Dark (duh)!Soldierboy x Two Original female characters
Summery: two girls helping Ben to jerk off
Warnings: very dark and unforgiving, soldierboy should be a warning enough ⚠️
The air in the suite smelled like expensive bourbon. Soldierboy sat on the edge of the oversized bed, chest bare, looking violent and alive.
To his left was the blonde and to his right, the brunette. They were beautiful, sure, but to him, they were just props Vought shoved in his ass to keep him smiling.
"Focus," Ben growled, his voice a low, vibrating rasp. He didn't use his hands for his own pleasure. He couldn't even remember the last time he had to jerk himself off. There was always a bitch ready to help. He reached out, his thick, fingers wrapping firmly around each of the girls throats. He wasn't squeezing, not yet.
"Start moving," he commanded. "And don't get lazy."
Their hands gripped his hard cock, their movements synchronized and frantic as they worked to please a man who viewed their effort as his birthright. Ben leaned back slightly, his thumbs pressing just enough against their windpipes to make their breaths hitch.
"Look at you," he sneered, his eyes darting between the blonde and the brunette. "A couple of star-struck little things, desperate for a taste of the real deal. You think this makes you special? You’re just a way to kill twenty minutes before I find a better drink."
As the friction intensified, so did the pressure of his grip. He watched with a predatory satisfaction as their pupils dilated and their faces began to flush a deep pink. The blonde’s eyes started to flutter, her grip faltering as her brain screamed for oxygen.
"Did I tell you to stop, kid?" he barked, tightening his hold. "Keep going. If you pass out before I'm finished, I’m kicking you out into the hall buck-naked. Move those hands."
The brunette let out a weak, wheezing sound, her soft fingers trembling against him, struggling to keep it going. She knew that making him cum was the only way to get through this alive. She was fighting to stay conscious, her focus split between the task at hand and the fading light at the edges of her vision.
"That’s it," Ben whispered, a cruel smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Fight for it. Show me you’re worth the air I’m letting you have. You’re nothing but pretty little trophies, and right now, you’re failing the audition."
He held them on that razor-thin edge, all while lashing insults out on them. He was not only taking their breath he was also taking their dignity, and in the cold, hard world of Soldier Boy, that was the only way he knew to get off.
The blonde’s head lolled back, her eyes rolling into her head as the world turned to gray static. Her hand slowed, her fingers slipping uselessly against him.
"Wake up, sweetheart," Ben hissed. He didn't let go. He shifted his grip to bring her back to the present. "I didn't give you permission to sleep. You're here to work."
She gasped, a thin, pathetic sound as a bit of air rushed into her lungs. Beside her, the brunette was in no better condition. Her chest was heaving in a desperate, silent rhythm, her face slick with sweat and tears she didn't have the breath to shed.
"Look at you both," Ben chuckled, the sound dark. "Pathetic. You’re disposable. You realize that, right?"
He increased the pace of his own hips, forcing them to keep up with his rising heat. His hands remained like iron collars, anchoring them to his whims. Every time the blonde’s eyelids drooped, he gave a sharp, controlled squeeze, forcing her back into the room, back into this nightmare.
"You like being used like this, don't you?" he mocked, leaning in so close his breath fanned over the brunettes damp skin. "To be reminded that you’re just a couple of nameless bodies in a hero's bed? You’re lucky I’m even looking at you."
The room seemed to shrink as his climax neared. The air was heavy, charged with the scent of their fear and his overwhelming dominance. The brunettes grip was white-knuckled now, her entire body shaking as she fought the darkness, her vision tunneling until all she could see was the cold, blue steel in Soldier Boy's eyes.
"Almost there," he growled, his voice dropping dangerous. "Don’t you dare go dark on me now. Finish it."
With one final, punishing squeeze that sent them both to the very brink of blacking out, Ben let out a sharp, jagged exhale as his hot semen painted their chests white. It was so inhumanly hot it almost burned their skins and left a mark. He watched them, half-conscious, gasping, and utterly broken. He watched with the detached satisfaction of a man who had just finished a drink. As he finally released his hold, they collapsed onto the silk sheets like discarded dolls, their lungs burning as they finally, greedily, sucked in the air.
"Clean yourselves up," he said, already reaching for the bourbon on the nightstand without looking back. "I’m bored of you."
The heavy silence of the room was broken only by the sound of Ben’s glass clinking. On the bed, the blonde and the brunette lay tangled in a mess of limbs and damp sheets. Their lungs burned, every breath feeling like swallowing glass as the oxygen rushed back into their systems.
The blonde’s hand shook as she reached out, her fingers brushing against the brunette’s arm. They had been "assigned" to Ben six months ago. Vought’s way of keeping their most volatile asset "stable." In the corporate brochures, they were elite companies, young, pretty and trained for this kind of work, but in this room, they were punching bags for a man who didn't know how to touch anything without trying to break it.
He actually did it this time, the blonde thought, her throat throbbing with the distinct, terrifying pulse of a bruise forming. He wanted to see the light go out.
She looked at the brunette, whose soft skin was painted by the angry red imprints of Ben’s fingers. The brunette’s eyes were wide, staring at the ceiling, glossed over with a thousand-yard stare that made the blonde’s stomach turn.
"Don't just lay there," Ben muttered from the armchair, drink in hand, not even glancing their way. "The sound of your wheezing is giving me a headache. Get in the shower."
The brunette flinched at the sound of his voice. Her mind was a chaotic loop of the last five minutes, the way the room had turned into a tunnel of black, the way Ben’s face had stayed so terrifyingly calm while he squeezed the life out of her. To him, it was a power trip; to her, it was the realization that she was a meaningless puppet for a company much bigger than her life.
We’re just equipment, the brunette thought, a cold, numb sensation spreading through her chest. Like his shield. Something to be used, scuffed up, and polished back for the next time he's bored.
Slowly, they sat up, supporting each other. The blonde’s legs felt like lead, and the brunette had to catch her by the waist to keep her from slipping off the bed. They didn't speak. They couldn't. Anything they said would be recorded by the bugs in the walls or overheard by the man who treated murder like a foreplay technique.
