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❛ 𝐈𝐟 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰,𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧? ❜+ {Akashi, Midorima, Aomine, Kise, Murasakibara, Kuroko, Kagami, Teppei, Tatsyua }

+. CWs—» : fluff, comfort, afab-reader ,established relationship,dacryphillia, mature language, explicit smut, nipple-play, oral sex, mild exhibitionism & PDA, mention of alcohol and cigerettes, unprotected sex, branding, spanking (one-time in case of Akashi), use of pet-names, dirty talk, praising, sub-dom dynamics, power-play, mention of daddy kink, mommy kink, indication of sir kink.

+. SYNOPSIS —» : The blast from the past. Nothing could surpass years of longing than reminding each other how maddening love you two shared other than making love to each other. • tap here to view my works.

+. NOTES—» : this is a part of bftd collab hosted by @cyancherub & @chaos-night​ happy reading <3

:彡𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞

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AND ANOTHER THING.

WHY IN THE HEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLL HAVE I READ ALL THE FLUFF/NON-NSFW FICS FOR MIDORIYA. WHY THE HELL ARE THEY ALL TIMESKIP OR SMUT JUST LIKE KIRISHIMAS….

LKE WHY CANT READER AND IZUKU IDK SLOWLY FALL IN LOVE OR TRAIN TOGETHER BEFORE THE FIRST WAR TO GET HIS QUIRKS IN CHECK OR IDK HANG OUT IN THEIR ROOM TO WATCH MOVIES OR BAKE SOMETHING TOGETHER IM SO TIRED OF SMUTTTTTTT OMGGGG LIKE IDC WHAT TYPE OF PLOT IT HAS AT THE END IF THE DAY ITS STILL SMIT 👁️👁️

YOUR SAYING ☝🏾THIS MAN☝🏾 WOULDNT TSKR ME OUT ON WALKS AND PLAY WITH ME IN THE RAIN AND INSTEAD EAT ME OUT?? HE— HE— HELLLLL NAW ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️ Low key I’m getting tired of tumblr fics because all it is is smut🥸

post mugen yoshiwara

Hii, can I request an angst filled fic with billy please? I’m thinking he doesn’t die when him and eleven are fighting the mind flayer and y/n is part of the gang and helps fight the mind flayer. But when everything is getting back to normal Billy is having a lot of nightmares and calls you for comfort even tho he’s so hard headed he doesn’t actually admit the reason but you know..

Billy then realises you knew all along he was suffering and he’s shocked with the amount of love you’ve shown him and he wants to be with you but as he goes to admit his feelings to you he comes across you and Steve Harrington out on a date and it kills him..

That night he makes a plan to make you his and when you come home billy is tapping your window asking to sneak in.. I’ll leave it up to you how you end the fic but just a silly idea I had lol and I’d love to see how you write this :)

a/n: This took longer than I meant for it to because I ended up writing way more than I initially meant to so, here you go! (This was so fun tysm bbys) also I wrote with fem reader cause it's what I do by default eee....

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader (female pronouns)

Length: 6.4k (yeesh)

Warnings: Billy is struggling, mental illness, thoughts of death/dying, Billy curses ofc. OOC Billy a little ooc maybe, mentions of abusive parents

My Girl - B.H.

Sleep was meant to be the escape from reality. It was the escape from all the bad things around you, all the bad thoughts and memories that demanded to be heard and seen. A moment in time where there was nothing, your brain was empty, or it felt that way, and you were free.

But people like Billy Hargrove weren't so lucky.

Whenever you sleep, people say you always dream, it's just a matter of whether or not you remember the dream when you wake up. Most of the time, dreams are forgotten the moment you open your eyes.

But people like Billy Hargrove remembered them when he opened his eyes.

Half the time, they were the reason his eyes had opened. They were less dreams, more memories, of that thing. The Mind Flayer. But they always ended differently than how it had really ended.

His corpse, on the ground in the mall, you leaning over him. Begging. Max, crying.

Or maybe it becomes your corpse instead of his. Or Max. Those ones are the worst. The ones where you or she die protecting him, or in his place. Because if anyone had to die that night, it had to be him. It should be him. 

Sometimes, in the darkest parts of his brain, the deepest corners he tried to ignore, he truly thought it might have been better if he died. Not just for everyone around him but maybe for himself.

It was hard. Some days were agony, while others weren't. Some days things felt so slow, and unreal, especially the first few weeks after the incident. He had grown a special distaste for hospitals for all the time he had spent in one.

Phantom pains would wrack his body some days, and nights. Some days it hurt so bad, especially his chest where the gnarly scarring lay, that he couldn't do much of anything. Days where his only reprieve lay in a bed that would let him fall asleep for minutes before it woke him up again with harsh reminders of everything. Tonight was one of those nights.

A  night where he woke up covered in a cold sweat, quite literally soaked through the clothes he wore to bed into the sheets; pale and rattled as he sits upheaving- it mixes with the sharpest pain in his chest that he has come to expect but it doesn't matter how much he expects it, it still knocks the wind out of him. 

