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kyberphilosopher · 1 year

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Pass the Dutchie

Word Count: 7908 Requested: Nah Warning[s]: 4/20 special, so drug and substance abuse, crude language, crude humor, adult themes, not my strongest piece ever probably, long, Billy sticks to character sorry, general fanfiction cringe warnings. When Billy assumes you might sell to him, you get back at him by stealing his stash. But after you realize he's not so unbearable, your relationship with each other, and even yourselves, seems to change.

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The summer months came quickly, even quicker than the actual summer. The crisp April morning, tainted with spring rain that left the reek of petrichor hanging in the air for the rest of the day, had given way to a dry and beating heat. Not enough to make you sweat, but enough to fill the school with shorts and skirts over the typical swarm of bell bottoms. You almost felt like you'd missed the memo that day in your own denim jeans, but you were comfortable, and that was what mattered.

You wouldn't miss highschool, you thought, but you might miss senior year. By now, everyone around you had almost completely grown out of bullying. Why continue it? Everyone was about to graduate. You were all adults now. There was no point in nastiness. Mostly, it seemed your class had a fondness for sex and drugs and rock n' roll and not much else. There wasn't much to complain about there. All the popular kids were too wrapped up in all that to harass you at work anymore, or to spread rumors that you were a drug supplier and addict. You're more than thankful for that as you stare at the bouncing, burnt orange basketball being dribbled up the court by Billy Hargrove.

A gust of outside air sweeps through the highschool gymnasium from the double doors to your left. Sunshine leaks through the gap, straining your eyes when you look at it. It makes the rest of the gymnasium appear shadowed in a darker and far more boring grey than it really was. It might've looked exceptionally creepy if it weren't for the few kids such as yourself who decorated the bleachers, and the group of boys playing basketball just a few steps away. The students gave the school a bustling, warm atmosphere that you were more than willing to admit to now that you'd outgrown a lot of your younger angst and cynicism. The air from through the doors smells like your childhood- and something else in the distance.

"Yo, Y/N," a voice from behind you calls.

You let your eyes fall closed in instant exhaustion as you exhale a breath. You already know who it is. "Yeah?" you practically wince.

Ronnie Waters slithers up beside your ear like a snake. You don't hate him- he's funny sometimes. Sometimes. What, with his mousy mullet and sparce beard hairs around his crooked teeth, but mostly he likes just yanking your chain. "Smell that?" he questions, chip breath hitting your nose like a freight train. "Smells like dope outside, man. You gonna celebrate the 20th this year? You selling?"

A common misconception. You'd first smoked pot in the girls bathroom sophomore year and ended up getting busted- without the three other girls who had been smoking the blunt with you. You were quickly labeled as a pothead since then, which snowballed into being a full blown dealer in junior year. Funny how everyone who had previously never spoken a word to you, now threw themselves at your feet for some bud. Sometimes you'd play the prank of handing them a bag of oregano, but for most people, the answer was the same: 'Not selling.'

"I don't sell," you tell Ronnie, not even bothering to look over at him. He still hovers by your side like a bee.

"Come on," Ronnie whines and prods. "I just need some flower for the 20th... please?"

You turn towards him, tone becoming firmer but not angry. "I don't sell."

Ronnie pouts a frog faced frown, mutters a "whatever bro", and slithers away back to his group of snickering friends at the top of the bleachers. Your eyes turn back to the basketball game ahead of you, not really invested, just in time to watch Billy Hargrove dunk a clean one over Steve Harrington's head.

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Ronnie Waters wasn't the only one who prodded you for an April 20th deal. Back in the locker room, Connie Rachel tossed her blond curls over her shoulder before batting her eyes and taking a 20 out of her bra. You'd felt bad about rejecting it.

Most seniors had partial days from completing all their required credits early on, leaving little classes in the days for them. You were one of the lucky ones who made the cut, which had honestly helped your fondness for senior year. The freedom you felt hopping in your car, waving a polite and quiet goodbye to your fellow classmates was a dignified one. Ronnie Waters, the little rat face, couldn't take it from you. Your feet pick up the pace as you exit the building, rounding the brick corner, converse to asphalt.

It did feel like summer. The sun, the wind, the scent of rain and flowers. The great boulder that jumped out at you causing you to flinch back.

You stumble a few steps, raising your head to see in front of you. Then your brows crease. It was no brick boulder at all, it was just Billy Hargrove. Well, you supposed that was the same thing. He certainly was a great rock of a man.

You weren't close by any means- you know each other by few interactions and by name. You don't hate him, you don't love him. You've seen him break Tommy's kegstand record and become Keg King, shove freshman to the ground in PE, and charm the teacher out of actually teaching the class through pure flirtation. So, he seemed fine in your book. A very upstanding young man.

"Woah," Billy smiles charmingly- a smile you've seen him use before on others- and an annoyance bubbles in anticipation. "Hey there. Watch where you're goin' much?"

You just want to get to your car. You can see the cherry red paint from here, glistening in the sun. But it won't be so easy. Billy Hargrove was pretty popular. Obeying to highschool politics, you couldn't really be rude to him without him using his influence to tarnish your reputation. In a small town like Hawkins, that was certainly something to consider. When Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington had called it quits, he'd plastered her name all over the Hawkins movie theater, complete with profanities. Not only that, but you were fairly unpopular. You didn't have any close friends who could come and save you out of nowhere, or even defend your honor. Now, you weren't hated by any means. But you were a loser. This was just one of the cons of being so.

"I'm just heading to my car," you get out.

Billy looks you up and down, still smirking. You hate it. You could tell what he's thinking from his mouth alone. "Red one, right? The 79'? Nice ride."

So, he's watching you in the parking lot now?

"Thanks."

A minute of silence. A breeze, similar to the gusts in the gymnasium earlier, sweeps through the air. It turns back to spring within the instant, rustling Billy Hargrove's cinnamon brown curls. His eyes light up in the sun like ocean water, rippling and dancing florescently with every movement. He looks nice for a moment, almost boyish with his dimples and muscle tee, still sweaty from the free period gym.

