes how normal it feels.
Someone brushes past you too close.
Billy moves before you can even register it, a firm hand at your back, guiding you forward like it's instinct.
"I'll be home." He says, picking up his bag. "Call me when you're done grabbing Max."
You grin. "Worried about me?"
"Just makin' sure you don't punch another counselor."
He hesitates like he wants to say more, like there's something heavy sitting right behind his eyes, but instead he steps back, hands shoving into his pockets. You watch him go, shoulders squared, armor sliding right back into place the second other people come into view.
You head the opposite direction, toward the quieter hallway near the counselor's office. The noise of school fades with each step until it's just the hum of the quiet fluorescent lights and the dull thud of your heartbeat. You take a seat on the bench outside the door, backpack at your feet.
Students walk by quietly as you wait, all heading out of the building for the day or walking toward the field for whatever practice they have.
You cross your arms, glancing down at your watch before looking over at the door to the counselor's office.
Max steps out slowly, quietly shutting the door behind her before glancing at you.
"You... waited?"
You stand up, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "Figured you need company. And someone to give you a ride home."
She nods and starts walking with you. "Thank you."
Max doesn't talk at first, just syncs her steps with yours. The hallway is quiet, your steps echoing off the floors. You push the door open in front of you, holding it out for Max.
Outside, the evening sun shines brightly, gleaming off all the cars in the parking lot. Yells and chants are heard from the football field off to the side of the school, muffling as you walk in the opposite direction.
You slide your bag into the backpack, grabbing Max's as she slides into the passenger seat, waiting patiently. You round the car, sitting silently before starting the engine.
"How was your meeting?" You ask quietly, pulling away from the school.
"It was... alright." Max shrugs, glancing out the window.
You look over at her, gaze switching between her and the road ahead.
"It's... stupid." She says suddenly.
"What is?"
She shrugs again, head dipping down. "Crying. Talking about my feelings without getting much help."
"She's not doing much for you?"
"No- I mean, I guess she is. But... there's only so much she can say before it gets old." She admits.
There's a long moment of silence between you; the sound of tires against asphalt is the only thing heard.
"Jesus, I sound like my brother." She mutters, glancing back out the window.
You quirk a brow, trying to hide the smile on your face. "What do you mean?"
"He's always saying how counselors don't do much but take your money and give you shit advice." She breathes out. "For once, he might be right."
You tighten your grip on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road.
“Yeah,” you say after a moment. “He says a lot of things like that.”
Max glances at you, really looks this time, like she’s piecing something together. She doesn’t push it. Just nods, leaning back in her seat as the car hums forward, the weight of unsaid things settling between you.
"Maybe it'd be good for him." She blurts out, surprised at her own words.
You bring your hand up from the wheel. "Trust me. I've already suggested that. And I don't hear the end of it."
Max lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "At least you have some control over him, though. So you're not... totally screwed."
"Me? Having control over Billy?" You pull into the driveway, parking quickly before looking over at her. "What are you smoking?"
"Nothing," she laughs. "But like, ever since he asked you out, he's been so nice to people. Well- us. It kind of... creepy, honestly."
You let out a soft giggle. "Trust me. I don't have control over him. I'm just bossy."
She unbuckles her seatbelt, cracking the door open. "You should teach me how to be bossy. Clearly, it works."
You shut the car door softly, slinging your bag higher on your shoulder. Max shuts hers too, lingering for half a second before glancing toward the front of the house.
"He's probably inside already." She says, like it's obvious.
You hum in response, eyes lifting to the front door. The house looks the same as always. Quiet, still, almost too still. The curtains barely move in the faint breeze. No sign of Neil's car in the driveway. That alone makes your shoulders loosen a fraction.
You walk up the steps together. Max reaches for the door first, pushing it open.
Inside, the house is warm, the TV on in the living room, volume low, some random show playing that no one's watching.
Billy's sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over the back, shoes kicked off and tossed near the coffee table. He looks comfortable in that rare, careless way he only ever allows when he's sure no one else is around.
His head turns the second the door opens.
"There you are." He says, voice easy, lips tugging into something close to a smile.
His eyes flick over you quickly, instinctively, checking for something you don't think he even realizes he's looking for. When they settle back on your face, his shoulders loosen the slightest bit.
Max groans, already halfway down the hallway. "I'm going to my room."
Billy barely glances her way. "Shocking."
She flips him off without slowing down, her door shutting with a muted thud.
