#bev rolls with it

[yumethefrostypanda]

Sergeant Garrick // MWII Raid Ep.1

[chompe-diem]

if caldwell doesnt play a high charisma char next main campaign idk what i'm gonna do bro

[marshbevvie]

See me walking down the street see me rolling to the beat-

[kitnita]

dallasstars: schnazzy stars in the building ⭐️

[theood]

I miss you imitation crab, avocado cream cheese rice sushi I miss you so much

[dilfdemolisher]

PERSEPHONE - CHAPTER THREE

“Persephone, queen of the underworld. Hades runs Hell, but she’s in charge of punishment.”

Series Summary: A serial killer who works with the police herself has a tumultuous past with Jack Crawford and his new profiler Will Graham. While trying to rebuild what she once broke Hannibal Lecter sticks himself in the middle of the few things she cares about - Comments and critiques are encouraged.

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, dead bodies, murder that is very female targeted, canon character death, smut, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 9.5k (yes you read that right…I'm sorry)

The sterile walls of the hallway close in around you as you make your way towards the autopsy room. "Agent," a familiar voice calls out behind you.

"I'm not your 'Agent' anymore, Jack," you say, wincing as you turn to face him. You were never officially an agent; Jack only started calling you that when you began sticking your nose into his cases.

"Force of habit," he deflects, his tone unusually soft for him. "I need to talk to you."

You glare at him, hoping he'll get straight to the point. The last thing you want is for Jack to drag you into his office, which always feels like a principal's office—the prelude to a lecture you’d rather avoid.

"I'd like you to resume therapy," he says finally.

Your heart sinks. "No."

"Bloom knows a therapist in Baltimore-"

You cut him off with a bitter laugh. "Are you serious? The last time I took her advice, I ended up tied to a chair and tortured. I'll pass."

"Dr. Lecter is one of the best in his field. She recommended him when I expressed my concerns." He tries to reason. 

Is he serious? "So, you discussed your concerns about me with her first instead of just asking me if I felt I needed help?"

"It's not about what you want. If you’re going to continue working on this case, you need a psychological evaluation."

Frustrated, you turn away and continue down the hallway. This is such bullshit. You don't need therapy. "I'll pass, Jack, but I appreciate your concern," you dismissively yell over your shoulder, not slowing your pace.

The moment you enter the room, everyone's eyes fall on your frame. The three in lab coats momentarily feeze while Will quickly makes eye contact before his gaze shifts to behind you and paces out of the room. 

“Were you honest when you said you two never dated—hell even slept together because this is awkward.” He says in an awful attempt to break the awkward silence.

“Any close relationship that didn’t leave on a positive note can cause tension, not just romantic ones, Price.” You state. 

Beverly clears her throat. “So Will thinks the killer is eating the girls. Elise's liver was removed and then put back in place; the killer did that after he realized she had liver cancer.”

“We also found metal shavings on her body,” Zeller chimes in. 

You sigh. “It’s plausible. It creates a very vivid image of this man. He…cares for these girls in his own twisted way. He’d view their consumption as an act of devotion, most likely a waste if he didn't. It’s a hunter's mentality; if there's anything left of these girls, it’s most likely fragments. Hair stuffed in pillows, bones made into various things—he wouldn't waste. If he is a hunter, he most likely has a dedicated space to this, a shed, probably doesn't live in the city.” You propose.

You’re met with silence for a moment before Beverly speaks once again. “I can’t believe you were never a profiler.” She shakes her head and smiles. 

"Well, I momentarily am of sorts now.” You raise your arms forward and wiggle your fingers.  “Maybe I understand him so well because I am him.” You say it in an unserious tone. 

She rolls her eyes playfully. "Hmm, yeah, I'm real scared.” You didn't even realize how much you missed Bev until now. 

"Well, is that all?” You ask. 

"Yup, that's it.” Brain tells you before grabbing something behind him. “I’ll be off then.” You smile and walk out the door.

2 YEARS EARLIER

Jack’s call came twenty minutes ago, his voice clipped and urgent. “Another one.” That was all he said, but it was enough. It wasn't just another body, not a one-off murder. He made it clear by his simple lack of words that this was connected. 

During the entirety of your drive, your heart couldn't stop beating. The dull vibration filling your ears and pounding your chest overwhelmed you so much that you felt relieved at the red stop lights, giving you a moment to collect your barring's. Jack pulled up at the same time, his grim expression mirroring your own.

As he approached, his words were drowned out by your internal rhythm. But when Jack opened the door into the room, your body finally went quiet, and you finally feel like you’re alive again—living in the present. 

A woman's body lay sprawled on the cheap, stained bed, blood soaking deep into the mattress. Your gaze travelled over her naked form, legs spread wide in a provocative display. Decaying vines twisted around her ankles and the bed frame, their dark, withered tendrils contrasting against her greying skin. It was a brutal, degrading spectacle.

There is a precise incision right above her pelvis, which is mostly one of the reasons why her entire torso is covered in her own blood, except her breasts. They look as if they were deliberately cleaned, the pink hue still lightly remaining on her skin. 

Her mouth is slightly agape; something inside it is forcing her jaw unnaturally wide. Compelled by a mix of horror and professional detachment, your feet move towards her. You hear Jack say something but it becomes mute when you hear your heartbeat pick up again.

Your gloved hand delicately touches her jaw; now, closer, you can see her features. Up close, her traits become clearer. She’s unremarkable—plain, even. A white, brunette woman of heavy European descent with a slim build. It’s odd to think how un-special she may have been in life but now, in death, she's a spectacle.

Gently, you pry her jaw open, revealing a small, fleshy mass inside. You look towards Jack in confusion and ask, “Can I pull it out?” 

Crawford gives a small nod and moves beside you. You give the object a small pull and it doesn't budge. “You hold her jaw; I’ll pull it out.” Jack says while looking at the strangulation marks on her neck. 

You move your hands and the man pulls. You watch him struggle between delicately grasping it and forcefully yanking it. 

You adjust your grip, one hand on her lower teeth and the other on the upper, pulling them apart. Jack pulls a bit harder; you watch as it starts to slide out, and just when you think its going to be stuck once again, Jack gives a final, forceful yank, and the object comes free.

Jack is holding the woman's uterus. 

“What the fuck?” you exclaim. Momentarily forgetting you two weren't the only ones in the room. Someone behind him brings an evidence bag to Jack, where he drops the organ inside the plastic. 

All eyes shift to the incision on her torso. Another forensic tech steps forward with metal forceps, his face pale but determined. He fiddles with the cut, and when he finally pries it open. You hear others gasp but you're still trying to compute the sight of the mess inside. At first, it looks like a jumble of smooth, misplaced intestines—until you recognize the pattern.

Scales. Snakes.

She’s been hollowed out, and her uterus has been replaced with dead serpents.

PRESENT DAY

It’s been days, and still nothing. The most frustrating part of working in a field that is centered around solving crimes is the cruel irony that sometimes you need more evidence to build a profile—to move forward at all. You've heard about Jack narrowing down the search by identifying the specific metal found on Elise's body, but you honestly couldn't care less.

You deluded yourself into believing that taking on this case was a selfless act, but your defenses are crumbling. You’re here for Will to glue together what was once broken. But you’ve never fucked up on this scale before, and you don’t know how to fix it. Your fingers stick together from your messy revival attempts, and the toxic fumes cloud your mind. Why did you think it was a good idea to show up at his house?

A knock at your door—your own door—in Baltimore interrupts your spiraling thoughts.

No one called to warn you of an appearance; your overactive work brain can't shut off even now, envisioning an ax murderer standing outside your home.

How comical.

"Open up, it’s Crawford." Jack’s voice is muffled but unmistakable. Not an ax murderer; that makes more sense considering it’s 10 AM and you live in an apartment building. Unless he’s here for other reasons, maybe he knows and wants to give you a chance to explain yourself before slapping handcuffs around your wrists.

Unsure how to navigate this possible confrontation, you blurt out the stupidest thing: "Why?"

“Because I need to talk to you,” he shouts impatiently. 

With a sigh, you walk to the door and begin to unlock it. “That’s what my number is for. I thought showing up at my workplace was invasive, but this is—” Your words cut off as you opened the door.

“Who are you?” you ask, your eyes shifting to the unfamiliar man standing beside Jack.

"I’m Dr. Lecter. Jack has asked me to assist in this case, similar to you," he says with a polite smile, more out of courtesy than genuine pleasure.

You recognize the name from Bloom. She mentioned him plenty of times, but this isn’t how you envisioned meeting him. It reminds you of when, after the "incident," as she likes to call it, she recommended him to you and offered to call him. You declined.

"Okay." Your glare bounces between the two men. Jack's scowl deepens while the doctor’s eyes remain fixed on you. You're not sure if he’s blinked once since you opened the door.

Jack groans and begins to speak. “I want you to speak to a professional for a psychological evaluation. I already told you this.”

You’re taken aback by his intrusion. “I’m sorry, is this an intervention?” Crawford opens his mouth to speak, but you continue before he can justify himself.

“This is ridiculous. First, you begged me to help you on this case, and now you're doubting my sanity?” 

You focus on maintaining eye contact with Jack, not fully seeing the doctor's face beside him, but through your blurry peripheral vision, it looks like amusement. What an asshole.