"I heard you might have something I'm looking for," he says. "I was hoping to maybe take it off ya', if ya' catch my drift."

Your eyes flit around the scene. You see the other seniors walking towards their cars ahead of you, pulling out of the parking lot, some disappearing into the trees nearby in walking groups. Did Billy have enough credits to be on a partial schedule? You could've sworn you'd seen him pull out of the parking lot at the same time as yourself a couple times, but he'd been a transfer student. He should've still been catching up technically.

You answer him very calmly, tiredly, monotone. "What's your drift?"

Billy's smile fades, his eyes returning to a wide shape as his face sinks. Another blow from the wind makes his curls dance. His maroon shirt ripples, tanned skin shining. You hadn't seen many men that were quite like him, you realized-whatever you meant by that. When Billy Hargrove doesn't answer you, you question again. "What's your drift, Billy?"

His face is stone, as you're reminded. Billy's tone is a little more annoyed, in his voice and on his face. He must never have been challenged, dared, outright shut down many times in his life. "I wanna buy some dope."

Should you give him a bag of oregano? Tell him you'll come by later and leave it out on his doorstep? Maybe drop a crumb of the real thing in it so it smells just right? You rub your palm up and down the strap of your backpack, thinking. Billy Hargrove sees as you look him up and down. He resembles an angry bull, you the matador. Should you?

"I don't sell," you say, looking down at the pavement under you. "You'd have bought from me already if I did."

You start walking once more, keeping your eyes down. You can hear the younger kids playing in the fields, the other grades practicing soccer, the cars leaving the lot blasting Scorpions and Madonna. Billy says nothing as you shuffle your way past him. He doesn't say anything until you're a few steps up the hill from him.

"I don't believe you!"

You roll your eyes and walk faster, worried suddenly that you may be run down by a familiar Camero.

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Billy Hargrove wasn't great, you knew that. But Billy was far, far from the worst. He was cool, you liked him. You wanted to be out of highschool as fast as possible, which kept you from holding grudges or holding hatred. Billy was probably the same way about it at this point. But man, man, oh man- oh, man- did you find yourself wanting to put Billy Hargrove in a room with no windows or doors alone. The little prick really thought he could charm his way into some weed- weed you don't even possess. You've been buying your shit from the super senior Eddie Munson since last summer. It's all based on one nasty rumor.

Billy Hargrove was smart enough to see that certainly. Yet, he chose not to for his own ideas. He knows it is a nasty rumor but plays into it anyway. Why? Because he wants to? Because he has to? Neither? Both? Maybe you should've knocked that smile right off his face. Once for thinking you'd be easily manipulated, and twice for really accusing you of dealing.

No, perhaps not.

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The next day was smoother. Air conditioning wouldn't be brought into schools for another few years, making the school hot and stuffy, but the library was so empty it was cooler. You spent your free period there instead of the gym, doing nothing of great importance. The joint you had in your car at lunch break was mostly faded from your system. With 4/20 right around the corner, you would need more. It was in- what? A week? The nug you had sitting in a carefully wrapped napkin in the cup holder was a rather small nug.

Eddie would have a sale. You knew that much at least. Of course, that's what you're thinking of when you see him standing by your locker.

Not Eddie, of course. His hair is too light, arms too thick, body too tall. Eddie would never carry such a natural and tired smugness to his face. As soon as you see Billy leaning against it, you feel your heart drop to your stomach. An odd anxiety washes over you, one you're not quite familiar with. But Billy hasn't seen you yet- you could turn around and walk away. You can wait it out in your car and circle back for your things.

You don't do that.

"Locker," you only say to Billy after he notices you approaching. That's all you need to say apparently, as he slides his back from its position against your metal box.

"You're a charmer, aren't you?" Billy says sarcastically, a bored expression on his face. "Very chatty."

You open the door and slide your backpack from your person, twisting it around so you can switch out a few books and grab your jacket and keys. "What do you need Billy?" you ask tiredly, wrapping your oversized hunting jacket around your shoulders and adjusting the hood.

He looks you up and down, but not lustfully. Just observantly. Judgmentally, somewhere in there. Billy's eyebrows are creased in a dull annoyance you recognize on him. He is the stone man you think of. You wonder, are his lips always so ever so slightly pursed when he's thinking? Or is that just the natural, bitchy look of his face? His handsome doll face. "Can I help you?" you repeat.

Billy's ocean blue eyes land back on yours. Through the dark eyebrows, they create a strong contrast. "I wanted to apologize for yesterday," the boy drawls out. But... he feels genuine. "Maybe I was a little too aggressive. With the 20th coming up I think it's easy to understand why I might be a lil' antsy."

You blink.

"Walk out to m' car with me. I'll treat you to a sesh."

You blink again, harder this time. Then you blink again, slightly faster. Billy's lips are in a thin and serious line. You realize, somewhere in the moment, that he has this disposition with you because you saw through his guise of charisma. He saw he couldn't get in your pants and let that way go. This must be the realest Billy's been to anyone since he arrived at Hawkins high.

Your fingers find the door of the locker, close, and lock it. Then you follow Billy, you slightly behind him at his side, to his car. The air smells like leaves and grass. "You're not stopping at your locker?"

Billy's tone is slightly more exasperated than usual. "Why would I?"

You say nothing.

Through the parking lot, you catch a few stares. Billy was just so popular- you should've known you'd see at least one pair of girls giggling. You watch as he unlocks his car- a blue 79' Chevrolet Camero, and the two of you bend inside in unison. Even your doors close at the same time.

Billy Hargrove's car smells like a mix of several, but very recognizable, smells. A musky cologne, the familiar stench of weed, cigarettes... sweat? Must've been old workout clothes littered somewhere in the car.

Billy Hargrove's head rolls over to you, the back of his pretty mullet getting mussed against the headrest.

"Nice car," you offer dryly.

Billy is still stone, offering no reaction to your words. "I apologize for yesterday. Open the glovebox."

An apathetic sounding apology directly followed by an order. How charming.