For a brief moment, he feels like he's going to throw up what he had for dinner that night. But he doesn't. Instead, his eyes close as he tries to breathe properly again; the erraticness of his heartbeat and his uneven breathing only make his body ache. Phantom pains. Like he's there again like he's watching through his own eyes as he takes someone else to be a puppet to it- screaming inside because he may be an asshole but he does not want to do this. The only thing his body can do on his own accord in those moments is cry; it must've been a sight to see. A newly 18-year-old boy, with tears in his eyes as he does horrific things for something else. 

Usually, it works. Usually, closing his eyes and just trying to breathe works; kind of. Billy can eventually find his bearings again and lay back down- maybe not to fall asleep again immediately, but just to lay there. Granted, he's not good at coping. He never was good at coping, and any mechanism he ever had has been dangerous or stupid. 

Yet tonight it won't work. When his eyes open again, it's still like he's in that moment. It's still like those tendrils are digging into his sides, into his chest, and like he's hearing himself scream as whatever that thing is tries to take one more soul before it too fades away. If he looks down at his chest, he is almost sure that he'll see the gaping wound again. 

He needs to talk to you. That's all he knows in those moments as he peels himself from his sweat soaked bed; he has to change the sheets and take a shower. Who knew a person could sweat that much? 

Billy had never been so glad before that he had a phone in his room; sometimes he wondered how the fuck he got away with that with his father. Before everything happened, it was something only Billy used in the house, everyone else used the phone in the living room, but nowadays, when Max really wanted to quickly call someone, she would use it too. Anything really to avoid Neil, and Susan at times too; Max said once that complacency could be just as bad as actually committing the act. That still stuck in his mind. 

Sitting on the edge of his bed beside his bedside table, the mint-colored phone in his hands, his body cries but he doesn't listen to it. Had he realized the time, Billy may've had second thoughts, not that he cared really what time it was, but you were most likely asleep and anyone in this house could've answered.

After two rings, Billy sighed preparing to just put the phone back on the base and do something. Anything, to calm down. Maybe go out for a drive- but you'd kill him for that one, it was dangerous when he felt like this especially considering when he felt fine he still drove like a mad man. The cold shower sounds nice but at the same time it doesn't; it scares him because he liked it cold. He loved it cold. And Billy never wants to feel that cold again. 

"Hello?" you sound tired, you swallow, throat dry. 

Billy doesn't say anything at first. What was he doing? It was the middle of the night, and he needed something to ground him again, to remind him he was here. He needed you; somehow it always came back to you, the comfort he needed. 

You had just been some girl that watched those stupid bratty kids, one of them being his sister. Someone who had been friendly with them since before Max and himself came to Hawkins. Someone, who in school, offered to show him around if he wanted. Someone that spoke to him as a person first rather than a nuisance or a piece of meat to snatch up. You became so heavily intertwined with him via school, his sister, her friends, and the Upside Down. He wouldn't admit it genuinely, but he was a bit disappointed that you got a job at JC Penny in Starcourt over the other position for lifeguard you had mentioned you might go for to him. 

He fucking hated Hawkins when he arrived the previous year. But maybe it wasn't as bad as he thought if you were in it.

"Hello...?" your voice alone made his muscles loosen, if only by a fraction. But now there was a new pressure in his chest, a tightness in his limbs not related to the dreams and memories or the aches and pains- it was related to you and he's not used to it. 

Billy hears you breathe out, preparing to hang the phone up, and he reminds himself; he is Billy fucking Hargrove, not a sissy baby who can't talk to girls. Right?

But you were different. 

"It's Billy."

He feels silly in that moment and his own name on his lips for some reason doesn't even sound like his name to himself. He was used to being so in the moment with his decisions; live now because it doesn't matter what you do, he won't ever like it- and rarely did he ever regret those decisions truly, but every other emotion in his body was working overtime. 

"Oh," your voice seems to perk up but takes on an edge; worry? He can't tell. He still isn't used to the emotion of worry being directed toward him, "What's wrong, is something the matter?"

It's then the words get stuck in his throat. All of the "yes, I can't forget tonight"s and the "I think maybe I should have died that day"s are lodged in the back of his throat. Billy Hargrove is stubborn; there's no chance in hell he is going to tell you the truth. No way he is going to let others really know. Though, he is pretty sure Max kind of knows- she was a lot more observant than he realized till now. 

Sometimes, Billy Hargrove is akin to a caged animal.

He is so used to people not caring. He is used to being hit for the small things and the big things; like the time he got a D on his history essay, or the time Max went missing. That is what he is used to. Telling the truth about how he feels is not in his vocabulary, and he isn't sure how to respond when someone opens the cage that he has been confined to for so long; scared that if he steps out, it is the wrong choice, and that choice means punishment. He doesn't trust, but he wants to. He doesn't want to seem weak, but sometimes, he truly is. 

"No," he scoffs into the phone as if he wasn't the one who called so late, but you were, "It's nothing, I just..."