You drop your bag by the door and kick your shoes off, padding farther into the room. Billy shifts, sitting up slightly and making space beside him without thinking about it.
"You hungry?" He asks, nodding toward the kitchen. "There's pizza. From yesterday. Might still be good."
"Might?" You repeat, eyebrow lifting as you sit beside him.
He smirks. "I said might."
The couch dips under your weight, the warmth from his body bleeding into your side. The TV murmurs in the background, light flickering across his face. Up close, you notice the faint crease between his brows, like he's holding something back.
Your knee brushes against his. He doesn't move away. Instead, he leans in closer, shoulder pressing into yours, comfortable in a way that feels almost domestic. Familiar. His arm comes up to rest loosely around you, thumb brushing against your sleeve once.
"So? How'd it go?"
"Max?" You ask.
"Yeah."
You shrug lightly, eyes staying on the screen even though you're not paying attention. "Same as usual. She's trying."
He nods, jaw tightening just slightly, like the word means more than he wants it to. "Good."
Silence settles between you, not awkward, but full. The TV keeps playing. The sunlight shifts lower, shadows stretching across the room. Billy's fingers tap faintly against his thigh, a restless rhythm that gives him away if you pay attention.
"You're quiet." You murmur.
He exhales through his nose. "Am I?"
"Yeah."
He glances at you sideways, eyes studying your face like he's deciding how honest he wants to be. After a beat, he looks back at the TV.
"Just tired."
You don't push, just simply lean your head against his shoulder. He stills for a second before relaxing, arm tightening around you just barely. The moment stretched, quiet and fragile.
Then he shifts.
Not abruptly. But enough for you to feel it.
"I have to head out." He says suddenly, voice casual but timed too carefully.
You lift your head, blinking as you turn toward him. "What? Why?"
He sits up fully, running a hand through his hair, fingers catching slightly like he's tugging at a thought he doesn't want to hold onto. "Just... the store."
"The store?" You echo, skepticism slipping in before you can stop it.
"Yeah." He lets out a short laugh that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Since when is that weird?"
You narrow your eyes. "Since when do you go to the store?"
"Since today." He says quickly.
You stand too, closing the distance between you. "Billy."
He grabs his jacket from the back of the couch, movements suddenly restless. "My dad asked me to pick something up earlier. I forgot."
"Earlier when?" You ask gently.
"When I got home." He replies too fast.
Something twists in your stomach. You watch the way his foot taps against the floor, the way his jaw tightens like he's bracing himself.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he says instantly. "I'm fine."
You hesitate. "I can come with you."
He freezes. For a moment, he actually looks at you, and the mask slips just enough to show uncertainty below it.
"No." He says, sharper than he means to. "I'll be quick. Promise."
You search his face, trying to read what he isn't saying. "You sure?"
He nods. "Yeah. Go hang out with Max or something. I'll be back before you know it."
There's a beat where neither of you move.
"Okay," you say quietly.
Relief flashes across his face. He leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple, lingering just long enough to feel intentional.
"Don't get into trouble." He says.
"You're literally the one leaving." You point out.
He huffs a quiet laugh as he walks toward the door. "Lock it behind me."
The door clicks shut behind him moments later. The sound of the car fades down the street, leaving the house feeling too still again.
You stand there longer than you mean to, staring at the door, unease curling low in your chest.
The lock clicks as you turn it, and you walk back down the hallway toward Max's room.
You stop just outside her door, hand hovering just inches from the wood.
You knock lightly. And Max's voice comes from inside, muffled but not annoyed.
You turn the knob and push the door open.
Her room is dim, curtains pulled shut, sunlight leaking through the narrow gap at the top. Posters line the walls full of bands, skate brands, and old movies. Her window is cracked open, letting in the faint sounds of the neighborhood.
Max is sitting cross-legged on her bed, back against the wall, her skateboard leaned up beside her like it belongs there. She looks up when she sees you, eyebrows lifting slightly.
"Oh, hey."
"Hey." You reply softly, closing the door behind you.
She watches you for a second, eyes flicking over your face like she's checking something. Then she nods toward the empty space on the bed. "You can sit. If you want."
You walk over slowly and sit beside her. The mattress dips under your weight. Not too close. Not far away either. Just enough that your shoulders are almost touching.
For a moment, neither of you speaks.
Outside, a car passes, filling the space.
You sit for a moment, the quiet stretching until it starts to feel like pressure behind your ribs.