Still, curiosity overpowers everything else. Your hands do as the man says, undoing the glovebox and letting it fall open. It's stuffed to the brim inside, random papers spilling all over your feet. A single loose cigarette joins them. "Pick that up," Billy Hargrove tells you, though he doesn't sound so stern or demanding just then.

"The papers?" You begin to gather a few of them up- just a few statements about the vehicle and math papers that must've never found their way to the teacher.

"Nah," Billy gestures towards the white and orange cylinder. "Just the cig'."

You're slightly flabbergasted, but quickly muffle the feeling with, indeed, leaving the papers on the floor and instead offering him the cig between two fingers. Billy slips it into his mouth and lets it hang towards the side, as you're sure he's done a thousand times over already. "There's a lil' plastic baggie in there," Billy continues. "Get it."

Turning attention back towards the glovebox, you root around for a second or two before finding it. Instantly, you know what's inside. Pulling it out into the light only confirms your suspicions, if you could even call it that. You're careful to keep it low and out of sight through the windows, deciding to sit it on the surface between you two.

The bag has to contain two 1/8's, minimum. Inside, the bag does little to contain the stench of the dope, which is somehow strong enough to make you feel a little buzzed just looking at it. Most of the nugs inside are a dark green- but there's more colors than just that. Lime green, deep purple that's practically black. When Billy Hargrove picks up his bag of goodies after a classic man-spits-loogie-out-the-car-window move, the nug he picks out is a forest green with tiny orange veins running up it, spreading all around.

"Having a sesh?" you question, somewhat quietly, all while keeping your eyes fixated on the nug.

"Yeah," Billy rolls the nugget over in his fingers. His eyes are stuck on it too, making him sound just as far away as you are. "If that's cool?"

You mutter a response with only half a thought to it. "Reeks like shit."

Billy Hargrove's nostrils flare, and he rolls his head along with his eyes back over to you. It's brief, however, as he quickly rolls them back ahead. With his right hand, he leans forward to snatch a pack of rolling papers from the dashboard. "Fuck outta my car then," he mumbles.

Your reply is immediate: "No."

Billy Hargrove's mouth curves up into a smile as he scoffs. "Alright," he starts, his voice devoid of all anger. "Hold this. Now, this is the shit from California. All kinds of stuff up there."

He gives you the nugget, and takes the cigarette from his lips to place behind his left ear instead. You inspect the weed yourself now, noticing a faint sparkle from somewhere deep within it. The stench is certainly... potent. Being so close certainly can't help it. But there's something else you can smell too. Something fruity?

"Had no idea," you say.

"Here, you crush that up while I roll."

Your eyes switch from the dope in your hand to Billy in the drivers seat. Your brows crease slightly in shock and confusion as you look at him, and you realize in the back of your head that this is the closest you've ever been to each other. You know he's noticing your face- he has to. Something about that throws you off. Something about Billy Hargrove specifically noticing it- having this moment in his memory forever- makes the sides of your face feel hot. "You don't have a grinder?" you ask in disbelief.

Billy's orbs flicker between your own. His face is back to something like grumpiness again. "You talkin' about that little twisty thing?"

"Y... yeah?" you say. "It makes crushing up weed way easier. It catches the kief?"

Billy Hargrove somewhat resembles an agitated bull about to charge. You can see the gears twisting in his brain, however, and you know what he's thinking. He thinks you're playing a prank on him, or trying to make him look stupid. "I'm not shitting you," you say quickly.

With an annoyed breath he turns back to the paper in his hands. It goes quiet, uncomfortably so, so you turn back towards the nugget too. You take a paper that fell from the glovebox from the floor- an old science quiz that he'd managed to score a 79% on- and wrap it over the nugget. It's not the biggest nug you've seen, but it's more than enough for one joint split between the two of you. You simply begin smashing it carefully inside the paper, then opening it to pick out any loose pieces of stem.

It's once you've practically finished the task that you hear Billy's gruff voice from beside you. "You think you're so smart, huh?"

What?

You turn to him, catching the humored smile on his face as he continues rolling. He's shaking his head slightly all the while.

You're not upset. On the contrary, you're relaxed. You let the paper, now swarmed with little weed crumbs all piled messily towards the center, sit gentle on your lap as you lean back. "Not really."

Billy Hargrove does pause for a second, so fast you would've missed it with a blink, but you see it. "Could've fooled me," he mutters. Then he gestures for the substance in your lap. "Here."

You pick up the paper gently, with two hands, the way a child might hold a dinner plate. Billy Hargrove meticulously picks the crumbs between his two fingers, lips slightly pursed and brows furrowed in concentration, and lays it in the dip of the rolling paper.

"Promise it's not laced?" you whisper out hoarsely.

Billy freezes again, before a smirk takes up on his mouth. He turns to you, eyes wide, and leans forward. Although his hands are filled, he still finds a way to wiggle his fingers at you. "Oh, scared?"

Your face drops into sarcasm. Really? your face asks him. "You think so?"

Billy Hargrove turns back to the joint, and finishes packing after a few seconds. "Clearly," he snarks. He rolls his head back over to you, face suddenly very, very pretty. "You want the first hit?"

"If you're actually offering," you decide slowly.

Billy passes the joint to you as you reach into your pants pocket for a lighter. With a bit of wiggling, you manage to pull it from the fabric. "Here, I'll light," he says. So, you switch hands. Billy giving you the joint, you giving Billy the lighter. Billy fucking Hargrove.

With one final suspicious glance around the parking lot, you place the joint between your lips eagerly before leaning down. You can practically taste the hemp on your tongue. Billy Hargrove follows suit, leaning down out of sight of the windows and flicking the lighter to life.

"It's pretty strong shit," he tells you as his hand wanes closer toward the paper. You pray he doesn't decide to blue ball you right in that moment and fall back into typical Billy Hargrove fashion, and he doesn't. The end of the joint lights up orange and yellow, dancing and sparkling right before your eyes. The inhale is smokey and sudden, hitting the back of your throat like a train. You can only take it for two seconds before squeezing your eyes shut, at which point Billy grabs the joint right from your mouth.