Just what? He can't find an excuse. He can't understand himself.

You're wide awake on your end now. If he could see you, he would've seen the way your face softened, eyes half-closing as your brows dipped in sad understanding. He doesn't need to speak for you to know. He is good at hiding, that you figured out, but not good enough because you can hear it in his voice, the way he speaks as he might just start either screaming or crying at the drop of a pen. The way his voice softens immediately after he says no, down to a low whisper, like he is trying to just disappear. The rattle in his breathing that he doesn't even realize himself like he still can't catch his breath properly.  

He is hurting. He is scared. You know he is. Nightmares aren't uncommon to you, but you're sure the ones he gets must be even worse than the ones you do, and they must be almost constant. If you were there, you would've wrapped his larger frame into your smaller one and tried to comfort him, but you were miles away in your room. 

"It's okay," you finally respond after he loses his voice, his brows furrow, "I mean... It isn't okay, how could it be, after everything?"

Billy doesn't respond, only holds the receiver tighter in his hand, almost thinking it might break. 

"I just mean that it's okay to talk about it," you continue after his silence, "you don't need to talk about it at all if you don't want to Billy. But I want to listen if you ever do, and I think Max would too."

You hear a small snort. Billy isn't so sure Max would want to listen. Maybe she would, their relationship had been doing leaps and bounds better than before. Billy never hated his step-sister; in his own twisted ways he loved her, but he hated that it was her mother's marriage to his father that took him away from California- one of the last things in his life Billy could say he truly loved at the time. He's horrible with his words still when it comes to talking to Max or most anyone about anything that troubles him, or saying sorry (which he has- it's just been very awkward and he just can't seem to get it right, not the way he wants to) and he just wishes he could explain why. Why he is how he is, or how he was- still kind of is- someone like him isn't so easy to break and mold, especially with his father still in his life. But he wants to try. He is trying. 

"She would," you insist, "I know it's tough between you two still sometimes, and you're both trying to navigate the relationship you both want, but she cares. Like you do. It's just hard for both of you."

Billy thinks about what you're saying in silence again. His actions define him, and they continue to do so every day. Saving the kids and you, and Steve, Nancy- the whole gaggle of people- that night has defined him as well, but it is muddied behind his other actions, ones he had taken out of anger or fear. The time he almost ran over Max's friends comes to mind; he wasn't ever going to do it, but that is their first memory of him. How he treated Max as a whole; the only times he was (almost) not under his father's foot. Or the time he threatened Lucas Sinclair; as much as he didn't want to admit it, it was as much for Max as it was for himself- or so he believed it was. 

He saw her upset- and as her older step-brother (albeit an unwilling one) he didn't like that. But even more than that, his mind immediately went to his father. Neil Hargrove wasn't a good man, never had been, never would be. Good at acting like a nice guy; it was how he scored Susan, and he assumed his mother too initially. If someone hurt Max, if Max was upset by someone at school, and Neil saw, or Susan, who would inevitably tell Neil, it would be his fault. 

Max fell into his lap, his father would reign hell on him for anything bad in any way that happened to Max because of the fact she was Susan's daughter. He didn't hit Max, but he'd hit Billy because of Max, maybe even in place of her at times, he didn't know. He was glad he never actually touched her, however. Not to mention his father was racist. Lucas Sinclair being near Max, and his father finding out? It would somehow come back down to Billy. And maybe even Max wouldn't be spared from his anger.

There was a bitter part of him towards his sister sometimes too in that aspect even if it wasn't her fault that his father chose to use Max as more cannon fodder to hurt him. But she never really took that into account when she did things like running out the window, leaving him to pick up the pieces. He always picked up those pieces. 

The conversation between the two of you was one-sided at this point, not that you minded, nor did he because he still didn't know what he was supposed to be saying.

"I know things are hard right now. I know it has to be hurting a lot still, and I can't even tell you when or if that hurt will ever stop. Maybe it won't, maybe it will just dull with time but always be there, or maybe one day it will just be a distant memory. I don't know. But you do have people who care, Billy, I care. Try to sleep, if you can. I'll be just a phone call away anyways if you need someone to talk to. Or to talk your ear off; I hear I'm pretty good at that." 

That elicits a single hoarse chuckle from his chapped lips. He told you that once. He licks them as he takes in a breath. 

"Yeah... G'night." 

"Goodnight Billy." 

Even after he hears the click of you hanging up, he still holds the phone to his ear. He notes that his breathing has evened out considerably and that his muscles are looser than before. His chest still aches slightly with the phantom pain, but it doesn't feel like he is there with that thing in his body again anymore. He's actually sort of cold from the way the cold sweat he had woken up in soaks his sleep clothes; he knows he's taking a hot shower before he lays back down. 

It's in those moments, between him finally letting the phone sit back down onto the receiver, and getting ready to move to the bathroom to shower, that he realizes. He realizes you knew all along; well, clearly you did, because you knew what to say exactly when he didn't even say it himself. You noticed he was suffering, and likely always had. When it came to you, Billy Hargrove was naked even when he was fully dressed- you saw through him. 

