Billy Hargrove Imagines

Number 28 (smut)

Summary: Billy doesn't like the way you watch Number 28 run down the field

Warnings: smut (rough sex, daddy kink, choking, spanking, orgasm denial, the good shit™)

A/N: whoops

You and Billy were at Hawkins' football game, watching the players run back and forth down the field. Neither of you had wanted to go, but Billy had been causing a lot of trouble lately so the principal had demanded he show some 'School Spirit' to make up for it. Your back was pressed against the metal gate of the bleachers, Billy's arm slung around your shoulder with a cigarette in his mouth. The bleachers were cramped, and the second Billy's lighter had clicked, half a dozen heads turned to glare at him.

"Don't think they appreciate that very much," you snickered, your eyes lazily following the player who had the number '28' on his jersey run down the field. That was your favorite number, so your eyes automatically clung to it when the game had started. You couldn't read the last name on the jersey, and you had never given two shits about the football team, so you had no idea who was behind the helmet.

"Guess what, doll, I don't appreciate them very much, either," Billy snarked, taking an obnoxious puff of his cigarette and blowing the smoke over your head. Billy had been watching your eyes following the field, trying to figure out who you were looking at. There was no reason for you to be invested in the game, so he thought you had to have been invested in the players. "See something you like?"

"No, not really," you hummed, your eyes still trained on the number. You were unaware of Billy's growing annoyance, his hand gripping your shoulder tightly and keeping your body snugg against his.

"You sure about that?" he questioned again, his voice lower. You looked up at him finally, one of your eyebrows raised.

"Now I see something that I like," you corrected yourself, slowly dragging your eyes from his hair down to his legs. "Must say, Hargrove, don't know how I didn't see you before," you joked, your voice filled with mock-despair. Billy's eyes narrowed at the tone in your voice, but his fingers twitched at the comment.

"You're a real pain, you know that?" Billy snapped, flicking his half-burnt cigarette over the back of the bleachers.

"I've been told, yes," you informed him, a smirk forming on your lips. "But what exactly do you plan to do about it? Last time I checked, the whole reason we're here, is because of you."

"Oh, I plan to do plenty about it," Billy growled into your ear, his hand travelling down to your waist. "Whether you consider it as a punishment for being a pain in my ass all damn week, or a reward for coming to the game with me, is your choice," Billy said, and the next thing you knew, he was on his feet and pulling you up with him. "Let's go," he demanded, grabbing your hand and pulling you down the bleachers.

Billy had sped down the road, his hand gripping your thigh, eager to get back to your place. Your dad was working late at the hospital, meaning he wouldn't be home for a while. Once he had pulled into your driveway, you could hardly unlock your front door with the way he was grabbing at you. But you did, and the second the door shut behind you, your back was being slammed against it, the keys falling from your hands. Momentarily dazed from the impact, Billy took his chance to forcefully kiss you, his hands tearing your jacket off of your shoulders. You moaned into the kiss, holding onto him so you could kick off of your shoes and remove his own jacket.

Billy gripped the back of your thighs, picking you up without warning and pressing you further into the door. You yelped in surprise, squeezing your legs around his waist to keep from falling. One of his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you tight, while the other tangled in your hair, tugging your head back to expose your neck. You groaned at the pain, your thumbs dragging over his cheekbones as he kissed down your neck, searching for your pulse point. Once Billy found it, the familiar beat of your throat against his lips, he grinned to himself before sinking his teeth down. You cried out, used to the pain by now, but still not expecting it. Your nails dragged from the ends of his cheeks, down to his jaw, and along his neck, pushing his mouth against your throat. Billy began to suck at the skin, switching off between nipping at the exact spot and pulling the flesh into his mouth as roughly as he could. You rolled your hips forward, denim rubbing on denim, to try and get some sort of friction going. You could feel Billy's hard-on pressing against your inner thigh, and you moved your free hand down to run along its outline. Billy growled against your throat, finally releasing his mouth from the sore spot he had created.