#nasty billy

[unfinishedslurs]

gay bar (steddie)

“Well, well, well,” says a voice from behind. “Steeeeeeve Harrington. I must be dreaming.”

Steve turns around to see a guy, dressed in black and chains. Rings decorating his fingers, studs in his ears, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail. He’s hot, yeah, but something about him has Steve squinting, trying to figure out why he looks so familiar. 

“I know you from somewhere,” he says, pointing out the obvious. The guy knows his name.

The not-a-stranger snorts. “Of course you don’t remember me. Why would the likes of King Steve stoop to—“

As soon as the nickname leaves his mouth, Steve’s brain lights up. “Munson!” He exclaims, snapping his fingers. “You used to climb on the lunch tables to give speeches.”

It was so obnoxious, too. The kind of thing that had him and Robin reminiscing late at night, celebrating some of the weirder shit about Hawkins that didn’t come from monsters, or Russians, or government conspiracy. Remember that one asshole? Yeah, he stepped on my lunch one time!

Condolences to Robin’s pb&j. She never sat at that table again.

Munson’s whole face turns pink. “Seriously? That’s what you remember?”

“It was pretty fucking memorable, dude. Like, gross, doesn’t this guy know not to put his feet where people eat? Dustin thought you were so cool for it too. I had to nip that in the bud before he started imitating you or some shit.”

“Oh,” he says, voice gone flat. “Because God forbid some poor kid try to immolate the freak.”

Steve gives him his bitchiest, most deadpan stare. “Feet,” he says slowly. “Nasty, fifteen year old boy feet. On my kitchen table. He almost slipped and cracked his skull, and I would have sent you the hospital bill.”

He had to get creative to make him stop, too. Stood there, hands on his hips, and made Dustin tell him exactly how many germs he thought were on his shoes. Then when he tried to do it barefoot, decided the only course of action was to stuff Dustin’s abandoned sock in his mouth and ask if he wanted that shit with every meal. Erica still has the photos. 

Munson has the decency to look embarrassed, face flooding an even brighter red that wouldn’t be out of place in a tomato patch. “What are you even doing here, Harrington?”

What does he think Steve’s doing here? It’s a fucking gay bar, it’s pretty self explanatory. “My friend is here somewhere,” he says, waving out at the crowd of people. “She’s going through a dry spell, so…”

“Right,” Munson says. Steve squints at him. Does he look disappointed?

Eh. Doesn’t matter. 

“You gave my kids the best freshman year of their nerdy little lives,” he tells him, because he knows Dustin would want him to. Plus, the guy was Mike’s gay awakening. He should probably get some credit. “So thanks for that.”

He lights up. “Yeah! How was Hellfire in my absence?”

“I had to hear them bitch and moan for months about how it ‘wasn’t the same,’ but it’s doing pretty all right. Erica Sinclair is running it now.”

“Erica Sinclair…” Munson mutters, snapping his fingers. “Lucas Sinclair’s little sister? Lady Applejack?” He beams when Steve nods. “She kicked ass. Best finish to a campaign my entire high school career. How’s Lucas, anyway? And the rest of the runts.”

“He’s doing great,” Steve says. “College basketball at Yale. Pretty sure he’s dying under the workload, but that’s what you get for majoring in physics. Dustin’s at MIT, and Mike’s taking a gap year.”

He whistles lowly. “Yeesh, I don’t blame him. How about Byers?”

“Which one?”

“Zombie boy.” Steve’s hackles raise, but Munson just grins. “God, that nickname was badass.”

“How do you even know about that?”

Munson taps the side of his nose. “A magician never reveals his secrets. Besides, all it took for you to remember me was calling you by your high school nickname.”

“That wasn’t my nickname.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Literally three people ever actually called me that, and you were one of them.”

He has a feeling it was Tommy who started it, bitter and vicious. Told himself Steve was self possessed, high and mighty, above it all. That’s why he left his old friends behind. Not because he was in love, or because he wanted to be better. No, King Steve just sits alone in his castle, looking down on the peasants with contempt. 

Billy must have taken his angry ramblings and run with them. After all, what better way to get a start in a new town than declaring yourself royalty? Never mind that Steve hadn’t cared about anything like that for almost a year by then. 

Munson had just been a drama-loving asshole. 

“That can’t be right.”

“I stopped being popular in junior year. Why the hell would anyone call a sophomore King?” Steve points out. 

“You were Prom King.”

“Again, in junior year. Pickings were slim. Who else would it have been? Tommy?” He has to laugh. 

Luckily, Munson takes the hint and swerves the conversation into new territory. “You know, I always figured you’d be homophobic.”

Steve snorts. “What, and get kicked out for nothing?”

Munson stares at him, and Steve furrows his brow, looking into his glass like it will have the answer to why the hell he said that to this guy he barely knows. He just decided he wasn’t going to spill all his daddy issues to a near-stranger in a dingy bar, dammit. Is he already on his fifth drink?

Actually, this might be his sixth. That tracks. 

“What?”

“My dad caught me kissing a boy,” he says. If he’s going to give Munson his life story, he might as well commit. “Can you believe that boy ruined my life in three different ways? Two of them didn’t even have anything to do with the gay thing.” 

Maybe four ways, if you accounted for the way he broke his goddamn heart, but everyone and their mother saw that coming a mile away. Even Steve. Especially Steve. 

No offense to Jonathan. None of those things were really his fault. Or actually life ruining, but it sure fucking felt like it at the time. 

He should give him a call soon, actually, see how he and Argyle are doing. He misses the guy. Maybe he and Robin should save up for a visit to Cali. Get Nancy on it. They could see San Francisco while they were there, that’d be cool. Apparently it was the queer capital of the country. 

He’s thinking about asking the bartender for a napkin and a pen to write down the plans he’s forming when Munson speaks up again. Steve honestly forgot he was here. 

“I thought you said you were here for a friend.”

What?” Steve blinks, confused, and then catches on. “Yeah, to get her laid. I’m not in the mood right now.”

Munson cocks an eyebrow. “Wearing that? Could’ve fooled me.”

Steve looks down at his Springsteen T-Shirt that Robin cropped, and picks at the frayed hem of his shorts. Okay, yeah, they’re on the skimpy side, but in his defense it’s summer and even if he’s not cruising Steve likes being looked at. “Yeah, yeah. What about you? Here for anything in particular?”

“Just to talk to some pretty boys,” Munson says, leaning on the bar to flag down the bartender. Steve smirks, reaching out a hand to tug at the hanky in his back pocket. Pinned, damn. 

Munson whirls around, a flush starting to crawl onto his ears. 

“Wearing that?” Steve echos snarkily. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He swears that for a minute Munson’s eyes darken. 

He’s almost tempted to follow through, high school reputation be damned, when someone crashes into his side and nearly sends him careening. 

“Steeeeeve,” Robin yells happily into his ear. “This is Bernie, she’s gonna take me home, see you la—oh, hi!” She says, noticing Munson. “I know you from somewhere.”

“Eddie Munson,” Munson greets. “Steve and I went to high school together.”

“Munson! That’s it, you climbed on tables and had shit music. I’m Robin. Okay, I’ll call the apartment and leave a message when we get there. Bernie’s waiting on me, it’s-nice-to-meet-you-bye!” Just like that, she’s gone. 

Munson’s mouth has dropped open. “You told her I had shit music?” He demands. “Wait, you talked about me?”

“She went to school with us, dumbass,” he says, as if he can talk. He still barely remembers her as more than a vague, glowering figure in his peripheral. “It’s not my fault you blasted your screamy music for everyone in the parking lot. Such a fucking headache, God.”

Munson turns his nose up. “Sorry for having offended your jock sensibilities.”

“Oh, I don’t play anymore,” he says, and knocks on his head. “Concussions, yanno. Apparently brain damage will fuck you up. Who knew?”

“What, like the fight you had with Byers? He did you that bad?”

“He did me just fine,” Steve blurts out, before he can stop himself. Munson chokes. “Shit, sorry, I’m kind of a horny drunk.” Weird thing to say, Steve. “Also, I cannot stress enough how much I needed to be punched in the face. It was a monumental moment for me, you know. Started me on the path for changing my entire worldview. Plus, he was my first guy crush.” He swirls his empty glass, lost in thought, before brightening up. “I should call him!”

Munson is staring at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

“What?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Well, yeah. Duh.”

“I should probably stop you from booty-calling the guy who punched you in the face.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “It wouldn’t be a booty-call,” he says. “He and Argyle are happy together, man. I’m not gonna ruin that.”

“Oh, so you’d call him because…”

“I call him all the time,” Steve says, confused as to why this is such a big deal. “We’re friends.”

“Jonathan!” He yells happily into the pay phone. Munson is standing to the side, looking on in annoyance. Whatever, it’s not like Steve asked him to do this. “Jonathan, man, how are you?”

“…Steve?”

“Yeah!”

“It’s like…” he hears something clatter in the background, like Jonathan is looking for something, “two in the morning there. You okay?”

“I’m doing great!” He exclaims. “How about you? It’s been ages, man, I miss you.”

“This is so fucking weird,” Munson whispers behind him. Steve ignores him. 

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” he says. “Well, maybe a little. Do you not miss me too?” He pouts, and Jonathan sighs loud enough he hears it over the phone. 

“I just talked to you yesterday.”

Steve frowns. “Yesterday? That can’t be right, it’s been, like, forever. Oh, hey, have you heard from Nance lately? How’s your mom? I love your mom, she’s so fucking cool. Does she know I think she’s cool? How’s Will? It’s been so long, is he taller than me yet? How’s Argyle doing with his degree? I miss you guys.”

“We miss you too, Steve.”

“Awww, Byers, getting soppy on me? Gross, man.”

“You literally just—yeah, okay. Are you alone?”

“Nah, I’ve got this guy with me, he’s walking me home. Oh! Dude, do you remember Munson?”

“Munson?”

“Yeah, Eddie Munson! From high school! The one who used to climb on tables and shit, remember him?”

“Jesus Christ,” Munson groans. “Please let that die.”

“No one is dying,” Steve informs him seriously, and turns back to the phone. Munson sighs. 

“Wasn’t he a drug dealer?”

“Yes! Yeah, drug dealer Munson! Did you ever buy from him?” He turns to where Munson is looking around furtively. “Did Jonathan ever buy from you?”

“How about we not talk about this here,” Munson says through gritted teeth. Steve sighs and turns back to the phone. 

“Never mind, he says he doesn’t want to talk about that. Not like we can judge him, but whatever. Maybe the guy’s turned into a prude—“

“Okay, give me that.” Munson wrestles the phone out of his hand, and Steve whines at him. “Hey, Byers,” Munson says. “Yeah, it’s Eddie. Or Munson. Whatever. Listen, I’m getting kind of sick of standing here watching Harrington slobber all over the receiver, can he call you tomorrow? What? No, I don’t sell anymore—yeah, total bummer, whatever. Listen, I’ll get him home safe—no, I’m not going to serial murder him. He’s gonna be fine, he’ll call you tomorrow—Nancy Wheeler? Like that girl he dated? Didn’t you—shoot me? Jesus, okay! I’m not gonna kill the guy, Christ. He’s gonna be fine, oh my God. He’ll call you tomorrow. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah, okay. Bye.” He slams the phone into its holder with more than a little contempt. 