"He didn't go to the store." Max says suddenly.
You blink, turning your head toward her. "What?"
She doesn't look at you. Her gaze is fixed on a chip in the paint on her wall, her jaw set.
"He hates the store." She continues. "He complains the whole time. And he never forgets his wallet." She exhales through her nose. "He didn't even grab his keys."
Your stomach tightens. "How-"
"I was in the kitchen." She answers before you can finish.
You sit silent, mind already going other places. "I didn't notice." You admit, fingers laced together in your lap.
"That's because he didn't want you to." Her voice is flat, practiced. Like this is something she's learned over time.
You shift on the bed, fingers pressing into the mattress. "So where do you think he went?"
Max shrugs, but it's sharp. Defensive. "Could be anywhere."
"That's not an answer."
She snorts softly. "Yeah. Welcome to living with him."
She reaches out and drags her skateboard closer, resting it across her lap. Her fingers trace the worn grip tape absentmindedly, grounding herself. "When he leaves like that," she says slowly. "It's usually one of two things."
You hold your breath. "Which are?"
She hesitates. "Either he picked a fight," she says finally. "Or he just... takes off."
"For how long?"
Her shoulders lift, then drop. "A few fours. A night. Sometimes longer."
That sinks heavy in your chest. You lean back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. There's a thin crack running along the corner, easy to miss unless you're looking for something to focus on.
"He didn't seem mad, though." You say more to yourself than to her. "Just... closed off."
Max's mouth twists. "That's worse."
You glance at her. "Why?"
"Because when he's mad, he explodes." She taps her fingers against the skateboard. "When he's quiet like that, it means he's thinking. And Billy thinking usually doesn't end great."
"You scared?" You ask after a beat.
She scoffs. "Of what? Him getting into another fight? Or him not coming back?"
You don't answer. And she takes that as one anyway.
"I'm not scared." She says, though her voice lacks conviction. "I'm just... tired."
You nod understandingly.
"He's not easy." She continues, finally looking at you. Her eyes are sharp, guarded. "I don't want you thinking he's some secret good guy at home. Or that it's somehow... better."
"I don't." You say softly.
She watches you closely now, searching your face. "You sure?"
You think of the way Billy's arm had fit around you on the couch. The warmth of his shoulder. The way his eyes had gone distant before he stood up, like he was already somewhere else.
"Yeah." You say, steady. "I know who he is."
Something in Max's expression shifts, recognition hinting on her face.
"Good."
She looks away again, gaze settling on the floor between her feet.
"Then you won't romanticize it."
The words hang there, heavier than they sound. She doesn't say it harshly. There's no accusation in her tone. It's tired. Honest. Like she's naming something she's seen happen too many times.
"You won't turn it into something it's not." She adds after a beat. "You won't call his anger 'passion' or his disappearing 'freedom.'" Her fingers tighten around the edge of the skateboard. "You won't make excuses just because you care about him."
Your throat feels tight. "I'm not trying to fix him."
"I know." She reassures. "But people try anyway. They tell themselves stories so it hurts less."
She leans back against the wall, head tipping slightly as she stares at the ceiling. "I don't want to be the bad guy for seeing him clearly."
You shift closer without thinking, your shoulder brushing hers.
I'm not going to do that." You promise quietly. "I'm not one who pretends."
She nods once. Both of you sit there, side by side, listening. Waiting.
Time passes in a strange, stretched way.
You and Max don't do anything at first. You just exist in the same space, the quiet thick enough to press against your ears. The sky outside continues to darken, the last of the daylight bleeding out until the room is lit mostly by shadow and the faint orange glow of a streetlamp.
Max eventually shifts, stretching her legs out and kicking her shoes off. She reaches over to her nightstand and flips on a small lamp.
"So," she says, voice casual in a way that doesn't quite work. "You wanna watch something? Or- I don't know. Play cards?"
You hum softly. "Sure."
She digs around in her drawer and pulls out a battered deck of cards, the edges worn soft. You sit cross-legged on the bed, facing each other, shuffling slowly. The sound of the cards sliding together is soothing. Something to focus on that isn't the front door.
You deal lazily, not keeping score. Half the time, you forget whose turn it is. Max calls you out on it once, rolling her eyes playfully, and for a moment, it almost feels normal.
Almost.
And then, the sound hits.
An engine roars into the driveway, loud and abrupt, cutting through the quiet like a knife.
Both of you freeze.