And he didn't hate it like he thought he would. 

You were something special. Someone who had made him feel... Loved. 

He was almost sure that if you hadn't been there if you hadn't cared for him as you had even when he was a complete and utter piece of crap, then he would actually have died in that mall. He just needed someone to try for him, and always believe in him even when that monster was using his body as its little puppet, and that was you. 

Billy Hargrove couldn't imagine a future that didn't have you in it. And he had to do something about that. 

_____

It had been a week since Billy had called you in the middle of the night. He'd seen you a few times since, mainly when he was dropping Max off to the Arcade which you happened to work out; the kids were once again subject to the arcade in town and the little shops around there now that Starcourt had been 'destroyed by a fire.' 

But those were only small moments, moments where you had a minute to say hello and ask what he was doing that day, and then you were off again and so was he. But he knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was you. All he needed to do was admit it to you. So, on a day he knew you wouldn't be working, he took his beloved Camaro and started the drive to your home.

Billy didn't worry about if your parents answered the door or not, because he was good at charming people. He was good at making good impressions when he wanted to, it was how he got Mrs. Wheeler to bend like putty. But he wouldn't be flirting with your mom. 

The way to your home took him through part of town, the part that had the silly little movie theatre that paled in comparison to the one Starcourt had, or even any of the ones he had been to in California. But that was the price you pay for a small town, an interdimensional being, and the Russians in the only big mall Hawkins had had. 

Maybe if things went well, he'd take you to that small theatre and-

The stop light turned red, forcing Billy to stop his Camaro right beside the theatre. It wasn't a problem, or it wouldn't have been, if he didn't see Steve Harrington walk out of the stupid little theatre with you by his side, smiling and talking animatedly. 

You weren't his. So he had no right to feel how he did in that moment. To feel the blood pumping in his veins, in his ears, to feel it boil like hot water on the stove. To feel the sudden nausea he'd feel when he woke up from a dream that was far, far too real. To feel jealous. The burning jealousy in the pit of his stomach gnarled together with the other feelings he felt, and the moment the red light turned green, he hit the gas not caring how over the speed limit he was going. He did that anyways, he liked to drive fast, but now it was for a whole other reason.

Tanned fingers held the steering wheel with newfound emotion; it hurt. He hated the hurt. He didn't want to go home, he didn't want to anywhere. So instead, he just drove off towards Lovers Lake and sat in his Camaro.

At first, he had his music blaring on the radio. Max always said that he would go deaf someday because of how loud he played his music. She also said that he was probably already going deaf whenever he didn't listen to her. It always earned Max a half glare and a look of annoyance and the title of shitbird.

But what people didn't really understand was that sometimes, when he played the music loud enough (especially in recent months) it would deafen out the rest of the world and even his own thoughts. It was in those moments, listening to his favourite songs on painfully loud volumes that he wasn't anyone, he was just a guy listening to music.

Not that he'd ever tell anyone that. It sounded deeper than it really needed to be, and he'd rather leave it at just being the bad boy who liked his music way too loud for his own good.

Eventually, the music would run its course. For hours, he listened to the same tapes of music he enjoyed. But now it was just loud and did nothing. Now, it was just loud background noise to the hurt and anger in his chest. In his head.

He really needed to learn how to cope better.

Billy had never been on good terms with Steve Harrington, and he was fairly certain if it had been anyone else with you, he wouldn't have been as upset as he was. He'd still be upset, sure, but something about Steve Harrington scratched at the sorest parts of his brain and triggered an annoyance unbridled.

At first, he wasn't even sure what it was about Steve that got on his nerves. But it was over time, and more recently (everything, he realized seemed to happen so much more recently) that he started to figure it out. It wasn't that he was a popular kid before and now he was quote en quote, nothing. It was jealousy.

Billy realized he felt jealous quite a bit it seemed.

Jealousy for the fact that even if he wasn't King of Hawkins anymore and that the title had been snatched by Billy, he seemed happy still. Jealousy over the fact that he had gotten away from people like Tommy and Carol. Sheep, followers, who never really cared about you as a person but only your popularity and what it had to offer.

Jealousy because he was angry. Angry in general, at the world, and the people in it, and Steve Harrington became the easier target for Billy's overflowing negative emotions that he couldn't find a place to put.

After Starcourt, after everything, the feelings simmered. But they still remained, it was hard for Billy to change his feelings. Especially seeing how people liked Steve and were friends with him for that. Not to mention, that night with Max disappearing, and then Steve lying about it and insinuating he was dumb even though he could see Max in the window? It still bugged him.

But seeing him with you had sparked the fire in his belly again. It was as if every feeling he had tried to quash towards the man had come back tenfold.

Steve Harrington was going to get you. He was going to have someone that Billy actually wanted. Someone that he didn't just look at with lust- one of the first people to ever show him care, and Steve was going to snatch that.

Progress be damned, being nice and not letting his anger or jealousy override him be damned as well- he had to tell you. He wanted you to be his. And if it didn't work out, well, he'd cross that road when he got there he supposed.