“Hey!” Steve protests. “You didn’t let me say bye.”

“You can call him tomorrow and apologize,” Munson says. “Now c’mon, Harrington. I’ve been tasked with getting you home safe, and if I fail, apparently Nancy fucking Wheeler is going to shoot me in the balls.”

“Oh, yeah, she’s really hot when she does that,” Steve says fondly, and Munson splutters. 

“What, does Wheeler just go around shooting people? Does she even have a gun?”

“Of course Nancy has a gun.” Steve frowns. It was one of the sure things in the universe at this point. The sky is blue, Hawkins is fucked up, and Nancy Wheeler has a gun. “And she doesn’t shoot people, stupid. Well, she shot at Billy, but he deserved it.”

“Billy?” Munson mutters, starting to usher Steve in the direction of home. “Who the fuck is Billy?”

“He was trying to kill her first!” Steve defends. “I hit him with a car before he could, so she was okay.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t you hit some guy with a car? 

“It wasn’t some guy,” Steve says. “It was Billy. He was, like, possessed or some shit. Oh, and he beat me up. Total psycho.  And that was before the melted flesh monster.”

Munson stops and stares at him. “You know what, sure. Demonic possession. Yeah, okay. Some guy named Billy kicked your ass—wait, are you talking about Billy Hargrove?”

Steve lights up. “Yeah! You remember that? That’s one of the concussions I was talking about. I gotta wear glasses 'cuza that shit. Man, fuck that guy.”

“Didn’t he die?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve frowns down at the ground. “Shit, I’m, like, speaking ill of the dead, aren’t I? Max wouldn't like that. Unfuck him, or whatever.”

“You wanna come up?” He asks. “For old times sake?”

Munson stares at him like it’s the craziest thing he’s said all evening. “‘Old times’ was your asshole friends calling me a satan worshiper and pushing me around in hallways, Harrington.”

“I know.” He grins. If he was sober he’d definitely feel worse about that, but as it is he’s pretty single minded. “Don't you kind of want to make me cry about it?”

Deer in headlights isn’t usually a good look, but Munson’s got the eyes to make it work. Or Steve is drunk. Either way, it’s kinda cute. 

“You’re drunk,” he finally says, stumbling over the words a little. If Steve pays close attention and ignores most of reality, it almost sounds like he’s trying to convince both of them. “You’re so incredibly drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.” He totally is. 

“I just had to supervise you calling Jonathan Byers so you didn’t say something you’d regret in the morning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asks, offended. “I love Jonathan! I tell him all the time. Just because I said he ruined my life—“

“That was him?”

“Did I not say that? Huh. Whatever. Point is, I’m not that drunk.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” Munson says. “I’m not—yeah, no. I’m not coming up.”

“Damn.” Steve shrugs, not too put out about it. It’s a bummer, sure, but he handles rejection like a champ. Just ask Robin. “Worth a shot. See you ‘round, Munson.”

“Don’t kill me,” Steve says. 

“Oh, god, did you punch him?”

“No, I, uh.” Steve rubs the bridge of his nose. “I think I tried to fuck him.”

He has to hold the phone away from his face so Dustin’s screeching doesn’t break his eardrums. 

“Your exes are weirdly protective of you,” Munson says blandly. “Also, didn’t they date?”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, not exactly eager to start spilling his life story again now that he’s sober. Munson doesn’t need to know more about his dating history than he already does. “We’re all a little weird about each other, sorry.”

“Weird about your exes,” he hums. “No wonder you’re single.”

“Oh, fuck you. It’s not like that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“Are you always this nosy?” Steve asks, a little waspish. 

“Absolutely,” Munson replies without hesitation. “I’d say sorry, but I’m not. When did you even date him?”

“Dude.”

Munson just cocks an expectant eyebrow, hip resting against the bar. He can’t imagine why someone would be so interested in the romantic lives of their old high school classmates. It’s not like Steve is about to ask what was going on between him and Chrissy Cunningham. 

“Well, Harrington?”

“First grade,” Steve answers, deadpan. He grins when Munson chokes. “Nah, it was actually after he and Nancy broke up. Fall of ‘86.”

Arms squeeze him from behind, and Robin slides into view, leaving one hand wrapped pointedly around Steve’s waist. She gets clingy when she thinks someone is bothering him, or when she’s just on the side of drunk that she gets possessive. She told him, embarrassed and hungover, that it’s because she registers someone he’s getting along with as infringing on “her Steve time.” Steve thinks it’s hilarious and kind of sweet, an obvious lesbian trying to pretend he’s her date. Especially because he gets the same way when he’s tipsy and feels like he doesn’t have enough of her attention, so she can't yell at him for being a cockblock. Cuntblock. Whatever the lesbians call it.

He wonders what category she thinks Eddie is. Of guy, that is. Not block-anything.

He'd actually be pretty damn happy if the guy miraculously changed his mind and decided to sit on his cock instead.

“What’s going on here?” She asks, almost cattily. He loves when Robin gets bitchy. It brings him back to their Scoops days, except he gets to see it turned on someone else. 

“I’m telling Eddie my life story,” Steve says blithely.

“Ugh. Who would want that?”

Eddie grins. “I’m curious about the adventures of a former king.” He dips his head in a bow, waving his hand in a flourish. “I don’t know if you remember me from last time, I’m Eddie—“

“Munson, I know. You stepped on my lunch in junior year.”

Eddie turns beet red in record time. 

“Aww, Robbie,” Steve almost coos. “Leave him alone. I wanted to be the one who made him blush like that.”

“It’s not my fault your boy’s easy.”

“Not my boy, clearly,” he mutters under his breath. “And if he were easy, I’d have gotten fucked by now.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open with a choked little sound. Whoops. Steve forgot volume control again. 

Robin takes one look at Eddie’s face and bursts into cackles. 

“He was asking about,” he waved a hand in the air, “the whole Nancy-Jonathan thing.”

Her eyebrows jut up. “You told him about the threesome?”

“The what?”

Steve sighs. “No, Robin. I did not tell him about the threesome.”

“…oops.”

“When?” Eddie demands. 

Robin gives him the evil eye. “Why are you being weird about this? It’s not gonna make him fuck you.”

Steve wisely keeps his mouth shut. 

Eddie does not. “Your boy here already asked,” he smirks, leaning closer. “I said no.”

Then, as an added punch to his ego, he twirls a strand of Steve’s hair around his finger and tugs slightly. Steve’s too stunned to protest. 

Robin watches the exchange. “Oh, no thank you,” she says. “Nope. I’m out. I don’t want to see whatever this is. Ugh, stop making me hear about your sex life.”

Hypocrite. “We have thin walls, Buckley,” Steve reminds her. He turns to Eddie and stage whispers, “She likes her girls loud.”

“Steve!”

“You do!”

“Oh, because you’re so quiet,” she snaps, smacking him. “How many times have I had to bang on the wall because you couldn’t keep it down? You wanna talk about loud? I know more about you than I ever wanted to.”

His mouth drops open in mortification. “You know it’s rude to be mean to the man who told you how to eat out,” he hisses. 

“I’m not dying without fucking Eddie Munson,” he declares. “I mean, his high school nickname was literally ‘The Freak.’ He’s got to be good in bed, right?”

“I think that was mostly because everyone thought he was communing with the Devil or something.”

“Maybe the Devil gave him sex magic.”

“Of course he thinks I’m cute.”

“I do?”

“Do you not?” Steve turns to him, widening his eyes in the same pout that always has Robin throwing something at his face, or the kids reluctantly agreeing to do what he wants. He’s found it’s useful for guys too, especially if he ducks his head to seem smaller and looks through his eyelashes. Makes them imagine him looking like that on his knees. 

Munson is no exception. He melts faster than Steve can say gotcha. “You’re very cute, Harrington,” he purrs, and Robin snorts into her drink. 

“You’re a weak, weak man, Eddie Munson,” she tells a blushing Eddie. Then she kicks Steve. “Stop bringing out the ‘fuck me’ eyes when I’m around, I’ll gag.”

“You could leave.”

She gasps, affronted, and kicks him harder.

“So you would fuck me if I wasn’t drunk?”

“Uh…” he looks everywhere but Steve’s face, which is just rude. He has a very nice face. He’s been called dreamy before. 

Which made Robin laugh so hard she fell off the couch when he told her, but he’ll take the lesbian’s opinion with a grain of salt. 

He makes his way onto the dance floor. He’s not a particularly good dancer, but he shakes his ass like he means it. Gets up close with a guy, stares at Eddie the whole time. Keeping eye contact as the guy puts his hands on his hips. 

Look, he means to say. This could be you. You could lose your chance if you’re not careful. 

From the burning in Eddie’s eyes, he gets the message. 

The message is a bunch of bullshit. It’s been over four months, he’s in too deep to go fuck off with someone else now. Still, he enjoys the way Eddie’s hands flex on his thighs, like he had to stop himself from reaching out. 

The thing is, Steve’s not an asshole. He can take a hint. No means no, and all that jazz. If Eddie really didn’t want him, he’d fuck right off and find someone who did. He even started to.

Except Eddie pouted up a storm when he flirted with someone else. Got even clingier when Steve tried to back off. At this point, he’s accepted that Eddie does want to fuck him, and maybe even be more (no one flirts with someone as long as they’ve been doing without wanting something like a relationship out of it. At least, he hopes there’s something more on the horizon), but has some weird hang up about Steve being even a little bit buzzed when it happens. Even though they only ever see each other at this fucking bar.

The problem is Steve has no idea when Eddie will be at the bar. He’ll stay sober one night, hoping to see him, and then go home alone only for next time to be when he sees telltale curls and a wide smile. It’s driving him up the wall. 

Robin has been similarly affected.

“It’s been six months,” she growls as Steve looks eagerly around. “Six fucking months of you two dancing around in the worlds most annoying mating ritual. I’m going to kill both of you.”

“We’re not that bad,” he says absently. 

“You don’t even have his phone number. It’s pathetic. I swear to God, if you see him again and don’t get laid I’m reviving the scoops board. I will go out and buy a whiteboard to keep track of all the times you strike out with a man who used to walk on tables. He stepped on my lunch, Steve. Do I need to keep bringing up the fact he stepped on my delicious, nutritious PB&J? I can’t believe that’s the guy you decide to be obsessed with, that’s so fucking embarrassing for you.”

“Embarrassing? You mean like your crush on my ex girlfriend?”

She screeches wordlessly, pulling her keychain off her belt loop and attacking him with it. 

Naturally, that’s how Eddie finds them. 

“I swear you guys get weirder every time I see you.”

Steve grins guilelessly at him, holding a flailing Robin in a headlock. 