The cards slip from your fingers, scattering across the bed. Max's head snaps toward the window. Your heart jumps so hard it feels like it knocks the breath from your lungs.
The engine doesn't idle. It cuts off sharply. There's a beat of silence.
Then the front door opens. And slams. Hard enough that the walls shudder with it.
Max flinches, shoulders tensing instantly. her jaw sets, eyes darkening with something you can't quite name.
You swallow, already shifting on the bed.
"Stay," Max says quickly, her voice low but urgent as she grabs your wrist. Her grip is tight, fingers cold against your skin. "Don't go out there."
You look at her. "Max-"
"No." She shakes her head, eyes flicking toward the door like she expects him to come storming down the hall any second. "You don't know what kind of mood he's in."
You gently pry your hand free. "That's exactly why I should check."
She scoots closer, blocking you slightly. "He's probably pissed. Or drunk. Or both. He's gonna start yelling and-" she stops herself. "I don't want you getting hurt."
"I'll be fine." You say softly.
"That's what everyone says."
You pause, then meet her eyes. "I grew up with worse. I'll be okay."
That makes her hesitate. "I know. But that doesn't mean you should have to deal with it."
You soften your voice. "I won't let it turn into something. I promise."
She searches your face, fear written all throughout her eyes. "Just... stay here. Please."
You stand slowly, careful not to move too fast, like you don't want to spook her. "I won't be long. Just sit here, okay?"
She hesitates before nodding once. "Yell if you need me."
"I will."
You step out into the hallway, pulling the door mostly shut behind you. The house feels different now. Charged.
You move quietly at first, listening. The living room is empty, the TV dark. Billy's shoes are kicked off near the couch, one of them on its side like it was tossed without care. The air smells faintly of cigarette smoke and something metallic underneath it.
Your stomach twists.
You take another step. Then another.
You hear water running. The sound draws you down the hall, past Neil and Susan's bedroom, past the guest room, until you stop outside the bathroom.
The door is half open. Light spills out onto the hallway floor.
"Billy?" You call gently.
No answer.
You push the door open the rest of the way. And your breath catches painfully in your chest.
Billy leans hunched over the sink, hand gripping the porcelain so tight his knuckles are white. His head is bowed, shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. Blood runs freely from a cut above his brow, trailing down the bridge of his nose, slipping past his lips, and dripping into the sink.
His shirt is wrinkled, collar stretched, one sleeve torn slightly at the seam. There's a dark bruise already forming along his cheekbone, angry and deep.
When he finally lifts his head and sees you in the doorway, his expression changes instantly. The armor snaps back into place.
"Jesus." He snaps. "What are you doing here?"
You step closer without thinking. "Billy-"
"Go back to Max." He says, turning back to the sink. "I said I'm fine."
"You're bleeding."
He scoffs, reaching up and pressing a towel roughly to his face. "I said I'm fine."
Blood soaks through the fabric almost immediately. Your chest tightens, fear and anger tangling together.
"You call that fine?" You say quietly, stepping fully into the bathroom now. "You're dripping blood all over the floor."
He finally turns toward you again, eyes blazing. "I told you to go hang out with Max."
For a second, something flickers in his eyes. Guilt. Shame. Fear.
Then it's gone.
"I got into a fight." He says flatly, like that explains everything. "Big deal."
You don't raise your voice. You don't have to.
"You're not fine." You say quietly, stepping closer. The bathroom light is harsh, catching every cut and bruise in his face. "Sit down."
He lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. "No. I don't need-"
Your voice drops, firm. "Sit. Down."
That gets a huff of a laugh out of him.
You soak a clean cloth under the faucet, twisting it until it's damp. "Sit."
He hesitates, pride flaring, then exhales hard and does it anyway. The movement is stiff and uncomfortable. He braces his elbows on his knees, hands hanging loosely between them, head tipped forward like he doesn't want to look at you while you do this.
You step between his knees, lifting the cloth slowly. "Stay still."
The second the cloth brushes against the cut above his brow, he flinches sharply, breath hitching in his chest. A low curse slips out of him, teeth clenched, muscles going rigid like his body expects pain to turn into something worse.
"I know," you murmur, keeping your touch light. "I've got you."
You dab instead of wipe, careful and slow. Blood smears onto the cloth, warm and dark. You clean along the edge of the cut first, following its shape. His breathing is uneven now, shallow and controlled like he's trying not to react too much.
"Jesus." He mutters. "You're gentle."
