To Be Billy‘s Girlfriend —+18
Dark-fiction
Billy Hargrove x Reader
Summary: You are dating Billy and it’s draining you.
Warnings: Dub-Con, Toxic relationship, physical violence, Billy is Billy, very mean and dark and complicated, childhood trauma (!) , abusive father figures, manipulative Billy, mean Billy, not a nice boyfriend Billy, feels kinda rapey. Dark!stepfather!Hopper, characters are all over the age of 18
A/n: Hi babes kinda back, but not with a Joel fic. Sorry. I’m obsessed with Billy Hargrove now, he has my full attention. He’s the perfect character for dark fics. I know Billy is hated by many so idk if this will get any readers but if you like Billy and you liked this fic pls like and comment! Also I wanted to say big thank you for liking and reading all my Joel fics!!
Billy Hargrove leans against the kitchen counter like the house was built around him.
Too many unfamiliar faces. Too much illegal alcohol sloshing in plastic cups. The Music was way too loud. It was chaos, but eyes still found you two.
You and Billy pull attention like gravity.
His sun-bleached hair catches the light, all fire. Your tanned skin glows under the bulbs. From the outside, you look perfect together. Dangerous. You two turned heads wherever you go.
He claimed you not long ago.
You like following him. You like standing at his side. You like being seen with him.
But moments like this crack the illusion…
Billy's got a red cup in his hand, sleeveless denim vest clinging to his shoulders. He's wearing that smile, the one he uses when he knows he's being watched.
And Britney is there. Too close.
"Didn't think you still hung around Hawkins," Billy says to her, voice smooth. "Thought you were too good for us now."
Britney laughs, flipping her hair. "Guess I missed the charm.“
Billy's eyes drag over her. Slow. Analysing.
You, his girlfriend, were standing right beside him. Close enough that your arms brush. Close enough that he should notice your fingers twisting together.
He doesn't though.
Britney tilts her head. "You always this charming?"
Billy smirks. "Only when I want something.'"
The words hit you like a slap.
You wait for him to look at you. To say your name. To pull you closer and make it clear—to Britney and to everyone else who's watching—that he's taken.
But Nothing.
Your chest tightens.
"Billy" you say softly, your voice sweet like honey.
He doesn't turn.
Britney laughs again. "You're trouble, Hargrove."
Billy leans in. "You have no idea."
Your stomach drops.
The room feels too bright. Too loud. You feel eyes on you, heat crawling up your neck, humiliation blooming under your skin. You're standing next to your boyfriend in the sluttiest outfit you own, bare legs, low neckline, nothing left to the imagination—and he's still looking at another girl.
Good for nothing, your stepfather's voice echoes, slurred and cruel. That's all you're good for.
Your nails dig into your palm.
You step closer. Push your chest forward, your tits out.
Press your hip into Billy's side. All for him, he just has to look…
His eyes flick to you, then down to your chest, and then back up. He looks annoyed.
"Hey," you say, forcing playfulness into your voice. "I'm bored, baby.'
Billy arches a brow. "Get yourself another drink then.“, he says not catching the hint.
Britney smirks. "She jealous?"
Billy chuckles.
Doesn't deny it.
Something inside you snaps.
You slide your hand up Billy's chest, fingers curling into his vest. Your voice drops, low and desperate. "I'm bored, Billy. Play with me."
A ripple of ohhhs moves through the crowd. Laughter. High fives. Billy's friends slap his back like you just offered yourself to them. You felt so slutty, you might as well have…
Billy looks down at your hand. Then at your face.
That slow grin spreads.
"Take me to your car," you whisper. "Please."
Every eye is on you now.
His hand closes around your wrist-not gentle, not cruel, but possessive.
"You sure?" he asks.
You nod too fast. „Yeah. I need you, Billy. Really, really hard.“
Your dignity slips another rung down the ladder with every word.
You already know tomorrow at school will be ugly. Everyone will be talking about what big of a slut you are for Billy Hargrove…
Billy tosses his cup into the sink. "Later, Brit."
He pulls you through the crowd like you weigh nothing. Like you're something he owns. Something on a leash.