As they retreated into the bathroom, the click of the door provided the only shred of false safety they had.
The blonde turned on the water, the steam filling the room to mask their whispers.
She looked at the brunette in the mirror. The bruises on their necks were identical, a matching set of Soldier Boy’s fingerprints.
"We’re okay," the blonde whispered, though her voice was a shredded wreck.
The brunette leaned her forehead against the cool tile, her body finally starting to tremble. "He’s going to kill us one of these days. And Vought is just going to send a cleaning crew and two new girls."
"I know," the blonde breathed, pulling her friend into a tight, desperate embrace.
They stood there under the spray, two friends who were supposed to be the envy of every star-chaser in the city, holding onto each other for dear life.
"It could be worse.. ", the blonde whispered.
"How?"
"We could be going through this alone..."
The blonde was right. They were serving a "hero" who was the most dangerous thing they had ever encountered, but they had each other.
Dark (duh)!Soldierboy x Two Original female characters
Summery: two girls helping Ben to jerk off
Warnings: very dark and unforgiving, soldierboy should be a warning enough ⚠️
The air in the suite smelled like expensive bourbon. Soldierboy sat on the edge of the oversized bed, chest bare, looking violent and alive.
To his left was the blonde and to his right, the brunette. They were beautiful, sure, but to him, they were just props Vought shoved in his ass to keep him smiling.
"Focus," Ben growled, his voice a low, vibrating rasp. He didn't use his hands for his own pleasure. He couldn't even remember the last time he had to jerk himself off. There was always a bitch ready to help. He reached out, his thick, fingers wrapping firmly around each of the girls throats. He wasn't squeezing, not yet.
"Start moving," he commanded. "And don't get lazy."
Their hands gripped his hard cock, their movements synchronized and frantic as they worked to please a man who viewed their effort as his birthright. Ben leaned back slightly, his thumbs pressing just enough against their windpipes to make their breaths hitch.
"Look at you," he sneered, his eyes darting between the blonde and the brunette. "A couple of star-struck little things, desperate for a taste of the real deal. You think this makes you special? You’re just a way to kill twenty minutes before I find a better drink."
As the friction intensified, so did the pressure of his grip. He watched with a predatory satisfaction as their pupils dilated and their faces began to flush a deep pink. The blonde’s eyes started to flutter, her grip faltering as her brain screamed for oxygen.
"Did I tell you to stop, kid?" he barked, tightening his hold. "Keep going. If you pass out before I'm finished, I’m kicking you out into the hall buck-naked. Move those hands."
The brunette let out a weak, wheezing sound, her soft fingers trembling against him, struggling to keep it going. She knew that making him cum was the only way to get through this alive. She was fighting to stay conscious, her focus split between the task at hand and the fading light at the edges of her vision.
"That’s it," Ben whispered, a cruel smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Fight for it. Show me you’re worth the air I’m letting you have. You’re nothing but pretty little trophies, and right now, you’re failing the audition."
He held them on that razor-thin edge, all while lashing insults out on them. He was not only taking their breath he was also taking their dignity, and in the cold, hard world of Soldier Boy, that was the only way he knew to get off.
The blonde’s head lolled back, her eyes rolling into her head as the world turned to gray static. Her hand slowed, her fingers slipping uselessly against him.
"Wake up, sweetheart," Ben hissed. He didn't let go. He shifted his grip to bring her back to the present. "I didn't give you permission to sleep. You're here to work."
She gasped, a thin, pathetic sound as a bit of air rushed into her lungs. Beside her, the brunette was in no better condition. Her chest was heaving in a desperate, silent rhythm, her face slick with sweat and tears she didn't have the breath to shed.
"Look at you both," Ben chuckled, the sound dark. "Pathetic. You’re disposable. You realize that, right?"
He increased the pace of his own hips, forcing them to keep up with his rising heat. His hands remained like iron collars, anchoring them to his whims. Every time the blonde’s eyelids drooped, he gave a sharp, controlled squeeze, forcing her back into the room, back into this nightmare.
"You like being used like this, don't you?" he mocked, leaning in so close his breath fanned over the brunettes damp skin. "To be reminded that you’re just a couple of nameless bodies in a hero's bed? You’re lucky I’m even looking at you."
The room seemed to shrink as his climax neared. The air was heavy, charged with the scent of their fear and his overwhelming dominance. The brunettes grip was white-knuckled now, her entire body shaking as she fought the darkness, her vision tunneling until all she could see was the cold, blue steel in Soldier Boy's eyes.
"Almost there," he growled, his voice dropping dangerous. "Don’t you dare go dark on me now. Finish it."
With one final, punishing squeeze that sent them both to the very brink of blacking out, Ben let out a sharp, jagged exhale as his hot semen painted their chests white. It was so inhumanly hot it almost burned their skins and left a mark. He watched them, half-conscious, gasping, and utterly broken. He watched with the detached satisfaction of a man who had just finished a drink. As he finally released his hold, they collapsed onto the silk sheets like discarded dolls, their lungs burning as they finally, greedily, sucked in the air.
"Clean yourselves up," he said, already reaching for the bourbon on the nightstand without looking back. "I’m bored of you."
The heavy silence of the room was broken only by the sound of Ben’s glass clinking. On the bed, the blonde and the brunette lay tangled in a mess of limbs and damp sheets. Their lungs burned, every breath feeling like swallowing glass as the oxygen rushed back into their systems.
The blonde’s hand shook as she reached out, her fingers brushing against the brunette’s arm. They had been "assigned" to Ben six months ago. Vought’s way of keeping their most volatile asset "stable." In the corporate brochures, they were elite companies, young, pretty and trained for this kind of work, but in this room, they were punching bags for a man who didn't know how to touch anything without trying to break it.
He actually did it this time, the blonde thought, her throat throbbing with the distinct, terrifying pulse of a bruise forming. He wanted to see the light go out.