"Don't sound so surprised."
You move lower, cleaning the blood from the bridge of his nose, then along his cheek. Up close, you can see how tense he is, the way his jaw flexes constantly, the way his shoulders stay hunched like he's bracing for impact that never comes.
After a moment, you speak again. "What actually happened?"
He lets out a breath through his nose. "Guy ran is mouth."
"That's not an explanation."
He shrugs, then winces when the movement pulls at his bruised cheek. "I was already pissed. Stopped for gas. he said something about me and you. Didn't really matter what it was."
You pause, cloth hovering. "And... you didn't walk away."
"No."
You go back to cleaning, quieter now. "Why?"
He doesn't answer right away. You reach for peroxide.
His eyes flick to it, narrowing. "You're kidding."
"I wish." You say. "It's going to sting."
"Sting." He echoes flatly. "Great."
You pour a small amount onto the cloth. The sharp smell fills the bathroom instantly, clean and biting. When you press it gently to his skin, he hisses through his teeth, shoulders locking up as his hands grip his knees.
"Fuck-" he mutters, breath breaking.
"I know," you say, steady and grounding. "Just breathe. Look at me."
He doesn't want to, but he does anyway. His eyes meet yours, dark and glassy, jaw trembling as he forces himself to stay still.
"There. You're okay."
The words seem to hit him harder than the sting.
As you clean the last of the cut, you speak softly, carefully choosing your words. "You lied to me about the store."
His gaze drops immediately. "Didn't wanna drag you into it."
"You already did." You say gently. "The second you walked out the door."
He swallows hard. "I didn't want to disappoint you."
Your hand stills, fingers resting lightly against his cheek. "You think telling me the truth would disappoint me more than this?" You ask quietly.
He laughs under his breath, broken and shy. "You don't get it."
"Than help me understand."
He stares at the floor for a long moment, shoulders rising and falling slowly as if he's trying to calm something inside of him.
"I don't know how to be normal." He admits. "Every time something goes wrong, it's like my body just... reacts. I don't think. I don't stop." His voice drops. "I hate it."
You reach for a bandage, carefully pressing gauze to his brow. He flinches again, but less. You tape it into place gently, smoothing the edges with your thumb.
"You're not a lost cause." You say quietly.
He shakes his head automatically. "Feels like one."
You meet his eyes. "You came home."
That makes him pause.
"You could've stayed gone. But you didn't." You continue.
There's a soft beat of silence.
"I don't want to be this person forever." He says, voice rough. "I don't want Max looking at me like she's waiting for something bad to happen." His jaw tightens. "I don't want you looking at me like that either."
"You don't scare me." You say softly. "You worry me."
Something in him breaks at that. You see it before he says anything. The way his eyes gloss over. The way his breath stutters just slightly, like he wasn't expecting that answer.
He shakes his head, turning away from you, jaw clenched hard enough to hurt. "Don't."
You don't move back. You don't chase his face either.
"I want to change," he says suddenly, words spilling out faster now, like once they start, he can't stop them. "I swear I do. I just don't know how to rip this out of me without losing everything else."
His voice cracks. He hates that it does.
You step closer, resting your hand on his shoulder, feeling how tense he is under your touch. "You don't have to rip anything out." You whisper. "You just have to let someone help you carry it."
His shoulders hitch once as he drags a hand down his face, smearing at tears he clearly didn't mean to let fall. When that doesn't work, he lets out a shaky breath that turns into something close to a sob.
"I'm so tired," he admits, voice barely holding together. "I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of being pissed off. I'm tired of pretending it doesn't hurt."
You stay with him, steady and quiet, your hand never leaving his shoulder. And he doesn't pull away.
He leans forward slightly, head dropping, breath breaking as the weight of everything he's been holding back finally catches up to him.
"I don't want to be like my dad." He whispers, the words barely audible. "I'm scared I already am."
"You're not." You say firmly. "The fact that you're scared of it proves that."
He lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob, shoulders shaking now, the fight finally draining out of him. He keeps his head bowed for a long moment, shoulders rounded inward like he's trying to make himself smaller, like he's trying to make himself disappear.
You don't rush to fill the silence. You shift closer instead, close enough that your knee brushes his, close enough that he can feel the warmth of you there without you forcing anything from him. Your hand stays steady on his shoulder, grounding, present.
"Billy," you say quietly.
He doesn't look up.
