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see-arcane · 1 year

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I might have pitied this deformed woman

With all due respect ACD why is everyone calling someone with a limp deformed... Also to be honest I would have felt more horror from the story if Gilroy found her attractive and/or charming and enjoyed her company and work relationship but also did not love her for whatever (non-physical) reason, because then there could have been a potential inner conflict and guilt, instead of ''this is out of my hands she is icky-looking and a crone (Gilroy you are 35) so I have no self-doubts about being in love involved on top of it all yay''. Having him vehemently dislike her all the time minus during hypnosis removes those layers.

It isn't 'everyone' in the story who calls her deformed, though. It's just Gilroy. No one else is mentioned deriding her for her disability or her looks or anything else beyond Penelosa's talent.

Considering ACD's comparatively progressive track record with the Sherlock Holmes stories--a series notable for how often it takes the side of oppressed parties, including abused or preyed-upon women--I can't see Gilroy's ageist and ableist views as anything but an intentional setup for the narrative payoff of his disgust as well as his anger and fear.

The story does feel slightly karmic at the start and, to give ACD the benefit of the doubt, I agree with you that having Penelosa not be an attractive hypno-dominatrix likely played a part in Gilroy's initial revulsion at her controlling him into playing paramour. I think this was intentional for the character's buildup, but also for the audience's. Even in the present day, there's no ignoring that there are demographics out there who are Highly Interested in the erotic implications of hypnosis. BDSM for the brain, puppet master kinks, et cetera.

If Miss Penelosa had been hot, or even just pretty, I wouldn't have been surprised if the horror story ACD was trying to put together would lose much of its punch in his era's audience. Sure, it's still icky that Gilroy's a man being Controlled By a Woman (!!!), but having her be attractive would 'soften' it for them. Still, all this is only in play if ACD was really truly adamant about selling the horror of 'A Stranger Now Owns My Free Will and Is Planning to Violate My Life in Intimate Ways.'

It could also have just been intended as an eerie scientific*** what-if adventure applied to a then-popular (and wildly overestimated) practice of the time. Or maybe he meant it as a straight-up supernatural escapade in the vein of vampiric mesmerism from a psychic monster. I don't know, I can't ask him.

All of that said, the horror is soured a bit by Gilroy being a haughty skeptic snob who had some comeuppance heading his way in the first place. Similar setups are common in horror flicks today, where we get to cheer at least once in a movie when the Big Villain takes down a more commonplace bad guy. There's no scare there, just vindication.

And me being me, that's not enough. Because I am all about two things.

One, adding more horror to everything, always, forever.

Two, making life harder for Jonathan Harker.

Jonathan 'Holiest Love means I Will Walk Backwards into Hell to Protect/Stay with My Wife Whether She's Mortal or a Literal Monster' Harker is not about to shit on anyone for a bad leg or some crow's feet.

More importantly, we've already seen his reaction to sexy sexy undead ladies trying to hypnotize him into compliance so they can take certain bloody/eternally conscripting liberties with him.

To judge by the 1000+ Dracula adaptations that show the directors' fetishes in full view, Jonathan being preyed on by the hot vampire Brides is seen by many people as...you know. Hot. Enough to rewrite and bastardize his character every time to make him seem like he was genuinely tempted by them.

But He Was Not.

He was being hypnotized into artificial attraction and paralysis so the ladies could take their turns with him without his fighting back or trying to run. Which he does later! More than once! Every time this voluptuous trio tries to hypnotize or corner him again, Jonathan catches on and sprints in the other direction. He is not into that shit no matter how pretty you are, ladies.

Specifically because, as I and Bramothy Stoker cannot stress enough, Jonathan Harker is strictly Minasexual. All Mina all the time. 24/7 Mina lockdown 365 days of the year. Mina, Mina, Mina. Mina? Mina. (I personally headcanon him as demisexual with shades of biromanticism and ace, but that's beside the point.)

The point is, even if Penelosa was a knockout, Jonathan wouldn't notice. He wouldn't care. Just as his love would not have been stopped by Mina turning into an actual monster; he would rather be damned and in love than slay her and be holy. You can bet your ass if Mina suddenly had a handicap he'd still be enraptured with her to the point of blasphemy. You know he's going to still be heart-eyed as they grow older. Jonathan Harker is made of unconditional and extremely focused love. It is all-encompassing and yet it belongs to a single person. It's the kind of love we all wish we had for ourselves.

It's the kind of love that someone like Penelosa--who latched onto a random handsome prick of a professor after she had known him LESS THAN AN HOUR and started plotting to groom him into her personal Ken doll--would do anything to have for herself; Jonathan Harker, the true Prince Charming, the gallant beloved, the guileless charmer who holds the One He Loves above himself, above God and Devil and the world itself...being wasted on some pretty young thing who hardly needs such a treasure.

It isn't fair. Mrs. Harker will never appreciate dear Jonathan like other, more deserving women would. Not like her. She would show him. Help him through the motions until he learned better; learned to love in the right direction.

Her direction.

Only if given the opportunity, of course.

(👁)

In short, yeah, Gilroy was not the best option for a sympathetic horror story protagonist who we could feel real fear and empathy for. We only really get a glimpse of that toward the end, when Penelosa escalates enough to start injuring innocents and tries to make Gilroy throw acid in his fiancée's face. A big scary leap, but also too late in the game for a proper punch. Especially with the abrupt copout of the ending. Bleh.

I think we can do better than that. Say, with a protagonist who can balance on the pro-and-con line of keeping the supernatural puppet master of their life happy enough to not act rashly, who knows the value of dancing on eggshells in a tight spot, who could tug the heartstrings of villain and audience just enough to let fuller and far more frightening machinations come to light as time goes by.

Especially with certain other powers lurking in the shadows, which might make a trifle like death a far less permanent end to their ~romance~ than it ought to be.

Don't you agree, Mr. Harker? ❤

P.S. Gilroy's still absolutely getting his ass handed to him in this take, don't you worry. He's been demoted from crush to chew toy to minion. RIP sir, but you're not off the hook just because Jonathan's distracting her with his dreaminess. Get to work.