She looked at the brunette, whose soft skin was painted by the angry red imprints of Ben’s fingers. The brunette’s eyes were wide, staring at the ceiling, glossed over with a thousand-yard stare that made the blonde’s stomach turn.
"Don't just lay there," Ben muttered from the armchair, drink in hand, not even glancing their way. "The sound of your wheezing is giving me a headache. Get in the shower."
The brunette flinched at the sound of his voice. Her mind was a chaotic loop of the last five minutes, the way the room had turned into a tunnel of black, the way Ben’s face had stayed so terrifyingly calm while he squeezed the life out of her. To him, it was a power trip; to her, it was the realization that she was a meaningless puppet for a company much bigger than her life.
We’re just equipment, the brunette thought, a cold, numb sensation spreading through her chest. Like his shield. Something to be used, scuffed up, and polished back for the next time he's bored.
Slowly, they sat up, supporting each other. The blonde’s legs felt like lead, and the brunette had to catch her by the waist to keep her from slipping off the bed. They didn't speak. They couldn't. Anything they said would be recorded by the bugs in the walls or overheard by the man who treated murder like a foreplay technique.
As they retreated into the bathroom, the click of the door provided the only shred of false safety they had.
The blonde turned on the water, the steam filling the room to mask their whispers.
She looked at the brunette in the mirror. The bruises on their necks were identical, a matching set of Soldier Boy’s fingerprints.
"We’re okay," the blonde whispered, though her voice was a shredded wreck.
The brunette leaned her forehead against the cool tile, her body finally starting to tremble. "He’s going to kill us one of these days. And Vought is just going to send a cleaning crew and two new girls."
"I know," the blonde breathed, pulling her friend into a tight, desperate embrace.
They stood there under the spray, two friends who were supposed to be the envy of every star-chaser in the city, holding onto each other for dear life.
"It could be worse.. ", the blonde whispered.
"How?"
"We could be going through this alone..."
The blonde was right. They were serving a "hero" who was the most dangerous thing they had ever encountered, but they had each other.
Dark (duh)!Soldierboy x Two Original female characters
Summery: two girls helping Ben to jerk off
Warnings: very dark and unforgiving, soldierboy should be a warning enough ⚠️
The air in the suite smelled like expensive bourbon. Soldierboy sat on the edge of the oversized bed, chest bare, looking violent and alive.
To his left was the blonde and to his right, the brunette. They were beautiful, sure, but to him, they were just props Vought shoved in his ass to keep him smiling.
"Focus," Ben growled, his voice a low, vibrating rasp. He didn't use his hands for his own pleasure. He couldn't even remember the last time he had to jerk himself off. There was always a bitch ready to help. He reached out, his thick, fingers wrapping firmly around each of the girls throats. He wasn't squeezing, not yet.
"Start moving," he commanded. "And don't get lazy."
Their hands gripped his hard cock, their movements synchronized and frantic as they worked to please a man who viewed their effort as his birthright. Ben leaned back slightly, his thumbs pressing just enough against their windpipes to make their breaths hitch.
"Look at you," he sneered, his eyes darting between the blonde and the brunette. "A couple of star-struck little things, desperate for a taste of the real deal. You think this makes you special? You’re just a way to kill twenty minutes before I find a better drink."
As the friction intensified, so did the pressure of his grip. He watched with a predatory satisfaction as their pupils dilated and their faces began to flush a deep pink. The blonde’s eyes started to flutter, her grip faltering as her brain screamed for oxygen.
"Did I tell you to stop, kid?" he barked, tightening his hold. "Keep going. If you pass out before I'm finished, I’m kicking you out into the hall buck-naked. Move those hands."
The brunette let out a weak, wheezing sound, her soft fingers trembling against him, struggling to keep it going. She knew that making him cum was the only way to get through this alive. She was fighting to stay conscious, her focus split between the task at hand and the fading light at the edges of her vision.
"That’s it," Ben whispered, a cruel smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Fight for it. Show me you’re worth the air I’m letting you have. You’re nothing but pretty little trophies, and right now, you’re failing the audition."
He held them on that razor-thin edge, all while lashing insults out on them. He was not only taking their breath he was also taking their dignity, and in the cold, hard world of Soldier Boy, that was the only way he knew to get off.
The blonde’s head lolled back, her eyes rolling into her head as the world turned to gray static. Her hand slowed, her fingers slipping uselessly against him.
"Wake up, sweetheart," Ben hissed. He didn't let go. He shifted his grip to bring her back to the present. "I didn't give you permission to sleep. You're here to work."
She gasped, a thin, pathetic sound as a bit of air rushed into her lungs. Beside her, the brunette was in no better condition. Her chest was heaving in a desperate, silent rhythm, her face slick with sweat and tears she didn't have the breath to shed.
"Look at you both," Ben chuckled, the sound dark. "Pathetic. You’re disposable. You realize that, right?"
He increased the pace of his own hips, forcing them to keep up with his rising heat. His hands remained like iron collars, anchoring them to his whims. Every time the blonde’s eyelids drooped, he gave a sharp, controlled squeeze, forcing her back into the room, back into this nightmare.
"You like being used like this, don't you?" he mocked, leaning in so close his breath fanned over the brunettes damp skin. "To be reminded that you’re just a couple of nameless bodies in a hero's bed? You’re lucky I’m even looking at you."
The room seemed to shrink as his climax neared. The air was heavy, charged with the scent of their fear and his overwhelming dominance. The brunettes grip was white-knuckled now, her entire body shaking as she fought the darkness, her vision tunneling until all she could see was the cold, blue steel in Soldier Boy's eyes.
"Almost there," he growled, his voice dropping dangerous. "Don’t you dare go dark on me now. Finish it."
With one final, punishing squeeze that sent them both to the very brink of blacking out, Ben let out a sharp, jagged exhale as his hot semen painted their chests white. It was so inhumanly hot it almost burned their skins and left a mark. He watched them, half-conscious, gasping, and utterly broken. He watched with the detached satisfaction of a man who had just finished a drink. As he finally released his hold, they collapsed onto the silk sheets like discarded dolls, their lungs burning as they finally, greedily, sucked in the air.