"I know you think you're already too far gone," you continue, voice gentle but firm, like you're speaking the truth you refuse to let him dodge. "But people who are beyond saving don't sit on bathroom floors bleeding and wishing they were better."
His jaw tightens.
"They don't hate the parts of themselves that hurt others," you add. "And they don't cry over the idea of becoming someone they're afraid of."
He squeezes his eyes shut, a tear finally breaking free and sliding down his cheek, catching on the edge of the bruise before dripping onto his jeans. His chest stutters, breath catching painfully, like his body doesn't remember how to do this without fighting it.
"You don't get it." He whispers, voice thick. "I've been like this since I was a kid."
"Then tell me," you say softly. "Tell me what it was like."
He shakes his head at first, slow and stubborn. "You shouldn't hear this."
"I want to." You answer. "And you don't have to protect me from it."
That word makes something twist in his expression. Protect. His fingers curl into the fabric of his jeans, gripping hard, like he needs something solid to keep himself from falling apart entirely.
"My dad," he starts, then stops.
You stay silent.
"He wasn't... it wasn't always loud," He says after a moment. "That's what messes with your head. Sometimes it was quiet. Worse quiet. The kind where you knew something was coming but you didn't know when."
His voice drops lower, almost distant now, like he's speaking from somewhere far away.
"I used to listen for his footsteps," he continues. "The way he'd come down the hall. If they were slow, I knew I had a minute. If they were fast..." he lets out a short, humorless breath. "Didn't matter what I did wrong. Something was always wrong."
Your hand tightens slightly on his shoulder.
"He'd grab me by the arm," Billy says, eyes fixed on the floor. "Not even angry at first. Just cold. Like I wasn't his kid. Like I was a problem he couldn't get rid of."
His breath stutters again. "I learned real quick that crying made it worse." He admits. "So I stopped. Learned how to keep my face blank. Learned how to take it and not give him the satisfaction."
He laughs softly, broken. "Guess that stuck."
"He'd tell me I was weak," he continues. "That I needed to toughen up. That the world would chew me up if I didn't learn how to hit back." His voice tightens. "Sometimes he'd say I reminded him too much of my mom. That scared him."
Tears slip freely now, unchecked, tracing paths down his face. He doesn't wipe them away this time.
"So I did," he says. "I hit back. Not at him. At everyone else. Because it felt better than feeling small."
He finally looks up at you then, eyes red and shining, expression stripped bare.
"I don't know how to turn it off," he admits. "Every time I get angry, it's like I'm thirteen again, standing in that hallway, waiting to see what version of him I get."
You lift your hand from his shoulder and gently cup his cheek, careful of the bruises. Your thumb rests just below his eyes, wiping the tears away. He flinched at first, then leans into your touch without realizing it.
"You survived something that taught you all the wrong rules for staying alive." You say softly.
He lets out a shaky breath.
"But here's the part you don't see," you continue softly, voice steady, unflinching. "You learned how to live through that. You learned how to protect yourself. You learned how to keep going."
You hold his gaze now, making sure he hears every word.
"And those same instincts? They can be unlearned. Redirected. You're not broken. You're just carrying pain you were never supposed to carry alone."
Something in his face crumples completely. He lets out a sound that's halfway between a sob and a gasp, his head dropping forward until his forehead rests against your shoulder. His hands clutch at the fabric of your shirt, fingers trembling, like he's afraid that if he lets go, he'll fall apart completely.
"I don't know how to do this." He admits, voice barely above a whisper.
It's not defensive. Not sarcastic. It's honest.
You feel his fingers loosen when they're gripping your shirt. They don't claw anymore. They just hold.
"I'm not good at this stuff." He continues, words slow, like he has to think about each one before letting it out. "Talking. Letting people see me like this."
You tilt your head just slightly. "You don't have to be good at it. You just have to be real."
That makes him exhale, a long, shaky breath that sounds like relief.
His voice cracks again, softer now. "I hate how mad I get. It feels like it just... happens. Like my body decides before my head does." He swallows hard. And after, I just feel stupid. Ashamed."
He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes red, lashes wet, face open in a way you've never seen before.
No smirk.
No challenge.
Just Billy.
"I don't wanna scare you." He says quietly.
You reach up, brushing your thumb along his jaw. "You're not scaring me right now."
His breath catches, gaze dropping like he doesn't quite know how to accept it.
"I don't feel tough," he murmurs. "I feel... tired. And sad. And I don't know what to do with that."