#I got an ask a while ago that was really focused on whether or not I was 'going to keep Penelosa ugly'#not long after I went into a whole other ramble about how she was Not Described As Ugly #just middle-aged a bit plain and having a limp #a ramble where I also pointed out that Gilroy was the only person who was shown being insulting about her appearance #to be clear: While there will be (unpleasantly) intimate predatory scenes #this is not a kinkfic I'm writing #this isn't 'Jonathan Gets Hypno-Dommed By Sexy Psychic Lady XXX'#it's meant to be taken as a story directly following Dracula's events and happening a third of the way into 'The Parasite'#while also taking some liberties with the amount of time involved rather than killing the story (and Penelosa) unceremoniously #barely a month into the interesting bits #the fact that Jonathan is careful enough to play the long game without pissing off (X) bogeyman/bogeywoman is grounds to let things go on #for much Much longer than Gilroy allowed with his temper getting the better of him and setting Penelosa on vengeance #more time = more dread = Penelosa getting to show exactly how far she's willing to go to own her target's life/love #I don't plan to throw any ageist or ableist shit in the mix #just fleshing out character points we never got to see in focus before #and highlighting the Actual Menace of the premise that Gilroy's plight/personality didn't really sell #'Someone owns your brain and is taking steps to cut you out of your life and make you into their personal doll.'#which is scary! fucked up! absolute nightmare and a half!#regardless if the person making you into a puppet is sexy~ or not #but again: I am not sexifying this story or its characters. Period.#they are who they are and anything I might add to the story will have its roots in the original works #so to any future anons wanting to know: No. No Sexy Penelosa for you. No hot Harker love triangle. The End.#anyway #the parasite #arthur conan doyle #dracula #bram stoker #jonathan harker #helen penelosa #austin gilroy

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dercolaris · 3 years

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Truth

Welp, a new story for all the Scriddler lovers. A drunk Jonathan is always great, isn’t it? We were talking about that a while ago, @finzphoenix and I really wanted to write it. Like an alternate version to my last Scriddler story^^ Since one of my friends were having birthday and he wished a Scriddler one I was sure to finally put it on paper. Enjoy everyone.

A song like always:

https://youtu.be/1fDdcrs9X10

This was definitely not the peaceful outcome of a large-scale birthday party that Edward Nygma had wished for that night. No, if the tinkerer looked at it soberly, it was basically the exact opposite, but what was he expecting great of these sort of events? The raven-haired man growled bitterly. Victor Fries had only turned fifty last week and had inadvertently invited the entire underground to his four walls while planning what was actually a 'small' celebration among very close friends. This was thanks in particular to a lively harlequin, who shouted the happy news out loud to the whole world - with unexpected consequences. Even the infamous Joker hadn't missed the chance to show up with his new partner Punchline, which of course completely destroyed the beautiful atmosphere of the evening in a few seconds after his arrival. After only five minutes of his presence, the tense situation between two certain women had finally escalated. From this point on, half of the guests had been feverishly busy pulling the angry women apart and preventing a massacre, while the ugly clown face was of course amused by it. So much for a harmonious, calm and civil party. The raven-haired man sighed softly and looked around the deserted street, growing nervous by every passing second, supporting the swaying body next to him in the direction of the city centre. His questionable company was constantly mumbling incomprehensible words, trying clumsily to hug the puzzler in pure helplessness. The tinkerer shook his head in disbelief. He still couldn't believe that he was actually heaving home a completely drunk Jonathan Crane. Since practically the entire range of the noteworthy scum of Gotham was represented at the party, a certain Mikołaj Brakowski also insisted on creating a little chaos among the guests. This ended with the fact that he had successfully started a very short drinking game with Scarecrow, which the Pole could of course win without any problems. After the eighth glass of vodka, the celebration was officially over for Jonathan for this evening. The older one had been able to hold up relatively well until he wanted to leave the game for a short time to go to the toilet. It appears that standing up caused a drastic increase of his alcohol level in his brain. Fortunately, Edward had been able to catch his long time friend and frequent accomplice quickly enough before he had an unpleasant encounter with the cold ground. Edward looked at the meager remains of a seasoned professor next to him and muttered almost pissed off: "Shit John. What did you even think? Fucking hell. Mikołaj's blood is practically all alcohol and you my friend drink maybe once a year, if at all. Did you actually think you could win against a well trained alcoholic?” The addressee choked slightly in response, then stumbled awkwardly over his own feet. The Riddler rolled his eyes in annoyance and tightened his grip on the brown-haired man. There was an uncomfortable silence between them, whereby the Master of Fear probably no longer noticed it properly. The lean man was abandoned by all good spirits and this also included the perception of his surroundings. Together they slowly stumbled through the darkest alleys, making their way into the remote areas of Gotham City.

Edward circled his shoulder briefly and hissed angrily: “Where the hell is Batman when you need him for once? I clearly have better things to do than play the towing service here.” Jonathan lifted his head, trying hard to look his company in the eye somehow. However, the older one failed so much that after a few seconds he squinted conspicuously and finally gave up. Scarecrow mumbled lost: “If the Bat dares to emerge, we'll kill him. It will be a piece of cake. You hold him tight and I'll give him one hit like this for example.” The Master of Fear reached out with his left hand at these words and tried to strike a powerful blow in the air, which in the end only led to the brown-haired man elegantly fell to the ground. The tinkerer was barely able to stand on his feet and stared speechlessly at his accomplice on the dirty asphalt. Jonathan grinned amused at his own failure and finally laughed indignantly into the dark night. Edward raised an eyebrow in doubt. He finally replied, almost sarcastically: “That could actually work because the Dark Knight can probably no longer defend himself properly with laughter when he sees you in this miserable state. Shall we call all of GCPD right away to have your drunken ass shipped straight to Arkham for the next few months? Just as a little marginal information: You are still being searched for the last action you did and you can't really allow yourself to be reckless right now.” The older man snorted softly, waved his hand with a smile and tried to sit up with difficulty. He carefully pulled himself up on the Riddler, swaying slightly from one side to the other. Jonathan took a deep breath, then slurred: "As long as they put me in a cell with you, I don't really care whether I'm in Arkham or not, Edward." The raven-haired frowned and dragged the Master of Fear a few steps further. He was really just babbling nonsense right now. Normally the puzzler would internally cheer such an adventure with the collected psychiatrist, but thanks to Jonathan he was now in a little mess himself. The tinkerer was also targeted by investigators two weeks ago due to a more or less successful break-in and there was probably no better opportunity to catch him than at this moment. It wasn't his plan to go to bed in the psychiatric ward for the next few weeks just because he had generously done his tipsy friend a favour. In Scarecrow's case, tipsy was an absolute understatement. The raven-haired groaned annoyed and replied grumbling: “Of course, John. Just the presence of me truly enhances every situation in your life, but I still don't feel like sitting in a musty cell again and watching the psychiatrists in their own madness. So do me a fucking favour and pull yourself together for at least the next ten minutes."