“Eddie! Hey! It’s been a minute.” He hasn’t been able to come in a month, and it’s been longer since he’s seen him. It’s honestly one of the deciding factors on whether it’s a passing fancy or a full blown crush. He still went to sleep every night thinking about Eddie. It didn’t even have to be about sex. 

Although maybe not sleeping with anyone else for half a year should have tipped him off sooner. 

“Sure has, big boy. I was starting to think you were getting sick of me.” It’s a joke, but Steve catches an undercurrent of insecurity. 

“That’d make my life easier,” Robin snorts. She finally wiggles her way out of his hold. “I saw Arty somewhere around here, I’m gonna see if I can crash at her place tonight.” She levels Eddie with a look. “He hasn’t had anything to drink. If you don’t put him out of his misery, I will. And it won’t be the good kind. It will be the bad kind. With bad screams. Lots of screaming, and someone will call the pigs, and I’ll be arrested and jailed for life. Do you want me to go to jail, Munson?”

Eddie shakes his head dumbly. 

“Good! Then do something about it.” She slaps Steve’s back, a mocking echo of his jock days. “Go get ‘em, slugger!” 

With that, she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd. 

“She is,” Steve remarks with amusement, “the worst wingman on planet Earth. Mars too, probably.”

“I dunno, I think it might be working.”

“I’m not doing anything without a condom,” he says, eyes narrowed like he’s waiting for an argument. 

“Me neither,” Steve agrees. “Robin has, like, this big fear of diseases. Totally got me with it. She pulled out the library books, those pictures were fucking disgusting. Shit showed up in my dreams, man. Neither of us do anything without protection.”

“I’m going to be totally honest with you, because I haven’t been and it’s starting to eat at me,” Eddie says, hovering above Steve. 

Steve wrinkles his nose. “What is it? Are you a spy or something? Are you Russian? Do you have superpowers? Is your name not actually Eddie?” He pauses. “Oh, God, you’re not even Eddie Munson, are you? I’m just some asshole who’s been calling you by my old classmates name and you were too embarrassed to correct me. Shit, we made so much fun of you for walking on tables too—“

“What?” Eddie covers his mouth, expression hovering between amused and baffled. “What the fuck, why would I go along with that? No, Jesus, I’m Eddie Munson. Moved to Hawkins when I was eleven, took senior year three times, walked on the fucking tables, could you let that go?” He moves the hand covering Steve’s mouth to play with his hair, looking annoyed for a minute before it smoothes to trepidation. “No, I, uh, I just felt like I needed to tell you that I used to have a hate-boner for you in high school. Like, I used to jack it to the thought of kicking your ass and making a mess outta you. In more ways than one.”

Steve stares. 

“Also, that’s kind of why I approached you in the bar in the first place,” Eddie blabbers on. “And then you said you were just there for a friend, and I was disappointed but it’s whatever, yanno? And then then you told me about your dad, and threw my expectations to the fucking wolves, and then you asked me to come up to your apartment except you were drunk and you probably didn’t mean it. But then the next time I saw you, you kept flirting with me, which you were not supposed to do, and I kept pretending that wasn’t the reason I even talked to you in the first place, and, uh, yeah.” He smiles nervously. “Surprise?”

“I mean, not really.”

“You’re such an asshole, fuck off. At least pretend to be shocked.”

“It’s not my fault you stare at my legs all the time,” Steve says, affronted. “I know I didn’t do too good in school, but I’m not dumb enough to miss that. Like, hello, my eyes are up here.”

Eddie lets his arms give out, flopping on top of Steve heavily. Steve wheezes. “Am I really that obvious?” He whines into his shoulder. 

“You got sad and pouty when I even looked at another guy.”

“You could’ve fucked him,” he mumbles. “The guy you were dancing with. It wasn’t any of my business. I’m a big boy, I can deal.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to fuck him,” Steve says. “I wanted to fuck you. Can we go back to that please?”

“Thought I was fucking you.”

“Someone’s getting fucked or Robin will kill both of us. I’d like to live tomorrow morning. And not have to deal with any more of her teasing for having no game.”

“You have unfortunate amounts of game,” Eddie sighs, tracing the side of Steve’s neck. It tickles. “It’s kind of embarrassing for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, are we using those condoms or not, Moodkiller?”

“Oh, I’m the mood killer?”

“Yes,” Steve says matter of factly, and pulls him in for a kiss before he can protest.

#gay bar au #steddie #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #featuring robin as the worlds worst wingman #i'm never not going to bully eddie for walking on those tables #'why does everyone here hate me🥺' mf it's bc you keep putting ur nasty ass shoes where people eat #i've said it before and i'll say it again. someone should have yanked on his leg and made him faceplant. he would have deserved it #we stay billy bashing 💪 #in this au the byers didn't move to california #jonathan still goes to school there tho #why? bc he and argyle are soulmates and time and space moved for them to make sense next question #i need u to know eddie does not have sex magic and steve isn't actually as smooth as eddie thinks. they r just obsessed with each other #that one person who was in my notes truthing ab a stoncy threesome. i was excited when i saw that bc i had this written hope u see it <3

[useragarfield]

#y’all nasty

BILLY DUNNE & DAISY JONES Daisy Jones & the Six | “Looks Like We Made It” 1.08 (2023)

#djatsedit #djats #filmtvcentral #daisy jones and the six #userneptune #userannalise #userelliee #usermandie #djats spoilers #tusersadie #userlaur #gownegirl #tv #myedit #daisybillyedit #daisybilly #daisy jones #billy dunne #nasty little psychoes #beloved musician 70's freaks

[helaelaemond]

Little Games That We Play - Billy Washington x reader

Pairing:  Billy Washington x semi-girlfriend!reader (?)

Word count: 2k

Summary: you pick Billy up from the police station after he's smashed up a butchers' shop. You're sick of him, but not so sick you can say no to getting fucked.

AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, established relationship, penetrative sex, clothed sex.

Content warning(s): rough sex, mentions of Islamophobia, very brief domestic violence (reader slaps Billy)

Rating: E

For Ez, one of my beloved muses.

You march out of the police station with anger in you.

"Sunglasses?" Billy asks as he strides to keep up with you.

You pull them from your bag and shove them to his chest. "A halal butchers?" you ask, your voice full of disgust. He doesn't answer you as you make your way quickly down the stairs and to your banged up old Corsa. Not as sorry as his Cavalier, but nothing to be especially proud of.

"Thanks for coming to get me."

You can't even stomach looking at him. When you're both in the car, you open the windows and screech out of the car park and into the road, barely making it to third by the time you hit thirty.

"Aye, ease up," he tells you in a strained tone.

"You reek," is the only reply you can muster.

The rest of the drive is in silence. On the steering wheel, your knuckles are white. It takes twenty minutes with traffic to get home, and you're too angry to park neatly - half your wheel is on the pavement, and you'll probably get a ticket, but fuck it. Billy can pay for it - when he finally gets a job. The thought makes you snort, and he looks over at you.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"You ain't even got that to your name."

When he laughs in reply, it's dry, humourless. A cheap shot, you know, but Jesus. You're so angry you could push him into traffic, you really could-!

After a long pause, Billy speaks. "I int got my keys."

Silence is the answer you give him. He follows you across the road and up into the flat that you share. It's cluttered and messy and dirty, and you've been spending more and more time back at your mum's place than here lately. It's been a while since it felt like home.

On the stovetop, dirty pans wait to be washed. There's a half-finished Pot Noodle next to it, and a dish of used teabags. This isn't how you saw your life turning out. "Didn't have five minutes to clean up?"

He pours boiling water into two mugs and stirs them both without looking up. He's still wearing those sunglasses. "Didn't know when you'd be home. Didn't see the point."

"You don't help yourself, you know?"

He winces at your raised voice. "Save it, will you? My head's killing me."

"How many did you have last night?" you press. He hands you the cup of tea and you take it without thinking.

"A few."

"How many's a few?"

"I dunno. It was a wake, for fuck's sake, I wasn't counting."

"Yeah? Well, maybe you should've. A butchers', Billy, a fucking butchers'?"

Billy shrugs slightly. His chin is tilted down. Without taking a sip, you set your mug on the dirty counter and grab him by the front of his black shirt.

"What are you playing at?" you hiss.

His lip curls and he turns his face away. "Leave it."

"No! You're throwing your life away, and dragging other people down with it!"

"No one cares enough to be dragged down with me."

You slap him, hard. Across his sharp cheek your hand comes, and it knocks those stupid Aviators right off his nose. "No one cares enough? Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?"

Sometimes, Billy is as meek as anything, and he takes the nasty things people say with shining eyes and tight lips. But other times, he comes to the edge of losing control. There is no shine in his eyes now - just the glisten of something dangerous. A thrill goes through you. He catches your wrist and squeezes until it hurts. "The girl who promised she'd never leave. But you're leaving me, aren't you? You're giving up, just like everyone else."

"What do you expect me to do?" you challenge. There are butterflies in your stomach when he pulls you closer, but you fight it. He's stronger than you, though. "Sit around and watch you waste the best years of my life? Watch you drain my bank account?"

"You promised."

"Look at the state of you." Your voice is low, angry. "Dirty clothes. Dirty face. Dirty fucking life."

His lip twitches, but he makes no reply. At least not with his words. One hand winds suddenly into your hair, fingers gripping hard at the root, and he pulls until your neck is arched, and your hands grab desperately for his arms. He doesn't go to the gym anymore, but his biceps are tensed and you hate how much you love the strain in the muscles.

"You're not a man," you hiss. "You need to grow up."

The hate in his heart has put distance between you. But the fire in his eyes is nothing but passion and love for you, you know. It's not enough for you anymore.

It still makes your pussy wet.

And when he shoves you against the messy counter, stomach first, you know what's coming. "Then why are you still here?" he mutters against your ear.

With his half-hard cock grinding in his filthy joggers against your backside, it's difficult to keep your mind on words, let alone an answer to such a complex question. Because you love him. Because you're filled with hope. Because you promised to stay.

You think of how ashamed he sounded on the phone this morning when he asked you to pick him up. You had been the one that he wanted when everything had gone to shit - when he had ruined everything. It was still you. "Because you called."

It comes out more tenderly than you intended. He grunts, and his hips stutter. "You fucking love me. Don't you?"

Gripping onto the countertop, you suppress a shiver and shake your head slightly. "No."

"Yeah, you do." Behind you, Billy shoves up your dress and presses his hand between your thighs. His long fingers rub over your underwear, and with his soft breaths at your ear, he slips them underneath. Between your folds he dips, and he groans to find you hot, the beginning of slickness pooling at your entrance. "Oh, yeah, that's what I thought."

"You don't deserve me," comes your defiant reply. It's punctuated by stiff breaths that give you away, though.

He smells unwashed, and stale beer clings to him like dust. It wraps you up in a haze of devotion and disgust. When he pushes his joggers down, you think of where they've been. He was wearing them when he carried out a hate crime, and when he was picked up by police sitting on the filthy pavement. In the police car and then the cells he wore them, and there are stains on them that you dread to think the origin of.