You feel it fill your lungs, stilling yourself before letting it expel from you. It comes out through your mouth in a gentle stream, and when your eyes turn to Billy, smoke is pouring from his nose for a second longer than yours. Then you both lean back into the seats of the car.

Billy dips his head down and stares out into the parking lot before reaching down and rolling the window up. He glances to check if yours is closed before bringing the joint to his mouth again.

You watch him inhale. Already, you feel your eyes fall half lidded. You're certain the turning of your head is ungodly slow, more snail like than anything. But you don't care about that. You're watching Billy Hargrove's adam's apple bob once with the inhale, then your eyes wander up to his jaw. His nose shape isn't half ugly. Well, actually now that you're here, it's sort of cute. Has his hair always been so curly?

Billy Hargrove breathes this hit out of his nose again, eyes falling closed. He lets his head fall back against the car seat so that his face is pointed towards the roof, relaxed but still Billy.

Cautiously, your fingers dance towards the smoking joint still in his hand that rests on his lap. It's the closest you've been to physical contact with him, which would surely end in you getting your shit rocked if you make one wrong move, so you're sure to move slow. Almost comedically slow.

When the man feels the joint ease out of his grasp, his eyes snap open with a breath. Billy's blue orbs roll down to see your hand greedily try to snag it from his own, but he just lets it happen. He doesn't even look like he's going to rock your shit. Not even one little punch. His hand simply loosens until you pull the jay away for yourself.

"Light."

Billy side eyes you somewhat as he lifts the lighter up to the joint for you once more. "Good shit, right?" he lulls, face and eyes empty of emotion. He looks grumpy again.

You nod lazily, closing your eyes and taking your second hit. It's more bearable this time, and you manage to inhale for three seconds instead of two. You hold it for a moment in your lungs before letting it go, breathing out through your nose and mouth. "Can't remember the last time I hotboxed," you manage to drawl, though you immediately forget doing so. You're almost confused when Billy Hargrove responds.

"I probably do it..." he swallows and lets his eyes close again. "Probably every day."

"You're stronger than me."

"My tolerance is probably fuckin' crazy," Billy says as his eyes peel open. "My hit."

You pass it back to him.

"So you got any plans for the 20th?" he asks, and suddenly you're moved at the contribution he gives to continue the conversation.

You shrug. "Smoke."

Billy nods his head with a smirk, mid hit. "Yeah, that's the plan," he says after breathing out. "You gonna have any special deals that day? Any, uh, discounts?"

Your brows crease as much as they can through lazy senses, which isn't a lot at all. "I told you I don't sell."

Billy's eyes flicker between your own for a moment- again you can see the gears turn inside him. "You were serious about that?"

You nod. "Yeah, I'm not a dealer."

Billy Hargrove's eyes look you up and down for a second, again so missably quick, pretty and blue and distracting. (Distracting? How strong is this strain?) "So where'd you get your shit from then."

"Eddie Munson."

Billy's face splits into loud humor. Eyes light up, go big, mouth scoffing in disbelief. "The super senior?! You're fuckin' with me."

You playfully throw up your palms in mock surrender. "He has good stuff."

"But isn't that guy like, fuckin' crazy? He's always playin' that dumb nerd shit."

"He's pretty nice to me," you offer. "But, dude, he never plays Kill Em' All if we smoke?"

Billy takes the joint right from your hand, just how you did to him. His dark brows furrow much easier than yours as his eyes fall to you once more. "The Metallica piece?"

You nod.

"You're shittin'."

You shake your head.

"Jesus," Billy puts the joint in his mouth and holds the lighter to it. "What a fuckin' loser."

You can't help it. Really, you can't. Billy's words aren't that funny- probably aren't funny at all- but the laugh that escapes the back of your throat comes out in a scoff-snort combo that causes even Billy Hargrove to remove the joint prematurely to cough out smoke.

It's a nice moment. You don't find yourself resenting him or judging him and if he's doing so to you, you can't feel it. At all. You're just two idiots getting high in the car, being idiots high in the car. Billy's presence is welcomed by you, shockingly enough. It shocks you twice over- once, because it's Billy Hargrove. Twice, because for the first time in a while, you feel like you might just have a friend. Just for the moment- just for the moment.

"Ah, shit," you hear Billy break. "Fuckin' idiot."

You pull yourself a little closer to the present (as much as you possibly can as your body seemingly floats to the sky), and turn your eyes out the windshield. Through the hazy white mist that's settled in the car, you can make out a large and annoying figure by the name of Tommy, waving his arms over his head and grinning like a dull fish. His girlfriend, Carol, follows a few steps behind him, similar smile plastered to her face as her brown curls bounce.

"Damn," Billy Hargrove's face drops. "Just when I was startin' to enjoy it." He moves to open the door, and that's when you say something that makes him falter and look back to you.

"I gotta take off anyway."

Billy can't decide between taking a step forward or taking a step back it seems, almost like he's glitching. The boy leans down, turns his head to you. If you hadn't just smoked with him, you might not be able to tell he was high. His eyes aren't red, just pulled into that sarcastic, grumpy, pursed lipped look he's always wearing. "You sure?"

You shrug. "Yeah, don't worry about it."

Billy holds your eyes for a second more, jaw clenching. He decides not to say anything, however, and closes- a soft slam, really- his door closed. You watch him strut out to greet Tommy and Carol as Tommy points to you in the passengers seat with a grin you just loathe.

Quickly, you gather your backpack up from the floor. Out of courtesy, you find yourself quickly and inexplicably pulling the papers on the floor into a stack to place back in the glovebox. You click it closed without thinking, turning to leave when you stop.

The baggie still sits in the cupholder. Unattended, California bred and strong. You know how dumb it would be to take. You're not stupid enough to steal from Billy fucking Hargrove. But a few nuggets? Billy wouldn't notice. Especially not now, high off his ass, talking it up with Tommy about probably fucking nothing.

So, a nug or two wouldn't hurt...

Your brain convinces you you're a ninja. You swipe two medium sized nuggets, one dark green and one light, and cram them deep into your pocket. You're sure to zip the bag back into place to avoid suspicion as a rain of confetti seemingly falls around you.