The brown-haired man blinked a few times, but then slowly nodded. Together they managed a few meters until the older one began to speak inappropriately loudly again: "Do you actually know how much I value you?" The Riddler couldn't help but laugh dryly. He clawed the Master of Fear's rancid turtle neck sweater and replied in mock surprise: “Oh, really John? I understand you, of course. Who, within the radius of my humble divinity, would not at some point become awestruck and finally accept that my personality represents an enrichment in everyday life. ""Exactly, " Scarecrow slurred unusually happily and continued mumbling, "I'm always happy when we work together or do something stupid. You know that's probably the only positive thing about my underground career. Without the whole shit with the Bat or the GCPD, I would never have met you and I would miss you as a close friend." The addressee almost choked on his own spit and stopped abruptly in the side street. Had he just heard right? The puzzler looked into the older man's icy blue eyes, searched for the hidden lie in his statement. He didn't find what he expected. The tinkerer chewed lightly on his lower lip and mumbled almost confused: “Would you really miss me? Has the alcohol completely clouded your mind now?” The Master of Fear swayed much more suddenly, took two steps back, uncertainly, until he leaned his back against the cold stone wall. He smiled happily, clung to the bricks with his hands and said softly: "I don't rule that out completely, of course, but there is always evidence of a bit of truth in the words of a tipsy man." Edward crossed his arms over his chest, studied the relaxed-looking face of his accomplice. He had never seen the former psychiatrist like this. He clucked his tongue and replied dryly: “You are not just a little tipsy, John. In my opinion you can calculate your current alcohol level based on your flag alone and that should mean something.” The brown-haired man started to laugh out loud at this statement. That seemed to be the night of his life. As much as the inventor loathed the questionable state of the Master of Fear, there was a part of him that gave Jonathan a little break from his heavy thoughts. The last few months had not been easy for the older man. The tinkerer couldn't help but smile a little himself. Scarecrow started to speak again, the voice a wild mixture of different pitches and clearly incorrect word stresses: “I think you have a point. Then I'm just drunk. I certainly don't want to argue with you tonight.” The Riddler rubbed his stubbly chin, lightly stroked his three-day beard. They were a good two blocks from the former psychiatrist's apartment. How should he convince his accomplice to come with him and not continue this senseless conversation here at the wall in the icy wind? Edward saw nothing more in this conversation than a meaningless string of confused thoughts from an otherwise extremely brilliant head.

Jonathan was one of the few villains he could really rely on one hundred percent and with whom a high level conversation was possible. They had a more than peculiar dynamic, which regularly caused a lot of speculation in the underground about how a collaboration between the two could even be possible. In one moment they literally wanted to turn each other's necks only to in the next moment forcefully pull the other off the road when a truck raced at full speed towards the person concerned. Edward rarely wished badly for the lean man, but would never publicly admit that fact. They treated each other in the presence of other villains like bitter rivals who never gave each other anything, but had to fall back on each other again and again in order to get ahead due to the small selection of capable brains in Gotham. Only Selina seemed to have known for a long time that reality was different. The inventor pushed his thoughts aside and replied unusually factual: “For once I don't want to argue with you today also. Come on, I'll take you home now. You look like you're falling asleep right here against the wall. A bed is surely more comfortable, isn't it?” With these words he stepped carefully towards the older man. Scarecrow suddenly stopped smiling and stared into the Riddler's eyes. Edward stopped moving and shuddered slightly from the unexpected intense eye contact. Jonathan suddenly seemed almost sober again. The thin man wrinkled his nose slightly and said calmly: "A bed would be fine with me, but only if you keep me company in this tonight." The raven-haired man's opals grew large, a light shade of red settled on his cheeks. He stuttered uncertainly: “Why on gods earth should I keep you company in your bed? Are you afraid of choking on your own vomit in your sleep or how should I understand that question?” The former psychiatrist slid down the wall a bit unexpectedly quickly when he tried to pull away from it. The Master of Fear shrugged his shoulder slightly and seemed to accept his fate of not be able to take a step alone in the next few hours. He focused again on the younger one in front of him and mumbled back: "No, that's really not my point, Edward. I was watching you closely at the party today and yes, I can deny it any way I want: I can't stop looking at you. You are just beautiful.” The inventor's mouth opened, but no words came out of his throat. He was speechless. Before Edward could say anything about it, the former psychiatrist continued: “And I'm not just saying that because I had a glass or two too many. Seriously, if I could muster up even a little courage towards you, I would finally tell you how I really feel about you.” The tinkerer felt his heart beating faster in his chest. So it wasn't just his imagination that something special had been developing between them for weeks.

The raven-haired man trembled slightly and whispered hoarsely: "And how do you feel for me now, John?" The older one grinned from both ears, slowly blushing in the cold air of the icy december. Scarecrow closed his eyes and said almost euphorically: “If I could actually muster up the courage at some point, I would tell you in detail that you are the fulfilment of my wildest dreams. Smart, unique, creative - and take a look at yourself in the mirror. You take the breath away from half of the citizen in Gotham when you walk down town. That is also the reason why I would probably never dare to take this step. Why should someone like you come to terms with a repulsive figure like me when you basically have the free choice of possible partners. Besides, I don't even know if you're interested in men at all and I'm not more likely to scare you off if I try hard for you." Edward almost dropped his jaw at this response. Was he drunk or hallucinated himself? The younger one bit his lower lip hard, looking again for the lie in the words of the Master of Fear. He spoke very hesitantly: "This is a very bad joke from you, isn't it?" To his amazement, Jonathan shook his head vigorously. The brown-haired groan softly and mumbled dejectedly: "I sometimes wish it was a joke. Anyway, you will find out all of this once I can show enough courage. I really hope that you won't turn away from me then." The Riddler was forgetting to breath for a second, his mind racing around wildly. He felt a lump in his throat and felt his mouth go dry. Words. Damn it, words. So many words were missing at once. His vocabulary wasn't big enough for such a situation. When Jonathan opened his eyes again, the voices in his head suddenly fell silent. The expression in the opals of the former psychiatrist made all doubts disappear. What remained was an insatiable desire for unknown closeness and security in a person who probably liked him in some certain way, if not to say loved him. Edward swallowed hard and closed the last gap between them with one more step, placing his hands next to each of the thin man's hips. Jonathan became as rigid as a pillar of salt, hardly dared to breathe. The body of the tinkerer pressed clearly against that of the brown-haired man. At that moment, the younger boy was no longer really bothered by the penetrating smell of alcohol from the Master of Fear mouth. The Riddler hesitated for a moment, but then put his lips gently on his partner's. Scarecrow winced in surprise. After a few seconds he returned the unexpected kiss and cupped the raven-haired man's neck with his hands, pulling him closer to him. What happened after the first kiss between them that night was hidden under the veil of a lively city that rarely revealed the fate of two people.