That's what he usually did.

___

The music in your room was on a low volume, not wanting to wake your family members in the other rooms. It was late, and you were finally winding down for the night.

It had been a long day, one that left your feet aching a bit, but it was a good pain. One that told you that you'd accomplished a lot during the day.

You fully intended to relax on your bed for a bit, reading a book and listening to the music on your small stereo, dressed in your comfortable pajamas. Maybe you'd grab a snack too, and-

The sound of something tapping on your window made you freeze. Immediate thoughts were full of sudden fear, almost like your body was preparing itself for the flight or fight response. It had become something your body did without much thought, solely because of the past events that haunted Hawkins that very select people knew about. It had been quiet for a few months now since Starcourt, but you had learned to never really truly trust Hawkins to be completely normal. 

Internally you knew that you were overreacting in the moment, so you reminded yourself it was fine; probably wind, or maybe a tree branch near your room hitting the windows. But it didn't hurt to check the window. You were glad to have done so because what you weren't expecting to see was Billy Hargrove at your window, looking at you with an unimpressed look in his eyes- waiting for you to open the window.

Which you did, quickly at that.

"What are you doing?!"  with the window open, Billy hauled himself up and into your room as you moved to the side, holding your arms out to help him in case he needed it; you doubted he did, you doubted he would want you to help him too much either. 

"You have a tall ass window," Billy groaned as he lifted himself into your room, booted feet meeting the wooden floor with a soft thud. 

"Cause it isn't meant to be climbed into!" 

Not wanting to wake anyone in your home, you hissed when you spoke, closing the window softly behind him. With him in your room, your immediate thought was to check him over, to check if he was hurt in some way, shape, or form that was visible to the naked eye. 

People knew. People knew now what went on with him at home, and it wasn't Max who told them, it was technically Eleven, when she looked into his memories, his mind. You had suspicions before; he was someone you cared about, your friend, and his father had never been someone Billy mentioned fondly. He wasn't even someone Billy would mention unless he had to. 

Bruises that hadn't been there before, or tired eyes that were past tired and held an emptiness that was much more telling than maybe he realized. Those were signs, those were things you looked for and always had whether he noticed or not. 

"Are you checking me out?" he suddenly asked, as your eyes finished a final sweep of his body. The smirk on his lips made your face heat up, and well, it did kind of look that way, didn't it? 

"What? No- I was just, well..." you couldn't exactly say it because you didn't know how he would feel about the fact you were looking at him, inspecting him, for any sign of his fathers abuse. It was a sore subject, it wasn't something he liked multiple people knowing. 

He rolled his eyes. He either knew, or your hesitance annoyed him. Sometimes it was hard to tell with Billy. 

"I don't blame you," he chose to continue the line of conversation, moving to examine your room. He'd been there before, in high school, when you both hadan asignment together. But he never really took it in; it was simple but suited you. 

"You're insufferable sometimes, you know that?" 

Billy still has the smirk on his face but doesn't respond. It's odd. For the time you have known him, Billy Hargrove has never been the type of man to stay quiet in these situations, never the guy to back down first in a game of sarcasm and witts- and never ever to back down from flirting with anyone he initiates it with. 

You're worried. And Billy sees it in your eyes; it's another reminder to him for why he is here. 

"Is something wrong?" you speak softly now, moving to turn the stereo volume down completely. It's still a bit jarring that he's in your room nearing the middle of the night, but you had let him in, and you had no reason to turn him away. Not with everything.

"Why would something be wrong?" he was bluffing- you weren't stupid. 

"It's almost the middle of the night," you point out, leaning forward on your bed to peer into his face, "and you came to my window." 

"Nothings wrong, jesus." 

Silence again. 

"Saw you while I was out today."

The way he spoke was suddenly a bit more serious, a bit cooler, a bit more fenced off.

"Oh? Why didn't you come over and say hey?"

"You were with Harrington."

Oh.

The way Billy said Steve's last name was like he was talking about a bug he had seen or like he had seen something that made him sick.

"I was headed to find you, and you were with that shithead."

You shot him a look, he sort of made it sound like whatever was wrong was your fault or your being with Steve when he went to find you was an offense towards him. He also didn't need to call Steve names, but that likely wasn't going to change, even with the two of them on more neutral terms.

"Is that the problem?" You probed, mild annoyance on your face, "that you wanted to see me but I was with Steve? You couldn't just... Talk to us both, but Steve was there?"

"Seriously?"

Billy knew he was struggling in that moment with what he came here for. He was still angry, upset. He still struggled with his words and he was surprised it hadn't been the death of him at this point.

"Well, yea? What's your issue with Steve still, Billy it doesn't-"

"That isn't the problem, Jesus christ! It isn't just that I wanted to go talk to you and you were out with him. The problem is that you go around and make me feel these stupid fucking feelings I don't know what to do with, and I see you on a fucking date with a guy like Harrington!"

Oh. Oh. 