There's something almost childlike in the way he says it. Not immature. But unpracticed. Like no one ever taught him what to do with feelings that weren't anger.
You guide his hand to rest against your side, grounding him. He hesitates for half a second, then lets it stay there. His thumb rubs faint circles into your shirt, absent-minded and slow.
"That's okay." You tell him. "You don't have to fix it tonight."
His shoulders sag again, another piece of the wall falling.
"Can I just... sit here? For a minute?" He asks, tentative in a way that feels foreign to him. "Without... being anything?"
Your heart aches at how carefully he phrases it.
"Of course you can." You whisper.
He leans into you fully, weight settling, trust given without words. His breathing evens out gradually, no longer sharp or guarded. When another tear slips free, he doesn't bother hiding it. He just lets it fall, forehead tucked against your neck.
"I don't feel like a screw-up when I'm with you," he admits, voice muffled but clear. "That's new."
You wrap your arms around him, holding him like he's allowed to take up space.
He doesn't joke. Doesn't deflect. Doesn't armor back up.
He stays soft, quiet, and vulnerable, letting himself be held for as long as he needs.
Hey my loves! Okay so this is longer than I expected but it's okay! It's alright!
a/n: still coping with the show being over. this is horribly cringe but whatever.
warnings: female reader, reader is a girly girl, potentially OOC Billy POV, discussions of abuse from Neil, shotgunning smoke, steamy (literally) but not smut
-----☆----- 1623 words
Max didn't even look up as Billy passed her room with a bruise on his cheek. He figured she was used to Neil giving him bruises. Used to all the yelling. He would have just yelled at her too if she said anything.
He slammed his door shut knowing it probably made Susan wince somewhere in the house more than she had when Neil made contact with his skin. It took him three tries to set his Motley Crüe record properly in his player because his hands were fucking shaking like a pussy's. He hissed under his breath when he saw the record had got the slightest bit scratched against the side of the Pioneer.
"Live Wire" crackled through his shitty speakers, way too loud as usual, the sound buzzy and tinny as it pressed through the foam of the speakers. Lighting a cigarette, he takes several deep drags, none of which do anything to help calm him down. The glowing end of the cigarette reflects off his window, a tiny glowing dot against the night sky and the backlight of his dim bedroom.
Motion in the corner of his eye has him actually look out his window, into the window next door. The light in her room is soft and he would probably describe it as angelic if he believed any of that shit. She was reshelving books, careful to not knock off all of the little trinkets lining her shelves. Her window was open, and he knew if he opened his he would probably hear her humming along to Madonna. He clenched his fingers around his lighter and takes another drag of his cigarette.
Pretty girls next door don't deal with asshole fathers. They wore lacy little nightgowns and probably had straight As and had glossy pink lips that would look so pretty parted and--
He hated thinking about her.
Looking into her window his first night in Hawkins was almost too much. Billy didn't like shy girls. The warm glow of her room felt more like a blaring alarm in his skull trying to trick him into thinking that there could possibly be something worthwhile here. She even brought his whole family dinner the weekend they moved in because Susan hadn't set up the kitchen yet--pasta and the best garlic bread he had ever had. Reminded him of that Italian restaurant he would go to after surf competitions.
The guys at school all made lewd comments about her but claimed she was too inexperienced and shy to actually pursue. They probably would tell him it was luck that they were neighbors and ask what color underwear she changed into (white, sometimes pink).
She wasn't even his fucking type.
Billy didn't actually watch her often. Seeing her dance around her room or actually sit down and do her homework pissed him off. Sometimes she would sit at her vanity and do her makeup just to go to the library and he would smoke three cigarettes right after she swiped gloss onto her lips.
He coughed now just thinking about it, choking on his smoke. He cracked open the window a little and tapped the ash off the cigarette off the sill and into the night.
The creak of his window carried across the little alley between their houses and made her look up and meet his eyes. She gave a little wave and the tiniest, most breathtaking smile. It even reached her eyes, and for a second he almost coughed on his cigarette again. She leaned out on the windowsill, nightgown blowing just the faintest amount.
Pushing up the rest of the window, Billy sat against the sill, legs dangling outside. He blew smoke out in a stream that almost reached her face and she just waved it away without comment.
"Hi."
"Hey yourself."
Why the fuck was he doing this? The last time he had talked to her was almost a month ago when she complimented the wash he gave his car. Never mind that it had made him so hard he closed his blinds for almost a whole week afterwards.