"Bend over," he tells you.

"No."

He growls against your ear. "Bend over."

"Make me."

And he does. With a hard hand on the back of your neck, he forces you to bend over where you stand. Before you have a moment to think, the blunt head of his cock nudges between your spread thighs, and he sinks into you like he owns you.

"Don't pretend you're too good for me," Billy mutters once he's deep inside you, his groin pressed against your backside. "That's not a fun game."

Your head rests on the counter, eyes closed. In front of you is the dish of teabags. It smells strangely comforting. "This isn't a game."

"Yeah, it is." He slams back and forth into you, once, twice, thrice, and then he pauses. "You love these little games that we play."

You hiss very quietly. "Get on with it."

"Oh?" There's a smirk in his voice now. Smug cunt.

"Just- just do it."

"Do you need it?" he asks. His pace begins smooth and slow. He knows what he's doing.

"Billy," you say through gritted teeth.

"What?"

You are going to have to swallow your pride. At least for a moment. Hopefully it'll be worth it. "Fuck me properly or not at all."

"You want it hard?"

Shit. He knows exactly what he's doing. You hate him for it. "Yes."

"Say it."

"No."

The hand on the back of your neck squeezes in a silent threat. His voice turns cold. It makes your blood run hot. "Say it."

"Fuck you!"

Billy scrapes his nails over your scalp before grasping your hair again and yanking you up slightly. He hisses against your ear. "Say it for me. Or I'll stop."

In a moment of quiet, you consider him. You could walk away now with your dignity. But, God, you feel so empty without him. And now he's inside you and you shift your hips slightly and even that tiny stimulation makes your eyes roll. "Oh, God. F-fuck. Fuck me. Hard."

And he does.

He fucking does.

The noise of your coupling in the little kitchen is obscene. Your skin slaps together as the slickness between your bodies echoes, barely covered by Billy's groans and your laboured breaths. His cock fills you perfectly, pounding into you again and again like you're unbreakable. He fucks you like you belong to him.

It makes your thighs tremble. He doesn't have the decency to touch you anywhere else this time. Sometimes, he spends hours worshipping your whole body, kissing and caressing your skin until you feel like a shrine of his love, godly and devotional. But here, now... he fucks you like he doesn't love you. But like he needs you.

"Fuck!" Billy bites your ear before licking around it. "You gonna keep your mouth shut next time?"

"No," you whine. "You're a piece of shit."

He slides his hand from the back of your neck to your throat, and pulls you up slightly. It makes your hips tilt and back arch, and the new angle makes your knees weak.

"I think you will." Words are punctuated by hard thrusts that feel so good they almost hurt. "Gonna make me come."

"Hand," you tell him. With one still around your throat, the other goes between your legs and his fingers rub a brutal rhythm over your clit. He presses your hot flesh hard and fast until you go weak in his arms. He holds you upright like it's nothing. Like you're nothing.

"Fuck, fuck-!"

"Billy, yes, yes, don't stop, don't-!"

He groans your name. "Fuck, fuck, gonna make me come, I'm-! Yes, oh, God yes, yes, yes-!"

Your orgasm crashes over you at the sound of him reaching his peak, and your knees give way. He holds you tight and strains up on his toes to bury himself as deep as he can, spilling inside you with a gutteral cry. Pleasure erupts from between your legs through your whole body, crashing over you in waves. The hand against your cunt holds you firm, giving you something to keep focus on as aftershocks make you twitch.

"I've got you," he mutters after his moans have subsided. You lean back in his arms, utterly spent. There are no thoughts left in your mind. Floating. You're just floating.

But what goes up, must come down.

"Let go," you mumble.

"Hmm?" His lips are at your neck, soft kisses making your skin tingle.

You push him away. It makes you wince when his cock slips, half hard, out of you. He made your underwear chafe against your thigh when he pushed it aside, you realise now. "Get off."

Billy hangs his head. Hastily, he pulls up his joggers and grabs his mug from the side. You notice the cuts on his knuckles have opened up again. Whatever. That's his own fault.

"Stay."

You look up at him. He avoids your gaze. "Billy..."

"Just... stay."

"Don't ask me that after... after that. You know I..."

"You what?" he asks. And then he looks at you with shining eyes.

"I can't say no to you like this. You... you know that."

He nods. "Yeah. That's why I did it."

It should make you hate him. It's bad enough that he did it, let alone admit it - he fucks you like this to keep you tied to him. But you don't hate him. Instead of leaving, you take your tea and follow him to the couch. Together, you sit down, and drink in silence. You'll stay. Come what may.

#billy washington x reader #billy washington x you #billy washington x y/n #billy washington x oc #ewan mitchell #mine #ewanverse #NOT PART OF ITS ALL FOR U SERIES..... THIS IS JUST A NASTY SIDE PIECE.... EHEHEHEEH

[slashisms]

𝒞𝐻𝒜𝒮𝐸;

𝓟𝓐𝓘𝓡𝓘𝓝𝓖𝓢: billy loomis x reader x stu macher

𝓡𝓐𝓣𝓘𝓝𝓖: E.

𝓦𝓐𝓡𝓝𝓘𝓝𝓖𝓢: soo many, but most importantly: non-con elements. rough sex, spanking, slapping, roleplay, name calling, etc. all discussed beforehand but read at your own risk basically. MINORS DNI.

𝓦𝓞𝓡𝓓 𝓒𝓞𝓤𝓝𝓣: 7.3k :)

𝓢𝓤𝓜𝓜𝓐𝓡𝓨: your boyfriends have an interesting proposition for you.

There's a lot about Billy and Stu that you go to great lengths to avoid thinking about for very long. When it comes to your relationship, there’s no real room for denial either. Because you're aware of what they do. Your campus has been buzzing with news, devouring any information about the burgeoning bloodbath. You're not familiar with the details and prefer it that way, but you know they've been terrorizing small towns for years. They started in high school and that's all they're willing to say about it. You’re not dying to hear more. As the only person who knows their secret and hasn’t met a gruesome end, your inaction speaks for itself.

Bodies fill the morgue as a result of your silence. Your boyfriends are serial killers and you haven't done anything to stop them. With no moral high ground to stand on, introspection has become your worst enemy. Best to avoid close scrutiny, lest you give your conscience the opportunity to dredge up the self loathing it demands. 

It’s weird. You have to refrain from seeing too much or burying your head in the sand. You could have tried to leave. But by the time they pulled the rug out from under you with the truth, you were in too deep, which was likely their plan. With that cat out of the bag, there is no logical reason for secrets between the three of you. 

There are moments, instead. Not quite secrets that brew between Stu and Billy, because though you somehow gained an invitation into their dynamic, the duo is very much alive. They reach a consensus amongst themselves and then present it to you. It's funny, how they think they have to run things by one another before broaching the topic with you. If you haven't run by now, there's not much that could send you packing. You're willing to be patient and it pays off one night, a couple of weeks after you began to notice their shifty eye contact and odd behavior.

A knock on your window draws you from the essay you've been working on and when you pull back your curtains, Billy and Stu are balancing precariously beneath your window. They climb inside as you step back, glancing at the clock that reads 2:48 am. Their night has likely been more sinister than yours and before you can say anything, they're commanding your space. Billy pulls you in for a deep kiss, drawing your lips between his in a way that distracts you from Stu moving stuff around in your room. His lips are soft and warm against yours, insistent and intent on prying your mouth open and stealing the breath from your lungs. His tongue slides home between your parted lips, tasting the heat and wetness of your mouth. He sighs, content to devour your lips and tongue. Stu must've finished whatever he was doing, because his hands join Billy's on your body.

Long hands move from your hips and cup your breasts. Thin digits graze the sensitive bud of your nipple and you shudder. You whimper when you feel Stu's lips brush over your neck. They like to overwhelm you this way, but there's usually more of a precursor. This feels like the culmination of something big, but you're missing a part of the puzzle. Curious, you fight your way out of their embrace, ignoring the way your heart thumps at the whine Stu lets out. Billy only smirks as you gather your wits. Looking around, you realize that Stu's set up a fort using your blankets and pillows, the credits of some movie beginning on the screen. "What's going on?" You ask. 

Thankfully, you don't have to elaborate. “Why don't we sit, watch the movie for a bit. Then we'll explain everything, doll." Billy says. 

His answer unnerves you, brown eyes bright with some desire. You're positive that if you were to turn to Stu, his eyes would shine the same way. Any doubts would've vanished when you nod and Stu takes the opportunity to press you into your mattress, claiming his own welcome kiss. He towers over you, craning his neck to slide his lips over yours and swallow your tongue. His hips shoot forward and you jolt at the hardness at your hip. Stu isn't difficult to rile up with his hair trigger libido, but this progression is suspicious. He's already making those soft, wrecked noises that preface a messy orgasm. You can't help wondering what got him so far so quickly.

Billy's hand travels between the two of you, running the pads of his fingers over your flimsy tank top to pinch and twist your stiffened buds, smirking when Stu swallows the precious noise you make. When his hips start to chase release, Billy reaches into his boxers to wrap his fingers around his length, circling the base and tightening without remorse. Stu turns teary, blue eyes to Billy who glares at him pointedly. If his thigh hadn't been grinding against your clit, sending sweet jolts up your spine, you would have found it odd that Stuart Macher was willingly sacrificing an orgasm.

Lucky for them, you're busy pressing your thighs together, an action both watch with expressions that would have scared you if you could see them. Billy helps get you under the covers and arousal floods your veins and brain, begging for the return of Stu's lips or Billy's hand. It makes it harder to think, let alone worry that something fishy is going on. You're more than a little annoyed when they then insist you watch the movie, but you're pleased when you don't recognize it.

They make eye contact over your head as you reluctantly become engrossed. When the killing finally starts, Billy pulls you into his lap and Stu wraps around the two of you while you’re engrossed in actions of a seemingly sophisticated killer. You start to feel bad for one of the girls, one of the many unfortunate ones unable to escape the ruthless killer, being chased around her house. You shift nervously as she attempts to escape, blocked by the man intent on toying with her. Billy's fingers crawl to your thighs, inching towards the hem of your pajama shorts. You frown, swatting his hand away. "Start explaining," You say bluntly. 

You take a lot these two throw at you in stride, but you don't play along without answers. Billy pushes up your shorts, groaning into your ear when his fingers find your soaked entrance. You shudder as his fingers work your clit gently. "We had a great night, right Stu?" He asks, ghosting his middle finger over your clit.

It pulses under his touch, heat surging through your veins. Stu laughs, breath ghosting your collarbone. He watches the other's fingers dance between your legs, grin pressed into your shoulder. “It was a helluva night, babe. Reminded us of you." 