#DC #Batman #ArkhamVerse?#Jonathan Crane #Scarecrow #edward nygma #Riddler #Scriddler #Riddlecrow #Drunk but happy #Love #Give them a hug pls #finzphoenix #Story for Mellow #Thanks to Shin-Arei of course!

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cornycornflakes · 5 years

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83, Jopper ;)

I honestly loved writing that one and I hope you’ll like it too! You can also read it on my ao3 (Corny_Cornflakes, “Kiss my ass”)

83. Kiss my ass

It was probably the hottest 4th of July in the history. In fact every single fan in every shop in Hawkins was sold out. The usually filled streets were now emptier than ever, because the mall had an air conditioner. No one could imagine spending time outside now.

Unfortunaly the Byers didn’t have enough luck to get anything to cool their house down. The kids would have to leave their house soon anyway, because they were going to the Wheeler’s party, but it was hard to survive in there anyway. Joyce didn’t manage to take anything from Melvald’s, not even some ice cream for her boys.

At least they will have fun in the small pool in the Wheeler’s garden. Joyce didn’t want to go to the party, because she knew she had to spend the whole evening with a drunk Karen complaining about her husband and the lack of red wine. She really wasn’t in the mood for that. It would be better if she stayed alone, at her house with her own bottle of… whatever alcohol she could find in the back of the small drawer.

God, this is going to be so pathetic. This holiday is supposed to be spend with the ones you care about. But no, Joyce chose to be all alone by herself. Maybe she needs some time out to relax and thing about the events of the last 2 years? Or better not, she actually wants to FORGET the events of the past 2 years.“Will, honey, are you packed for the sleepover?”, she asked her youngest son from the kitchen.

“Yeah mom, almost ready!”, the “not so small anymore” boy shouted as he ran out of his room with a big bag in his right hand. He quickly stuffed some packs of chips and tried to somehow close his bag, which wasn’t very easy.

“Jonathan is going to drive you in half an hour, make sure you’ll call me later in the evening!”, Joyce looked softly at Will.“Sure mom, Jonathan is going to stay with us too?”, he asked a little bit disappointed.

“Yeah, but don’t worry sweetie, he’s probably going to spend more time with Nancy”, she quickly added and placed a kiss on her sons forehead. Joyce is still worried about him. And she probably always will, thinking of how she almost lost him forever. Actually she couldn’t even imagine a world without her boys. After her complicated and even painful relationship with Lonnie, she wouldn’t be as strong as she is now without them.

After roughly 35 minutes Will and Jonathan have left. She closed the front door and turned on the TV. Nothing interesting actually. Every channel available just showed some boring parades or whatever. Dissapointed, Joyce turned the TV off again and now started to look for “something to drink”. Once again: pathetic how she was spending her time alone. But there was literally nothing else she could do now. Or could she?

The phone rang. Joyce, obviously a little bit surprised, jumped up from the couch and picked it up. She expected to hear Will’s voice, but this once was way too deep and way too mature.

“Hey, are ya busy right now?”, the voice asked. It was Hopper. Didn’t he want to go to the 4th of July party? Considering the fact that El -or actually Jane- was there too?“I’m home alone. Why are you asking?”, she responded.

“I don’t know… I just don’t want to be alone on the 4th of July. How about I come over? I can take some beer with me if you want too.”

“That would be nice”, Joyce said with a little bit of a flirty tone, “Yeah, you can come over. I actually don’t want to be alone now too.”

Great. Her plans for the evening suddenly changed. Maybe it’s better that way? Her and Hopper got very close in the past couple of months. Nothing “romantic” happened between them, but they definitely enjoyed each other’s company. Almost every weekend they spent outside on her porch, while smoking cigarettes after cigarettes. The kids watch movies or listened to music in the meantime- or did whatever teenagers do nowadays.

Okay, she probably should get ready. Her current clothes were wet from all that sweat, so she decided to exchange them for a pair of shorts and a red tank top. God, when did Joyce last wear anything that showed her legs? Or something that showed anything of her body. This was the perfect moment to change that habit.

After a while she also decided to clean up her house a little bit. Her boys have left a hell of a mess in their room. Although, who was she trying to impress? Hopper saw their house in a much worse state, on multiple occasions. Whatever. Clean is clean. At least she wants to seem as she has her life put together.

It was almost ten minutes later, when Joyce heard someone entering the house. She quickly ran out of the kitchen towards the front door.

“Knock knock”, Hopper said while putting his favorite Indiana Jones like hat down. He didn’t see her yet.

Joyce leaned against the wall, trying to seem relaxed. But she wasn’t, in fact she was more nervous than ever. But why?

She finally decided to greet him with a short “hi”. With the sound of her soft voice Hopper turned toward her. Holy crap she looked good in those shorts. The last time he saw her wearing anything that revealing was in high school. And that was a hell of a long time ago.

“You look… you look nice Joyce”, he smiled and noticed her cheeks getting red. Now she looked even more beautiful.

“Wanna drink something? The heat is unbelievable”, she added and now walked into the kitchen. Joyce really tried to cover her nervousness.

“Sure, I brought some beer. Wanna sit on the porch?”, Hopper asked and picked up the six pack of Buckhorn’s. With the arrival of the evening, the temperature dropped enough for them to spend some time outside in the fresh air. Joyce only took a new pack of cigarettes from the table and headed onto the porch, right next to Jim.

They sat down on their beloved bench, while Hopper handed a can of beer to the lady besides him.

“So… you didn’t go to the Wheeler’s party too?”, she asked after a moment.

“Nah, the kids should have a nice evening, without being controlled all the time. I trust Mike, he won’t hurt Jane no matter what,” Hopper mumbled.

“He was always a good kid.”

“And how come you aren’t at the party?”

Joyce sighted. “I didn’t want to.” A short answer, but it was enough for him to notice that something was wrong.

“Are you sure you’re ok?”, he asked, deeply concerned. He was used to seeing her sad, angry, devastated. But this just felt different. Joyce was feeling or thinking about something Hopper couldn’t describe. And he really wanted to know what it is.

“How long are we gonna play this game, Hop?”

What game? What does she mean? Is Joyce talking about the fact that they can’t talk to anyone about the traumatizing events of the past years?He wanted to say something, anything, but he didn’t know what, so instead he waited for her next move.

“How long are we gonna act like there’s nothing going on between us?”, she stared in the now pitch black night. It seemed like she wasn’t even waiting for a response, it was a statement.

“What the hell are you talking about?”, Hopper asked and centered his look on her eyes. They were so alluring, but so cold at the same time. Like a black hole.But there was no answer. Now Joyce didn’t know what to say and waited for his next move.