"Clean yourselves up," he said, already reaching for the bourbon on the nightstand without looking back. "I’m bored of you."
The heavy silence of the room was broken only by the sound of Ben’s glass clinking. On the bed, the blonde and the brunette lay tangled in a mess of limbs and damp sheets. Their lungs burned, every breath feeling like swallowing glass as the oxygen rushed back into their systems.
The blonde’s hand shook as she reached out, her fingers brushing against the brunette’s arm. They had been "assigned" to Ben six months ago. Vought’s way of keeping their most volatile asset "stable." In the corporate brochures, they were elite companies, young, pretty and trained for this kind of work, but in this room, they were punching bags for a man who didn't know how to touch anything without trying to break it.
He actually did it this time, the blonde thought, her throat throbbing with the distinct, terrifying pulse of a bruise forming. He wanted to see the light go out.
She looked at the brunette, whose soft skin was painted by the angry red imprints of Ben’s fingers. The brunette’s eyes were wide, staring at the ceiling, glossed over with a thousand-yard stare that made the blonde’s stomach turn.
"Don't just lay there," Ben muttered from the armchair, drink in hand, not even glancing their way. "The sound of your wheezing is giving me a headache. Get in the shower."
The brunette flinched at the sound of his voice. Her mind was a chaotic loop of the last five minutes, the way the room had turned into a tunnel of black, the way Ben’s face had stayed so terrifyingly calm while he squeezed the life out of her. To him, it was a power trip; to her, it was the realization that she was a meaningless puppet for a company much bigger than her life.
We’re just equipment, the brunette thought, a cold, numb sensation spreading through her chest. Like his shield. Something to be used, scuffed up, and polished back for the next time he's bored.
Slowly, they sat up, supporting each other. The blonde’s legs felt like lead, and the brunette had to catch her by the waist to keep her from slipping off the bed. They didn't speak. They couldn't. Anything they said would be recorded by the bugs in the walls or overheard by the man who treated murder like a foreplay technique.
As they retreated into the bathroom, the click of the door provided the only shred of false safety they had.
The blonde turned on the water, the steam filling the room to mask their whispers.
She looked at the brunette in the mirror. The bruises on their necks were identical, a matching set of Soldier Boy’s fingerprints.
"We’re okay," the blonde whispered, though her voice was a shredded wreck.
The brunette leaned her forehead against the cool tile, her body finally starting to tremble. "He’s going to kill us one of these days. And Vought is just going to send a cleaning crew and two new girls."
"I know," the blonde breathed, pulling her friend into a tight, desperate embrace.
They stood there under the spray, two friends who were supposed to be the envy of every star-chaser in the city, holding onto each other for dear life.
"It could be worse.. ", the blonde whispered.
"How?"
"We could be going through this alone..."
The blonde was right. They were serving a "hero" who was the most dangerous thing they had ever encountered, but they had each other.
Dark (duh)!Soldierboy x Two Original female characters
Summery: two girls helping Ben to jerk off
Warnings: very dark and unforgiving, soldierboy should be a warning enough ⚠️
The air in the suite smelled like expensive bourbon. Soldierboy sat on the edge of the oversized bed, chest bare, looking violent and alive.
To his left was the blonde and to his right, the brunette. They were beautiful, sure, but to him, they were just props Vought shoved in his ass to keep him smiling.
"Focus," Ben growled, his voice a low, vibrating rasp. He didn't use his hands for his own pleasure. He couldn't even remember the last time he had to jerk himself off. There was always a bitch ready to help. He reached out, his thick, fingers wrapping firmly around each of the girls throats. He wasn't squeezing, not yet.
"Start moving," he commanded. "And don't get lazy."
Their hands gripped his hard cock, their movements synchronized and frantic as they worked to please a man who viewed their effort as his birthright. Ben leaned back slightly, his thumbs pressing just enough against their windpipes to make their breaths hitch.
"Look at you," he sneered, his eyes darting between the blonde and the brunette. "A couple of star-struck little things, desperate for a taste of the real deal. You think this makes you special? You’re just a way to kill twenty minutes before I find a better drink."
As the friction intensified, so did the pressure of his grip. He watched with a predatory satisfaction as their pupils dilated and their faces began to flush a deep pink. The blonde’s eyes started to flutter, her grip faltering as her brain screamed for oxygen.
"Did I tell you to stop, kid?" he barked, tightening his hold. "Keep going. If you pass out before I'm finished, I’m kicking you out into the hall buck-naked. Move those hands."
The brunette let out a weak, wheezing sound, her soft fingers trembling against him, struggling to keep it going. She knew that making him cum was the only way to get through this alive. She was fighting to stay conscious, her focus split between the task at hand and the fading light at the edges of her vision.
"That’s it," Ben whispered, a cruel smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Fight for it. Show me you’re worth the air I’m letting you have. You’re nothing but pretty little trophies, and right now, you’re failing the audition."
He held them on that razor-thin edge, all while lashing insults out on them. He was not only taking their breath he was also taking their dignity, and in the cold, hard world of Soldier Boy, that was the only way he knew to get off.
The blonde’s head lolled back, her eyes rolling into her head as the world turned to gray static. Her hand slowed, her fingers slipping uselessly against him.
"Wake up, sweetheart," Ben hissed. He didn't let go. He shifted his grip to bring her back to the present. "I didn't give you permission to sleep. You're here to work."
She gasped, a thin, pathetic sound as a bit of air rushed into her lungs. Beside her, the brunette was in no better condition. Her chest was heaving in a desperate, silent rhythm, her face slick with sweat and tears she didn't have the breath to shed.
"Look at you both," Ben chuckled, the sound dark. "Pathetic. You’re disposable. You realize that, right?"
He increased the pace of his own hips, forcing them to keep up with his rising heat. His hands remained like iron collars, anchoring them to his whims. Every time the blonde’s eyelids drooped, he gave a sharp, controlled squeeze, forcing her back into the room, back into this nightmare.