You shudder at the malice in his voice, the vindictive musings of a coldblooded killer. It's easy to forget because of his friendly and goofy demeanor, how much pleasure he takes in what they do. With his easy-going attitude, it's tempting to think of him as led astray by Billy's iron will. You know the truth. Stu enjoys killing as much as Billy does, proof of that was gyrating against you moments ago. You're not sure how you factor into this and your heart thuds in your chest, part arousal and fear. "H-How?" You stammer, intrigued. 

Billy grabs your chin and tilts your head towards them. Wide eyes move between them, feeling flayed by their heavy, lidded gazes. On screen, the girl screams and begs the killer for mercy. Billy grins. It's a sadists' smile that sits perfectly on his handsome face. You swallow and try to ignore that they've been on the receiving end of those pleas before. Stu pulls at your shorts and before you can think about lifting your hips, he's yanking your legs open to get them off of you. "Jesus, Stu, chill out!" 

He doesn't respond, cupping your pussy with his large hand. His silence is unnerving, since he usually can't resist running his mouth. It feels deliberate. “Look." Billy orders, distracting you. 

He lets Stu's hand replace his and directs your attention to the movie again. He's much less subtle, flicking and pinching your clit and watching your body jerk with dark eyes. You bite back a whimper, eyes fluttering to try and watch the screen. Another woman is tied up on screen, lying prostrate on a table in her kitchen. You think this is the final girl so you wonder how she's going to escape when she's so thoroughly bound. You hear Billy's breathing pick up.

Pressed against him like this, his dick rests against the crest of your ass. He shifts you on top of his throbbing length, relishing your warmth and the way you've begun to drip onto his pants. Stu slows, the only hint that he's also interested in what's playing. The killer approaches and your eyes widen at the way he grabs at her, wide gloved hand manhandling her body. “They're about to create a convenient excuse for her to get away pretty soon. No one could escape ropes like that. Stu and I tried it tonight." 

You try to look at one of them, startled by the blunt statement. Billy doesn't loosen his grip. "She was a shitty stand in. Serves us right for trying to replace you. We can’t stop thinking about it. The way you'd scream, what sort of noises you'd make. Maybe scare you enough that you try to run. We could pretend to let you go, to hunt you down in your own house. You could beg us to leave you alone, but words wouldn't be enough. You'd offer us your body, convince us that you're worth more alive. Though after we were through using you, you might regret it." 

Stu resumes rubbing at your clit, clever fingers reducing you to mush. Two pairs of eyes burn through you as they gauge your reaction. He slows, waiting to hear your response. This is what they've been discussing, the idea of hunting you like one of their victims. Billy's heart thuds, impressing the rhythm of it in your back. "What do you think, angel? That sound like something you'd like?" 

Their expressions are imploring, a set of puppy dog eyes desperately begging you to say yes. You bite your lip, eyes darting to where the woman has escaped, starting a chase sequence. You gulp when the killer slams her against the wall, hands cupping her chin and throat to squeeze the life from her. You imagine them terrorizing you, breaking into your house and overpowering you. You nod, once. "I-Yeah, okay." The smile they give you is predatory.

。 ・゜♡ ゜・。. ⌒♡ ☆ 。 ・゜♡ ゜・。.

They're surprisingly communicative about the whole thing. The discussion goes on for way too long in your opinion, especially when they gleefully take advantage of hearing every secret desire you’ve had about them. They don’t contribute much, only elaborating on topics you’ve already suggested. It’s endearing, their determination to make you feel safe and comfortable. They succeed. You feel better about the whole thing and after opting for the basic color system and gestures, they've quelled your doubts. 

It was only a matter of when. Waiting for the night. Billy and Stu are capable of excessive patience. As the weeks turn into months, you forget that. Three months later, you don’t find it weird when they decline an invitation to a party and suggest you go with some friends you haven’t seen in a while. You assume they’ll be busy and like always, choose not to think about it. 

。 ・゜♡ ゜・。. ⌒♡ ☆ 。 ・゜♡ ゜・。.

Later that night, you wave off the concerns of your friends as they shout at you from the car. Despite the time, neither of your roommates are home. You spotted one of them at one of the bars making out with a girl, so you know she won’t be returning. "I'll be fine! I-I'm just gonna head to bed and sleep this shit off," you shout, then wince. 

There's no need to worry about waking your roommates, but the rest of the block is still an option. You tug off your shoes and toss them on the rack, humming one of the songs you heard repeatedly at one of the clubs.  Any attempt to dance along to your soundtrack is derailed by the way the room spins. You take off your earrings and rings, fiddling with your necklace when your phone goes off.

Who the hell is calling you at nearly four in the morning? "

'lo? " You slur, grabbing your skin care products and tucking the phone into your shoulder.

Even cross faded, you weren't sleeping with all the makeup and glitter you had on. You're positive someone spilled their drink on you, more than once, but you're too lit for a shower. You feel good, better than good. You wish Billy and Stu were there to satiate the arousal that’s been bubbling ever since you started partying. Once you got weed or liquor in your system, it enabled every single one of your inhibitions. Both were a dangerous combination. "Hello. I was wondering if you could help me." A deep timbre intoned from the line. 

You furrow your eyebrows. "Help? What kinda help ya need at f-four o' fucking clock? Who-who is this?" 

A low whistle and a chuckle. "You've got a dirty mouth, girl." 

If you'd been thinking straight, you would've caught on a lot sooner. Though after a night of your friends supplying you with multiple shots and blunts, you're allowed to be slow on the uptake. It had been a while and without Billy and Stu, you got fucked up, accepting whatever was handed to you. “Sorry, didn't realize I was talkin' to the Pope! Did Isabelle give you my number? Because I fucking told her not to, so sorry to get your hopes up, but I'm not interested. Again!" 

The person is quiet for a second before sucking their teeth. "Not interested? You got a boyfriend?"

You sigh. "Yes, two of them actually. I'm already annoyed I'm talking to you, trying to screw me, when I should be getting screwed. Goodbye, please lose my number, weirdo.”

Before you can hang up, they ask coldly. "Why do you think I'm trying to screw you?" 

You laugh. “Seemed like it and I'm not interested, so good-bye."

"Do not hang up on me, ___."

You pause. Hearing the unfamiliar voice say your name is unsettling. You rack your brain, trying to remember if the guy at the club even got a chance to ask for your name. You doubt it, you shut it down quickly. Your friend could have told him, but you're starting to doubt it's him at all. After running through all possible suspects, you grin, feeling foolish for believing their excuse about a test on Monday. Your inebriated state is a well of confidence, something that's been diminishing the longer this took. "Or what?" You ask quietly.

Billy or Stu, you can't tell, chuckles. "Are you a smart girl ___?"

"Yep! 'Prolly not right now though." You giggle.

"Yeah? Why's that?" 

His voice sends a shiver down your spine. You lick your lips, sitting on your bed. "Cuz'm talking to you, which isn't a good idea." 

"Aww, why not?”

You're so ready for anything that the conversation alone has stirred a simmering arousal between your legs. You slide your hand over your stomach, fingers tracing your belly button over your dress. "Cuz I’m drunk and high and really turned on right now." 

He pauses. You giggle under your breath at how you manage to catch them off guard. There's no reason to play helpless. "That isn't very smart."

"That's what I just said."

"Don't get fresh with me, slut." 

A flush works its way up your neck and face. You squeeze your thighs together. "Don't fucking call me that, asshole!” 

He laughs. You’re shocked by the venom in his next words. "Watch your mouth, bitch. You think I can’t tell what you're doing? Touching yourself, panting for a stranger like a desperate, fucking whore."

Your head spins, hand stopping from where it was trailing over your thighs. You can't think of anything to say for a moment. “How-" 

"How do I know you're two seconds from rubbing your pathetic little pussy? Because I can always tell when one of you is just a dirty little girl, dying to satisfy her empty holes."

You whine and he laughs cruelly. "Poor ___. Where are your boyfriends? They're missing out on your adorable little noises. If I was your boyfriend, I'd keep you stuffed 24/7." 

You're two seconds away from just begging them to fuck you already. You're soaked to your thighs. You rub your them together and the cold voice breaks you out of your thoughts. “Stop, right now."

"I can't. I-It feels too good. I-I-" 

It's been a while since they've touched you, building anticipation perhaps, and the little friction and intoxication has your orgasm fast approaching. "If you don't stop-"

You're a little ashamed that his fury, the indignant tone that promises punishment, pushes you over the edge. You gasp into the phone, hips circling as your orgasm fades. It's weak, a ghost of what the two often do to you, but it’s enough. Warm all over and brain flooded with endorphins, it takes you far too long to notice the silence on the other side of the phone. "Hello?" You call, stomach sinking.

Nothing. 

Your heartbeat ratchets up and you sit up. The line is dead, you realize with rising trepidation. It only grows when you hear something crash in the living room. Now that you're thinking straight, that was an stupid idea. You can only hope that it wasn't Billy who ordered you to stop because if it was, you were well and truly fucked. You know you're not getting off easy, but he's particularly merciless when you act out. "Shit!” You hiss under your breath. 

Another bang has you venturing out of your room, peaking around the hallway. Your heart drops at the sight of your front door slightly ajar when you certainly locked it on your way in. Fear, anticipation and lust swirls in your blood. With the permission you’ve given to them, they could do anything to you and you’re aware of how far their creativity goes.

A thrill runs through you. Should you close the door? Realistically, you'd be out it the second you got a chance. This whole thing is about catching you trying your best to get away. With that in mind, you grab the door knob only for the door to be slammed into the wall by a figure cloaked in black. You gape at the sight of a white mask before a burst of adrenaline sends you running. You scream when a gloved hand fists in your hair, sharp pain shooting through your scalp. You're not even thinking when his other hand comes to grab your face, sans glove, and you bite down hard. You think you taste blood, but don't bother making sure. 

Billy and Stu had scoffed when you insisted they promise to use the safe words and you wonder if they're regretting that now. You were going to regret biting, that's for sure. You shout triumphantly when you get to the back door, yanking it open. The closet behind you slams open and you scream, tripping over the doorway to get outside. You're not expecting one of them to already be there, leaping from the shadows to tackle you. Who the fuck moves that fast?

Your heart slams against your rib cage as you slap and punch a broad chest, biting back the instinct to scream at having someone pin you down this roughly. You can't stop the loud gasp when he slaps you, open palm against your cheek. “Don't fucking move,” He hisses. 

Your ears are ringing, chest heaving with labored breaths as your head spins. It's too much, you feel like you're going to pass out with how fast your heart is racing. You couldn't hear well enough to identify who's on top of you so you just stare into the holes of the mask. He doesn't say anything else, pulling you roughly to your feet. He manhandles you inside where the other is waiting, the one you bit. "Get on your knees." He says. 

Oh fuck. It's Billy. Jesus Christ, you bit Billy. 

You take a deep breath. "Make me."

Even if he wasn't who you spoke to on the phone, taking it that far means he's liable to take it further. You may as well dig your heels in and brat to the fullest. Go big or go home. Billy loves brat taming. The thought only makes you hotter. He has a heavy hand, unforgiving and delving out brutal punishments, sometimes with Stu as his proxy. He's just as eager to please as you. Completely surrendering to his control blocks out your loud mind. It’s easy when he dominates you without question. Like now. 