“I’m not doubting your sanity; I’m clearing this up for legal reasons.”

It’s bullshit, and you know it. “You know what I think, Jack? I think you’re scared of another fuck-up.” You bite, “You lost Miriam, and then, because of a lack of diligence on your part, you almost lost another one of your worker bees. And you just can’t handle another tragedy like that again.”

Jack opens and closes his mouth, more-so shocked by how cold you were to him than anything. You’ve been pissy before, but nothing like that.

It’s harsh and untrue; what happened to you or Miriam isn’t Jack's fault, but that’s not the point. You wanted to strike him where it hurts most. He confided in you about his guilt during the aftermath of your incident, and using it against him is cruel, but that’s what you’re going for, and it clearly worked.

Your gaze finally directs to Lecter, “I’m sorry for wasting your time, but I think it’s best you both leave.” 

As you swing your door shut, you see him smile. This time, it’s genuine. His crow's feet become prominent, and his top lip slides up to reveal his pointed canines. You much prefer his disingenuous smile to the one where he looks at you like a pretty little doll who just did a party trick.

2 YEARS EARLIER

The victim, a model named Clare Greene, her once beautiful face beaten until her nose lay flat across her face. Blood pools around her head from her slashed throat, soaking into the plush carpet that her back lies on. In both of her hands rest two magazines; she’s on the front cover of both. 

As you approach the body closer to snap another picture, you notice the defense wounds her wrists bore. “Who found her?” You ask, not to anyone specific; you just let the words come out of your mouth with hopes of an answer. 

“Her fiancé, ma'am. Ethan Kingsley, he was supposed to meet her for breakfast; when she didn’t show up, he came here to check on her.” The officer beside her answers.

You nod, your eyes scanning the room. Broken glass glittered on the floor near the bar; an overturned chair in the corner; the place was covered in blood splatters. 

“Jack!” You shout, hoping to get his attention. 

You hear his footsteps before you see him. “What?” He asks. 

“There's a fine mist of blood over here, most likely a result of her severed artery.” You say while motioning to your neck, “All across the back wall right there. The fatal blow happened here—then she stumbled onto the carpet, where she collapsed, and he started beating her. She was either unconscious or already dead when he started so he did it for the sake of it.” You explain. 

You move closer to her. “The long, linear streaks of blood that fan out from her indicate she was also stabbed before he started beating her. The angle and distribution suggest he was standing above her—not straddling and swinging the weapon in a very vertical downward motion.”

You continue as you lead Jack towards the bar area. “These smaller, less-directed spots are all scattered around this area. I think the first attack was here, but she put her forearms up to block it and ran, leaving the droplets behind as she ran.” You say while mimicking an X with your forearms, “It also matches the shallow defensive wounds right below her elbow; it didn’t go too deep; it seems like a very light slash.” 

Jack nods, quite for a moment. “Okay.” 

Not satisfied with his response, you say, “This is bad, Jack; four murders and no suspects. I’m just-” You cut yourself off with a sigh, ‘“I’m not very confident in my usefulness.” Your head ducks down in your admittance.

“I’m sure many feel that way; there's no point in festering it; that’s not how things get solved.” Jack scolds. 

As much as you’d rather allow Jack’s words to fall deaf on your ears, you know he's right; it’s not about you; it’s about the victims and solving what's been done to prevent more tragedies. “You’re right I’m sorry, you’re not my therapist. I don’t know why I said that.”

Jack says nothing and walks away, leaving you to stew in your own embarrassment over your unwelcome confession. 

PRESENT DAY

The next day, you arrive at your momentary office in the BAU. You can’t shake off the invasive encounter given by Jack. It sits heavily in your mind as you try to focus on the case files in front of you. It feels like your head is so full of tenacity it’ll start leaking out of your ears.

Suddenly, you hear the sound of determined footsteps outside your door. 

The door knobs twist and Beverly speedily walks in before you have time to adjust. Looking a bit more chipper than usual and dropping a stack of papers on your desk.

“Good morning. Any updates?” you ask, masking with a forced smile.

“Just the usual. Lab results, cross-references, the fun stuff,” she replies, giving you a teasing look. “‘Found out the specifics of the metal found on Elise’s body, which narrows things down a bit.” She smiles. 

“What?” you say, picking up and flipping through the papers without really seeing them. "You've got to be shitting me, and Jack didn’t even say anything to me.”

"Well, he mentioned heading off to Baltimore to talk to you but it seemed that never happened.” She cluelessly shrugged. 

Grateful for her being unaware of your awkward encounter with him and Lecter, you ask, “So what happened?”

With a smile, she turns her back and says, “Read it and talk to Jack.”

“Oh fuck you.” You say unserious; she doesn't give another response but you hear her laugh accompanied by your door closing as she leaves the quaint room. 

After reading the file, you make your way towards Jack’s office, curious as to why he didn’t bring this to your attention. As you approach the door to knock, it swings open and bumps into you. “Shit.” You say under your breath, pain blossoming where the door met your toes a moment ago. 

As you back away, Will immediately comes out. You both stand there staring at each other. You see his jaw open to speak before he turns and quickly walks away from you. 

You figure he was going to apologize for the collision, and now all you can think is if the reason he scurried off was because of the obvious stress he was exuding and decided to book it, or if he didn’t deem you worthy of an apology. 

Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you peek into Jack's partially opened door and say, “I was wondering-” You feel yourself become silenced with the notice of another person in the room, Dr. Lecter.

“Oh.” Is all you can give for an immediate response. The room is quiet, Jack looks annoyed with your uninvited presence, and the man across from him seems to be sizing you up in a clinical fashion. 

They’re both waiting for you to speak, not wanting for this unbearable silence to continue for longer than you do. “My apologies; I didn’t mean to intrude.” You say before closing the door behind you. 

You quickly scurry off, and as you turn into another hallway, you see a familiar figure hunched over a water fountain. You fasten your pace and Will’s eyes open suddenly from the sound of rapid footsteps. He pulls away from the fountain, water dripping off his chin that he wipes off when he brings his forearm to his face. 

Within the few seconds you have before you reach him, you practice what to say and points to make speak that hopefully can de escalate his discomfort. 

“I understand my presence is quite unbearable for you but I’m asking for your assistance in a professional manner. I’m being left out of the loop on plans for Nichols and I would like to be more aware. I don’t feel as if I’ve contributed much and I’d prefer to do better.” You justify your presence to him. Some parts of you feels pathetic, not because of what you are doing but because you know you would never do it for someone else.

“I’m sure I know as much as you do.” 

You want him to say more to you so desperately. You’d rather him yell at you or punch you in the fucking stomach than be so reserved. You suppose it’s best; you quite literally came up here asserting it’s for professional reasons but only wish he’d deconstruct his walls and allow you in. 

God, you’re so entitled. 

With your shoulders slumped, you cordially respond, “I understand. Thank you for your time.” Before walking away. 

As fate would have it, everything unfolded in its twisted, godly way. The call came in for another victim—a woman impaled on a stag head left to be displayed in an empty field. A stark contrast from the meticulous love of the Strike; the dissonance Jacks is unable to see is migraine-inducing. 

Ding

Your phone chimes, and you really think that whatever higher-power there is is determined to rest your patience today. 

The screen, annoyingly bright, stares back at you, displaying a name that’s foreign to your recent call history.

Will

No last name; you know multiple Will’s, but they’re contacts are accompanied by their last name. But not Graham’s; he’s much more deserving than that. 

You feel like you’re hallucinating when you look at the words asking you to see him and where he’s staying. From any other man, this might have been a crude proposition, but not from Will. Sweet, enigmatic Will. 

You’re not sure if this is meant for someone else. He would have had to search through his contacts to find you, given the long period of silence between you. He couldn't even be sure you still had the same number. 

It must be meant for you. This is the opening you’ve been praying for; you’ve never been more thankful for deities you’re not sure if you even believe in. 

Your legs feel like they're moving for you as you stand up, hardly fazed by the morning cold as you walk to where Will’s staying; leaving your dingy motel room just to go to his. 

It feels like mere seconds from receiving the text to standing at his door; time feels so warped in the grip of anticipation.

Your knuckles gently tap the door multiple times to alert him of your presence. Flashbacks invade your brain of how awful your last encounter was, though your presence seems more welcome now. 

The door opens faster than you can blink. Will’s messy hair and lack of pants make you feel like you're intruding, despite his invitation. 

He cranes his neck out to look behind you. “Come inside,” he says, hushed. 

You walk inside, and all you can think of is how “Will” this place is; it’s like he was meant to stay here. But that could also just be you holding him in higher regard than necessary and assuming the world revolves around him. 

That very well could be it. 

As he closes the door, the room becomes cloaked in darkness. “Can I—could I open a curtain?” You ask. 

"Yeah, sure,” he says, waving off. As you open the curtains to see the morning sun, you see a familiar man dressed in a fitted suit walking towards the door. 

You stiffen, your muscles tighten and lock as you feel Will give you a glance, expecting you to know the visitor. 

“Did you invite Doctor Lecter as well?” You ask, just as confused as he is. 

"No, I did not.” He huffs as he opens the door, revealing the man with his fist raised, about to knock against the wood.