"You like being used like this, don't you?" he mocked, leaning in so close his breath fanned over the brunettes damp skin. "To be reminded that you’re just a couple of nameless bodies in a hero's bed? You’re lucky I’m even looking at you."
The room seemed to shrink as his climax neared. The air was heavy, charged with the scent of their fear and his overwhelming dominance. The brunettes grip was white-knuckled now, her entire body shaking as she fought the darkness, her vision tunneling until all she could see was the cold, blue steel in Soldier Boy's eyes.
"Almost there," he growled, his voice dropping dangerous. "Don’t you dare go dark on me now. Finish it."
With one final, punishing squeeze that sent them both to the very brink of blacking out, Ben let out a sharp, jagged exhale as his hot semen painted their chests white. It was so inhumanly hot it almost burned their skins and left a mark. He watched them, half-conscious, gasping, and utterly broken. He watched with the detached satisfaction of a man who had just finished a drink. As he finally released his hold, they collapsed onto the silk sheets like discarded dolls, their lungs burning as they finally, greedily, sucked in the air.
"Clean yourselves up," he said, already reaching for the bourbon on the nightstand without looking back. "I’m bored of you."
The heavy silence of the room was broken only by the sound of Ben’s glass clinking. On the bed, the blonde and the brunette lay tangled in a mess of limbs and damp sheets. Their lungs burned, every breath feeling like swallowing glass as the oxygen rushed back into their systems.
The blonde’s hand shook as she reached out, her fingers brushing against the brunette’s arm. They had been "assigned" to Ben six months ago. Vought’s way of keeping their most volatile asset "stable." In the corporate brochures, they were elite companies, young, pretty and trained for this kind of work, but in this room, they were punching bags for a man who didn't know how to touch anything without trying to break it.
He actually did it this time, the blonde thought, her throat throbbing with the distinct, terrifying pulse of a bruise forming. He wanted to see the light go out.
She looked at the brunette, whose soft skin was painted by the angry red imprints of Ben’s fingers. The brunette’s eyes were wide, staring at the ceiling, glossed over with a thousand-yard stare that made the blonde’s stomach turn.
"Don't just lay there," Ben muttered from the armchair, drink in hand, not even glancing their way. "The sound of your wheezing is giving me a headache. Get in the shower."
The brunette flinched at the sound of his voice. Her mind was a chaotic loop of the last five minutes, the way the room had turned into a tunnel of black, the way Ben’s face had stayed so terrifyingly calm while he squeezed the life out of her. To him, it was a power trip; to her, it was the realization that she was a meaningless puppet for a company much bigger than her life.
We’re just equipment, the brunette thought, a cold, numb sensation spreading through her chest. Like his shield. Something to be used, scuffed up, and polished back for the next time he's bored.
Slowly, they sat up, supporting each other. The blonde’s legs felt like lead, and the brunette had to catch her by the waist to keep her from slipping off the bed. They didn't speak. They couldn't. Anything they said would be recorded by the bugs in the walls or overheard by the man who treated murder like a foreplay technique.
As they retreated into the bathroom, the click of the door provided the only shred of false safety they had.
The blonde turned on the water, the steam filling the room to mask their whispers.
She looked at the brunette in the mirror. The bruises on their necks were identical, a matching set of Soldier Boy’s fingerprints.
"We’re okay," the blonde whispered, though her voice was a shredded wreck.
The brunette leaned her forehead against the cool tile, her body finally starting to tremble. "He’s going to kill us one of these days. And Vought is just going to send a cleaning crew and two new girls."
"I know," the blonde breathed, pulling her friend into a tight, desperate embrace.
They stood there under the spray, two friends who were supposed to be the envy of every star-chaser in the city, holding onto each other for dear life.
"It could be worse.. ", the blonde whispered.
"How?"
"We could be going through this alone..."
The blonde was right. They were serving a "hero" who was the most dangerous thing they had ever encountered, but they had each other.
Your estranged friends Max, Steve and Billy, find you crying, half naked, in the woods.
Warning: RAPE, RACISM (canon typical), mentions of past trauma and abuse, violence.
A/n: This fic can be seen as a part 2 of my first Billy Hargrove fic, but can also be read as a stand-alone fic. You don’t have to read my first fic to follow along.
Billy shoved you hard against the rough surface of the stone, your back scraping against the jagged edges. Pain flares up your spine, but it's nothing compared to the terror flooding through your veins.
His face twisted in rage, mullet disheveled from the wind. “You think you can talk back to me like that?” he growled, his breath hot and sour against your face.
You opened your mouth to beg, but he backhanded you across the cheek, the slap echoing through the trees. Your head snapped to the side, skin stinging like fire.
“Please, Billy, stop,” you whimpered, tears streaming down your face, tasting salt on your lips. You’re shaking so hard that your knees buckled, but Billy yanks you up by your hair, roots pulling painfully.
“Stop the fucking tears.” he spat “you women are all the same. Crying won’t help you out of this.”
You couldn’t believe that this was the same Billy you kept on dreaming to marry every night before falling asleep..
His free hand teared at your sweater, ripping the fabric with a sharp tear. Buttons popped off, scattering into the leaves. “You wanna act up? I'll show you what happens to little sluts who mouth off.”
His knee jammed between your thighs, forcing them apart as he pressed his hardening cock against your hip through his jeans.
Terror clawed at you; you thrashed weakly, but he's too strong. “No, please, don't—“ your plea cuts off as he slapped you again. Pain exploding under your skin. You scream, the sound echoed off the trees. Birds scattered from the branches above.
Billy clamped a hand over your mouth, smothering your cries, his fingers digging into your cheeks hard enough to bruise. “Scream all you want, baby. You know I love when you act all virgin.”
With brutal efficiency, he yanked your jeans down your legs, the denim catching on your sneakers before he kicked them free. You’re exposed in your plain cotton panties. He shoved your legs wider. The rock bit into your bare skin, scraping raw patches on your back and ass as you squirm.