In two swift strides, he's standing in front of you. His bloody hand grabs your face, smearing evidence of what you did onto your skin. The other forces a knife between your lips, serrated edge digging into plush lips. Knowing that it's him holding you like this doesn't ease your terror. People on the other end of this knife have died. The thought raises conflicting emotions within you. Well, not this knife, you insisted on that. You drop to your knees before he can repeat himself. You wince as you hit the floor, keeping an eye on the knife. "What a disobedient, slut. You cum when I tell you to stop and not to mention this!” 

You close your eyes as his words wash over you. Billy on the phone too. Bad fucking luck. Or good, depending on your point of view. "That's gonna stop. Do what we say or you're going to get very familiar with this." 

He presses it further, ignoring your flinch. The sting is barely noticeable with how turned on you are. You're uncomfortably wet, panties clinging to your dripping folds. You want to touch yourself and regret not doing so before. Because there's no way you'll be coming soon. "Understood?"

You nod. Another gloved palm to the face has you blinking back tears. "Not so chatty anymore? Verbal answers. Yes sir, please sir, thank you sir. Or should I carve it into you?"

"No Sir, I-I understand. Please, don't hurt me." 

He tilts his head and Stu comes to stand behind you. He grabs your shoulder, his other hand trailing over your body. “Christ, you really dress the part. Ass and tits on display. Don't you have any self respect?” He snickers, like a schoolhouse bully.

The dress is short and tight. You sent pictures of it to them before you went out. You fill it out spectacularly, plush curves of tits, ass, and hips. Eyes had certainly followed you while you were out tonight. Stu takes advantage of his position behind you to grab fistfuls of your body, forcefully and demanding. Greedy, expansive fingers grope handfuls of your curves. He shoves at your spine and you collapse into an arch, flushing when he lifts your ass towards him. You try to lift your head and he pushes it back down, cheek to the carpet. "Don't. Move." He orders. 

"Yes sir."

You watch Billy's boots walk in your line of sight. “There’s only one way to make our point stick," he sighs.

“W-What are you gonna do to me?” You ask, resisting the urge to look at him. 

You’re not being coy. The two hadn’t clued you in to much during their planning, obviously. “Whatever we want,” Billy hisses, dragging his knife along the curve of your spine. 

“Oh, she likes that!” Stu laughs, taking note of how your pussy clenches at his words.

Before you can respond, his wide hand comes down on your ass. Loud thwacks fill the room, relentless and without pause. With every sharp slap, you let out a choked gasp, tears blurring your vision. He spanks you with an open palm, over and over again until you lose count.  A strong hand grips your cheek and tilts your head. Behind his mask, Billy gazes at you. Not being able to see his eyes makes you want to turn away or close yours. Any desire you may have had left to act out is being steadily struck out of you by Stu's quick, harsh strikes. You’re delirious with the pain and pleasure. His hand slaps against the meat of your ass, low enough to catch on your labia. With the way you’re exposed and the knowledge that Stu's eyes are glued to your opening, you feel like you're about to burst into flames.

Of course, he would never miss the opportunity to comment. "Man, you're nothing more than a neglected fuck toy. We know what happens to whores like you when you go too long without a hard fucking." He leans in, only pausing for a moment. "Your cunt is begging to be filled. Poor thing, you’re in heat. Pretty dumb of you to act like you're not aching for it. I guess it’s worth it to see your cute ass on fire."

You can't speak, can barely see through the tears running freely down your cheeks. You want him to fuck you already. He's right about you being desperate for it, for anything. “Anything, doll?” Billy asks. "This is all it takes to get you to let us fuck you, hm? What would your little boyfriends think?" 

You would try to muster some sort of denial, but seeing as how you hadn't meant to speak aloud, your brain is reaching its breaking point. "Well, we'll give it to you. It's just a matter of what you can take. He thinks you'll give out after this round. I say you make it to the end." There's a brush of steel against your collarbone. “He’s got to be in forties by now. You’re gonna be good, right? That's the only way you'll get anything."

You start to nod vigorously, stopping abruptly to stutter out. "Y yessir!"

Billy's grin is manic behind his mask, entire body taut with anticipation. You look unbelievable. He’s been eager to get your lips around his cock ever since you answered the phone. "Good." He purrs, unbuckling his pants.

The sound sends a rush of slick dribbling down your thighs. Stu drags your panties down your ankles, whistling. “Look at that."

The wet noise they make when they hit the floor is, frankly, humbling. "You are a perfect, little, fuck toy. So wet, is that from cumming or getting your backside tanned?" 

Now that you've got a moment to catch a breath, their words hit home. The humiliation only increases the curl of arousal in your gut while your clit throbs incessantly, pleading for touch. You whine at the reminder of your behavior. So, still no chance of cumming yet.

Stu is salivating behind his mask, lips wet from the number of times he's ran his tongue over them. His eyes devour the sight of you, skin glistening with sweat, the sinful arch of your back and feast of your pussy. The heat of your skin burns against his after his treatment. You're the sexiest thing he's seen. "My hands are soaked and I didn't even touch you."

He’s not exaggerating, even grazing your pussy has his fingers coated in slick. Billy finally tugs his belt off and Stu crams his fingers into his mouth, licking the taste of you with a muffled groan. Billy tilts his mask, likely glaring at him, belt stretched out. He shrugs, grabbing it. “You enjoyed this too much for it to be a punishment. I think ten more with the belt will help the message about who’s in charge sink in.”

Billy taps on your cheek twice for confirmation. You look into the empty holes of his mask, inhale slowly and let the feeling of leather ground you. The pain has blended smoothly with the heady arousal cooking your brain. You tilt your head, open your mouth and curl your tongue around the gloved digits, sighing at the taste. Billy practically pries your mouth open with them. Your heart thuds, breath catching when he pulls out his hard cock. It’s flushed bright red at the tip, precum spurting generously down throbbing veins. No amount of acting can cover how affected he is. Stu's likely the same. You swallow a groan. He bullies his way into your mouth, hips jerking deeper into your mouth when you moan. "That's it. Let us hear how needy you are for it." 

Stu takes the moment to strike, once onto the thickest swell of your ass. You cry out, noise muffled as Billy guides you further down his cock. “Count them. Now." 

He cuts off your protest with a mean thrust, slow and forceful, laughing when you choke. “Keep whining and I'll give you something to cry about." 

Stinging pain explodes on your thighs, courtesy of two swift strikes between your legs. You feel foolish, choking out yelps while tonguing at his cock, swallowing the taste. His hand fists in your hair. “You still know how to make it good, huh? Guess your boyfriends trained you well."

You narrow your eyes at him for a second and he tilts his head before cupping the other side of yours, the only warning before he pushes his length down your throat. He holds you, gagging on his cock with drool spilling out the sides of your mouth. You blink back panic at not being able to breathe and let out a rush of air through your nose. "See! "Billy says, jerking you around like a rag doll. "W-what'd I-fuck, say? Perfect, pretty cock warmer. I hope your cunt is this t-tight." 

Stu kicks your legs apart, delivering a final strike directly onto your clit, gentler than the rest but not by much. You scream something that sounds like ten, tears rolling down your cheeks as your legs shake. Billy's emphatic, “Good girl. Good fucking girl,” rings in your mind.

He pulls out of your mouth, caressing your face and wiping tear tracks as you gasp. "I know that was hard. Just let us have you, you won't have to think about anything else, okay?" 

You nod, leaning into his touch. You open your mouth to respond and gloved fingers stop you. His touch is much more gentle, more your Billy. "You wanna feel good?" 

You nod, whimpering. Your throat feels raw, just like your backside. "P-please."

"You got it, doll.”

A rustle of cloth behind you and two warm hands on your hips signal Stu's approach. When you feel his breath ghost against your lips, you murmur, "Thank you, thank you."

Billy nods and his tongue glides through the mess on your thighs, groaning into your skin. You sob when he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue sliding over it, grateful to finally have some stimulation. Your blood sings with relief and if it weren't for Stu's hands on your hips and Billy cupping your head, you'd have collapsed into a trembling heap. You're chanting something, but you're laser focused on the way his long, skillful tongue presses against your swollen bud. The movement sets your nerves on fire, careening towards euphoria. Stu and Billy listen, fascinated, as you thank them for every ounce of pleasure.

Stu is so hard his balls ache. He wants you to come, with his tongue stuffed inside you preferably so he can feel it. He wiggles the appendage against your clit one last time before tonguing at your opening. Your mantra increases in volume, so loud you're almost shouting. He could come like this. He palms himself with one hand, pushing his tongue inside you, lips gratefully pulling more of your taste into his mouth. You squeeze around him, he can feel the curves and ridges of your cunt with his tongue as you soak his face. Billy wanted you to pay for your little stunt, but your pleas have softened him. “You wanna cum?" He asks. 

You look at him, eyes wide and imploring. Fuck, you were adorable. "I-If you think I should."

Stu groans between your legs. Billy's hand reaches into your dress, tweaking your neglected nipples. "Good. Pay attention to what happens when you let us use this gorgeous body."

He signals to Stu who stops and you whine, despondent. He moves away, reluctantly if his speed is any indication. Billy shushes your rambling pleas, pulling you up and seating you against the Stu's chest, whose fingers immediately begin rubbing at your puffy lips. You screw your face tight and Billy tuts; Stu stops. “Open your eyes, doll. Look forward." 

You blink your eyes open and make contact with your own lidded gaze. A full length mirror sits against the wall, clearly placed by them. “If you're gonna come, for the second time tonight, we all get to watch."

Your eyes dart along your body, dress bunched up at the waist, makeup smeared and mixed with blood and legs hooked around Stu's, spread so that your pussy is in full view. You try not to close your eyes or legs, embarrassed. As if intuiting the path of your thoughts, Billy cups your chin. “If you want to cum, you'll have to show us what a horny slut you are. Close your eyes and you lose it, understand?"

You nod, glancing at their reflections, cloaked figures hovering over you possessively. Stu’s put his mask back on, but his hands are bare, slender fingers resting on your mound. It's not hard to watch those fingers creep towards your hole, gathering wetness to slick up your clit. You bite your lips, chest heaving as he flicks and pinches the nub until you're panting. He stops and spreads your lips and you watch him sink his middle finger into your hole. Billy crouches beside you, running his fingers over your clit. "How is she?" He asks Stu. "Warm?"

You flush when he answers, "Tight," in a strained voice.

"Perfect. What a cute, fat pussy. No wonder he was dying to keep his mouth on it." Billy growls. 

He raises his knife, dragging it down your neck and into your dress, slicing the fabric without a second thought. He palms your breasts, relishing in the weight of them in his hands. "Such great tits. We really lucked out with you."