Outside, the cold night air bites your skin. You instantly start shaking. Your skirt barely covers anything. The music sounds distant now.
Billy shoves you back against the Camaro. Kisses you hard like he's punishing your mouth. Your spine hits cold metal and you gasp, clinging to him, terrified that if you let go he'll turn around and walk straight back to Britney.
His hands slide down your thighs, warm against the chill. That felt good and you leaned into it. You wish that it could just be this. That the night would end just like this; you two hugging and kissing each other closely.
But Tonight would end different though.
Over his shoulder, you catch movement—shadows near the porch. People are watching.
"In the car," you whisper. "Please."
"Turn around," Billy says. "I’ll take you right here."
Your breath stutters. A sharp clap lands on your ass.
"No-Billy." Your voice shakes. "Everyone’s watching.“
„Let them.“
Thats literally the last thing you wanted,
„No, Billy. Stop.“, you pushed him away,
He pulls back, finally really looking at you. A hint of annoyance dancing around his face but it was replaced with lust by the sight of you. You're a mess, already. Swollen lip. Strap slipping. One you edge of your bra barely holding. He couldn't wait sucking on your nipple.
His gaze drops.
Then stops.
Dark bruises stain your legs, ugly against your skin.
Billy's smile disappears.
"What the hell is that?"
You freeze.
Billy pulls back, eyes narrowing as the streetlight spills over your legs.
Purple and yellow bruises. Finger-shaped and fresh.
"Who the fuck did that?" His voice drops low. Sharp.
You swallow. "It's nothing….'
"Bullshit." His hand clamps around your thigh, harder than it needs to be. "You seeing someone else?"
"No," you blurt. "God, no. Billy, I-"
"Then explain it."
Your throat burns. "I fall. A lot."
He scoffs, eyes darkening. Steps closer.
Too close.
Then his hand is on your neck. Pressure tightens and suddenly there is this burn in your lungs. For a split second, his face shifts, jaw tight, eyes cold, and all you can see is Hopper.
Your stepfather. Standing in the kitchen late at night, beer bottle on the counter, voice heavy with disappointment and rage.
"You think I'm stupid?" Billy mutters.
Panic flares. You turn your head just enough to see the porch—people frozen,staring, eyes wide. Witnessing Billy literally choking you.
You can't lose control. Not here.
"Billy" you rasp, forcing the word past the pressure. "People are watching."
Something flickers.
His eyes snap toward the bystanders.
"Jesus"" he exhales.
He lets go of your neck.
You suck in air fast and shallow, careful not to draw any more attention. You won't cry. You won't make this even worse. You won't give them anything more to talk about.
You want to disappear, but if you do, he might will walk straight back inside. Back to the party.
Back to Britney..
No. You have him. Right here. You force a smile, hands sliding up his shoulders. You lean in, soft and soothing, like you're the one who did something wrong...
"Let's drive somewhere," you murmur. "Somewhere less public."
Billy watches you for a beat.
"Good idea," he says.
The Camaro tears down the road. He's driving too fast, too reckless. Billy's knuckles are white on the steeringwheel. Your body feels distant, like it's sitting a few inches to the left of where you actually are.
The radio crackles. Static. A song tries to come through and fails.
Billy says something. You hear the sound of it, not the words.
You nod anyway.
Streetlights pass overhead—one, two, three— each one clicking off something in your head. Turning you off to the reality of what just happened. He had chocked you, in front of everyone…
For a moment, you're not in the car anymore. You're standing in the kitchen at home, bare feet on the ground. Hopper is there, filling the room, filling your head. You can smell beer. You can feel the way the air changes right before he gets...too close.
Your throat tightens.
You blink hard and the kitchen disappears.
The Camaro is back. Billy's profile is sharp in the dashboard light, jaw clenched, eyes forward like he's driving toward something he intends to hit.
He looks so beautiful, like a statue.
When he pulls over somewhere dark, he's on you before your brain catches up.
His mouth crashes into yours, hard and claiming. His hand cups your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek until your lips part. Then he pulls back, just far enough to look at you.