There was something deeper about this, you knew from the start, but that wasn't the deep you thought it would be. Having Billy be at Steve's neck was something you expected. It was something you had grown accustomed to after everything, especially Starcourt. They could play nice with one another- well, as nice as they could. It was mainly Billy. 

"That-" you pause, frozen sort of, if what he was insinuating was true, the he... "A date, with Steve?"

"The theatre." 

He said it like you didn't know the word, and like he was losing patience. With you, or himself, you couldn't quite tell. Maybe both. You don't want to get angry with him because you know that will only escalate things further and if you antogonize him now, you may never get a proper answer or response out of him- and your family might just come barging in because of all the noise. 

"You don't have to say it," he suddenly throws his head back, looking at your ceiling before bringing his head back down, his blue eyes looking directly in yours, and he looks tired, "It's his stupid fucking hair isn't it? Or whatever the fuck there is about him, I don't know. I came here with a purpose, to tell you, to make you mine. My girl. But-"

He lets out a breathe, an angry one, a frustrated one, one that could blow down a not too sturdy house if given the chance.  

"What the fuck am I doing," he said it to himself mostly, but how could you not hear him, he was right there. 

"Billy..." you want to reach out for him, to help, to make things better, but he's already pulling himself away.

He's good at that, pulling himself away. 

"I gotta go, before my dad decides he wants to check if I'm in my room," he bitterly says, "crazy how he wants to seem like a parent sometimes; piece of shit." It had become quite apparent after Starcourt and Billy's almost death that his father was trying harder to put up appearances; he was still the same man, same abusive piece of shit, but now more people were aware. And that meant something.

Given everything, it was a shot in the dark for you to reach out and grab his wrist. Given his emotions, and the issues with his father, it really could have went one of two ways; he could've reacted badly like a caged animal, or he could've let it happen. 

Thankfully it was the latter. 

"No, don't," you spoke softly, a hint of pleading in your voice. His wrist is bigger than you realized as your fingers wrap around it; he has a watch on you note and his skin is warm, "Stay. We can talk about this, we should talk about it."

It stops him, you're surprised it does, but he looks at you, incredulous. To him, in that moment, there is nothing to talk about; he has likely made a fool of himself, his emotions always getting the better when he really needs them to stay down. His intention to make you his was gone the moment he came, because when he looks at you and thinks about it, about everything that has happened, he finds himself thinking- god forbid Steve Harrington finds out about this- that maybe he's the better choice.

Not because Steve Harrington is more attractive than him, or that Billy thinks he can't pull someone like you; he's always been fairly confident in himself on the outside. But things are different now. And there's something in him deeper that's more broken than it was before in some ways, he didn't think that was possible. Someone like you? You would only give him kindess, one that he's sure he'd somehow fuck up. He will ruin you like his dad ruined his mom. How can he be anything right now when his thoughts are plagued with a interdimensional being that should have killed him. 

He should be dead. 

"Y'see," he starts, already preparing to rip himself away, "I don't think there is. This was a shit idea." 

"I wasn't on a date with Steve!"

It's the only thing you can think to say in that moment to stop him from leaving, because you don't want him to leave. You don't want him to go back to his father right now, or sit in his car somewhere in the dark, alone with thoughts that he so desperately wants to hide but overtime it begins to crack because one can't stay hidden forever. Especially not with the trauma he was holding onto. 

It works, because he isn't moving anymore. Rigid like a board.

"I wasn't on a date with Steve," you repreat in a more calm and even voice now, dragging on his wrist to pull him away from a window, scared that he might just jump out of it anyway if you're not careful, "Steve, he... Sure, he asked me out before, I said no. That was forever ago, and I think he just wanted something to distract himself from Nancy, to feel like he moved on. But he's my friend still, and we were just going to see a movie. That's all that was. I don't like Steve that way."

The unspoken 'but I like you that way' is in the air but you haven't said it. For everything that happened between you and Billy, you're scared. You cared for him, more than some people thought you should. But you had never been one to let people's first interactions define them for the rest of their lives; it was a good thing you felt that way because if you hadn't then you could've very easily been like everyone else who saw him as Billy Hargrove: Asshole, King of the Keg and Hawkins, seriel flirter who was just bad. 

It's sudden, but his large hands are suddenly cupping the back of your neck and head. He's gentle, but there's a forcefullness within his touch that makes a tingle run down your spine. Forced to look into his eyes deeply, you see so much. Eyes that he liked to keep empty are full of emotion in front of you. 

"All I'm hearing," his voice is low, husky, something only you would be able to hear if there was anyone else in the room with you, "is that I have a chance." 

It's so like him. So like him to make it a little less serious than it is. It's definitely a mechanism to dodge the conversations that might just make him uncomfortable, the ones he isn't used to or maybe hasn't even had. And that's okay right now, you'll let him have that for now. 

"And that you jumped the gun," you offer back slyly, "it's kind of cute. You'll have to work on it though... And work on having some heart to hearts." 