Skilled fingers strum your body and Stu pushes in another finger, scissoring you open. He curls them, digging deep into you in search of your sweet spot. Your hips jerk when he finally finds it. Warmth licks its way up your spine, eyes dangerously close to shutting as Billy swirls his fingers over your clit. Your moans echo so loudly in the room, you wonder if your neighbors can hear the wounded, pathetic noises you’re making. You whimper, eyes glued to where Stu's fingers pound into you, slick sounds and visual pushing you closer. "I-I'm gonna, fuck, you're gonna make me cum. P-Please d-don't stop, please, plea-"

"You better not." Billy hisses, to your dismay. "You wait until we say you can." 

He doesn't stop stroking you and you try to pull your hips back, stave off the orgasm about to explode in you, buzzing right under your skin. Stu, the bastard, forces your hips into Billy's hand and slides a third finger into you. "Please, please, please, let me cum. I'll be good, so good."

"Yeah? You’re gonna be our good girl. Go ahead, cum right now or we’ll stop.” 

You do, back arched with the force of your orgasm. Their free hands are pressed to one of your thighs, keeping them spread. "Fuck,” Stu murmurs “Our pretty little slut, squeezing my fingers so damn tight. I'm dying to fuck you. You're gonna let me into this pretty little pussy and I’ll stretch it out with my cock ‘til you cry."

You nod eagerly. "Please, please fuck me. Get your cock lost in my pussy, I'm so fucking wet, I need it, Sir, please." 

It’s silent for a beat.

If your brain wasn't goo, you'd be smug at the way your words have rendered them speechless. Stu slowly pulls out of you and cuts off your mewl by flipping you onto your back. He blankets your entire body with his costume draped over the two of you. He pulls out his cock, tip flushed worse than Billy’s, soaked in precum. From the pushy way he spreads your legs and the impatient way he jerks his cock, he's not gonna last very long. He slides into you with a raspy whine, burying his face in your neck when you tighten around his cock, thick hardness breaching you with a restraint that makes his entire body shake. Even with three fingers, Stu is proportionate, eight glorious, veiny inches, with a decent girth. You're soaking him, easing the way for him to shove his cock deeper, but it’s a snug fit. "Fuck." He breathes. "You're so tight, tryna' swallow m-my di-dick!"

His body is wracked with tremors. His cock pulses inside you, spearing you open with a delicious sting as he starts to fucks into you too fast. His hips slap against yours wildly. Pawing at your clit, he twists the abused bundle. Carpet scratches your back with every violent thrust of Stu's hips, as he drills into you with mindless efficiency. He pounds you, pummeling your poor spongy walls until you're sobbing. You throw your head back, burying your face into your elbow. "Please, please, oh God, I'm g'na cum." 

Billy tilts your head towards Stu's mask.

“Yeah? You gonna cum all over his cock? That's all you're good for, taking and creaming on cock. You don't have to do anything else, we’ll take good care of you." 

His hand moves to your throat while the other fists his leaking cock. You spread your lips and mouth at the tip, tongue dragging across the slit. They both swear. "You're so eager to be our little cock pocket, huh?" Stu moans. “Shit, I’m close.”

Billy doesn't press any further into your mouth, but watching you swallow around what he gives you is exhilarating. He strokes himself with patience he doesn't feel. He doesn't want to come before delivering on everything they promised. Stu's mask does nothing to muffle his pathetic moans as he loses himself in your sinful heat and the way your greedy hole takes every inch. He cums, groaning as his cock comes back wetter and filthier than before. He rides out his orgasm, thrusting into you until he's empty, smearing release over your lips when he slaps his tip against your clit. "Go on.” Billy orders. "Give her something to cum on."

Stu buries himself inside you, clearly overstimulated as you tighten around him. The kiss of his cock to your cervix and his sloppy manipulation of your clit has you reeling. You shout and Stu whines as you use his cock to cum, hips slapping against his. He rips out of you and Billy takes his place, sheathing himself inside you with a single thrust. "Fuck, you're so cute spaced out like this," he breathes.

His thrusts are brutal, a punishing pace that has your ass throbbing. He pauses for a moment and a rustle of fabric has you blinking back into focus. Your heart swells at the sight of dark, brown eyes. "That's it, doll."

His hips pick up tempo, thick cock stretching you further. It has an intimidating girth, thicker than Stu's, with a fat head that brutalizes your gummy walls. You fight to keep your eyes open, taking advantage of being able to finally see one of them. His hair sticks to his face, eyes consuming the image you make. You grab at his shoulders, digging acrylic nails into his back. You're not expecting the orgasm that wrecks your body, eyes rolling into your head. He moans into your hair before pulling out and snapping his hips back into you. Sneering, he grabs your cheeks. "Did you just come before me?” He tuts. “Greedy little whore. I'm gonna give this pussy what it's begging for." 

He pushes Stu's cum back into you, wet squelches ringing out loud, mixed with your moans and his pants. He presses his forehead against yours, eyes half-lidded with pleasure. He’s drunk on the way you’re wrapped around him, forcing his hips towards you on instinct. “I'm gonna fill you up. You're nothing but our cum dump." 

He’s not expecting you to nod the affirmative and wrap trembling legs around his waist. He stares down at you with wide eyes as you moan, "Fill me up, breed me, want your cum.” 

"Oh, fuck, baby," He groans, at his limit, roughly nudging your clit.

Luckily, that's all it takes and while you gasp and shake around him, he shoots inside you, pelvis pressed to yours. “Yeah, take it. Fuck, you're perfect. Only we can fucking do this to you, princess, remember that.”

That is the last thing you recall before you pass out.

。 ・゜♡ ゜・。. ⌒♡ ☆ 。 ・゜♡ ゜・。. 

You wake to firm hands massaging your arms and legs. You blink open your eyes and groan pathetically. Your entire body is on fire. You try to withdraw your limbs from reach, wanting nothing more than to huddle into a ball. “Hey, don’t move too much.” Billy orders from beside you. “Stu’s running your bath. After you’re clean, we’ll get you into bed. How are you feeling?”

Your little fainting spell must’ve worried them because his eyes dart over your face in search of signs of pain. “Very sore, a bath is the perfect call.” 

Without another word, he picks you up and carries you into the steamy bathroom. Stu smiles brightly, rushing forward to help get you in the bath. You sigh as your body sinks in the nearly scalding water, just how you like it. They lean against the tub, watching you as you enjoy the loosening of your muscles. You giggle as you watch them put on one of your exfoliating gloves. They squeeze body wash into them and begin scrubbing your body gently. They even wash your face and it warms your heart that they go through the trouble of adhering to your routine, products lined up on the counter with exaggerated eye rolls. When they're done, they help you stand and turn on the shower, rinsing you off before draining the tub. Stu wraps you in a warm towel and you bury your face into it. “Wow, you thought of everything.” 

You try to sound teasing, but you can’t hide how touched you are by it. “Nothing, but the best for you, babe!” Stu says, kissing your forehead. 

They sit you on your bed, massaging warm body oil into your skin. You groan, feeling pleasantly relaxed. “You were amazing tonight, sweetheart. Our sweet little victim,” Billy says when he’s done with your feet. “Thank you.”

Stu rubs your shoulders, nodding. “Yeah, really gave us a run for our money!”

You blush. “It wasn’t too much or corny?”

“No way! You should join the drama club!”

“Fuck no, you did great. We’re proud of you.”

You smile and let them finish getting you ready for bed. They practically tuck you in, sliding in on either side of you. You fall asleep amongst a tangle of limbs, barely registering the press of their lips to your forehead and shoulder or their soft caresses. 

#billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #slasher x reader #ghostface x reader #billy loomis x reader x stu macher #black!reader #black reader insert #reader insert #stu macher fic #billy loomis fic #mine.txt #billy loomis smut #stu macher smut #y'all this was a doozy...feedback welcome bc i blacked out halfway through the smut and gave up at the end #this thing has been in my drafts for over a year i think #did i do it justice... #y'all should see the moodboard for this fic...just nasty #side note: they totally kill isabelle after this #attn mobile users: is the font obnoxious lmao #fic.txt

[plistommy]

I need him to fuck Steve so badly right now

#Went to watch Billy scenepacks for fun and shit hoe got me all hot and bothered now #He’s so nasty I hate him BUT SO HOT #Rat boy #billy hargrove #harringrove #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things 3 #flayed billy

[ickypuppi3]

steve being overly tactile with billy when they become friends. slinging an arm around billy’s shoulder’s while they’re watching a movie. putting his hands on billy’s waist to move past him. tucking billy’s hair behind his ear to look at his earring. slipping a finger through the loop of billy’s jeans to tug him closer. grabbing billy’s chin to tilt his head because oh, you have freckles..

steve telling himself that sure he touches billy a lot but. he’s always been a touchy guy. it doesn’t mean anything.

steve not accepting that he has a crush on billy and that’s the reason he can’t keep his hands to himself.

because obviously steve isn’t a queer.

as if.

billy being simultaneously overwhelmed with and loving all the attention. because it’s steve. steve pressing his face into billy’s neck when they’re high. pulling billy’s hand close to play with his ring. running his hand over billy’s stomach when they pass out in the same bed and he thinks billy’s still asleep. tracing circles around billy’s ankle as he listens to billy read.

because it’s steve. steve who billy’s had a thing for since he arrived in hawkins. steve who can’t like billy like that. steve who isn’t like billy. steve who likes girls.

steve who called byers a queer.

billy wondering if this is just what it’s like to have a friend. a best friend. if this is just what you do. because billy doesn’t know. wouldn’t know. no one’s ever gotten close enough. billy thinking it’s all in his head. that he’s twisting his and steve’s relationship. making it into something it’s not.

steve staring at billy’s lips and wondering what it’d be like to touch them. billy wondering if steve’s gonna break his heart without even trying.

#thinking about how steve’s hands automatically went for the waist during the fight #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #internalised homophobia steve is literally so real to me you don’t even understand #just hits different idk #he’s not even being nasty this time not intentionally anyway he’s just repressed as hell #anyway #they are in LOVE goddammit #and billy is so touch starved #the lack of communication is insane #like #sort it out #my words #cw internalized homophobia #i don’t know where this came from #that’s a lie i was absolutely thinking about joe’s hands sorry #ickyspeaks

[half-oz-eddie]

Billy's on top of him, and he's sweating like crazy. Steve can feel Billy's cock rubbing against his as he moves to the rhythm of the song.

"Wanna take me to the bedroom, pretty boy?" Billy asks, seductively biting his lip when he feels Steve's hands gripping his sides.

"Uh-huh." Steve nods, grinding up against Billy, uncertain if he can even make it upstairs. "I think—I think I want you right here."

Billy chuckles and leans into his ear. "Not a chance in hell."

Steve groans disappointedly, his hands sliding down to grasp Billy's ass cheeks. The urge to tear his briefs off nearly taking over him.

Steve stands, lifting Billy and rushing to the bedroom, nearly falling up the stairs like a dumbass, eager to get him onto the bed and fuck him until they both pass out.