The guilt is already washing over you somewhat, but it's deep, deep down inside. You almost can't even recognize it. You open the car door, sling your backpack over your shoulder, and watch the smoke ooze from the vehicle like a thick cloud. You must look like Zeus right now.

After the door closes, you're quick to walk away. Luckily, the lot is small, and you can see your car from here. Your foggy brain almost forgets about Tommy and Carol, who can somehow still see you even through your fast pace. "Hey!" Carol calls. "Hey, I'm talking to you!"

You just walk faster and keep your head down. You feel two things just then- Carol's laughter filling the air, and Billy Hargrove's eyes on your back.

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Much to your own surprise, you do not grind up and smoke those two nuggets that night. Nor do you do so the day after, or the day after that. You highly consider it on the third day, though Billy Hargrove manages to completely deter your mind from it.

He doesn't do anything outright ruining- oh no. Billy just so happened to hold eye contact with you in the lunch line after rolling his eyes at something. It only lasts two, maybe three seconds. But it's enough to turn you off from smoking his-your- weed.

On day five, two days before the 20th, Billy Hargrove receives a test back in math that makes the right corner of his lips twitch up. You know, because you watch him very carefully from your corner of the room.

Billy tries to disguise it, of course. The man of rock and stone is always cautious to keep up appearances. Always frowning, always angry, always too good for something. But whatever he got on that test was, and is, worth more than that little mask. In your head, Billy Hargrove is proud of himself. He worked hard for something and he got a reward for it. Just like you, just like the people you admire, just like everyone else on the planet.

And you stole from him.

On day six, you find, once again, that Billy Hargrove has made himself at home against your locker. Again, you do not run away. From deep, deep in you, you're almost happy to see him. Almost.

"Billy," you greet flatly. The boy once again slides away from your locker so that you can open it, sly as a fox.

"Y/N," Billy greets back. He watches your face as you trade some books and binders, packing your bag to go home. You might be worried about him confronting you about his missing nuggets if you didn't know any better. No, Billy Hargrove was a hot headed bull. If he had noticed, he would've said something by now. Hell, you'd probably have a broken arm or something. "Still planning on smokin' tomorrow?"

God, don't bring it up. "Yeah, hoping to." You close the locker and clutch your jacket in your arms. Billy walks in time with you, neither of you acknowledging the accidental bumping of shoulders that's brought about through the crowded hallway. "Why do you ask?"

Billy Hargrove doesn't look at you. He looks straight ahead, almost as if he's in pain from what he's about to say. He looks like this is some great task for him, saying whatever he's about to say. Taller than you, you watch his sullen eyes as he speaks. "Was wonderin' if you wanted to smoke in the car again."

Your brows crease for a split second. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

The sun illuminates you both as you walk through the open doors and out the side exit of Hawkins High. The spring breeze dances with the summer air gloriously. "Any particular reason you're asking me and not Tommy?"

Billy wastes no time in responding. "Tommy's a fuckin' idiot."

The laugh almost spills out of your mouth, but you manage to catch it with a cough. "Oh, okay. Yeah, he is."

Your walking slows as you approach your car, which catches the glint of the bright, bright sun. Billy turns to you, watching with his usual casual swagger as you fumble to get your keys out. "So you in?"

I stole your weed! you want to blurt out. I stole it and I actually feel kind of bad about it!

Instead, you glance down at your shoes, instantly giving away your poker face. "Oh, uh, maybe."

Something washes over Billy's face, but only for a second of a second. Maybe not even. Disappointment? Whatever it is, it's replaced by his usual expression. Pursed lips, unimpressed eyes, and the feeling that he's cursing you in his brain. "Well," he glances around the parking lot. The sun bounces off of him too, but in a way that looks better than it does on your car. It looks like it's meant to bounce off of him. "Let me know. You've got a phone book." And then he's already walking away with his back to you before you can say anything more.

You don't like watching him go. Sure, Billy's ass did look fantastic in the jeans he typically wore, but it did little to negate the odd feeling of despair and loneliness you suddenly felt. But Billy Hargrove wasn't your friend. He wasn't anything- you weren't anything to him. He just wanted weed out of you anyway. Ironic, considering.

It was true, you could always look up Billy's last name in your home phone book and come clean. You think about this as you seat yourself in your car, which feels and smells like a microwave from the oncoming heat. You knew you should really just call him. Just take your beating and get on with it.

But there was a little voice in your brain that said otherwise. It was that voice that gave you the idea.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Billy Hargrove lived on 4819 Cherry Lane, in a little pale house. It was cute, only one story. Very family friendly. It looked like his mother had taken a great bit of care in taking care of the family's plants, which bloomed in shades of poppy red and cherry blossom pink in the bushes right outside. You felt some guilt in thinking that Billy didn't deserve this.

It looked too juxtaposing compared to him, even in the dark of night. It looked too quaint, too warm and nurtured. But you knew better. Even though you're about to commit breaking and entering- or preferably just entering- you know better. There's something in that house that hardened Billy Hargrove. His mother? His father? Something buried deep under his bed? Whatever it was, now wasn't the time to poke.

The leaves crunch under your shoes with every step, but the hum of the cicadas drowns it out for the most part. You round the house so you're at the right side, relieved that all the lights are off. You can see through the little half sliding window, covered in dust and pollen, that it leads to an empty hallway with more pale walls.

There's no doubt in your mind. You're already committed. One hand on the window and another against the house's siding for support, you push the window apart. It comes off easier than expected, wheezing from friction as you slowly ease the panel open. No going back, there is still no doubt in your mind. Returning Billy's weed is the best thing you could do for him. And would you look at that- can anyone really call it breaking and entering if you haven't broken anything?

Both palms clasping the edge of the window, you vault yourself up and over. Exiting the summer night air and entering the Hargrove home comes faster than expected, but your shoes touch down nonetheless. You'd say it feels like a dream, but it's too fast to be a dream. The wooden floors are too solid, and the smell of Billy is too strong.

Billy Hargrove's bedroom isn't far from the window you climbed through. It's a few steps forward from your position down the hallway and then to the left. You expect to see the door closed, probably locked, which was why you'd brought two long and thin hairpins to pick it open, but the door is open. Every single light in the house is off, and Billy Hargrove's room is dark.

