the victim | billy loomis x reader x stu macher

08: Violent Delights



08: Violent Delights



AS THE NIGHT DRAGS ON, the crowds grow wild and intoxicated. The once comfortable and familiar environment has morphed into a frenzy of drunken teenagers. You've lost track of town, but it couldn't have been more than an hour, and with each passing minute, you've grown more and more anxious. Dewey kept his promise and stayed out of sight, but you couldn't shake off this feeling that something bad is going to happen.

           You've long since finished putting everything in place, and while everything told you to join your friends in the living room, you can't. Instead, you stand alone in the kitchen, sipping on some beer and staring blankly at the wall.

           You know what tonight means for everyone else. It's a night for celebration-for letting loose and forgetting about everything else. But for you, it's just another reminder of how disconnected you feel from everyone else. You're used to being the third wheel, the odd one out of your group of friends. It became a way of life for you, something you've grown to accept.

           But tonight, it's a different kind of feeling.

           Now, with an empty red solo cup, you shake yourself from your uncertainties and grab a few different drinks. As you start mixing, the sound of screams and laughter from the living room pulls a sigh from your lips. You breathe in deeply, trying to suppress your thoughts of isolation.

           You focus on your drink, watching the alcohol swirl in different colors. You're by no means a mixologist. Something you're very much aware of as you take in the stench of your abomination. To your utter horror, arms wrap around your waist, and a chin lowers on your shoulder. You relax at the familiarity of the hold, glancing to see Stu, whose staring at your concoction.

           Stu leans over your shoulder, taking a deep breath. "That's fuckin' ungodly." Stu gags, and you laugh in return. Suddenly, you don't feel so lonely as you lean back into his chest. Any and all thoughts of Tatum are obsolete.

           "If it gets me comatose, I don't care what it smells like you." You state, taking a whiff before gaging yourself. "Nevermind, that's so fucking bad."

           Stu unlinks his arms from around you and takes the cup. "Takin' one for the team, baby!" Then, he takes a large gulp, face twisting. You've seen Stu drink some heavy shit and never have that reaction. It's oddly empowering. "It's just as bad as it smells." He sets the cup aside to look at you. "You are not drinkin' that."

           "Then what am I going to drink?" You whine. You don't want to go through the night without feeling some kind of buzz. "Show some mercy to a dead girl walkin', Stuey."

           Stu chuckles. "You ain't dying, sweet thing." He boops your nose teasingly, leaning down to be eye level. "Drinkin' is only going to take away all the fun."

           "Are you really going to bench me?" You huff.

           "How about one drink?" He offers, turning to the countless bottles of hard liquor. "Get a nice buzz goin', then just ride it out for the night."

           "Fine." You groan, letting him choose your poison. "What's the fun anyway? You got somethin' planned, Stuey?"

           Stu looks back at you with a mischievous smirk. "Oh, you betcha, baby." Handing you the new concoction, you take a sniff, and when a tinge of cola hits you, you smile.