#i saw everyone posting something nasty #so i'm pulling some random thing out the drafts #just doing my part. happy new year #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #ivy.doc

[bigdumbbambieyes]

n s f w

“Get the fuck outta here!”

Steve can hear Max’s shouting after she slams the bedroom door shut, muffled words of ‘so fucking gross’ and ‘lock your door’ reaching his ears as he looks up at Billy who’s hovering over him, still staring at the door with a twisted look of anger on his face.

And Steve’s trying to catch his breath, his lips parted so the soft pants for air are quiet and the little moans filtering through are just for Billy to hear. Up until five seconds ago, he’d been inches away from cumming all over himself, and the desperation is making him a little itchy.

“Nosy little shit,” Billy mutters in that tone older siblings have, soft and disappointed and annoyed, his head shaking along with it as he focuses on Steve again - except his expression softens a little and he gently smirks down at him, “That’ll teach her, hm?”

Teach her to knock, yeah. “Sure,” Steve whispers around a dry mouth, because he’s kinda gone dumb from the way Billy’s cock is stretching him out and the aching of his own dick, heavy and wet against his lower stomach.

Billy fucks into him again, a short and sharp little thrust that almost makes him go cross-eyed, and the blond chuckles, “Now where were we, sweetheart?”

Steve stops thinking the second he feels Billy’s hand on his dick again.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #short and nasty??? #kdnfkfn #lemon #bambiwrites #kinda want to expand on this one but i think this will do for now

[harringroveera]

And Billy is exactly Steve’s type

#harringrove #that’s also billy’s type #just two damaged people in love #they fuck nasty #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #billy hargrove x steve harrington #incorrect harringrove quotes #harringroveera #incorrect billy hargrove quotes #harringrove meme #harringrove textpost #harringrove edit #harringrove memes #harringrove + text post #steve x billy #steve harrington x billy hargrove #steve harrington meme #billy hargrove text post #incorrect steve harrington

[noisy-v]

Okay i'mma post it again, please algorithm don't make it fail 🥺

Piggy!🐷🐖..it's me.🌚😜😚It's Billy! 🩸🔪😶‍🌫️👁️

#slasher #slasher fandom #slasher movies #black christmas #black christmas 1974 #billy lenz #black christmas billy #billy #slasher fanart #horror #my nasty boy #a bit deranged #but a boy nonetheless

[revasserium]

I'm sending a Leon request with a prompt that has tickled the back of my mind ever since I read it on list of gesture prompts. I know you can find a way to make this magic:

possessive hand-holding

ikemen reqs r open u__u thank u @violettduchess i hope u like this... mess LOL

these hands, like gods

leon; 1,059 words; so very nearly nsfw... but not rly... oh yeah, and i simp shakespeare in case yall didnt know...

it always comes back to shakespeare, the damnable bard, a poet to end all poets — a storyteller, a truth-seeker, a dream-spinner; leon used to have to try to stay awake with a book propped in his lap. and now, he wishes his dreams could be half as breathless as all his momentary realities.

“so… they both die at the end?”

you laugh, pressing a finger to his lips; he catches it in his own hand, skimming a kiss by your wrist.

“shh… spoilers!”

leon blinks, still chasing shivers up the length of your arm, kissing you till you’re breathless and his lips are at the base of your throat.

“i thought it was a classic — doesn’t everyone know how it ends already?”

you crinkle your nose, and he kisses that too.

“you didn’t, and it says so in the opening paragraph!” and though there’s nothing accusatory in your tone, he still cocks his head and smirks.

“i do now — and what can i say? i’m hooked,” he says, his voice a bone-deep rumble as it works up through his chest into yours, “you should take responsibility.”

“f-for what? making you more cultured?”

leon scoffs then, propping himself up on an elbow as he lays next to you, the pair of you for once blessedly alone in your chambers, the now-finished play about star-crossed lovers lying face down on the sheets next to you. languidly, almost lazily, he draws his hand up over your arm, tracing an absent finger along the ridge of your collarbones.

“hmmm… i don’t know if cultured is the right word for it,” he muses, and for a moment, you’re caught in the sweep of his dark lashes, in the knife-sharp intensity caught behind his eyes, like shards of shattered glass, making fractals of the afternoon light. “more like… creative.”

and his fingers find yours, lacing one through another, curling, pressing, the movement slow and sure and somehow sensual in a way that you never realized that hands could be. but of course — of course they could be. and you love his hands, don’t you? you love the wide and warmth of them, the length of his fingers, the tan of his skin, the quickness and the certainty with which he wields sword and shield both.

you press your palm to his and smile.

“then…” you let your eyes flutter closed as his other hand trails up the back of your neck, fingers twisting in your hair, tugging ever so gently; you swallow, you gasp, you let yourself be pressed into the soft of the silken sheets, “get creative.”

leon hums, and there’s dare buried somewhere deep his throat, curling up like a purr or a growl or something smack in the middle and just as delicious.

“yeah… what was that line you liked so much again?” he asks, grazing his lips along your cheeks, pulling your hand above your head to pin it there.

“a-and palm to palm,” you recite, your breaths coming quick in your chest now, a burning, twisting heat curling up into the soft of your face, making the tips of your ears go hot, “is h-holy palmer’s kiss — ah —”

you bite your lips as leon grazes his teeth along your neck.

“mhm… then let lips do what hands do… right?” he leans back if only to catch your lips in his, the world falling away in the gravity of him and you, the push and pull, the rise and fall of bodies and breaths, and it is chasing and catching and kissing and breathing, and it is letting go too — but never your hands. always, they stay closed, twisted, entwined. even as one kiss breaks into another, and another, the friction of palm on palm never ceases.

they pray… lest faith turns to despair…

“but no despair for you, i think,” leon had said when you’d first read him the passage aloud, admitting that it’s one of your favorites, and you’d blushed like you do, because of course — of course. what else had there been to do?

“and no death for you, either,” you’d chided, because that was always a more pressing concern.

leon had shrugged, grinning as he looks back at the text, tracing his fingers beneath the well-inked lines.

“well… there’s one kind of death i wouldn’t mind…”

you’d frowned, watched him carefully. but his grin had been cat-like, almost leonine.

“a kind of death?”

“yes — ‘la petit mort’ — you know what it means?” and by now, his smile had gone cheshire-wide and it takes you a moment before you’d squawked and tried to bury your face in the nearest soft thing. which had, incidentally, been your hands.

“leon!”

and he’d laughed, breaking over the sound, leaning back, his shoulders shaking, his eyes cast up and closed, the sound of it sweet and warm as honey.

but now, like this, with your hand held in his, pinned over your head, his lips pressed to the pulse of your heart, your throat bared, your mind unwinding and askew as he trails his free hand along the bend of your waist, you can’t help thinking that he’s right.

if there is a kind of death to pray for… it would be this.

no despair for either of us, you think rather defiantly, only pleasure.

you make yourself that promise as you tug leon up for another soul-searing kiss.

and no death but this one kind, you think as he grins against your lips, striking fire inside you as kindling to a flame, setting you ablaze.

“look at me,” he says, his voice gentle, and you do. you look at him, and in him you find everything — everything you had ever searched for, every truth, every poem, every fairy-tale ending. every story that your body had ever wanted to tell.

“kiss me,” you say. and he does.

and as his hand slowly makes it’s way back up the side of your body to tug at the layers still keeping you apart, you let yourself be lost. you curl your fingers around his, feel the heat of his palm against yours.

you close your eyes — and pray.

#leon dompteur #ikemen prince #ikepri #leon dompteur x reader #leon dompteur x you #ikemen series #ikepri x you #ikemen prince scenarios #ikemen prince imagines #leon dompteur imagines #leon dompteur scenarios #floofy floof floof #ya nasties #also for those of u who dont know 'la petit mort' is the french euphemism for like the post-orgasmic haze LOL #and if you haven't read romeo and juliet omfg pls go read it its so good GODDAMN #old billy shakespeare never misses man NEVER #i hope ur happy w urself vi -- i dO NOT think this is what u had in minD BUT HERE WE THE FUCK ARE LOL #also; hello all welcome to my hand kink palace u__u i dont htink many of u know that i love hands but there u are. i love them #i think theyre so pretty. okAY BYE

[mlscreant]

Allergies suck and I'm suffering so he has to aswell 😋 (Billy has allergies trust Bob Clark actually told me‼️/j)

You know he wiped his snot off with his hands or sleeve or something

#nasty ass #billy lenz #black christmas #black christmas 1974 #slashers #art

[ventiswampwater]

billy lenz x text posts

#tis the season for nasty gremlin toxic sludge attic creature #black christmas #black christmas 1974 #billy lenz #vermin.....................radioactive bubonic plague Being #walking around like a franking stein...................... #mine

[ratmeout]

Wreck My Plans (I wish you didn't, but I'm glad you did)

Steve is an expert at saying goodbye. Girls he's slept with can attest to this. His parents never say goodbye when they flee their vacant, lifeless house. At least he has the decency to say so right before he leaves. It's a warning, and it's bittersweet not to be the one who's being left.

But then he came along. Wrecking Steve's carefully laid plans of jumping ship whenever he pleased, letting vessels sink without ever giving them a second thought.

Billy Hargrove didn't just take away his crown, he threw Steve's scripts around and shit on them. Worst of all, Steve wasn't as mad as he ought to have been.

There was an electricity, a magnetic pull, yanking him to the stocky blond. Steve wasn't equipped to walk away, nor did he want to.

They moved abnormally fast, but he'd never felt more stable. He had someone to care for, someone who didn't think he was clingy. Billy enjoyed Steve, not King Steve or the trust fund baby... just Steve.

Steve couldn't sleep when Billy wasn't next to him. He felt safer, yes, but he just felt a lot more relieved when Billy was burrowed into his chest, snoring softly. Safe.

Every moment Billy was with him meant less time at that house. If it were Steve's choice, he'd have Billy move in with him, or better yet leave Hawkins behind for good.

I want to take you away from here.

But it isn't his choice. Billy's had his own stolen from him by too many people. Steve isn't going to add to that list.

So he settles for taking Billy in his arms instead, holds him tighter. Memorizing everything about him, especially the little things.

And when that space is empty, he wonders if one day there will be no Billy to occupy it.

He fears that day will come sooner than either of them expected. For the first time in a long while, Steve's not ready to say goodbye, and it terrifies him.

****

@officialjoekeery

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@whoringrove

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@eddiebillysteve

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#im sorry for this #kinda nasty! steve? #but with a twist #and that twist is billy #harringrove #harringrove fic #angst #billy hargrove #steve x billy #billy x steve #just a little something #so this actually became... more than one fic #but this one can be read on its own #so here goes!! #wreck my plans

[pierrot-fish]

if bob clark was still alive and saw us posting the shit we do i think he’d be extremely concerned for all of us.

#black christmas 1974 #billy lenz #slashers #billy lenz 1974 #y’all nasty #me too honestly

[ickypuppi3]

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #+ words #i feel unwell #and if i said #nasty!steve #what then #alexa play where is my mind