“Eager.” The man outside says with a subtle, entertained smirk. “Good Morning Will” 

Walking closer to the door, tilt your head to take a peek. "Morning, Doctor.” You unenthusiastically greet. 

His face momentarily drops, just quick enough to show disappointment, before rearranging his facial movements to show false delight. 

“Good morning to you as well.” He says politely. You can’t bother to verbally respond; this was meant to be a moment for possible reconciliation. Not interruption. 

Will, who’s deep in thought, snaps back into the present and offers the doctor to step inside out of the morning chill. He accepts it happily, seemingly aware that he interrupted something but he doesn't seem to care; if anything, it seems he’s taking enjoyment in it. 

“I came bearing gifts.” He says, raising the glass containers of food he’s holding. “Though my apologies, I didn’t expect you to have a guest.” He apologizes to Will. 

“I don’t eat in the mornings anyway; it makes me nauseous.” You excuse. 

Will gestures towards the small dining area, silently and awkwardly indicating for everyone to sit. You take a spot, sitting on a stiff wooden chair, trying to ignore the piercing gaze of Hannibal.

“What is the purpose of your visit?” Hannibal asks you as he gives Will his prepared meal as they both settle into their seats, with Will beside you and Hannibal parallel to you.

Wills eyes continue avoiding both of yours. "I needed to talk to someone who understood," he responds for you. 

Hannibal, opening his container of food on the table, raises an eyebrow. "And what exactly do you need to talk about, Will?"

Will hesitates, his fingers nervously fiddling with the fork in his hand. "Cassie Boyle. The case... it’s different this time."

Hannibal leans back, looking intrigued. "Different how?"

“What is the purpose of your visit?” You redirect the conversation. This was meant to be a private conversation and you don't appreciate the way Lecter finds it appropriate to put Will on the spot. 

You watch as his hand tightens the grip around the fork in his palm; he’s mastered the art of his facial control. He really is an incredible attempt at the personification of nonchalant, but he still has his tells. 

“An attempt to befriend a coworker; I’d like to serve the purpose of a mediator, alleviate tension when possible, and give my insight on more grim- work related things.” He answers. 

You know you shouldn’t taunt, but you can’t help it; the temptation is too grand. “What makes one worthy of a visit and what disqualifies another?” 

Hannibal seems pleased by your words, oddly enough. “You are more than qualified; I figured you’d appreciate time. I understand you’re not necessarily fond of me.”

“I’d argue the only person fond of you in this room is yourself.” You bite. Hannibal says nothing in return, nor does Will. They both eat in silence as you fidget with your hands, desperate to be soothed.

Staring at the painted wall in front of you, you watch through your peripheral as Hannibal swallows a bite of food from his fork and opens his mouth to speak to Will. “I would apologize for my analytical ambush the other day, but I know I would be apologizing again.” He says, flicking his head towards you briefly in recognition. “And you’ll tire of that eventually, so I have to consider using apologies sparingly.”

Quickly and harshly Will responds, “Just keep it professional.”

Hannibal responds after taking another bite of his cooking, “Or we could socialize like adults; God forbid we become friendly.”

“Where's Crawford?” You ask as soon as the thought rolls into your head. 

Hannibal’s head stiffly turns to face you. “Deposed in court. The journey will be ours today.” He curtly says. 

Then why did he exclusively come to Will? Why has he seemingly made no plans to properly introduce himself to you?

It’s not that you're jealous; it’s not his attention that you want; it’s just the simple need to be recognized as an equal. You’re good at what you do—great, even. And this isn’t the first time someone has disregarded you for no apparent reason. Well, you think you know why. 

Standing up from your chair, you speak. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be off-”

“Why?” Will immediately asks, mouth full of chewed food. 

“Gotta get ready for the day. Unfortunately, it takes more effort than just a clean shirt and brushed hair for me to be presentable. I’m sure you’d understand that, Doctor.” 

The moment the words come out of your mouth, you realize the accidental insult you've just given. You didn’t even mean to insinuate that he’s someone who must put in extra effort in order to be ready for the day, but by the way his grip tightens on his fork once again and the displeasing curl of his lips, you're sure he took it that way. 

“Jack gave a rental; I can drive you when you're ready?” Will offers, as pleased and equally confused you are for his sudden change of heart on your existence. You are also well aware that Lecter will most likely be hitching a ride to.

“I actually drove here. I thought it would be good for me to have some more time to sort out my thoughts.” You say, walking towards the door. “But thank you; I’ll see you both soon.” You say, as curtly as possible before twisting the handle and making your exit. 

Files, files and more files are all you’ve sorted through since you arrived at your destination, the place where the Shrike most likely works. 

You hear a car pull up next to the dingy little trailer of the office of the work site, the sound vibrant against the noise of ruffling papers and the secretary talking to her boss on the corded phone sitting on her desk. 

The door creaks open, and as you turn around, you’re greeted by the sight of Will walking in through the door held open by Hannibal. 

“I’ve sorted through these four on the left so far,” you say in reference to the seemingly never ending towers of file cabinets. “And those boxes are where I’m throwing shit that if you twist an arm and a leg, you might be able to find something slightly suspicious.” 

Hannibal walks in, closing the door behind him and Will nods. “What about her?” He asks, tilting his head to the side where the secretary sits. 

“Conversation with her boss, I think. One that doesn’t seem to be going very well.” You explain with a tiny humorous smirk. Her head snaps towards you as she glares, unable to verbalize any frustration so she settles for squinted eyes. 

“Do you need direction?” You condescendingly ask. Hannibal, seemingly unfazed by your attitude at this point, does nothing but shake his head and say, “Not yet, no. But I’m sure you’ll give me some.” His smile contradicting his pointed words. 

Moments went by, flipping through papers upon papers. The feeling of being stuck in a never ending loop is finally broken by the secretary's voice directed at the three of you. 

“What did you say your names where?” She asks, standing up. 

Before you or Hannibal could respond, Will does. “Garrett Jacob Hobbs?”

With a sigh, the woman answers, “He’s one of our pipe threaders. Those are all the resignation letters. ‘Plumbers Union requires ‘em whenever members finish a job.” She says, before quickly spinning around and whispering into the phone, “I’ll call you back.” And places the landline back onto the plunger. 

Finished with her phone conversation, Will continues to inquire. "Uh, does Mr. Hobbs have a daughter?”

“Might have.” She says in her tired, monotone voice. 

“Eighteen or nineteen, wind-chafed, um- plain but pretty. She’d have auburn hair; be about this tall.” He motions a bit below his ear. 

She shrugs in response. “Maybe I don't know. I don’t keep company with these people.”

“What is it about Garrett Jacob Hobbs you find so peculiar?” Lecter's voice chimes in. 

“He left a phone number, no address.” He answers, his back still facing you both. 

 The doctor questions Will once again, turning to face more towards him, “And therefore he has something to hide?”

Taking a short breath to breathe, Will answers, “The others all left addresses; he also missed work for days at a time.” You can see he’s slowly getting more wound up. His mind is moving and scrambling around different possibilities too fast for him to make sense of, and what he can decipher is nothing short of tasteless. 

"Do you have an address for Mr. Hobbs?” You chime in an attempt to take a sliver of weight off of Will’s shoulders. 

The dark haired woman rolls her eyes and silently walks toward her desk. She takes a few moments to gather her information, the sounds of a keyboard clicking and shallow- impatient breaths fill the room. 

Grabbing a pen, she scribbles numbers onto the small square of paper before standing up once more to hand it to Will. 

As often as it happens, you feel like you’ll never get used to the way men are consistently served first in this field. It's not Will’s fault of course, and you’re sure it wasn’t intentional on her part. But in a way that makes it worse, how habitual it is to subconsciously ignore you, woman, really anything out of the typical white male mold of an old detective movie. 

You’ll never forget how Jack was so quickly disregarded in one of the first cases you accompanied him with. It was in some southern state where a series of home invasions resulted in multiple murders over a handful of months. On the way to the crime scene, the neighbourhood held lawns of homes that were decorated with not only American flags but Confederate ones as well. You watched the way the local police interacted with Crawford. The kind of people who tolerated him for his help but nothing else—aversion constantly clouded their eyes. 

It's not that you haven't encountered appalling people of that sort before, but it was the moment when it clicked that no matter how remarkable your work is, if Crawford could be so quickly disregarded because prejudice, the man who was truly their saving grace for this case, what chance do you have to truly excel in your field?

“I could start loading the boxes in the trunk; can you unlock it?” You ask, not even bothering to look at the yellow Post-it note containing the address. 

Looking at you with brows furrowed, he digs in his trouser pockets. “It’s manual, you have to unlock it.” He says while handing you the set of cool rigid metal. 

“That's fine.” You say with a smile before heading out the door. Taking a breath of metal-scented air in an attempt to calm your nerves. Things are going okay—well, even.

 Will seems to be no longer sickened by your presence, for whatever reason that may be. You're trying not to think of that, the reasoning for this sudden change of heart, and how you may already know it if it weren't for Lecter's earlier intrusion. 

You're trying not to hold much disdain for him, to put it aside for the time being when there are non-metaphorical lives on the line. But it’s hard when the only thing you now personally know him for is an invasive little bastard. Not much like Bloom had described him to you before, back when you were civil. That's not fair to her, though; she’s civil—you're not. You're much too bitter now for niceties.