Silently- and bravely- you peak your head into the room. Again, you expect to maybe see him in a limp heap on the bed, but yet again, it's empty. Better for you, you suppose. Easier to get in and out unnoticed.

You see the Metallica poster by his bed, the laundry shoved into the corner of the room. You see the plain blue curtains with the little tiny hole burnt into the fabric, the unmade bed, the bottles of cologne and hair product and combs. You see the closet, hastily left open. Even with the lights off, you see it all. You see Billy Hargrove's life.

It moves something inside of you. You're not sure why. But then you only use it as an incentive to not be weird, to not be a creep anymore then you've made yourself into. Hastily, eyes already adjusting to the dark, you pull the two nuggets of Billy Hargrove's strong California weed- one light green and one dark- and quickly walk over to the boys bedside table. There's nowhere to leave it organically really, so you opt for just placing it by the little table lamp. Not sure what Billy Hargrove has that for, you can't imagine he's doing much reading before bed.

And then it's done. The weed you stole is returned. All is well.

You back away slowly, almost as if the nuggets were cursed objects in a horror movie. Then you turn around, practically flying back down the hallway and launching yourself back through the window with ease. Maybe it's the anxiety, or the adrenaline, but you're quick as a cat and silent as a mouse. Your shoes crunch the grass once more and you feel the warm nights breeze caress your face, protecting you from any danger. You turn around and slide the window back shut until you hear the hissing turns into a final click.

Your shoulders soften, and you turn away from the house. The crickets are loud tonight, you realize, and the cicadas. They tell you that you did the right thing. They tell you that you did it out of something good instead of fear. It's enough.

When you come back to the front of the house, you expect to see the same emptiness you'd seen before. The street, some trees, the darkness and the moon. But you're met with the opposite.

Billy Hargrove stares at you. He leans against his blue car parked on the street right outside 4819 Cherry Lane. Cigarette in hand, he raises it to his lips and takes a drag, but his eyes never-not once- stray from your own. They're just piercing into yours yet again, daring you.

You are so fucked.

Billy takes the cigarette from his lips and breathes the air out. He reaches a finger out to you and pulls it back towards him in a 'come here' motion.

All you want to do is run away before he beats your skull into the dirt and breaks your arm. But if you imagine he's leaning against your locker instead of his car in the dead of night, suddenly it's not so scary. You swallow, and begin towards him.

When you're finally there, right in front of him, Billy's the one to speak first. His voice is low, but his face isn't outright fuming. You can't tell if that's better or worse. Billy Hargrove plotting doesn't exactly sit right with you, but you're not sure how much experience he has in that realm anyway.

"You broke into my house?"

"No. I didn't break anything."

Billy holds your stare. His face is the stone man once again. "You're funny," he says, in a tone that makes you believe you're not really all that funny at all. The pretty brunette takes another hit. From this close up, you realize it's not a cigarette at all, but a blunt. A skinny one sure, but the smell and shape is more than familiar. "What are you doin' in my house, L/N?"

Nope, don't say a word, your brain says. You obey. "Just browsing."

"Browsing?" Billy deadpans.

"Browsing."

It's silent. His blue eyes flicker back and forth between your own, digging out the truth. He'll find it sooner or later, you know that for sure. "You know, I've had some crazy girls do some crazy things for my attention," Billy Hargrove starts. "But this might just be the craziest."

The word slips out before you can control it. "Gross."

Of course, it wasn't gross. Billy accusing you of wanting his attention? It was half true. Maybe you cared for him just a little. You mean, he'd been sort of welcoming to you, hadn't he? That day in the car? And yesterday, at your locker?

There's another minute of silence. Billy Hargrove's eyes are still dancing between yours, and you're still holding it. There's no anxious pit in your stomach. There's no desire to take a step away. If he swings, he swings.

Instead, he says, "Want a hit?"

Your brows furrow in confusion. "I- I mean, yeah?"

"Take it." Billy takes a short hit himself before practically cramming the joint in your hand. "It's 4/20."

You observe the jay carefully, twisting it around in your fingers as your eyes scan it. It's not laced or poisoned, at least, given that it looks like Billy's been puffing on the thing for a while. But there's no reason at all for him to share with you. He did, after all, just catch you in a blatantly illegal act on his property. Simply informing you that it's April 20th isn't enough.

"You really want to smoke with me that bad?" you ask, tone genuine as you hesitantly raise it to your own mouth.

Billy shrugs.

"Thought you'd be more pissed," you only say instead. Then you accept your fate, inhaling the still light cherry.

It's much easier on your throat than the other time, not as harsh. It fills your lungs with peace, sucking up any last remnants of anxiety that might've lingered. When you open your eyes, Billy Hargrove is just as pretty as he was before you closed them. With all that effort going into his appearance, you guess he'd have to be. But Billy Hargrove probably would've been pretty no matter what. If he kept his hair long or short, messy or tamed, skin tanned or pale. Oddly enough, you really believed that. You really, truly did.

You pass the joint back to Billy. "Where's your parents?"

Billy shrugs once more, this time mid hit. "Hell if I know," he replies. "Vacation, I think? Little brat's off at a friends house til Sunday. Place is all mine."

His tone is easing up already, which you think to take as a good sign. When you open your hand, Billy passes the joint back to you with no hesitation. "Lucky," you offer back, taking your hit.

"Gonna need to light it again soon," the boy says. "Got a light here."

Sure enough, Billy produces a little metal lighter from his back pocket. Different from the one he used before, but smoother on the flame. He raises it up to the blunt, and you eye him for a moment before leaning in.

This hit is better than the last few. You want to smile after this one. "How'd you even know I was here?"

Billy Hargrove crosses his arms and settles back into his lean. "Divine providence," he drawls with a roll of his eyes.

"Don't be fuckin' lame."

"I'm sorry?" Billy's dark eyebrow quips up attentively. "Who just broke into who's house?"