"God," he mutters. "You are so goddamn pretty, sweetheart."
If he looked past the surface, past the gloss and glamor that you've learned to hide behind, he'd see the panic tightening behind your eyes.
But Billy doesn't look there.
He looks at your lips, swollen and plump. The flush on your cheeks. The red at the tip of your nose from the alcohol. He likes the way your eyes don't quite focus on him right now. Dull. Quiet. Easy.
To him, you look just like a doll.
"You want me, baby?" he asks.
Your answer comes too fast. Automatic.
"Yes, Billy. A lot."
His gaze drops again. Your legs. The bruises.
He presses down on one with a single finger, lightly, as if he was testing something. Truth is, he doesn't know why he was doing it.
Jealously? Maybe.
Anger? More likely.
The thought of someone hurting you twists something ugly in his chest.
It feels too close to another memory.
One he never learned how to put down.
His mother on the kitchen floor. His father's fists moving faster than his brain could follow. The sound of skin against skin, of something breaking. Billy standing there, too small, too useless, watching it happen.
Small and useless.
He remembers thinking that if he were bigger, if he were stronger, he could stop it. That he could get between them. Catch her before she fell. Keep her head from hitting the floor that night, the sound sharp and final, echoing in his skull long after. It was month before she died.
Everyone said it wasn't connected.
Different reasons. Different endings.
Billy never believed that.
Somewhere in his head, it all knotted together. The fists, the fall, the silence afterward. Like if he'd been enough back then, she wouldn't have disappeared. Like it was his fault for being a child when she needed a man.
He was seven years old.
Too young to fight. Too young to save anyone.
And nothing ever filled the space that she left behind…
You hiss before you can stop yourself.
That pulls Billy back to reality. He is hurting you, like his dad hurt his mom.
"Who do you belong to?"
He needs her to say it. He needs her.
"Just-" Your voice catches. "Just to you, Billy."
He hums, satisfied. His hand slides away.
"Let me get a look at you. Get naked."
You do.
You peel off what he tells you to. Your skirt, jacket, top.
"Keep going, baby. , "
It isn't the first time Billy has seen you like this, but your mind won't stop drifting back to Britney.
What if he thinks she's better?
Prettier?
E a s i e r ?
Suddenly every flaw of yours feels big.
Your chest that always needed the help of a bush-up bra for Billy to notice. Your thighs that were too soft, too giggly. You imagine him comparing you to her without even meaning to, and the thought makes your stomach twist.
What if you're not enough to keep someone like Billy Hargrove? After all you were dating for only two weeks.
Your clothes come off in pieces. Slow. Careful. They fall to the floor at your feet while he stays fully dressed, watching. You fold your arms over yourself without thinking, shoulders curling inward.
"Don't," he says immediately.
You glance up.
"I'm hard just by looking at you, you sexy bitch," he mutters. "Stop hiding."
The words should make you feel small. Instead, they steady you.
Your cheeks burn as you lower your arms, force yourself to stand still. To let him see. You give him what he wants, even spreading your legs to give him a peak at your cunt. You'd just started to trim your hair down a little bit, like you'd seen the women do in the porn magazines that Billy had shown you.
His attention sharpens instantly.
He moves closer. His presence fills your space. You flinch when he touches you without warning, putting his finger inside your entrance. The suddenness stealing the air from your lungs.
Already wet," he says, almost pleased. "God, you're needy."
It was probably from the alcohol and the fact that you were attracted to him the second you saw him at the schools parking lot that day. He was also the first boy that wanted you like this. You swallow, nodding because that's easier than thinking.
"You know what you do to guys?" he goes on. "You drive 'em crazy."
His words wrap around you, warm and dangerous. You don't believe him but you cling to his words anyway.
Then he stops.
His expression shifts-darker now, more serious.
"Is that what you want?" he asks. „Be for everyone to look at?“
Your answer comes fast, desperate. "No. I just want to be yours“
Something settles in his face. "Good," he says.
He pulls you closer, guides you without asking, like this is already decided. Like you're just following the path he laid out. He placed you on his lap. The space in hiscar was limited but it still felt like you belong right here.