It's a subtle confirmation that you want him. You want him too, like how he wants you. And if he was anyone but himself, it might've made him cry. But instead, it just makes his smirk grow; no, not a smirk, it's a smile. He's so beautiful when he smiles. You wonder if anyone has ever told him he's beautiful; you add it to your list of things to tell him at some point. He's beautiful. 

"Cute? You're killing me babe," he whines like he's a child, but you can see how giddy he secretly is inside and it only reaffirms what you said to yourself, "...I'll work on it."

"You deserve to be happy. And we can work on it, together."

Again. Its like you've read through him. Like you saw his thoughts and feelings on thinking maybe he should've died. Or feeling like he can't have this because he will just ruin it. There are no words he can scrounge up as his heart beats heavy in his chest. He can only put his forehead against yours.

It's silent for a few beats as he keeps his hands on the back of your neck, his head tilted down towards yours. It's odd to see him act that way, but it's not a bad odd. It's good. You want to see it more. 

"So... My girl?"

He sounds so cocky, it makes you roll your eyes.

"Your girl." 

Is this fandom still alive?😭

doing the "a boy who's jacked and kind" trend with bf! katsuki bakugo.

you were sitting cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through tiktok. a mischievous grin crept onto your face when you come across a video. you glanced at your boyfriend, katsuki, who was nuzzling your neck with his arms wrapped around you, looking as grumpy as ever.

“katsukiii,” you called sweetly, holding up your phone.

katsuki sighs, pulling away from your neck that he declared his haven, looking at you with a deadpanned look. "yes, sweets?”

“seen this yet?" you turn the screen toward him. the video showed a guy easily picking up his girlfriend and carrying her over his shoulders.

katsuki eyes the screen before shaking his head. “no. what about it?”

“so… think you could do it? or are these muscles just for show?” you reach out to squeeze his bicep appreciatively.

his crimson eyes narrowed at you. he did not live to train his ass off and survive a war just for you to say this. “you think i can’t pick up your ass?”

“oh, i don’t know. can you?" you look at him with a grin. "i mean, i’m not exactly light. you might not be strong enough."

his glare deepened, and he stood up, standing across from you. “you’re really asking for it, sweets.”

you giggled, leaning back against the couch. “i’m just saying! might be too much for the great bakugo katsuki to—”

but before you could finish, katsuki reached down, gripping your waist with one arm and hooking his other arm under your knees. in one swift motion, he lifted you off the couch like you weighed nothing, planting your lap on his shoulders.

you let out a startled squeal, hands flying to his shoulders for balance. “katsuki!”

“what was it you said again?” he asked, smirking as he wrapped an arm around your legs, squeezing your thigh. “not strong enough?”

you stared down at him with flushing cheeks, laughing. “ohmygod, okay, fine! you can lift me, big deal!”

“oh, sweets. you're so cute," he said, his smirk widening. he shifted your weight, slinging you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "but we’re not done yet."

you let out an indignant laugh, pounding lightly on his back. “katsuki! put me down, you caveman!”

“nah,” katsuki said, carrying you to your shared bedroom. “not until you admit i'm the strongest guy you’ve ever met.”

"never!” you declared, still laughing.

he stopped abruptly, spinning you around so you were cradled in his arms like a newly-wed couple. his face was smug as he raised an eyebrow at her. “still doubting me, sweets?”

you huffed, trying to keep a straight face. “okay, okay," you reach to kiss his cheek. "you’re the strongest man i know. okay? hottest one at that, too.”

"hmph. you know other men?"

"katsuki!"

he grins, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “next time, sweets, think twice before talking shit.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your grin. “so cocky.”

he scoffs, carrying you across the room and dropped you onto the bed, your laughter turning into a surprised yelp as you landed among the pillows.

katsuki leaned over you, his hand planted on your waist, the other on the side of your head, his smirk growing. “still think i can’t handle it?”

you smile at him, shaking your head, wrapping your arms around his neck. "you can handle it just fine."

“damn right i do,” he said, leaning down and capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

youe fingers tangled in his hair as you kissed him back, the playful energy between them simmering into something deeper, more heated. while you might have started the teasing, katsuki always had the last word, and the last kiss.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ LISTEN. HE CAN DO IT, OKAY? HE SUCCESFULLY CARRIED 118KG ADULT PRO HERO ENDEAVOR WITHOUT FAIL. WHEN HE WAS A TEEN!! HES MORE CAPABLE NOW THATS HES A PRO HERO, OBVIOUSLY. SELF-INDULGENT BECAUSE IM A PLUS-SIZED GIRLIE. I LOVE MY MAN SM 💜💜

Hard Boy

Billy Hargrove x fem!reader

(My work is not to be copied or transfered. However, you may reblog the shit out of it.)

Warnings: reader getting bullied, Billy being sweet in his own odd way, unedited,

Hawkins thought of Billy Hargrove in many ways. Asshole. Lady's man. Man whore. But they didn't know him like you knew him. They knew his front, his shield of armor, protective guard. You knew him for who he really was. Your best friend.