Billy unzipped his jeans, freeing his thick cock, already throbbing and leaking pre-cum at the tip. It's veined and angry-looking. He didn’t bother with gentleness but grabs your cute panties and rips them aside, the fabric tearing with a snap. You felt the exposure keenly, your pussy clenching in fear.
This all felt too familiar...
“Shit, babe. Are you wet or is this piss from being scared shitless.” He mocked, but you knew it's just your body's betrayal, slick from terror.
Another feeling that was just too familiar. You couldn’t stand it.
He slammed into you without warning, his cock forcing past your folds in one vicious thrust. Pain ripped through you like lightning, your pink walls stretching painfully around Billy’s grith. You screamed into his palm, muffled, tears soaking his hand. He didn’t care—pounds into you relentlessly. The stone grinding against your spine with every brutal push, your body jolting like a ragdoll.
“Fuck, you're tight,” he grunted, punctuating his words with a slap to your face and then a deep kiss on your lips. You choked on a sob, your vision blurry from the pain and tears. His other hand fisted your hair again, yanking your head back to expose your throat. He bite down hard on your neck, teeth sinking in until you felt skin break.
He beats your pussy in rhythm with his cock. Each hit forceful. You felt the bruises blooming all over your body. You’re sobbing uncontrollably now, snot and tears mixing on your face, body limp from Billy’s treatment and you wondered in your misery how you fucked up this badly again.
Billy's pace was quick, grunts animalistic. He released your mouth to grab your throat, squeezing until black spots dance in your vision. You were sure he had no clue how strong he was and how fragile you really were.
“Take it, you fucking whore,” he snarled, choking you harder as he slams in deep.
Your lungs burn, chest heaving uselessly. Panic rose; you desperately scratched at his wrist, nails breaking skin, but he just tightened his grip. His cock twitched inside you, hot spurts of cum flooded your pussy in thick ropes. He roared, hips jerking erratically, filling you until it leaked out around his shaft, mixing with little bit of your blood from the rough entry.
He didn’t pull out right away—stayed buried, grinding against you as he rode out his orgasm. Then, with a final kiss to your bruised cheek, he shoved you down onto the forest floor. You crumpled beside the stone, curling into a ball. Cum dripping out from your abused pussy, staining the dirt.
Billy zips up. “Next time you argue, it'll be worse.” He started to walks away. “Get dressed I’ll wait in the car.”
———
The path to the clubhouse was a thin scar through the trees.
Max walked ahead, kicking stones too hard. Her jaw was set the way it got when she was trying not to cry or scream or do something worse. Steve followed a few steps behind her, hands shoved into his pockets like he was afraid of what his fists might do if left loose. Eddie brought up the rear, like if he slowed down enough the conversation wouldn’t catch up to them.
It did anyway.
“She didn’t even call back,” Max said finally, breaking the silence. “Again.”
Steve scoffed. “Why would she? She probably too busy getting smashed by him.”
They were talking about you.
Eddie winced, flicking ash from his cigarette. “Jesus, Harrington. You don’t have to say it like that.”
Eddie was right, but so was Steve.
“I do,” Steve shot back. “Someone has to say it out loud since everyone keeps pretending this is just some messy high school relationship and not a fucking train wreck.”
Max stopped walking and turned on him. Her eyes were sharp. “You think I don’t know that?
Steve held up his hands, frustrated. “I think you know it. I think you know it better than anyone since he’s your brother.”
“Step-brother.”, Max corrected sharply.
“Knowing won’t change shit if she doesn’t listen to us.”
“She listens to him,” Eddie muttered. “That’s the problem.”
The unspoken name: Billy Hargrove.
Steve exhaled hard. “He didn’t even like her at first…Not really. He just—” He stopped, jaw tightening. “He saw how close she was to us. Saw her laughing with me. With you guys. And suddenly he is interested in her.”
Max swallowed. “She loved him though. She would always get excited to see him. It was disgusting to witness.”
“She loved the version he pretended to be,” Steve snapped. “There’s a difference.”
Eddie shook his head slowly. “Man, I’ve been around assholes. I am one sometimes. But Billy? He’s… different. He takes it too far, always.”
“She’s pretty.,” Max said. “That’s all that matters to Billy.”
They were all in a bad mood. It was suffocating. None of them said the worst part out loud: that they all knew she was hurting. That they all knew he was fucking other girls. That they all knew she knew—and stayed.
The woods thinned.
And then Max froze.
“Wait,” she said. “Do you see that?”
Steve followed her gaze.
There was that familiar rock just off the path. They’d all sat on it a hundred times, passing joints, skipping class. And sitting on that familiar rock was you.
Curled in on yourself like a wounded animal. Shirt gone. Bra strap hanging loose down one shoulder. Knees pulled to your chest. Bare skin smeared with dirt and tears. Hair tangled. Mascara streaked black down your cheeks.
She was crying without making a sound. Just shaking. Like you’d already screamed everything out.
Max ran.
“Hey—hey—oh my God,” Max dropped to her knees in front of you, hands hovering like she was afraid to touch. “Hey, it’s us. It’s us.”
You looked up to Max slowly. Your eyes were glassy. When you recognised Max and the boys, you collapsed.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered immediately. You were ashamed that they had to see you like this.
Steve’s stomach dropped.
Your cheek was swollen. Purple blooming under the skin.
“What the fuck,” Eddie breathed. “Holy shit.”
Steve crouched in front of you, he was angry and calm at the same time “who the fuck did this to you.”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.
Max grabbed your hands gently—and then sucked in a breath. Red marks circled your wrists.
“He left you here?” Max asked, voice shaking. “He just—left you?”
You shook your head, staring at the ground. “We fought. I said something stupid. He is waiting for me, I—“
Steve’s hands curled into fists. “No. No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to make it your fault.”
“He was angry,” you whispered, like it explained everything. Like it excused it.
Eddie stood abruptly. “Okay. Okay. We’re not doing this out here. You’re freezing. Come on. Clubhouse. Now.”