Moments pass by while you, Will, Hannibal and the secretary are hauling boxes out of the small office trailer into the back of the rental car. A monotonous and tedious task. One that may not seem to be fit for all though, as the doctor allows a box to stumble in hands, paper falling onto the wet ground. 

Of course, Will’s the one to solve the problem, falling to his knees to scrounge the paper and telling the man not to worry. You watch as he doesn't even give a thank you in return; he just hustles back inside. 

Clearly, the man doesn't have as much decorum inside of him as he presents. 

Though you may not have room to speak, the moment the task was done, you grabbed the address covered note and put it into your car's GPS before telling Will just to follow you. You're sure you're contributing to his stress by being so evasive, but until you can stop being so erratic, your best bet is to stay slippery, not allowing him to get a good enough grasp on who you are before you can conceal it.

The robotic voice from your center console alerts you of the approaching destination. Turning on your turn signal a bit early to alert Will driving behind you of the driveway you are about to pull into.

You can only appreciate the home once you step out of your car. The plain suburbia of the family home becomes clearer once you get closer to the front door. 

You turn to watch Will and Lecter step out of the car, Hannibal surveying the place with an analytical gaze much like your own, while Wills is unique. It’s Wills. 

You're unsure if you should wait for Will and have him be the one to knock at the door. You’re defenceless; you have no gun, no badge, and no reason for someone to open the door for you alone. 

The decision seems to have been made for you when the door opens. Turning to look, you are greeted by the sight of bloodied hair and body weight pushed onto you. Before being granted a moment to collect your thoughts, you feel yourself falling. The sight of a man with a knife turning away is the only distinct thing you can make out as the rest melts into a scene of blurry green and blue before you and the body on top of you hit the ground.

The moment your head hits the concrete, you know you're done for. The sound of your hard skull smacking against the ground reverberates through your spine like an echo. An uncomfortable pounding takes over all your senses as Will runs up to you. The body weight of the woman is pushed off of you. You can hear the vibrations of his voice against your eardrums but nothing more—all unintelligible in your mangled brain. 

You can feel your mind quickly leave its haze as fast as it came to you, your senses returning. You pull yourself up on your forearms to try to slowly raise yourself up. “Go.” Your voice sounds weird coming out of you; it's so loud that it feels like a microphone is hiding in your throat. 

An unfamiliar hand grabs the back of your skull. “I’m here; you can go, Will.” Hannibal's voice firmly says behind you. 

And he does; he quickly stands, pulling out his gun and walks into the house as Lecter pulls you by your armpits to sit properly. “You’re not bleeding.” He states, moving your hair around your head softly to check. 

“Bleeding.” You think. Blood. You can feel blood all over your skin. You know you’re not bleeding, you don’t feel anything leaving you. But you feel everything on you. 

The woman lays beside you, face up towards the dreary sky, as the sound of a quiet pattering of blood collects in a pool below. “God.” You exclaim while attempting to push yourself up from your wobbly arms.

“Slow do-” The accented voice behind you speaks before being cut off by a series of gunshots. You feel each noise in your chest, each one causing your heart to sink further into your stomach. Ignoring the dizziness blooming in your head, you clumsily stand up. Hannibal's hands pointlessly attempt to grip you to help your stability as you quickly stumble into the Hobbs residence. 

The overwhelming smell of iron invades your nostrils—you freeze. Will huddles over a limp body, you from behind as he struggles to place his hands. Jack was right, you're not ready for this. Slumped in the corner lies a man, bullet wounds decorating his chest in rows.

Will killed him.

Your mind plays the sentence over and over again on loop as you feel Dr. Lecter's eyes bore into the back of your skull. He walks over to Will, his posture so straight that it's unnerving. The way his hands steadily grip the young girl's throat to prevent more blood from spurting out mocks your shaky ones. 

Will beside him looks just as shaken up as you do, sitting there frozen, watching as the girl on the floor clings to life. 

“Call in.” Hannibal's voice shakes you from your thoughts. As if on autopilot, your bloody hand messily dials for an ambulance. Your words sound so foreign, entirely not yours, as you explain the scene in front of you, eyes locked on Will as he dissociates from his surroundings. 

It happens so slowly and so fast. A whirl of paramedics running in. Ushering you all to leave, but you can’t. The moment you exit the door, you freeze at the woman's body in front of you.     

She was murdered, died on top of you and was the last bit of warmth she felt before she went cold. You feel sad, A woman's life was brutally stolen from her far too early. You feel sad about the surrounding context of her death, but mostly you feel gross, dirty, sticky, and frustrated that she had to expel her life force all over you. 

You want a shower.  

After getting checked by the waiting paramedic outside, who confirmed a grade 1 concussion. You can't stop thinking about what just happened to Will's head. He just murdered a man to save a life and you know what that can do to someone—it's the exact thing that ruined you. 

You’ve done it again, showing up uninvited again, only this time to his motel room and not his home. But you have to talk to him. 

Some agent you never even got the name of drove you both back to your respected quarters. Neither of you were in a state to drive; you can’t for the next 48 hours and Will... God knows how Will is. 

That's why your visit is needed; it’s not for your peace of mind; it's not an apology; it’s to make sure he's not alone with thoughts and has someone to help clear them. 

After knocking at his door once again, he opens it. “Hi.” Your voice cracks.

“Hi.” Greets back. He sounds…tired.

“I wanna come in.” You tell him there's no point in pleasantries; he’s known why you’re here since the moment you knocked on the door. 

Fortunately, that gets him to crack a small smile and say, “Sure.” 

As you both walk further into his room, he closes the door behind you. The room’s dimly lit, and the curtains drawn tightly to block out the world. You can see the disarray around you—books strewn across the floor, papers piled haphazardly on the desk, and an untouched dinner plate on the nightstand.

“I brought a gift.” You say, sticking your arm out, handing him the bottle.

"Vending machine root beer, you shouldn’t have." He attempts a joke, but the effort is hollow. Everything he says only deepens your concern; he’s so quick to brush off everything that's happened and act as if everything's fine.

“You’re freaking me out, Will,” you awkwardly laugh. “I know your feeling pretty fucked up right now. You don’t have to act unbothered.”  

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, a defensive look quickly absorbing his eyes. “Just because you couldn’t handle it doesn’t mean I can’t.” The moment the weight of the words he’s thrown at you registers, Will's face drops. His entire guarding demeanour immediately shatters the moment they come out.

"I-I’m sorry." You stutter out in shock of how his attitude is instantaneously flipped by words. "I know what happened was different; I just wanted to check up on you." Your words are met with silence, the two of you just pitifully staring at each other. The room feels colder, the silence is more suffocating.

He breathes out your name so softly that you almost don’t hear it. “I don’t know…why I sa-said that.” His hand roughly runs through his hair as he takes a step forward. “I want you to stay.” He states, uncharacteristically bold from him. 

Unsure what to make of his words, you just stand there. Both your minds are reeling—Will’s for a way to apologize and yours to just disappear. 

“I know I didn’t handle myself well.” You say, taking a deep breath, “I’m not saying my actions will be your own; I just wish I had someone to understand what its like to take a human life and not hate it.” 

That's it—the thing you could never admit, not even to yourself. So much time was spent sprilling about why you are the way you are. Trying to convince yourself that this feeling brewing inside you is new, that it had been manually moulded. 

Panicking from your admission, you quickly follow up. “I didn’t mean to project—fuck, I just don’t want you to wallow in the guilt of change like I did. What Hobbs did- who he was—was entirely irredeemable.” 

Another step closer and the gap between you both becomes bridged, and his large hands rest gently on your cheeks. “I’m sorry.” He delicately whispers. 

You can’t help it; you fall apart and the dam behind your eyes breaks. The tears cascade down your cheeks faster than you can blink them away as he pulls you into his chest. You can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat, the reminder that he’s real, he’s here, and he’s okay.

“I was so fucking scared when I heard those gunshots,” you whisper into his chest. His grip on you tightens, pushing you further into him. You both stay like that for God knows how long. From how heavily you’ve soaked his T-shirt with your tears and how you feel it around your brow bones and eye sockets, you’d guess it’s been a while. And with a deep sigh, you finally feel him pull away. “Are you okay?” He asks, gently looking you up and down.

“I should be asking you that.” You scoff, “Minor concussion; I’ll be fine in a couple days and a good night's sleep.”

He raises his brows in shock. “Yeah, well, good luck getting that.” You can’t help but laugh at his tone and reaction, as if you just said the most bizarre thing in the world. 

A grin makes his way across his face at the sound of your laugh. “I miss you.” 

You freeze. It’s what he said that took you off-gaurd, just the way he said it. The tone wasn’t sad or nostalgic; it was happy. Present tense too; he didn’t once mourn you and, over time, healed the wounds of a lost friendship. No, they’re still open, and he still misses you.

You were so caught up in your concern for him that you never had a moment to grasp the closeness between you too. Looking up, you see him. The individual hairs growing out of his chin, forming his stubble; the small scar on his cheek that he got when he was a child but doesn't remember how; and his eyes. Those blue eyes that hold so much patience, so much care and so much understanding it makes you weak to your knees. You see Will—sweet, complex, deserving Will. 