He rested his face in his big hands. “Geez Joyce… you know it’s complicated.”

Still no words from her side. Just silence.

“You can’t even imagine how many times I imagined us being together. And in every single scenario, something went wrong. I care too much about you to see you being in pain once again.”

She finally turned her head and looked into his ocean blue eyes. She was in pain. Just as he didn’t want her to be.

“Kiss my ass, Jim Hopper”

Well, maybe it would’ve been better if she didn’t say anything after all. And her using his full name? Joyce was pissed. Luckily he knew how to deal with her complicated character.

“Maybe I will”, he smiled and took a sip of his now warm beer. To his surprise, it worked. As soon as he placed the can back on the handrail, Joyce grabbed his face and kissed him. It felt so wrong and so right at the same time.

Her soft lips met his and he decided to passionately kiss her back. Now it felt really right. Both waited so long for this special occasion. How many times did one of them have to hold back, because it wasn’t the right moment? Or because they were too scared of being hurt again?But Joyce suddenly stopped and pushed him away. What happened now?

“I’m sorry, I- I shouldn’t have”, she mumbled under her breath.

There it was again: the awkward silence. It was almost as if nothing happened between them in the past five minutes. Just like that, months of building up a strong and solid friendship crashed down.

The two of them were sitting next to each other on the bench, distancing themselves more every once in a while. The light summer breeze made Joyce’s hair fly with the movements of the wind and gave her chills all over her uncovered body. As much as Hopper tried to NOT look at her, he couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t NOT notice that she was getting cold and he couldn’t NOT do anything about that.

“Screw it”, he thought and grabbed his blazer, which was hanging down the handrail. Joyce watched him from the corner of her eye, trying to not seem interested in what he was doing.

“Put on the jacket. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I’m not cold”, she sighted and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

But Hopper didn’t believe her a single word. While rolling his eyes to her response, he wrapped the blazer around her small figure. God, it looked so big on her. In fact gigantic.Joyce decided to stay quiet. She actually did appreciate his nice gesture, but she simply couldn’t think of any words she could say right now. Every single sentence she put together in her head didn’t leave her mouth. Nothing felt right anymore.

How long are they going to sit next to each other and act like stupid teenagers who just had a fight with their parent? No talking, no staring, no nothing. They have already been once trough this situation. They are making the same mistakes all over again.

“I guess I’ll just go now”, Hopper finally said after what felt like hours and grabbed his car keys from inside. But she didn’t want him to go. She didn’t want to be alone again. Shit, she screwed up big this time.

But she also didn’t say anything. What could Joyce say anyway? “I’m sorry I kissed you and pushed you away, how about you stay with me for the rest of the night in complete silence?” No, this would be pathetic.

Here was the word again. “Pathetic”. She heard it repeatedly in her head and analyzed every single letter. Why was she like this? Why was she so pathetic?And it didn’t stop until he actually stepped into his car. Now he was leaving for good.

Hopper closed his door and drove away. She was completely alone again. Still Joyce just couldn’t pick herself up from that god damn bench. Right now she wanted to progress everything that just had happened. Shit, why did she even bring up that topic?

She grabbed the box lying next to her and pulled out a cigarette. She searched for her lighter in the pocket of her jacket- wait, it wasn’t hers. Hopper left his blazer. Whatever, she’ll give it back to him on their next encounter. Joyce eventually found Hopper’s lighter and finally took a deep drag of that Camel cigarette. She felt her muscles relaxing a little bit more with every smoke. But that didn’t change the fact that she wasn’t able to organize her thoughts. Did she just destroy her friendship with Hopper? Or whatever the hell it was going on between them…

Hopper arrived in his cabin in roughly fifteen minutes. Since Jane wasn’t home, he could grand himself another beer. Or two. Or even something stronger than that. And a cigarette of course.

Exhausted, he stepped out of his car and took his flashlight with him to guide him. It was a pitch black night, except for some fireworks in the far distance. The moment he wanted to open the door (because there was no one on the other side), he realized he forgot something.

“Shit!”, he hissed as he noticed he didn’t take his blazer with him. He left it at Joyce’s place, and he really wasn’t in the mood for driving back there. Not after what happened.But what else could he do? How the hell was he supposed to enter his house? He just had to drive back. The lighter in his right pocket was also very important. Fuck it. He’ll just get his stuff and leave her house again.

Now it only took him ten minutes to get to Joyce. He didn’t expect her to still be outside, considering the fact that he has left a long time ago. Whatever, it was her problem.His problem was to get his stupid jacket back. That’s all. As he was walking towards her, she stood up and took of his blazer that she still had wrapped around her shoulders.“Searching for this?”, she asked loudly so Hopper could her and she hold up the thing he came back for.

Not knowing what else to say (again), he just took the blazer and turned around to head back into his car so he could finally enter his damn cabin. Unless…

“Wait!”, Joyce suddenly shouted. Hopper was just about to close the door, when he heard her voice from the porch. What did she want now?

She didn’t know either. Once again, her throat was closed and she couldn’t say anything. No. Just no. She won’t give up. She will say what’s on her mind.

“Joyce, what’s wrong?”

She finally walked away from that old, dirty bench and headed towards him. She wasn’t thinking, only her legs guided her automaticly. By that time her whole body was shivering. She will do it.

Hopper just watched the small woman approaching him and almost couldn’t resist to take her into his arms and just hug her. She looked so cute and dangerous at the same time, it was almost unbelievable.

“Please don’t make me regret this later”, she whispered as she stood up on her tiptoes and grabbed his face. She kissed him, for the second time tonight. But this time it didn’t feel rushed. It wasn’t an impulse. She knew that she wanted it.

Hopper was surprised by that sudden move. It took him a second to realize and progress what just has happened. But the moment he felt her cold lips against his, he grabbed her waist to pull her closer and kissed her back. He also knew what he wanted, and it was them to be together. No more games, no more acting like they’re just close friends. He wanted there to be more between them for the longest time now. Ever since Bob came around.

Joyce didn’t knew she wanted him until their hug at the snowball in 1984. It was only a month after Bob died right in front of her, but she needed someone she could share this trauma with – someone who would also understand her. But even afterwards she couldn’t admit it, even to herself.

Now they found themselves making out next to his car, almost like 7 months ago – only without the kissing.

After a while they stopped and rested their foreheads against each other. There was a smile on both of their faces.

“How about we move it inside?”, Joyce asked as another shiver ran through her body. He seemed to agree with her idea.

Without leaving each other side, they returned hand in hand into the house. It was a lot warmer and nicer there. Maybe now they could finish what they started – and what they wanted to do so badly. Joyce took one more look at his soft blue eyes and kissed him, but this time more passionately and quicker.