"What happened to your cheek?" She asks so gently, leaning closer out the window. Billy crushes his cigarette in his hand, the burning end stinging the skin on his palm. He curses and lights another, wiping the ash on his hand off on his jeans and making the new welt ache more.
Instead of pressing, she gives him an apologetic look, pissing him off further. "Don't do that."
"Okay." she responds simply. He blows more smoke at her until she holds up a finger for him to wait. Shaking his head, he messes with his curls as she pulls away to rummage through her desk.
After a couple dozen seconds she slips out her window, lacy socks squelching in the wet lawn. She doesn't seem to mind, and holds out her hand. He just stares at it.
"Palm." she whispers, pretty eyes surprisingly defiant.
Billy reluctantly holds out his open hand, letting her stand between his legs and open a bottle of some kind of lotion. She applies it gently to the cigarette burn, hands so soft and small compared to his. It's not even the only scar he's got on that hand.
"It doesn't hurt that much. I've done that a lot." Billy's voice is rough.
She pouts just the slightest bit, glossed lips pressed together, and his hand clenches, pulling away from her touch. As she caps the bottle of cream he looks down at her nightgown again, shifting in the wind around her knees. He blows smoke in her face and she coughs.
"Never mind. Burn yourself all you want."
He laughs at that, surprising both of them. She looks out at the moon and he just looks at her before gently tugging her to sit down on his knee. Her wide gaze turns to him, questioning.
"Your socks are getting all ruined from the grass."
"Oh. Yeah. Thank you."
She adjusts herself in on his thigh, making his grip around her waist tighten briefly. Eventually she settles on just wrapping her arms around Billy's neck and he allows it without comment. He presses the cigarette to her lips and she hesitantly takes a drag before coughing all over him.
"Jesus. Was that your first time?"
"Obviously."
Smirking, he pulls her closer against his chest. "There's a different way we can try it, if you don't mind messing up your lip gloss."
"What? How would--oh. Um..." Her realization is so fucking cute, softening the edges of his mouth out of his frown. He takes a drag and holds it in, patient as she closes her eyes and parts those pretty lips.
He kisses her, arms around her tight as he blows the smoke into her mouth. Feeling her swallow it, he kissed her again to cut off her little cough. Shit, her lips were so warm. Her gloss was sticking to his dryer lips and he couldn't help but lick into her mouth to taste some of it.
Letting out the tiniest of whimpers, one of her hands reached up to curl into his hair and pull on it just a bit but more than enough to make him stiffen and kiss her again and again.
"Fuck, you taste so perfect. Cherry?" He murmured against her lips.
"Cherry c-cola." She looked dizzy, lips somehow beginning to look swollen just from a few kisses. Her grip loosened a little and he kissed the corner of her lips to keep her eyes on his.
"Did that taste any better?"
"Mhm."
"Use your words."
"It was better." She played a little with his hair, fingers still sunk into his curls. He decided it was the closest to believing in heaven as he'd ever get.
"Good. Can I do it again?" He took another drag as she let out a soft little "please" that shot straight through his dick.
She didn't cough this time and pulled on his hair a little more, really kissing him back this time. After she swallowed the smoke again, she sucked softly on his tongue, warm heat passing between their mouths. He shifted her so that she was straddling both of his thighs now, and she let out a soft little noise desperate when they parted for air.
"That w-was even better." She was clutching onto him so hard, lips still practically pressed to his.
"Second kiss is always better." He rubbed a hand up her side, feeling how tense she was. "Though I wasn't really planning on ever kissing you."
"Me either. I just...Well, you know you're hot. But you scare me a little."
"You scare me too." He jokes, running a hand through his hair. She giggles, and he has to look away to fight a smile. Billy took a couple of drags before the cigarette burned to the filter, flicking it onto the grass.
"You could start fires like that." Her whisper made him roll his eyes and kiss her to keep her quiet. She melted into it all the same, this time pressing her tongue into his mouth first. He allowed it in exchange for snaking a hand up her thigh, under the hem of her nightdress.
Rewarded with a whimper, he sucked on her tongue until she had to break away in soft pants. Her eyes were shiny. Probably a little overstimulated. He kissed her cheek, just under one eye, doing little to hide the smile forming on his lips.
"Are you a little better?" She asks so quietly, as if to not upset him. He stills, but nods after a long moment. That's all she's getting.
She smiles again, and he decides it was worth the answer after all.