His hands grip your face more firmly this time, peering into your soul like you just autopsied yours. He's drinking you in your image, like he’s been starved, dehydrated, and famished. You wouldn’t dare pull away and deny him what he wants; you’ll give him anything and if he wants your soul, you’ll bare it to him. 

“The only thing I regret is everything I did to you.” It’s such a heavy admission—one that’s entirely out of left field, and he still doesn’t know the true weight of it. “Please,” The words so delicately come from you. You’re not sure what your pleading for—forgiveness? But for which of your sins? In what context are you begging for repentance?

It doesn't matter what you decide. The only thing that does is how close his lips are to yours and how it’s still not enough. 

“I know.” His lips brush against yours, tentative at first, then more certain. The kiss is a soft exploration, a silent conversation filled with all the words you couldn’t bring yourselves to say. You feel his hands trembling slightly against your skin, betraying the calm exterior he’s trying to maintain. 

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless. He rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you. He’s quiet, waiting for the moment for you to turn and run like you do, but it doesn’t come. Instead, your hand finds itself on the back of his head, tangling your fingers in his curls as you pull him in for another kiss. 

Just as eager as you, he deepens the kiss, his hands moving from your cheeks to your waist, desperate to have you as close as he can. You could feel his heart beating against his chest, rhythmically in-sync with your own.

Energy intensifies, with hands greedily grabbing whatever they can, saliva coating each other's lips, feet scrambling across the floor until your back hits the crumpled sheets of the unmade motel bed.   

The thin mattress creaks under your combined weight, but you barely notice—too preoccupied with catching each sound that spills from Will's mouth. His hands explore the curves and slopes of your torso with an urgency so similar to yours. Every touch, every kiss, makes your body buzz with ache, desperate to consume him from the outside-in. 

He breaks away for a moment, his breath ragged, eyes dark with desire. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice a rough whisper.

"Yes," you reply without hesitation, your voice as steady as you could be despite the pounding of your heart. "I’m sure."

With that, he captures your lips again, his hands slipping under your shirt, the warmth of his calloused fingertips on your ribs sending shivers within you. You lose yourself in the sensation, the world outside the room fading into oblivion. 

All you can think of is Will. 

Will's hands slipping off your shirt. 

Will’s chest bare against yours as you slip off his. 

Will’s mouth on your neck, nibbling on your collarbone. 

Will looking deliciously vulnerable covered in crimson outside of the Hobbs house. 

The moan that slips out of your mouth as his tongue meets your nipple is involuntary; his wet mouth lays kisses and bites along the fat of your breast as he grips the other. 

He looks up at you, his eyes dark and hungry as he breathes your name out, his voice thick with lust coating his vocal cords like honey. His hands roam lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants, slowly sliding them down your hips. His kisses trail down from your sternum to your stomach, getting sloppier as his breath contrasts with the coolness of his spit. 

You gasp as he reaches your underwear, his fingers teasing the fabric. "Will," you whimper, your voice a mixture of need and desperation you’ve never heard from yourself before. 

He peers up at you, his silvery eyes filled with desire—desire for you. "Do you trust me?"

Without a moment of hesitation, you reply, "Yes."

With a smile both wicked and tender, he pulls your underwear down and spreads your legs, revealing you to him. His eyes roam over your body, taking in every detail, every curve, and every inch. He leans in, his breath hot against your slick center, and then his tongue flicks out, tasting you.

You arch your back, a moan escaping you as he explores you with his mouth. His fingers tease your entrance, rubbing just around it in circles while his tongue dances around your clit. 

You grip the sheets tightly, your nails digging into the fabric. You’d latch your hands onto his head but you're afraid you’d rip his scalp off his head. The sensations are overwhelming, not because of the pleasure coursing through you, but because it’s Will distributing it. 

Will's mouth is relentless, his tongue flicking and probing, while his fingers continue to tease.

He was devouring you, and you were more than happy to be consumed. 

“Will," you moan, your voice breathy, desperate for more—anything else he’s willing to give. "Please." 

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with lust, then slides two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out in a slow, steady rhythm. You cry out, your body bucking against his mouth, your hips grinding against his fingers as you feel the prickle of his facial hair on your thighs as you squeeze them tighter around his head. 

“So good,” he whimpers into you, his voice a mixture of need and desperation while he works you closer to your ledge. He does nothing but continue his assault, his tongue flicking against your clit, his fingers thrusting in and out of you. You can feel the orgasm building in your stomach, the pressure mounting higher and higher as he desperately bucks into the bed for some form of friction.

"Will," you cry out, your voice louder this time, begging him for your release. He’s still so wordless—nothing but the vibrations of moans and grunts coming from him. Instead, he responds by increasing the pace of his fingers, his tongue more aggressive as you feel yourself tipping over the edge. 

You feel your body move for you, sporadically convulsing as your orgasm washes over you as he drinks up release, coating his mouth and fingers. He continues his movements while you come down from your high, his hands prying your thighs open as he fucks his tongue into you, savouring your taste.

You're left panting, your body trembling, and your mind swimming in a foggy haze of pleasure when he finally pulls away from you with an expression of satisfaction. He moves up your body, his lips finding yours in a tender kiss. 

You can feel your slick coating his facial hair as he kisses you, rubbing it onto you. It’s a messy and filthy action but fuck does it get you going. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice gruff but gentle. 

You can’t help but smile; he’s so fucking perfect. 

A grin coats your face. “Yeah.” He’s gorgeous; the light is low, the cool light of the moon peeking out the sides of the curtains. You can’t see Will in his entirety, but that’s fine. His face so close to yours, his body on top of yours—you don’t need to see him; just feel him. 

He smiles a small-relieved grin. “Good,” he whispers before pulling away. You didn’t realize he removed sweats until you felt the tip of his cock teasing you. A whine escapes from your lips as he rocks his dick back and forth along your pussy, coating himself in your cum. 

He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, his pace deliberate, giving you time to adjust. Your brain short-circuits from how deeply he’s stretching you out every time he slips himself further inside you. 

He pauses, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot against your skin. “You feel so fucking good.”

You feel braindead; you've never been so pilant in your life. “More.” You manage to whisper out, your voice shaky. 

He starts to move, his thrusts slow and shallow. Just the feeling of his cock repeatedly entering you makes your brain feel fuzzy. You can feel every inch of him, the way he fills you, how tightly you’re wrapped around him. 

You grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he picks up pace, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding. “‘Missed you so fucking much,” he grumbles into your neck.

“M’sorry.” You whimper, “M’sorry, M’sorry.” You say fragmentedly, it took him nothing to fuck you dumb and yet your entire brain is filled with nothing but the repetition of his name. 

The room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the wetness of your bodies, and the occasional moan that escapes from either of your lips—the both of you soaking up the feeling of each other in this moment. 

You can feel the pressure building up again—the familiar prickle in your abdomen. “Please, don’t fucking stop.” Your voice desperately cries out.  

He doesn’t slow down; instead, he picks up pace, his thrusts becoming more frantic, more desperate. You can feel him shaking, his body trembling as he nears his climax. Not bothering the silence himself anymore, he becomes just as loud as you, no longer speaking coherent praises, just moans and grunts that slowly raise in pitch with each stroke inside you he makes. 

Nothing but each other’s names spill from your lips in affirmation that you're both here, together. You cry out, your back arching off the bed in a desperate attempt to be closer as your orgasm crashes over you. Your pussy clenches around him, milking him as he spills himself inside you, as he collapses on top of you. You feel his breath against your neck in ragged pants as his cock continues to twitch inside you, the last of his cum filling you up. 

You wrap your arms around him, you're both spent. Bodies slick with cum and sweat, the euphoric high wearing off allowing the reality of how tired you’ve been the last couple to take hold of you. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You breathlessly ask. As sleepy as you are, you have to make an attempt to do what you came for—someone to talk to. 

Head on your chest, you can feel his smile form. “I was liking how little talking we were doing.” 

A laugh puffs from chest at his response, “That works too.” You say, gazing down at him. As if he could feel your stare, he raises his head to look at you, chin resting on your breast. “I’m happy.”

A small laugh now finds its way from his chest at the juvenile remark. As ridiculous as it seems, that is the best way to describe it. It doesn't need complex-flowery language, you're just glad to be in his presence, alive and healthy. You're just happy. 

And he understands, his gaze softens as a sincere smile crawls on his face, “Me too.”

[hellfirenacht]

Wing Man 14

Fic Summary: Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you’ll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie.

Chapter Summary: Corroded Coffin audition with Paige, and you take more than one risk.

6.2k Words

(Master List 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13)

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?” You asked Eddie as the rest of Corroded Coffin piled out of the back of his van and started pulling out their instruments. You pulled your jacket closer around you, trying to shield yourself from the bitter wind right outside of Live Mike Studios. “I’m really not trying to be the Yono Oko here.” 

“You’re fine.” Eddie reassured you for probably the hundredth time in the past two weeks. “You’re just here for moral support, and to show Paige and her suits that we have at least one fan.” He handed you his guitar case and you slung it over your shoulder as he grabbed the amp while the others were grabbing Gareth’s drum set and hauling it inside. 

“Do you need the amp?” you asked.