You smirk a little- just a smug little twitch that you find you can't help. Whether it be the bud or the conversation, you stifle it best you can to no avail. "I already told you I didn't break anything."

"Mm," Billy hums. His face is full of sarcastic disbelief as he snatches the jay right out of your hand so fast, it burns the tip of your finger.

"I promise. I'd never."

Billy takes his hit. Both of his eyebrows raise in thought before he makes a point to blow the smoke in the exact direction of your face. Immediately, your eyes flutter close at the impact, which rivals that of a brick wall. Even your nose twitches at the force. "You think I'm going to trust the word of a criminal?"

You look at Billy Hargrove. Curly taupe hair. Big, blue, dollface eyes framed by perfectly full brows. A cute button nose. Tanned skin basking in the summer anticipation. He wasn't so bad, you supposed.

You can't help but dip your head as you smile, shaking your head as you find yourself growing shy.

Unknown to you, Billy smiles a little too, before raising the joint back to his lips and inhaling.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I HAVEN'T POSTED IN YEARS LMFAOOOOO. Hope everyone's doing well. This is just a little treat for you guys for the holiday if you celebrate. If not, just enjoy Billy. I actually kinda liked this pairing. I'd make a part 2, and I actually mean that. I do intend on getting back into posting but I need to do it at my own pace. I'm gonna close requests again so I don't get overwhelmed and just move slow. I am, as always, apologetic for any spelling errors I may have missed, and grammar errors, and I apologize if this at all feels rushed even though I've been working on it for the whole week. Sorta felt like I had to speed it up at the end since there is a word or paragraph cap on tumblr and i was getting hella nervous about hitting it. Anyway, stay safe, take care.

#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy stranger things x reader #billy stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove imagines #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #billy hargrove stranger things x reader #billy hargrove stranger things imagine #billy hargove stranger things imagines

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kyberphilosopher · 2 years

Text

Kabal Interaction Dialogues

All possible interactions between Kabal and Y/N.

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Kabal to Y/N:

Kabal: Fancy seeing you here. Y/N: This feels... unlikely. Kabal: Don’t act like you’re not feelin’ me.

Y/N: Speedy? Kabal: You could say that, yeah. Y/N: I’ll call you ‘hooker’ for hookswords next.

Y/N: Just how fast are you? Kabal: I’m sure you’d like to find out. Y/N: <sigh.>

Kabal: There’s a price on your head. Y/N: Mistakes finally catching up to me? Kabal: Happens to the best of us, sweetheart.

Kabal: Should I even offer my services? Y/N: Think Kano would have something to say about that. Kabal: I said my services. Not Kano’s.

Y/N: Wanna race? Kabal: I’ll wipe the floor with you. Y/N: Someone can’t take a challenge.

Y/N: Wanna race? Kabal: I’ll wipe the floor with you. Y/N: Not if I snap your legs.

Kabal: What’s this I hear about your hooksword fantasy? Y/N: You believe anything. Kabal: Care to prove me wrong?

Y/N: Do you do anything besides run fast? Kabal: Word on the street is I can handle my own blades. Y/N: Lots of people can do that.

Kabal: What makes you think I’m stealing your underwear? Y/N: I can see the purple light, Kabal. Kabal: Ah... shit.

Y/N: Do you do anything besides run fast? Kabal: I’ve got a tendency to be pretty damn romantic. Y/N: What’re you telling me for?

Kabal: You. Me. Fighting? Y/N: Surprised? Kabal: <chuckles.> Nah.

Kabal: You’re really this upset with me? Y/N: I thought we were friends, Kabal. Kabal: Thought we were more than friends.

Y/N: What’s the price for you to stop following me? Kabal: For you? I’ll settle for a kiss and a dime. Y/N: Me, and everyone else you’ve ever followed.

Y/N: That mask ever come off? Kabal: What’s it to you? Y/N: Meh, just curious.

Y/N: That mask ever come off? Kabal: What’s it to you? Y/N: It won’t be the only thing coming off.

Kabal: Can’t run from feelings forever. Y/N: That’s ironic coming from you. Kabal: Guess I’ll make the first move.

Kabal: You and I are going in circles. Y/N: What’s so bad about a circle? It never ends. Kabal: Love the optimism but I’m more of a ‘let’s do this’ typa’ guy.

Kabal: Always look forward to going at it with you. Y/N: Kano said the same thing to me earlier. Kabal: Don’t tell me you fight just anybody.

Y/N: You never leave me alone, do you? Kabal: You'd rather never run into each other, huh? Y/N: I’d rather put you out of your misery.

Kabal: You’re colder than Frost. Y/N: Do not put me in line with her. Kabal: It’s a compliment, sweetheart.

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Kano to Y/N:

Kano: What’s been goin’ on between you and Kabal? Y/N: Nothing. You’re delusional. Kano: Now why so defensive?

Kano: What’s been goin’ on between you and Kabal? Y/N: Guess he’s funny. Kano: I’ve been around the bloke plenty. He ain’t that funny.

Kano: Have you and Kabal ever...? Y/N: Leave it alone, Kano. Kano: Then you wouldn’t mind comin’ home with me, eh?

Y/N: Go easy on Kabal. Kano: What’s it to you? Y/N: I’d rather look at his ugly mug over yours.

Kano: How’s the speedster treatin’ you in bed? Y/N: Wouldn’t know. Kano: You’ve got the same defiance.

Y/N: How much does that eye see? Kano: I know about you and Kabal. Y/N: There’s a price for that.

Y/N: How much does that eye see? Kano: I know about you and Kabal. Y/N: I knew there was a reason I never liked you.

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Kano to Kabal:

Kano: Think I’ll send you after Y/N next. Kabal: So? Think I can’t do it? Kano: Think you’ve gone soft.

Kabal: Enough with the catcalling. Kano: Since when do you give the orders? Kabal: Since I got tired of your bullshit.

Kano: You’re chasing a fine piece of ass. Kabal: Which one? Kano: The only one.

Kano: Flirting won’t pay your bills, mate. Kabal: You’re talking to hooker the hookswordsman, funny you should mention it. Kano: This is what I’m talking about.