"Come here"" he murmurs. His hands lift you like you weigh nothing, guiding you closer, closer-until there's no space left between your cunt and his cock.
You follow his lead because you always do. Because it's easier than stopping.
Because stopping would mean looking at what this really is.
The moment he presses his cock into you, your breath catches.
It hurts. It always does.
You tell yourself you'll get used to it one day, but deep down you know that's a lie.
Before Billy, sex was never gentle. It was never something you chose. It always felt wrong in your body, like something taken instead of given.
And yet your mind twists itself into believing this is different. That Billy is different.
That he's here to protect you from the things that came before. From the real monsters in Hawkins. From the memories that still wake you up at night. Your brain clings to that idea desperately, like a life raft.
Because no matter what, you chose to be Billy's. You chose this. You wanted to be with him.
You don't let yourself think about the way he touches you without asking. About how he talks to you and calls you degrading names, because between „slut and bitch“ he also calls you baby and sweetheart. For you that had more weight…
You also don’t let yourself think about how little you matter once he's sees someone prettier, like Britney.
You push the thoughts away.
Because all of it feels safer than losing him.
Safer than being alone.
So you stay very still and try to slowly relax. To mold into his pace. You grab his vest with both hands whil he was holding your hips tightly.
You let your mind drift somewhere else. You let him take what you promised him, however you wants it.
And you tell yourself that this is what protection feels like.
And somehow... it does start to feel good.
Not in your body-not really-but somewhere higher up. The panic loosens its grip. The ache turns distant. Your mind latches onto the relief like it's proof you were right all along.
You look at Billy's face.
He's focused, lost in it, jaw tight and lips parted. There's something almost peaceful about him like this-dangerous and soft at the same time. Like this is where his anger drains out.
He looks beautiful.
That's the worst part.
So strong. So sure of himself. Addictive in a way you don't question anymore. You wonder what he's thinking about, if he’s even thinking at all, or if this is the onlytime his head ever goes quiet.
You lean closer, drawn in without meaning to.
Your lips brush his.
He responds immediately, kissing you back with urgency, like he's been waiting for it. His hands steady on your hips, his chest solid against you, arms strong enough to hold you together when you feel like you might c o m e apart.
It was just you and him.
No Britney.
No bruises.
No memories clawing at the back of your skull.
Just him.
Just this.
You close your eyes "Billy I think I'm coming!“
"Yeah me too. Fuck"
You grabbed his arms a s if that would help you. Your mind turn black and your cunt tightens which pushed Billy over the edge too.
"Fuck!", ", he hisses and cums right inside your cunt, pulling you even closer to his body. If he could he would've swallowed you whole.
He's still breathing hard when it's over. And so are you.
For a moment, you're on top of him, face tucked into the space between his neck and shoulder. His skin is warm. Your ear presses against his chest and you listen to his heartbeat fast, steady.
Everything feels floaty…
Then Billy shifts. "Jesus," he mutters. "I need a smoke."
He pushes you away without warning.
You flinch a s you land back in the passenger seat, the sudden space between you feeling too big. You don't say anything. You just sit there, staring at the dashboard, trying to piece together what just happened.
Billy leans out the window, lighting a cigarette. The flame flares, then settles. He inhales, exhales. Smoke curls around his face.
He looks good like this.
You watch him smoke for a bit.
Then you feel it. Warm. Uncomfortable.
You look down and saw his white sticky cum leak out of your puffy cunt.
"Oh-" you whisper, panic blooming.
Billy notices at the same time.
"What the fuck?" He jerks upright, looking at the seat. "Are you kidding me?"
"I-I didn't-" Your hands hover uselessly. "I'm sorry, Billy, I-"
"Jesus Christ," he snaps. "My car."
He digs around, shoves something at you—an old rag, crumpled and rough. "Clean it up.“
Your hands shake as you take it.
"I didn't mean to" you say quickly. "I swear. I wasn't trying to-"
"Just do it" he cuts in. "God."
You scrub at the seat, heart racing, throat tight. Your mind spins, trying to catch up.
Trying to understand how it flipped so fast.