He stopped for a moment, his brows furrowed and then set it back down in the back of the van. “Right. They’ll have one inside.”

“I mean, we’re at a recording studio. It makes sense.” You replied as Eddie shut the van door and turned back to you. In the few moments he had been out in the cold, his nose and cheeks had turned red which only added to the anxiousness in his eyes. 

Eddie said it was fine for you to be here, so you decided that at this point it there was no use arguing. Actually, that point probably came about an hour ago when he picked you up, kicked Jeff into the back of the van and had you sit up front next to him as you drove out of Hawkins to the studio where Corroded Coffin would be meeting with Paige and her people. 

You were a little intimidated to meet Eddie’s ex, especially since she held the future of your... boyfriend?  Eddie in the palm of her hands. It had been only a few weeks since that night in his trailer, but things had been going surprisingly smoothly all things considered. There had been no more miscommunication, no faking intoxication to get rides home, and the deal you had with Steve was dead and buried. 

The only thing that seemed to hang between you and Eddie was that you two hadn’t talked about what you two were or might be. That was one thing you never could wrap your head around when Steve talked about going on dates. He’d be going on multiple dates with different women, but he said it was all casual right now. That he was dating, but it wasn’t like he had a girlfriend yet.   

You couldn’t imagine dating more than one person at a time. Steve said you were thinking about it too hard, you said you didn’t want to hear that from him. Steve said that you clearly were doing well with Eddie, so you didn’t need to worry about dating anymore. You said that you still didn’t fully understand the difference between dating and being boyfriend and girlfriend. Steve said if it bugged you that much then to just talk to him about it. You threw an empty receipt roll at him for daring to give you good advice for once. 

There hadn’t been a good time to bring it up yet. After that chat with Steve, Eddie had announced that Corroded Coffin had an official audition with Left Turn Media. This meant that Eddie’s time had been all but completely been consumed by band practice, school, and work at the Hideout. 

Not that he hadn’t made time for you, of course. Eddie had picked you up and dropped you off every shift he had at the Hideout where Bev promised that he could play. It turns out that possibly being signed got the band more stage time. Not much, but more than just the usual half-hour per week that was allotted to them. 

He spent his nights with you, coming over after school or work to hang out in your shitty little apartment that was still decorated for Halloween because you hadn’t had the time to take them down. Eddie said that he liked the decorations, and that he thought it was pretty metal that you went so hard for the holiday, which only encouraged your laziness in taking everything down. 

Things were going well, and your crush on Eddie only grew more by the day. You didn’t want to mess anything up with him by moving too fast. 

Besides, today wasn’t about that. Today was about Corroded Coffin and their audition with Paige. Eddie had been worried about this for weeks now, even though you had said several times that this audition felt like a formality and that Paige seemed to really want to have him on board. 

Eddie didn’t seem entirely convinced, pointing out that the last time they auditioned WR Records had wanted only him, and didn’t want Corroded Coffin as a whole. 

Everyone made it inside the studio, instruments in hand. Eddie had taken his guitar back and you assisted with bringing in the drumset to set up in the recording booth. The band looked around in awe at the interior, despite how simply laid out it was. There was a palpable excitement within the group as this moment became more and more real. 

“Eddie!” A girl with freckles and dark hair walked out into the lobby to greet you all. This had to be Paige. 

You stood to the side as Eddie and Paige hugged awkwardly, and you weren’t sure how to feel about that. Paige then went to the remaining members and shook their hands and introduced herself. The only other person she seemed to already know was Jeff. Eddie had mentioned that he had been the only one truly around for the first audition. 

Then she turned to you, and looked you up and down for a split second before offering her hand out. 

“I’m Paige, you must be the girl Eddie mentioned.” She said. 

You took her hand and told her your name. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

The girl Eddie had mentioned. Not girlfriend or the girl he was seeing. Dammit, you really needed to get out of your own head about that. That was a conversation for later, not right now. You and Eddie were dating, that was a fact. Eddie had turned down this girl to date you. 

But seeing the way Paige interacted with everyone, doubt crept into your mind as to why. Paige was pretty, there was no denying that. Her outfit was the perfect combination of professional and alternative and here she was, offing the guy you were dating everything he ever wanted. 

Then there was you, at your dead end job as the assistant managed of a retail store, wearing clothing you still wore in high school and completely clueless as to what the fuck you were supposed to do with your life and where you were supposed to be. 

Eddie and Paige belonged in music, anyone with two working brain cells could see that. Paige led everyone to the back area where there were several people waiting at the recording console. A few were in suits and a few looked like they had just crawled out of bed and staggered over. 

You weren’t sure which were more intimidating. 

“There’s some coffee and water on the table, if you’d like to grab something while we talk to the band.” Paige said with a smile. 

“Right, yeah.” You nodded and just as you were about to turn away, you felt someone grab your hand. 

Eddie gave your hand a squeeze and you swallowed any insecurity and gave him your best reassuring smile. 

“You got this.” you said, and leaned in to kiss his cheek before you realized what you were doing. You didn’t look at him as you made your way to the small coffee station and grabbed yourself some water. Your stomach was already tied up in knots and you were sure that coffee would turn your inside to liquid right now. 

You took a seat on a couch and watched as Eddie introduced himself and the band to the people in the room. Eddie’s skin looked pale with nerves, but other than that you would have thought that he had done this a hundred times. There was something about him that always exuded confidence, even when he was nervous. 

After everyone had shaken hands, Paige took over and led a few people in suits and at least one person in the beat up AC/DC t-shirt into a back room. Eddie turned to his band and nodded, and everyone filed into the booth to set everything up. 

The next hour was warm up and sound checks. The guy at the mixing booth kept muttering to himself and then giving directions in the microphone for everyone to hear him. Each time Eddie would nod and someone would adjust their instrument or play a sample. 

After about ten minutes of this, they launched into a warm up cover of an old Dio song, which they played twice, followed by the song they were actually going to audition with. 

You wished you could hear them, in the soundproof booth you could only see them playing their instruments. You almost got up to ask the guy at the booth for an extra set of headphones so that you could hear how they sounded. Based off of what you were seeing though... you weren’t confident that they were at their best. Eddie kept stopping them, and would either say something to the guy running the booth or to the rest of the band.

After about a half hour of this, the guy in the booth called for a break. Eddie was the first to set down his guitar and walk out, not looking at you as he made his way out to the hallway. You followed him instinctively, not looking the look on his face. 

In the hallway, Eddie was bonking his head against a vending machine, making the chips and candies inside rattle. 

“You know, a quarter would be easier to get something out.” you said, walking over to him. 

Eddie looked up at you, his fringe plastered to his forehead from sweat. “I think I’m losing it.” he said. “I can’t seem to get us together to play the way we should. We either sound like we’ve never been on a stage or too polished. This happened last time too.” 

“Have you tried imagining the audience in their underwear?” you offered. 

“The only person watching is the guy in the booth. He’s not the scary part.” Eddie turned his back to the machine and leaned against it. 

“What’s the scary part?” 

“Everything else.” He rubbed his face with a deep sigh. “Paige, getting a deal, letting my band down again... I can’t shake it.” 

“Whatever happened last time was a big deal, huh?” you said, placing a hand on his arm. You felt how tense he was, which worried you. 

“You have no idea.” he shook his head, dropping his hands. “Last time was a fever dream. It... fuck it’s hard to explain. Everyone kept telling me how real I was, that I had what it took to make it. I was going to meet all these major executives for a major label and I blew it. Now, I’m trying again and this time- this is gonna sound so fucking stupid.”

“I won’t judge.” you promised.

“This feels more real than last time and it’s throwing me off.” He admitted, his body sagging against the vending machine. “An instant record deal with the biggest company for metal? It felt like a goddamn fever dream where I was somebody. I did shit I wasn’t proud of to get there, and now I’m trying to do things right for once and I feel like I want to book it out of here screaming.” 

You grabbed his hand and his froze for a moment before squeezing it. 

“You know, I don’t think you should run away.” you said, looking at him. “Only one of us can be a p ussy, and I already took that title in 8th grade.”  

Eddie’s head snapped from the distance to your face, eyes wide. “What?”

“I mean, think about it. You’ve been playing for years at the Hideout, you rock. You know it, I know it, Paige knows it, and I suspect the rest of your band might know it too. You’ve gone this far, you might as well try. What’s the worst that can happen at this point?”

“You-” Eddie stared at you for a second, trying to decide how to respond. You didn’t blame him, you had just started talking at him hoping that something would stick. “...I guess the worst thing is that I could be a pussy for running away.”

“Yeah, and I already claimed that title and already ran away from an audition. We can’t both blow it, Eddie.” you nudged him. “We can’t be that couple that has to constantly copy each other and do things exactly the same. Don’t be a copy cat.”

You could swear there was a slight blush on his cheeks under the glow of the vending machine. “You’re a weirdo.”

“And you’re a freak. The music world is full of freaks. Go in there and get freaky or something.” 

You felt him relax next to you and he pushed himself off the vending machine to face you. “Thanks.” he said and leaned down and kissed you. 

You squeezed his hand as you returned the kiss, and he let his lips linger a bit longer than necessary before there was a cough from the doorway. 

Eddie pulled back and you both looked over to see Paige staring at the two of you with a raised eyebrow. 

