Morosis *✿ stranger things one shots

𝘕𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘺 [B. Hargrove]

Summary: After you hear a screaming match in the middle of the night from next door, someone unexpected shows up at your window.

Warnings: Mild language, one sexual inuendo from Billy, mentions and after effects of domestic abuse. 

A/N: This idea was bouncing around my head and holy crap it came out to almost 10k words! I used to hate Billy but I've grown to like his character, and now I even find him pretty cute and endearing even with all his issues so like every other girl I imagined helping him out after his douchebag of a dad roughs him up. Hopefully this came out as good as it sounded in my head...

Also, in the middle of writing this, I realized that Trouble by Elvis Presley TOTALLY fits Billy and As Long As I Have You is the perfect romantic soft!Billy song ever. If you haven't heard either, go listen. 

Words: 9924

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After the sun sets and every house in your cookie-cutter neighborhood has gone to sleep, you often find yourself wide awake, slipping on a record for background noise as you work off your late night energy. Cross legged on the carpet, you leaf through your treasured, albeit small record collection. Without a proper job, you don't have the funds required to fill your vinyl crate. It's about a third of the way full, the other half stores your ukulele, which, due to 12th grade, has begun to collect dust. High School is an absolute headache. It eats up your life and spits you out on the other side, exhausted, unmotivated, and lonely. There's not many friend-worthy kids at Hawkin's High, not that you're 'free' to make friends anyhow. Not with hundreds of teachers breathing deadlines down your neck, day in and day out.

Sighing, you snatch up the record at the front of the line.

Elvis Presley flashes you a toothy grin as you slide the vinyl out and gently ease it over the spindle. Kids these days aren't interested in the old stuff, even if it was only a couple of years ago that the King tragically died. Elvis is down there with Nat King Cole. Kids move on from legends too fast for your liking, and you like Elvis a lot. Your mom grew up as one of those screaming girls who threw herself at the stage when he sang. She bought his records, his merchandise, and drove her parents insane, until she met your dad and the Elvis craze died down once she found out what real love is like.

She kept the records though.

Eventually, they ended up in your record crate.

A birthday gift.

"Don't go falling in love with him," Your dad warned from behind his morning paper. "You know how that turned out for your mom."

It's kinda impossible not to fall in love with Elvis Presley when he's singing Love Me Tender in that velvety voice of his. Elvis is like comfort food for the ears. You devour his singing with a smile and crawl away from the turntable, returning to your desk where a couple of last minute homework assignments wait. Friday nights might spell P-A-R-T-Y for the rest of Hawkin's High, but for you, it means get schoolwork done so your weekends are free. With school monopolizing your life on weekdays, you like to get that stolen time back on Saturday and Sunday. Tonight, you actually have time to finish these last few assignments.

The rest of your family sleeps soundly as you reread the poem you started for Lit Class. Your teacher said to write either a specific meter or take free-form influence from sounds around you. Well, study halls aren't exactly a poetic place so writing about kids carving desks and slipping weed under the tables seemed a bit inappropriate for a Literature presentation, forcing you to choose a meter and stick to it. However, a dactylic tetrameter is proving difficult. You stare at the blue lines on your loose leaf paper until they're tattooed to the backs of your eyelids. You stab charcoal holes into the bottom corner, probably scratching your desk up, not that you care much. Ugh. Maybe your midnight brain just can't do poetry...Math perhaps? Pushing the poetry aside, you start on the final three problems from your Geometry homework. Somewhere between the instructions and a formula you get lost in the next Elvis song, Don't.