Kano: Hear you’ve got a new friend. Kabal: I don’t make friends. Kano: That’s exactly what Y/N said.

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Johnny Cage to Kabal:

Johnny Cage: Glad to see you’re finally starting a family. Kabal: The hell are you talkin’ about, old man? Johnny Cage: I can see the headlines now.

Johnny Cage: Who do you think we should get to play Y/N in my movie? Kabal: I’ll make my own movie with em’. Johnny Cage: That’s just gross.

Johnny Cage: So, you and Y/N, huh? Kabal: I’m not allowed to have very near and dear friends anymore? Johnny Cage: I’m not heartless, Kabal!

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Skarlet to Y/N:

Skarlet: Your blood is still pumping. Y/N: Well I had to jog all the way over here. Skarlet: I think a visit with the black dragon thug is more likely.

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Cassie Cage to Y/N:

Cassie Cage: Dad says you’re into Kabal. Y/N: Your dad’s been wrong about relationships before though, right? Cassie Cage: Okay, you’re asking for it.

Cassie Cage: How come you and I never hang out? Y/N: Maybe I’m worried you’ll shoot right through me. Cassie Cage: But you’re not worried about the man with the speed blitzing record?

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Cassie Cage to Kabal:

Cassie Cage: Got any cute pictures with Y/N? Kabal: A few, yeah. Cassie Cage: And you didn’t post them?!

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Spawn to Kabal:

Spawn: You and Y/N are the worst kept secret in hell. Kabal: You spyin’ on us? Spawn: I could hear you from the seventh circle.

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Erron Black to Y/N:

Erron Black: Never would’ve thought of you and Kabal. Y/N: We’re friends. Got any? Erron Black: Not those kind of friends.

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Erron Black to Kabal:

Erron Black: Slow down, Kabal. Kabal: I’m startin’ to settle down. Erron Black: Sure you’re not getting ready to run away again?

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Kung Lao to Y/N:

Y/N: That hat’s ridiculous. Kung Lao: I’m not the one with the walking, talking, speeding handbag. Y/N: <gasp.> I can’t believe you’d forget about Jade like that!

Y/N: Dung Lao. Kung Lao: You and Kabal are just alike. Y/N: Alright, now you’ve taken things too far.

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Sindel to Kabal:

Sindel: So you do slow down, Kabal. Kabal: I’ve only sped up. Sindel: Not for your lover, it seems.

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End of Round Taunts

Kabal: This hurts me more than it hurts you. Kabal: Want me to kiss it make it better? Kabal: What a view. Kabal: I know you can do better than that. Kabal: Kaball’s in your mouth. Kabal: Masochist. Kabal: Should I spank you? Kabal: Tell me if it hurts. Kabal: Oh, I’m sorry, did I cut you? Kabal: Knew you’d go easy on me. Kabal: Now I’ve got your attention.

Y/N: Slowpoke. Y/N: On your knees. Y/N: The Flash would’ve done better. Y/N: Catch me if you can. Y/N: What makes you think you could give me better? Y/N: Tell me if it hurts. Y/N: All talk. Y/N: Look who’s on bottom now. Y/N: You’ll be lucky I don’t tell Kano. Y/N: I’ll make this up to you. Y/N: Caught off guard? Y/N: Nothing personal.

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End of Round Actions

Never Late: [Kabal will speed away, speed back, and present Y/N with flowers before tossing them to the floor.]

I Heart You: [Y/N will bend two minor weapons in their arsenal into two halves of a heart at Kabal.]

Remind Him: [Y/N will blow Kabal a kiss]

Finish Them!: [Kabal will speed away off screen, return holding an ongoing vibrator, and smash it to the floor]

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Brutality Dialogues

[Upon preforming a brutality on Kabal] Y/N: He was a distraction.

[Upon preforming a brutality on Y/N] Kabal: I’ll miss ya.

[Upon preforming a brutality on Kabal] Y/N: There goes that third leg.

[Upon preforming a brutality on Y/N] Kabal: And you said we were just friends.

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Character Endings

[Upon Defeating Kronika] Kabal:

Shit sounds cool, right? The power to control time, space, reality- hell, you name it. Until you realize you’ll outlive all your friends for all eternity, and you don’t even get paid for it. So I did the logical step, and gave the hourglass back to Kronika.

She didn’t complain much. All I asked in return was a chance at anyone who’d ever crossed me, minus one. And, well, after taking care of that business, I asked Kronika for something else.

With all the weekends you can bag, I got Y/N and I a nice house away from all that noise. No more Kano, no more Black Dragon, no more fuss. Kronika keeps offering me a truly normal life to live without the speed, but hey, Y/N seems to like it. They seem to like it so much, they scream it whenever I’m taking them down. [chuckles].

[Upon defeating Kronika] Y/N:

Beating the shit out of Kronika was probably the best thing I ever did. But with her out of the way, someone had to take over as Titan of time. There wasn’t too much I could’ve changed- wanted to change, at least- but then I thought’ve the perfect person for the job: Kano.

His disappearance made strides for the Black Dragon. That idiot, never using a logical thought. But Kabal did. Kabal… my friend. Taking over was so much easier than we thought. The rewards went beyond getting paid.

And then, well, I can’t remember. After Kano went on to become the time master, my memory started getting hazy. Black Dragon… Kabal… who is that? Why does it feel like somethings missing? [sigh.] In any case, whoever keeps leaving flowers in my room better reveal themselves shortly. Stressing over Kano’s next move can’t be solved with little unexplainable treats appearing around me. Whoever it is that I can’t see… they’re my best friend.

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*Read* All ____ Interaction Dialogues can be updated and added upon at any time. Dialogues can be changed on whim, request, or added too appropriately. Return frequently for more dialogues.

#mk11 x reader #mortal kombat x reader #mk fanfiction #mortal kombat fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #kabal x reader #kabal imagine #kabal imagines #mortal kombat kabal #mk kabal #mk 11 kabal #mortal kombat interactions #mortal kombat interaction dialogue #kabal dialogue #mortal kombat headcanon #kabal headcanon #mortal kombat headcanons #kabal headcanons

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