“Are you ready?” she asked, glancing between the two of you before landing on Eddie. 

Right when you were going to let go of his hand, he squeezed yours tighter and started walking towards Paige. “Yeah, I’m ready.” 

Once he was back in the booth, all eyes were on Eddie as he picked up his guitar and put it on. The men that Paige had been talking to were now in the room, huddled around the panel. One of the guys in jeans was setting up a camera in the recording room, making sure everyone was in frame. 

This time, you made your way to the front as well. It was a bit crowded, but you stood next to Paige with your feet firmly planted on the ground. You were not going to be intimidated by Eddie’s perfect ex after she’d caught the two of you kissing in the hallway. 

Paige leaned in and took the mic to talk to the band. “Alright, whenever you’re ready guys.” she said. 

Okay, maybe you could be a little intimidated. But that doesn’t mean you were going to run away or shrink yourself down. 

This time, you could hear the band from inside the recording room. You saw Eddie turn to Gareth and nod, and in return the drummer counted everyone off. 

The first take was better than what they had shown during warm up. They got through the first verse before one of the men in the suits leaned over to whisper something to Paige that you couldn’t make out before she called for Corroded Coffin to pause. 

Eddie looked over through the window, and any fear on his face had been replaced with all business. Paige gave them a note about their pacing and Eddie nodded and they started up from the beginning. 

This went on for about a half hour with the band playing and then being stopped for notes. Each note was being taken to heart, and with each take they were getting better. 

Which only confused you more when they couldn’t go through a full song without being stopped for some note. You could tell that everyone was getting confused and frustrated that each time they started they had to stop for some reason or another. 

“They’re too polished.” One of the men muttered, looking at Paige. “They look like shit, but they’re playing like a high school marching band.” 

You held back any amusement at the idea of Eddie in that stupid green marching band uniform with the feathered cap. 

Paige sighed, and looked at Eddie with furrowed brows, and gave him another note into the mic. Something was... off. These guys were giving Corroded Coffin note after note, but that wasn’t going to unlock what they really needed. 

“Thanks for coming out tonight, we’re Corroded Coffin and we’re here to make you feel like you’re fighting demons in hell!”“

You remembered that first night you had sat and watched them play at the Hideout. That’s what Corroded Coffin was supposed to feel like. They were supposed to be wild and raw, and make you feel like you were fighting in hell. 

Notes from a bunch of suits weren’t going to do that. 

What you were about to do was probably going to overstep so many boundaries, but your impulse control was thrown out the window. 

Taking a step back, you looked at each of the members of the band, trying to decide which one looked the most frustrated. Eddie looked stiff, Zack was fiddling nervously with his guitar, Jeff actually looked the least bothered... and then there was Gareth. Gareth looked like he was trying to burn a hole in his snare drum from the way he was glaring at it. 

Making sure that none of the suits were paying attention to you, you waved your arm at Gareth. He looked up at you confused, probably wondering why the hell you were looking at him right now. You hoped this worked, and you hoped that they’d forgive you for this later. 

“Hey.” you mouthed to the kid. “Fuck you.” 

Gareth blinked and his eyes went wide. He leaned back slightly, staring at you looking offended. 

You gave him your best. ‘Yeah, I said it. What are you gonna do about it?’ face. His grip on the drumsticks tightened as he glared at you. 

You yawned and glanced over at Zack, making eye contact with him. You hated doing this, and knew this was a shot in the dark to give these dumb suits what they wanted. You crossed your arms and looked him up and down, with a condescending smirk, mimicking the way that the popular girls used to look at you. 

You saw him mouth ‘What the hell?’ and this seemed to catch Paige’s attention for a second as she glanced at you while the suits were still muttering to themselves, oblivious to how two of the members of the band were now looking at you like you’d lost your mind. 

Jeff looked over at Gareth and then followed the line of sight to you. He just snorted and shook his head, his fingers absently walking along the strings of his bass. You had a feeling that provoking him wouldn’t do anything, so you looked at Eddie. 

He still looked stiff as he stared at the men watching him. Thankfully it was Jeff who walked over and nudged him and tilted his head towards you. 

There was a serious look in his eyes for a moment before he blinked and his expression softened. You smiled at Eddie. He smiled back. 

Then you pointed at yourself and then at him, earning a confused look as you pretended to dig into your pocket and pulled something out. Once your fist was in view of him, you shot your middle finger up at him. 

His head tilted down, and his eyes widened as you flipped him off. You pretended to dig into your other pocket and presented him with two birds for the price of one. 

“Freak.” you mouthed to him. 

You saw the way his grip tightened on the neck of his guitar and he looked back at his band. They all looked annoyed as they waited for the suits to let them know they could play again. 

Eddie looked at each of them and nodded before turning back to the mic. 

Gareth didn’t even wait for the signal before counting them off and starting their song. They were off, their music blaring through the room at an intensity and rawness that you’d seen at the Hideout, and that night at the talent show so many years ago. 

The suits looked shocked that they had started again so suddenly, but a glance at the men made it clear that they could see exactly what you saw. You took another step back, not wanting to interfere anymore than you already have. 

“Alright, I’m jealous.” Paige said, stepping next to you. 

That... was unexpected. You looked at her, but she was staring at the band with her arms crossed. 

“Sorry?” 

“If all it took was you flipping them off, I would have asked you to do that first.” Paige said. 

“They just needed something to snap them out of their nerves. They play better when they’re not being studied like bugs.” you shrugged, your breath catching slightly as you watched Eddie play. How the fuck did you manage to land a guy as hot as him? 

Paige was watching his as well with a thoughtful expression on her face. The suits had quickly shut up and were now watching Corroded Coffin with the attention they deserved. 

“I had my doubts about the new line up.” Paige admitted. “The first time, it was only Eddie that anyone was interested in.”

Even you? Is what you wanted to ask, but you held your tongue. 

“He works better with them.” she continued. “And with you.”

You glanced at her, but Paige just kept her eyes on the band as they played. 

“I don’t think he ever looked at me like that when we were together.” Paige continued, the corners of her mouth turning up. 

“Like how....?” you managed to asked, thrown for a loop at the turn of this conversation. 

“Like you’re a real person. A friend. A girlfriend.” Paige shrugged. “We had fun, and wanted the same thing but... I don’t think he really saw me. And I don’t think I really saw him.”

You weren’t sure what to say, so you kept your mouth shut as Corroded Coffin finished the song with a fire in their eyes. 

There was muttering between the men and the guy who had been in charge of the camera nodded. 

“That was great guys,” one of the men said in to the mic. “Now can you do that again with that AC/DC song-”

Before he could even finish, Gareth was counting them off and they started playing again. This time all the men chuckled at the enthusiasm. 

“You know, we already got the take we wanted.” The recording guy said. 

“I know, but I wanted to hear them play this one. It’s my favorite song.” the suit shrugged. 

“Are you really banking their audition on how well they can cover your favorite song?” Paige asked. 

“Not officially, but it helps.”

With the way the band was playing, you had a feeling this extra credit wouldn’t be a problem. Now that they had found their footing they were now taking off, looking like they were fucking flying as they ran through the song. 

A few requests later from the men, and the boys finally were able to file out of the recording booth, flushed beaming.

The men in the suits shook everyone’s hand with a promise that they will be in touch soon with an offer. 

“And offer...?” Eddie asked. “Wait does that mean-?” He looked between the suit and Paige quickly. 

Paige smiled at him. “I always had every intention of signing you, but we’ll need to talk business to decide on how we can market you all.”

Everyone looked at each other, their eyes wide. It was like it was just now occurring to them that this was really happening. That they had auditioned and were liked. 

“Oh fuck, my mom is gonna freak.” Gareth said, his eyes wide. You had a sneaking suspicion that Gareth may not have told him parents that he was doing this. 

After a few more handshakes and gathering everyone’s contact information, everyone broke down their instruments and started heading to the parking lot. 

“Holy shit.” Jeff was the first one to say anything as they stepped outside of the studio. “Did that really just happen?” 

Eddie, looking a little shell shocked, opened the back of his van and helped put Gareth’s drum set inside. It was silent for a few moments as they all put away their instruments in the back of the van. Eddie turned to look at his friends, who were all staring at their leader for confirmation that what just happened was real. 

You watched as Eddie looked at each of his band mates, his face firm for a moment before breaking out into a wide smile.

“WE DID IT!” He yelled, nearly jumping three feet in the air. The rest of the band followed suit, screaming and cheering and jumping up and down and grabbing onto each other. 

Their joy was contagious, and you watched as they celebrated, your own heart swelling with joy at seeing them succeed. Though you had only known them for a few short months, you couldn’t be more proud of them. 

Firm hands grabbed your shoulders and started shaking you, and you let out a surprised cry, gripping onto Gareth's arms. 

“What the fuck was that about in there?” He asked, laughing his ass off. “We’re in the middle of the most important audition of our lives, and you tell me to fuck off?!”

“Actually, I said fuck you.” you clarified as he shook you again. 

“Yeah, what the hell was with that look you gave me?” Zack asked. 

“You guys weren’t getting anywhere with what those guys were saying- Gareth please I’m gonna puke if you keep shaking me!” you said, and Eddie came to your rescue, pulling the drummer off you. 