You flinched at the word. You knew Billy was waiting for you. But the last thing you wanted right now was to see Billy.
“I’m not supposed to be there,” you said quickly. “Billy—”
“Billy doesn’t get a fucking vote,” Steve cut in.
You shook your head, panic creeping in. “You don’t understand. If he finds out—”
“Let him,” Eddie snapped. “Let him fucking try.”
Steve softened his voice, carefully. “We need to get you somewhere safe. And then tell the police.”
Your lips trembled. “No! Don’t tell Hopper.”
Max’s head snapped up. And then she whispered. “If we go to the police, Neil is going to kill him…”
She said it so quietly that it was almost just a thought.
“Hopper will kill him,” You said. “And then he will kill me. I’m not supposed to have a boyfriend, Steve. You know that.”
Max closed her eyes. “Jesus, can we all calm down.”
They all went quiet. They just helped you up. Steve you his jacket. Eddie wrapped an arm around your shoulders like a shield.
The clubhouse door creaked open like it always had. Inside smelled like smoke and old beer. They sat you on the old dirty couch, wrapped you up in all the blankets they could find like you might shatter.
And slowly, painfully, you started to relax.
“He gets angry…over nothing. It’s—I don’t know what I do wrong.”
They all listened to what you had to say.
“He likes to…break things”, you kept on.
Max looked down at her hands. Steve noticed.
“Bottles, walls, he once ripped my mother’s bracelet off my neck.”, you sobbed. “It was the only nice memory I had of her, and he ripped it off.”
You fished out the necklace that you were currently wearing. It was a thin gold necklace with the latter B dangling from it. “He then gave me this one. He said it would suit me better. It was nice of him, he was sorry.”
Steve and Eddie gave each other a telling look. It was hard to listen to what you had to say.
“He likes to break things because he knows it scares me.”, you whispered but they heard anyways.
“We saw him fu…we saw him talking to another girl.”, Eddie carefully said. He didn’t want to hurt you more than you already were but he also wanted you to know.
You just scoffed. “He says jealousy keeps me loyal,” she said quietly. “Says it means I care about him.”
Max was crying now. Silent, but ragingly furious.
“He broke my skateboard,” Max said finally. “He calls me a traitor for dating Lucas. And when he saw me kissing Lucas, he got so so mad, he told my mother that he found a pregnancy test in my room. I wasn’t allowed to see Lucas for weeks.”
“This is genuinely fucked up.”, he said totally mind blown “like what the actual fuck, guys?”
Steve rubbed his face, trying to not explode. “Somebody need to beat the living shit out of him…”
Max looked Steve dead in the eyes. “Don’t worry about that.”
„When my mom married his dad, we were like 10-13 years old. He was just a kid. Neil almost drowned him in the pool. Almost. He had so much water in his lungs he had to stay in the hospital for weeks. It was over something really minor—I think Billy left the refrigerator open and Neil’s beer ended up warm. Mom told the police that Billy accidentally fell into the pool.“
You listened to Max talk and all you wanted was to take him into your arms and tell them how sorry you were—
“That doesn’t excuse it.”, Steve said.
“I know,” Max said. “But it explains a lot.”
You nodded slowly. “When he’s good,” she whispered, “he’s the only thing that feels real.”
That was when the engine roared.
The Camaro.
Every head snapped up.
“No,” Max and you breathed.
Before you had time to react, the door flew open.
Billy filled the place like a storm in a human body. Eyes dancing wild. Jaw clenched. Rage vibrating off him in waves.
“What the fuck is this,” he snarled.
His gaze landed on you first, then on Max. He saw the blankets and the weed. It was only then when he registered Steve and Eddie.
He started laughing. Sharp. „Oh, I get it!“
He slammed the door close behind him before turning back to the scene in front of him. A scene crystal clear for his mind.
“You bring them out here to fuck them?”, he turned his attention towards Steve and Eddie. “My baby sister and my fucking girlfriend, you fuck them here? In this trash-hole? Have some grace.”
Steve scoffed. “Like fucking them on a stone in the middle of the woods? Very graceful, Hargrove.”
Billy laughed again, but behind his eyes hell was burning. Billy grabbed the broom that was leaning against the wall next to the door. “Be careful, Steven, or your ass will be the next hole in line that’s getting banged under this roof.”
With each and every word he marched closer towards Steve and Eddie.
But suddenly your big watery eyes were in front of his vision, snapping him out of his plans.
“Billy please. I can explain.”, you started.
“Sit your ass back on that couch, you fucking dirty slut.”, he hissed at you. “You will regret every crossing my path.”
“You touch her ever again, it will be your last day living.”, Steve said, calmly.
That brought the spark back into Billy’s eyes and he started laughing again. “Steven, look at you all protective over my girlfriend! I know, I trained her mouth good, didn’t I? You already fallen in love with her, what a little gem she is! Woow!”
You looked down to the floor. Body filled with to the brim with terror. You’d never seen Billy this pissed. Never. He looked possessed. Out of it.
“And you Maxine, I already knew you were a little whore, just like your mother, but I have to say I would rather have these dorks getting you dicked down then that bitch Lucas.”
Eddie stepped forward. “Back the hell off, Hargrove.”
Billy hit him first. Fast. Brutal. Eddie went down hard, skull cracking against the floor.
Max screamed. She tried to stop him, just the way she would try to stop Neil when he was taking his anger out on Billy.
Billy turned and slapped her. Hard. Max flew to the ground. She had bit her tongue and was bleeding out of her mouth.
“When we get home,” he said coldly, “you’re done.”
Steve swung. Billy swung harder. They crashed into the wall, fists flying, grunts and blood and an historical amount of anger colliding. Steve held his own—until he didn’t. Billy slammed him down, breath knocked clean out of him.
Billy spat at him.
Then he shifted all his attention to the only person standing, you. He marched over to you like a possessed soldier and grabbed you. Your wrist screamed in pain as he yanked you toward the door.