Hopper moved his hands up her back and tried to open her bra. He wasn’t so good in this game anymore – he hasn’t slept with a single woman ever since Jane showed up. And ever since Joyce found a way back into his life. No woman out there could ever compare to her. There was nobody else who could understand him that well. Not a single person he could ever trust that much.

And Joyce felt the exact same way about him. Lonnie was an asshole and Bob looked at the world trough pink glasses, which wasn’t her way of seeing things. She couldn’t find anybody who would share her point of view.

While trying to undress his partner, Joyce tried to guide them into the bedroom, which wasn’t necessarily the easiest thing to do when she was busy doing something else. The longing was finally over.

At last they did somehow reach her room. She jumped onto her bed and got rid of her red tank top. Hopper could see her for the first time in what, 20 years? Joyce didn’t look as young as she did back then. After having 2 boys and having to handle a lot of work and stress, her body was full with stretch marks and scars.

She notices him glaring over her exposed body, which made her feel somewhat uncomfortable.

“Something’s wrong?”, she asked with a worried tone. What did he think of?

“You look beautiful, Joycie”, Hopper whispered as he moved closer to her for their bodies to meet again.

Lonnie never meant it. Maybe back when they had no children, but it changed.

Bob said that so many times that it lost its meaning.

But now she felt that someone meant it. Each and every letter was said with a meaning. It almost brought tears into her eyes.

Joycie. She doesn’t even remember the last time she was called that. But she remembered that Hopper always used that nickname back in the days.

Trying to not start crying over this emotional moment, Joyce searched for the buttons of his flannel and wanted to undress him as quickly as possible. In the meantime he proceeded with kissing her neck.

It was a long night ahead of them, full of love, memories and longing each others closure. Maybe they did finally find someone who would understand them?

#Jopper #Joyce Byers #jim hopper #Jim and Joyce #hopper x joyce #joyce and hopper #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

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thephantomofthe-internet · 6 years

Text

Communis (Eros p.t 3)

Billy Hargrove x reader, Jonathan Byers x Reader (unrequited)

Word Count: 3816

Warnings: cursing, fighting, reckless driving, awkwardness

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

Tag List: @steveharringtonofficial @denimjacketkisses @flamehairedwritings @hotstuffhargrove @hargroovin

Series Tag: @hargrovesgoldilocks @wtf-richarddd @sighsophiia @baebee35 @toriasaysso

Feedback Appreciated!

You spent the afternoon panicking, as per usual. It was fairly normal for you to be upset by the end of the day, although usually it was over more commonplace things like tests and assignments, not the attention of a stranger.

Billy Hargrove was bad news. He had made his reputation known and unlike the guys who pretended to be tough for attention, he actually seemed to be as tough as he seemed. He was a festering ball of anger and hatred, ready to swing at the first person who looked at him funny.

But there was something underneath that, something deeper that hid in his eyes and ghosted his words. You couldn’t quite find the word for it-it wasn’t love and you’d hardly call it affection, it was this strange softness that hid underneath, the underbelly of the beast kept safe from attackers.

That intrigued you, knowing that he might have a soul hidden underneath the denim and the sneers. But that was about the only enticing thing about. He was brash, angry, and unforgiving, single minded in his ambitions and almost unfazed by normal human fears. He thought keg stands were chick magnets and a smirk could get him everything he wanted and more. He was aggressive, a wolf without guise or ambiguity. You, at your toughest, were more easily compared to a lap dog. You cried with you got into arguments; you were eager to please and unafraid of self-sacrificing favours and gestures.

If Billy Hargrove was a Molotov cocktail, you were a Shirley Temple.

But you were going out with him; God knows why, the whole situation made you feel uncomfortable and sad. Still, when the clock struck seven, you were jumping out of the shower and plugging in your blow dryer. Did you care about Billy Hargrove? No, at least you didn’t think you did. But here you were, dissecting your appearance in the mirror, trying to decide if you should bother trying to paint a pretty face onto you own. Something in you wanted to impress him, maybe it was because he was the first person to ever really seem serious when he offered to take you out, maybe it was just something you had to prove to yourself-that you were worth taking out. Either way, you sat at your mirror looking at yourself with an eyeliner pencil in hand, trying to decide if it was really worth nearly poking your eye out to impress Billy fucking Hargrove.

You weren’t exactly fantastic with makeup; sure you could apply mascara and a bit of lip gloss without much fuss, but beyond that you were a disaster waiting to happen. You had all the tools, mostly from gift sets gifted by clueless family members, but no idea what to do with them. Still, you were game to try, so you spent the next forty minutes trying to figure out how to use everything you had, only to give up as time ticked closer to departure. You rubbed your face near raw with makeup remover before applying your everyday look-mascara, concealer, and a bit of lip gloss-and buttoning up your sky blue silk blouse, tucking the front into your jeans. You looked yourself over once in the mirror, frowning slightly at your reflection. You didn’t think you exactly looked beautiful, in fact you thought you looked insanely plain and dull, but you had no time to fix it and no idea how, so you grabbed your black jean jacket off the back of your chair and peaked out your bedroom door. You could hear your mother’s TV playing softly from her bedroom.

Your mother had been bedridden for months she lost her job at Hawkins Elementary, and while she was doing better now, nights like these left her emotionally unavailable and physically stuck in the divot she’d made in the mattress, remote clutched in her fist as reruns of M.A.S.H played before Colombo and blankets pulled up to her chin, tears staining her cheeks. The dim column of light cast a yellow glow to the dark hallway and you tiptoed out of your room, flicking off the light and pulling your worn brown purse across your chest. You crept slowly down the stairs, avoiding the creaky steps and, hitting the hardwood floor, you scurried to the front door, pulling on your shoes with your eyes locked on the front window.

You could hear Billy before you saw him or his car, all thanks to his intensely loud music, Aerosmith blasting from his tinny speakers and tired squealing against asphalt. You heard the car park and you rushed to pull on your jacket, shoving your house keys into your pocket.

“I’m going out mom! I’ll be back by curfew!” you called upstairs, pulling open the door, revealing a bored looking Billy, hands shoved into his pockets languidly, eyes trailing the house’s structure.

“You physic or some shit?” Billy asked sarcastically when his eyes met your wide, nervous ones.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you whispered tightly, pushing past him to get outside, slamming the door before you could hear your mother’s response.

“Coming to pick you up, why are you being so bitchy?” he countered, turning to follow you as you marched down your driveway towards his death trap of a car.