A minute ago he was holding you like you mattered.
Now this.
You sneak a glance at him, hoping for alook. A smile. Anything.
Nothing.
Your stepfather's voice creeps in, low and familiar. Can't you do anything right?
Your chest aches.
"I'm sorry," you whisper again, even though you don't know what you're apologizing for anymore.
Billy exhales smoke through his nose. "Just-be careful, okay?"
Careful.
You nod. Of course you do.
You sit back, clutching the rag in your lap, staring out the windshield at the dark. You wanted to be held by him again. The warmth. The closeness. How safe it feltfor just a second.
The silence stretches until it feels like it might choke you.
"Do you even like me?" you ask suddenly.
Billy glances over. "What?"
"Do you," you press, your voice thin, "like me? Or am I just--" You gesture vaguely between the two of you. "This."
Sex.
Billy smirks. "I deserve to have a pretty bitch next to me." He reaches over, hooks a finger under your chin, forcing your face toward his. "And you're the prettiest girl in town, baby."
Your chest tightens.
"That's it?" you whisper. "That's why?"
He shrugs. "You want m e to write you a damn poem?"
You feel stupid for asking. Stupid for wanting more than what he's giving. What matters is that he's here. That he chose you. That he's not back at that party with someone else.
Billy's eyes drift again-down to your legs.
He frowns . "Those bruises," he says. "You never told me who did that."
Your stomach twists.
"I told you," you say quickly. "I fall."
"Bullshit," he mutters, but his voice isquieter now. "Those aren't from falling."
You hesitate. Too long.
Billy exhales sharply. "Was it him?" he asks. "Your stepdad."
Your heart stutters. You nod once. Just once.
"He gets mad sometimes"" you say carefully. "Drinks too much."
You don't tell him about the nights you hid.You don't tell him what Hopper took. You don't tell him how young you were.
Billy's jaw tightens. He stares straight ahead.
"Yeah," he says after a moment. "Figures."
There's something different in his voice. Not gentle. But not mocking either.
"My dad's an asshole too," he adds. "Always has been.'
You look at him. Really look.
"He hits you?" you ask softly.
Billy's lips press together. "Used to. Still tries." A pause. "I don't let him see it bothers me."
You nod, like that makes sense.
You hesitate, then ask, "What about your mom?"
The change is instant.
Billy's head snaps toward you. "Don't," he says sharply.
"I'm just-"
"I said don't." His hands tighten on the steering wheel. "Don't talk about her."
Panic floods you. You moved too fast. You fucked it up again. You pushed where you weren't allowed.
"I'm sorry," you rush out. "I didn't mean—I just…“
Your voice cracks, and suddenly you're talking before you can stop. ".. My mom wasn't good," you say. "She was sick. Depressed. Pills, mostly." You swallow. "She married Hopper for money. For stability. Not for me."
Billy glances at you, caught off guard.
"She killed herself when I was fourteen,"
you continue, words tumbling now. "I found her. In the bathroom. No note. Nothing." Your hands shake. "She just...left. Left me with him."
Your chest burns.
"She should've taken me with her," you
whisper. "Or taken me away. Anywhere."
Anger sharpens your voice. "She wasn't a good mother."
Silence.
Billy's anger drains out of him slowly, like a tide pulling back.
"Mine was," he says quietly.
You look a t him.
"She loved my dad," he continues. "Even when he got violent. She always said he'd change." His voice drops. "She loved me. She was... the best."
He swallows.
"She had a brain tumor," he says after a beat. "Doctors didn't catch it in time."
Your heart aches.
"I should've noticed," Billy mutters. "Should've done something." His mouth twists. "Guess I wasn't big enough yet."
You don't say anything. You just listen.
Billy clears his throat, shifts in his seat. The moment is already closing. He never stays open for too long.
"You should be more careful," he says instead. "About the bruises. People notice."
Careful. Quiet. Invisible.
You nod.
"Okay," you whisper.
He starts the engine. "I'll drive you home now. You got school tomorrow."
You lean back in your seat, heart heavy, head buzzing, wondering if your mother felt like this too…so in love.