“Billy—please—” you were ugly crying right now. All you wanted to do was go and help your friends. Eddie wasn’t moving, he groaned, barely conscious. Max was spitting blood. Steve tried to get up. Failed. Blood in his mouth. He looked at you and tried again to get up. To get up and stop him from taking you away from them. Again.
“I’m okay,” she cried, lying. “Please don’t follow. Please.”
Billy shoved her into the car like luggage. He launched into the driver’s seat and started the engine, humming his favourite song, died in your arms.
He drove the car through the woods in such a speed that made you sink into your seat. You reached for the seatbelt, not knowing what else to do. He turned the music on with one trained hand, singing along while tapping his fingers onto the wheel to the rhythm. He almost killed your Friends, and he wished he would’ve.
“If I ever see you near them, they will die. I’ll kill them and fuck your cunt on top of their dead bodies, you hear me, babe?!”
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 red plastic cups. The Music was way too loud. It was chaos, but eyes still found you.
You and Billy pull attention like gravity.
His sun-bleached hair catches the light, all fire. Your tanned skin glows under the yellow 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 wide open…
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 to smell the mint on his breath. 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 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. Possessive.
"You sure?" he asks.
You nod too fast. „Yeah. I need you, Billy. Really, really hard.“
Billy tosses his cup into the sink. "Later, Brit."
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…
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, angry, 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. Not slow. Not careful. Pressure tightens and suddenly the world narrows to the 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.
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.
But Old enough to remember how much he needed her. And how nothing ever filled the space she left behind…
You hiss before you can stop yourself.
That pulls Billy back to you.
"Who do you belong to?"
He needs her to say it. He needs her toned him.
"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—never quite enough without thw help of an bush-up bra. Your thighs—too soft, too real. 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 atyour 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 i 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.
Ooofff loved the story very much! Beautifully written, emotional and so heartbreaking. My chest tightened a few times reading this💔 Thank you for sharing💞💞💞
I wanted to make sure there was an explanation for why Billy is the way he is and why reader is the way she is. A lot of trauma. Reader feels in control while being with Billy (even tho it’s just an illusion)
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 red plastic cups. The Music was way too loud. It was chaos, but eyes still found you.
You and Billy pull attention like gravity.
His sun-bleached hair catches the light, all fire. Your tanned skin glows under the yellow 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 wide open…
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 to smell the mint on his breath. 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 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. Possessive.
"You sure?" he asks.
You nod too fast. „Yeah. I need you, Billy. Really, really hard.“
Billy tosses his cup into the sink. "Later, Brit."
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…
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, angry, 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. Not slow. Not careful. Pressure tightens and suddenly the world narrows to the 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.
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.
But Old enough to remember how much he needed her. And how nothing ever filled the space she left behind…
You hiss before you can stop yourself.
That pulls Billy back to you.
"Who do you belong to?"
He needs her to say it. He needs her toned him.
"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—never quite enough without thw help of an bush-up bra. Your thighs—too soft, too real. 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 atyour 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 i 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.
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 red plastic cups. The Music was way too loud. It was chaos, but eyes still found you.
You and Billy pull attention like gravity.
His sun-bleached hair catches the light, all fire. Your tanned skin glows under the yellow 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 wide open…
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 to smell the mint on his breath. 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 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. Possessive.
"You sure?" he asks.
You nod too fast. „Yeah. I need you, Billy. Really, really hard.“
Billy tosses his cup into the sink. "Later, Brit."
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…
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, angry, 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. Not slow. Not careful. Pressure tightens and suddenly the world narrows to the 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.
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.
But Old enough to remember how much he needed her. And how nothing ever filled the space she left behind…
You hiss before you can stop yourself.
That pulls Billy back to you.
"Who do you belong to?"
He needs her to say it. He needs her toned him.
"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—never quite enough without thw help of an bush-up bra. Your thighs—too soft, too real. 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 atyour 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 i 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.
I genuinely love getting asks and replying to them, so please feel free to send anything my way! I’m always happy to talk about characters, headcanons, and interpretations. If you’re curious about how I view certain characters, or how I think they’d behave in specific situations, just ask — I’d love to discuss it with you.
Hii! Do you have any more dark!Billy fics? I absolutely loved it!! Also I am trying to find more similar fics but haven't been successful. Do you have any recs? ☺️
Honestly, I haven’t found one fic that actually keeps Billy in character, let alone leans into the darker parts. People always take a genuinely fucked-up character and fluff him up until he feels uncanny. I get that not everyone wants to read unhinged stuff like I do, fair enough. It’s just boring as hell.
Also, thank you so much for liking my fic, that genuinely means a lot. It’s the only one I’ve written for Billy so far, and looking back, I’m not sure I even like it that much anymore. I have so many fic ideas constantly in my head (like a Bully!Billy x victim!reader paired together for a biology project) but real life and mental overload make it hard to actually sit down and write.
On top of that, it feels like Billy barely has a fandom. He has maybe three fans, and everyone else seems to hate him, which kind of drains the fun out of it. Writing is just better when there’s a sense of community around a character. I think part of why I’m drawn to him is that I relate to him in certain ways, and I genuinely feel a lot of sympathy for him.
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 red plastic cups. The Music was way too loud. It was chaos, but eyes still found you.
You and Billy pull attention like gravity.
His sun-bleached hair catches the light, all fire. Your tanned skin glows under the yellow 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 wide open…
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 to smell the mint on his breath. 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 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. Possessive.
"You sure?" he asks.
You nod too fast. „Yeah. I need you, Billy. Really, really hard.“
Billy tosses his cup into the sink. "Later, Brit."
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…
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, angry, 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. Not slow. Not careful. Pressure tightens and suddenly the world narrows to the 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.
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.
But Old enough to remember how much he needed her. And how nothing ever filled the space she left behind…
You hiss before you can stop yourself.
That pulls Billy back to you.
"Who do you belong to?"
He needs her to say it. He needs her toned him.
"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—never quite enough without thw help of an bush-up bra. Your thighs—too soft, too real. 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 atyour 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 i 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.
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.