“Did I tell you to come to the door?” you asked. Billy looked at you dumbfounded, raising an eyebrow at you. “No, no I didn’t because I didn’t want you to.”

“Jesus, I try to do one nice thing for you and-” he started, turning to look at the trees rather than you, a pissed off look washing over his face.

“It isn’t nice if I didn’t want it!” you cried. You were at an impasse-Billy didn’t know that you didn’t want the whole gentlemanly spiel and you didn’t know that he was going to bother. The only thing left to do was let it go.

You let out a sigh through your nose, rubbing a hand over your face. “Look,” you said “I’m sorry. I’m being a bitch, you were trying to be nice and I blew up.”

Billy nodded, kissing his teeth as his eyes trailed back to yours. “Yeah, yeah you are, but whatever, let’s just go.” He replied and you took that as some strange acceptance of your apology and you nodded, pulling open the passenger seat door and climbing in, crossing your arms over your chest.

Billy still drove erratically with you in the front seat next to him, but he slowed down just a little, watching you from the rear view mirror with nervous, short glances. He didn’t try to strike a conversation with you nor did he attempt to turn down the music he blasted in your ears, though he didn’t stop you when you reached over to volume dial to turn it down just a little to save your eardrums.

He hadn’t told you what you were doing or where you were even going, but you oddly weren’t worried. As much as didn’t want to end up in the middle of nowhere, you trusted yourself to be able to get out of the situation. You shoved your hands in your pockets, running your fingers over the tiny pocket knife on your key ring. Sure, the blade was tiny but you trusted it to do enough to hurt him so you could get away, worst come to worst you could probably take out one of his eyes if he tried anything.

Those were the thoughts you had in your head constantly, always planning your next move, your escape from danger not revealed yet. To say you were high strung was an understatement-you were a ticking time bomb of fear and stress, ready to pounce whenever the cause arrived; hunched low with shifty eyes watching your prey with fear and caution. Sometimes you wondered what it was like to be completely carefree, to be at complete ease almost all the time, but the idea of being that vulnerable to threat, that calm in the seas of life’s dangers sounded like a risk too high for you to take. Staying scared would work well for you.

You hadn’t noticed that Billy had driven to the diner at the edge of Hawkins, once owned by a nice man named Benny and now run by his sorrowful brother and sister-in law. You were fine with this, at least you knew where you were, but when you went to open the door to follow him out, he shook his head.

“Do you actually give a shit what I get?” he asked gruffly. You shook your head, almost dumbfounded by the question. You didn’t give a shit what you ordered but you’d like the choice. “Then stay put.” He said, slamming his door before you could interject or complain.

You sat in the huff in his car, eyes scanning the dark forest just across the road, watching the trees sway softly in the breeze. Surprisingly, for your anxiety, you loved the woods at night. Was it full of danger? Yes, but it was the most peaceful place in Hawkins since no one dared to go in it anymore. You found the whole place to be soothing, surrounded by nature and the simple sounds of the environment around you.

Billy was gone long enough to make you wonder if he’d forgotten you altogether. You giggled at the image of him screaming when he found you hours later in his car. You were certain he’d probably pee himself out of shock and fear, which lifted your spirits immensely, bringing a smile to your face for the first time that evening.

Of course, Billy chose that moment to return, a big brown paper bag in one hand, keys dangling from its key ring off his index finger. He watched you for a moment, an odd feeling coming to his chest. You looked, for the first time that night, at peace and now your tense body language read as a bad start to him. Still, Billy Hargrove didn’t put aside his own annoyance from the beginning of the night. He was too proud to meet your newfound breezy smile, watching the woods from the windshield, and instead he ripped open the door roughly, startling you from your dreamlike fantasies.

He tossed the bag of food into your lap and jabbed the keys into the ignition, revving the engine and reversing quickly out of the parking lot, pulling out of the restaurant and back onto the main roads.

You sighed, feeling your good mood slip away and your gaze returned to the passenger side window, propping your head up on the palm of your hand, steadying your elbow on the door handle. You didn’t bother to meet Billy’s eye when he glanced over at you, though you knew he was from his reflection in the glass whenever his head turned to yours just for a moment.

Unlike before, you noticed when he turned into the woods and, this time, you got a bit worried. Not because you thought he was going to hurt you, but instead what he was expecting of you. You weren’t experienced and you didn’t want to do anything with him to begin with.

Billy seemed to sense this, chuckling darkly. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna make you do anything, no matter what Stacy thinks we’re doing out here.” He joked.

You blushed scarlet, muttering to yourself “God damn it, Stacy…” Billy only laughed at your distressed expression, his tongue running over his teeth. He had heard you talking a lunch, truth be told he had been looking out for you, if only to bother you again, but after hearing what you and Stacy were discussing, he decided to leave you be. But he couldn’t pretend that the whole conversation he’d overheard embarrassed him in a way he’d never felt before. Girls talked about him all the time, about what they’d do to him if given the shock, usually it made his ego grow tenfold, but hearing your embarrassed posturing made him want to burst in and tell Stacy to shut up and go back to sucking off Bryce Myers behind the bleachers. But instead he walked away with his best attempt at a smirk, trying to remind himself that it was normal and he shouldn’t give a shit what you say about him behind his back.

He didn’t push you on the subject of your discussion, instead parking by the quarry. This choice boosted your confidence; guys who wanted something from a girl would take her out to Mason Point, where Hawkins’s very own lover’s lake drew in couples looking for a strange combination of privacy and social status and publicity. He took you somewhere no one goes, sure, but it wasn’t make out point or anything. So you tried to keep your calm, not commenting when he wrenched the bag from your hands, pulling out a wax paper wrapped burger and a paper cup of fries, handing you the bag back.

“So, you moved here from California, right?” you tried. You didn’t know much about dating but you knew that talking was generally the right idea.

Billy shook his head, taking a giant bite of his burger.

You furrowed your brow “What…” you began, only to be cut off again, a palm flashing a universal stop sign in your face, much to your annoyance.

“I fucking hate small talk, can’t fucking stand it, and since we aren’t fooling around out here we’re not gonna talk unless one of us thinks of something really interesting to say.” He announced through a mouthful of food.

You rolled your eyes “Sure, fine, whatever…” you muttered, pulling out whatever Billy had ordered for you, a carbon copy of his order. Out of habit, you pulled off the top bun, picking off the insane amount of pickles on it and dropping them onto the wrapper.

Billy watched you with a grimace, muttering “You said you didn’t care…” he shook his head, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t like pickles, sue me.” You bit back, earning a scoff from the boy. “I thought we were only having interesting conversations.” You said, turning to look at him. Billy shot you an annoyed look, shoving fries into his mouth. You smirked when he didn’t retort, taking in the tiny win you’d gotten.