He leaned across the car and opened the passenger door for you from the inside, taking your bag and tossing it in the back. You thanked him, sliding in to the passengers seat and receiving many dirty - and jealous - looks from other people in the school parking lot.

"Have a good day?" He recited it as if it were only custom but you knew him well enough to know he really meant it. "Nope. Where's Max?"

He glanced at you through the rearview mirror as he sped off, eyes holding the faintest shimmer of concern. "With a friend or something, I don't know. Why not?" You shrugged, turning to look out the window so he didn't see the way tears were starting to pool.

Billy slammed on brakes in the middle of the road, a couple miles from school, shielded between two stretches of wood. If someone were to come barreling around the corner like he had...well, it wouldn't be good. "Billy what are you doing? Drive."

He snatched your jaw up in his hand, fingers gentle but actions alarming as he forced you to look at him. One glimpse to his beautiful face and the tears were spilling over. Running down your cheeks and ruining your makeup.

Neither of you spoke. Billy just sat there, firmly holding your face, watching your cry. It was embarrassing and you tried to yank away but he wouldn't let you. "Who?" Your brows furrowed in confusion, prompting him to clarify.

"Who did it?" You shook your head, best you could. A silent no that had him scowling at you. He dropped your face and threw the car back in drive, speeding off again after what felt like forever.

"We're going to get slurpies," he informed, eyes on the road though you could see the hardness to them behind his glasses. "and you're going to tell me what happened. Nobody just gets to make my girl cry."

You nodded, wiping your tears away with the sleeve of your hoodie. Billy was rough, but he cared. And you were more than thankful for that.

Taglist ♡

@storytellingwitht @valeriiecameron @stcrkeyluvr @onenightnorth @wishing-i-was-rafes-princess @mackenzielovee @lovelyjj @fiction-is-life @goldenjo @randomwriter14 @slutforsmutsstuff @snipsx @iluvblondeboys @drewbooooo @elizabitchsshit @i-always-come-back-xoxo @topperscumslut @itsalexwin @gillybear17 @loveyru @babypoguelife @hoodforcalum @bethoconnor @kayleiggh @samxslaughter @chaostudee @outerbankspov @onmykneesforrafe @lovingrosewho @maybanks-luver @thatswaggybitch @truewdw1

MASTERLIST

I accidently became a KNB account so yeah, here’s all my work on my fav basketball heads <3 

All NSFW work has been properly labelled as mature content in accordance to Tumblr’s community guidelines; I’ll still specify for minors not to interact (MDNI 18+). All NSFW work is done with aged-up characters (even when not explicitly specified). ALSO please read the warnings before proceeding thank you :)

REQUESTS: CURRENTLY OPEN

Headcanons

SFW

Various

THE KNB CHARACTERS’ GO TO DRINK // (an alcoholic’s) headcanons

Part 1 | Part 2

A SOAPY STORY // KNB Headcanons

TALL AND GORGEOUS // KNB Headcanons

BLUSHING AND STUTTERING // KNB Headcanons

KNB CHARACTERS AS BENDERS // KNB Headcanons

AREN’T THEY LOVELY? // KNB Headcanons

SWEET DREAM, MY LOVE // KNB Headcanons

IN MORPHEUS’ ARMS // KNB Headcanons

ALWAYS BETTER WITH YOU // KNB Headcanons

WISER (OR NOT) // KNB Headcanons

Aomine

HOLD ME FOREVER // Aomine Headcanons

Kise

THE BEST BOY // Kise Ryōta Headcanons

One Shots

SFW

Various

I Can’t Remember // KNB Characters x gn! Reader

Aomine

Stargazing // Aomine Daiki x Reader

Fine Line // Aomine Daiki x Reader

We’re just hanging // Aomine Daiki x Reader

Flowers // Aomine x Reader

Midorima

Sunkissed // Midorima Shintarō x Fem! Reader

Akashi

Clueless Little You // Akashi Seijurō x Fem! Reader

Kiyoshi

Summer Rains // Kiyoshi Teppei x Fem! Reader

Forever? // Kiyoshi Teppei x Reader

Kagami

It just makes sense // Kagami Taiga x Reader

NSFW

Aomine

Dragon Girl // Aomine Daiki x Fem! Reader

Look at You // Aomine Daiki x Fem! Reader

Kise

Surprises // Kise Ryōta x Fem! Reader

Midorima

You’re Something // Midorima Shintarō x Fem! Reader

Akashi

Two steps ahead // Akashi Seijurō x Fem! Reader

Never Again // Akashi Seijurō x Fem! Reader

Surreal // Akashi Seijurō x Fem! Reader

Kiyoshi

Thursday Nights // Kiyoshi Teppei x Fem! Reader

Up to Expectations // Hyuga Junpei x Fem! Reader x Kiyoshi Teppei

Scenarios

Kise

Friendly neighbour-ly activities // KNB scenario

Drabbles

SFW

Putting oil in Murasakibara’s hair

Barman! Aomine

Kissing Kiyoshi at the club

NSFW

Flustered and horny! Midorima