The silence in the car was uncomfortable. You felt this desperate need to fill the void, to come up with something interesting to say to end the nightmare. But you were too proud to try, to get shut down again. You weren’t too proud to admit your boredom in other ways though and you reached into your purse and pulled out a worn copy of On the Road, flipping open to the dog eared page and settling in to read, unclipping your seatbelt and pulling one of your legs under you.

“No feet on the seats.” Billy snapped, turning to look at you again. “Are you seriously reading right now? You’re on a God damn date.”

“Since you insist on not talking, I thought I’d fill the damn void my way! Better than sitting in painful silence, waiting for death…” you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I can’t fucking win with you, can I? I try to do the princely shit and I get yelled at, I do things my way and I get yelled at. Make up your fucking mind!” he cried.

“Treat me like a fucking person!” you retorted, matching his volume. “I don’t know why you’re fucking bothering with this shit if you can’t even act like I’m a damn person! I’m allowed to freak out when I’m surprised, I’m sorry if I didn’t drop my panties because you decided to come to the door to meet me instead of honking at me from the car. Treat me like a damn person or take me home.”

Billy didn’t respond. He didn’t move, you swore he didn’t even swallow to mouthful of chewed food he’d started on while you were talking. But his face had changed. His jaw wasn’t tight, his eyes wide instead of narrowed in a sneer. The tension in the air began to settle and you began to feel that stupid guilty feeling you’d felt back on your driveway.

You dropped your head, sighing loudly. “Look,” you began, this time softer and more vulnerable “If my mother had known someone was meeting me at the house, she would’ve felt like she needed to get up, try to be a hostess. I don’t need her putting on airs with anyone. If Stacy or Nancy had tried to come to the door, I would’ve done the same thing. It wasn’t about you, I’m sorry if I emasculated you or something.”

Billy nodded, swallowing hard “Your mom sick or something?” he asked quietly.

“Not physically.” You replied. You intentionally kept things vague, not wanting to bring up your mother and the reasons she’d gotten the way she was. It hurt too much to discuss, especially with a near stranger.

“I get it.” Billy said, surprising you. “I was the same way with my mom, didn’t want to make a fuss or anything.” You nodded, your mouth lifting into a halfway smile, the right corner of your mouth lifting while the other stayed down. “I wouldn’t want anyone coming to my door now anyway.” He added, earning a laugh from you, and though he didn’t think what he said was very, he liked the way you laughed, musical and sweet and soft.

“I’ll make a note of that, if I ever need to drunk-cry at you again, I won’t bother with the front door, I’ll scale the building or something with mascara blurring my eyes, nearly die for a quick, judgemental hug.” You giggled, the image of you in your Halloween costume shimming up someone’s drain pipe and climbing up the roof just to be made fun of by Billy Hargrove.

Luckily for you, Billy seemed to also find the idea funny, chuckling darkly. His lips turned into a soft, genuine smile, making him look very innocent. His laugh was softer too, nothing like the mean bark he let out with Tommy and Carol as the made fun of the somewhat ridiculous Steve Harrington.

“So, wait, can I ask? Why the fuck were you crying at Tina’s thing? Over freak Byers of all people.” Billy asked, watching you carefully.

“You ever want somebody who didn’t want you?” you asked, earning a shrug from the boy across from you “That’s what I thought, you don’t get it, but I really liked him and I thought he like me too, turns out though he’s just interested in Nancy, so I broke down, blame the alcohol.” You explained, your eyes darting to the swaying trees, too embarrassed to look at him anymore.

“And so you broke down in public?” he pressed sceptically. He wasn’t fully convinced that you were telling the truth, he was sure something more had to have happened to cause such a reaction.

“I-I guess I couldn’t hold it back, I usually can.” You stuttered “Why did you come over to bug me then? You definitely had better things to do while I was crying.” You countered, pushing the focus onto him. Your eyes locked onto his for the first time without speaking, causing Billy to pause before he spoke, watching you. And there was that strange feeling again, filling his stomach with a strange buzz he couldn’t label. He should want to look away, but he couldn’t seem to look away.

Billy shrugged, his eyes breaking away from your stare; he looked calm, which pissed you off, you hated being the only nervous or awkward person in any situation. And his eyes were so blue you swore you had been drowning in them just moments ago, warm and sympathetic and the only true source of his true emotions.

“Got a headache from all the blood going to my head, went to bug Harrington again and found you crying, I hate seeing people kill the atmosphere of a party, went to shut that shit down.” He explained.

Was that anywhere near true? No. He wasn’t going to bother Steve, he’d heard the crying while he was outside smoking and went to investigate. He hadn’t even doing keg stands when he found you, the cheering was from the dwindling group still watching as Vicki Masterson was officially crowned keg queen.

You hummed “Well, I guess that’s fair, but why kiss me then?” you questioned.

“Why not?” he countered.

“I don’t know, drunk crying with gross makeup smears down my face doesn’t seem exactly attractive.” You replied. You hadn’t realized how much you were smiling until you felt your cheeks begin to hurt. That was strange, seeing as how you didn’t think Billy Hargrove could ever make you smile much less smile so much it hurt.

“I don’t know! You just…you looked like you needed to be kissed, is that a crime?” he asked. You watched him for a second, looking for a sign of some sort of joke, a trick to remind you of your place. But he looked oddly serious, which was stranger to you than him laughing at you.

“I don’t know yet…” you admitted, letting your gaze glance to your watch. “Shit, I gotta go if I’m gonna make curfew.” Billy nodded, turning the key and starting up the engine again, beginning the short drive back to your house.

The drive was quiet, filled with vague comments about the people who lived in town, judging them by the houses they lived in, earning chuckles from Billy, who watched you from the corner of his eye, smiling more than he had since he moved to your shithole town.

When he pulled up to the house, he turned off the engine again, watching you gather your things, picking up the garbage you’d made and crumpling it in your fist. “I can’t walk you to the front door, can I?” Billy asked jokingly.

You shook your head, giggling slightly “Nope, but I’ll see you around, yeah?” you replied.

“We go to the same school, I’ll have to see you.” Billy replied deadpan. You nodded, popping open the door and hopping out onto the sidewalk, pulling your purse onto your shoulder.

“Well, goodnight Billy.” You said.

“Night, Y/N.” you slammed the door, jogging up the driveway and up the steps to your front door. You didn’t need to turn around to know that he hadn’t sped off the second the door was shut. Still, you didn’t look back, instead you unlocked the front door and rushed inside, shutting the door quickly behind you. Your back hit the door as you reflected on the night you just had.

“What the fuck just happened?”

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