His arm wrapped around your shoulder and pulled you in close. “We should be thanking her. She’s our biggest fan and she knew that the best way to get us out of our heads was to piss us off.” 

“I’m just glad it worked. I was really worried that I’d just make you all mad at me instead.” you admitted. 

“We’ll forgive you this time.” Jeff laughed. 

“So now what do we do?” Zack asked. “We just wait for them to call us back?”

“Basically.” Eddie said. “This is gonna be the waiting game for a while. Paige said that they’re still setting up the real studio.”

“The real studio?!” Zack stared at Eddie with his jaw hanging open. 

“I’m sorry, was that a fucking fake studio?” Gareth stared hard at Eddie. “Were we playing for a bunch of fake men in fake suits with fake notes?!”

“No, Gareth the Great, that’s not what happened.” Eddie used his free hand to ruffle the younger kids' curls. “Paige is setting up a studio for Left Turn media around here. She said it won’t be done until next summer.” 

“Dammit, I was hoping that meant we could quit school and focus on the music like you said the first time.” Jeff laughed. 

You looked at Eddie with a raised eyebrow and he shot Jeff a look. “If I have to stick with it, so do all of you.” He said firmly. 

“Dammit.” Gareth muttered. 

A chilled gust of wind cut through you like a knife and you found yourself moving closer to Eddie to steal his warmth and he pulled you closer. 

The drive to drop everyone off back at home in reality was filled with excitement as they all discussed what had just happened. Once they all remembered that you were watching from the other side of the booth, you were bombarded with questions on what the suits had said that they couldn’t hear. You answered everything as best as you could remember, still thinking about how Paige had admitted jealousy towards you of all people. Of course, that’s not something that they would actually care about. 

“They said you all look like shit.” you said from the front seat. “But I think that was a good thing. When you guys were sucking they said you sounded like a high school marching band.” 

This critique was met with yelling and denial but you held your hands up. “Don’t look at me, I’m just a fly on the wall. They shut up pretty fast when you got your shit together though. Also the one in the tan suit liked your cover of Highway to Hell. That scored you points because it was his favorite song.” 

By the time you all entered Hawkins again, they had exhausted every last ounce of information from you. Talks of the audition had been exchanged for dreams of grandeur and what it would be like to be big time rockstars. One by one the band was dropped off, hope in their eyes with the idea that this was the start of something big. 

Once at your apartment, Eddie collapsed on the sofa face first. You smiled and went to the kitchen and brought him a beer. It took a bit of coaxing but he finally sat up and took a long drink from the bottle and smiled at you. 

“Holy shit.” he said. 

“Holy shit.” you echoed. 

“I feel like I’m on top of the world and like I just walked all the way to Mordor.” Eddie shook his head, that smile never fading. 

“Nerd.” you said affectionately, leaning against him. “You did great, Eddie. I’m really proud of you.”

“Yeah?” he looked into your eyes. “I’m... I’m proud of me, too.” 

“You should be, you kicked ass.” You smiled at him. “And they’re gonna come back with a million dollar deal where you get to keep your master copies, get insane royalties, and get you set up with a world tour right away. You’re gonna chart at number one for weeks and you’ll get so popular everyone’s gonna get sick of you within two months.”

Eddie let out a laugh “Everyone’s already sick of me.”

“See? You’re already ahead of schedule. Good for you.” Eddie just laughed and shook his head. “...Not everyone is sick of you.”

Eddie’s hand moved to the back of your neck and rubbed the skin there absently, making goosebumps prickle your skin. “Most of this town is.” He said after a while. 

“Most isn’t all.” you countered. “I’m not sick of you.” 

“A brave woman. You should get a medal for dating the town freak. Most girls run away screaming by now.” He joked. 

“Pfff, you wish you were as scary as your reputation. I’ve been more intimidated by suburban moms at Family Video.”

“Sweetheart, you’re hurting my feelings.” He set his beer down and pulled you in closer. “If word gets out that I’m not the mean satanic spawn everyone thinks I am, then no one will take my music seriously.” 

“I’d make fun of you and point out that you put a lot of D&D references in your songs, but I’ll be nice.”

“I’d hope my girlfriend would be nice to me.” There was a waiver in the keyword in his sentence that you didn’t miss. 

Your heart made a weird thumping movement in your chest and you stared at him. “...Girlfriend?” You managed to choke out. 

Eddie stared at you for a moment, looking as though he had royally screwed up. You felt that arm around you twitch as he decided if he should pull away or not. 

“Yeah I uh...” he stumbled. “Thought maybe since you weren’t seeing anyone else and I wasn’t seeing anyone else-”

“I’d love to.” you said, your whole body felt like fireworks were going off. “I mean, if you’re good with it. I just assumed you’d at least keep me around as a groupie.”

Eddie doubled over laughing, his hair moving wildly as he shook his head. “Groupie implies that I’m going to share you with the band, and there is no way in hell I’m doing that.” 

“Oh good!” you let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Because, between you and me, Gareth is just a tad young for me.” 

“Not into Juniors?” Eddie asked. 

“I generally don’t date high school students at all, but there are exceptions to every rule.” you said, crawling onto his lap and straddling him. His hands moved to rest on your hips and he looked up at you. 

“Listen about that I-” he started, but you cut him off. 

“I’m not gonna judge.” you said. “I had summer school every single year of middle school and sophomore year. It doesn’t change anything.” 

Eddie kept staring at you and took a deep breath. “...I sell drugs.”

Ok, that wasn’t what you were expecting. You stared at him blankly and looked him over. “What do you sell?”

“Are you looking to make a deal, or should I be careful how I answer that?” 

“I’m just looking for honesty.” you said. 

“Weed mostly.” Eddie ran one of his hands through his hair, his rings getting tangled in the curls for a moment. He struggled to break free as he continued. “Bennies... Special K....” 

“I take it that’s not a breakfast cereal.” you said, helping him free his tresses from the heavy rings. 

“No, not exactly.” Despite his wry answer, there was quiet laughter in his voice. 

“I guess it could be worse.” you said. 

“I just want you to know who I am before getting into something you might not want.” Eddie said, his fingers messing with the fabric on your thighs now that they were free from his hair. 

“Eddie,” you cupped his jaw and looked at him. “I like you. You like me. Stop trying to get me to dump you 2 minutes after calling me your girlfriend.” 

“Shit, sorry.” He sighed. “Yeah, I’m being a total dumbass right now, aren’t I?” 

“Only a little.” You dropped your hands onto his shoulders. 

“I know I’m not exactly the biggest catch. I’m a 6th year senior who’s already dropped out once, and a lot of people here think I'm some sort of Devil worshiper.” Eddie leaned back on the couch. “I’m just saying that dating me might not be the easiest.” 

“I’m in if you are.” you said, leaning over him, letting your fingers slide down his chest slowly. You couldn’t help but smile as you saw the doubt in his eyes immediately turn into Boy Brain at your wandering digits. “Are you in?”

His eyes darted down to your hands and then to your eyes and then to your lips. It was a little funny seeing him struggle internally with what you were offering. 

Eddie blinked and snapped out of that daze for a moment before nodding. “I’m in.” 

“Good.” you leaned in and kissed him. “No take backs.”

Eddie leaned up and met your lips in another kiss, deeper than before. His arms moved from your hips to slide around your waist and pulled you closer. You moved your hands back up to wrap around his neck so you could press your body against his. 

The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes, losing yourselves in each other as the rest of the word seemed to disappear. When you felt his hand slowly slide up your torso, stopping just below your breast, he pulled back and looked at you. 

“Is this uh... do you mind if...?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from giggling at how surprisingly polite he was being. The two of you had made out a few times, but hadn’t exactly taken that next step yet. Not that you hadn’t wanted to, and by the way you shifted and felt that insistent tent in his pants you didn’t think he’d have any objections. 

“Do you want to take this to my room?” you asked. “You can stay here tonight, if you want.” 

Eddie’s expression shifted into a sly smile. “Normally, I’d ask you to buy me dinner first, but you did that already a few times over.”

“Well, then I guess you owe me a few times over.” you smirked. 

“Good thing we have all night.” Eddie stood up as you slipped off of his lap, taking your hand in his. 

“Think you can go all night? Sure you aren’t wiped out from your big audition?” You teased him as you led him to your room. 

“Well, according to you I’m a hotshot rock god who’s about to go on a world tour.” Eddie closed the door and followed you to your bed where you laid down. He pulled his shirt off and crawled on top of you, the pick around his neck sticking to his skin. “If I can jump around on stage for hours and satisfy a stadium of adoring fans I’m sure I can satisfy my girlfriend.” 

“I like the sound of that.” you said, before pulling him into a deep kiss. 

Outside, a layer of snow started to dust the ground, but thee two of you had no trouble keeping warm for the rest of the night. 

a/n: I had a very long think about whether or not to add smut to this story and came to the unfortunate conclusion that it felt weird to add after such a chaste story. HOWEVER, with the series coming to a close within the next 2-3 chapters, I do plan on writing a few side stories. If you all ask REALLY NICE (ie: If at least one person says it lol) I will write smut for Eddie and Reader as a one shot.

We're really coming up on the end here, folks. I really can't believe that you all have stuck around this long. It's been almost a year since I started this story, and I really can't wait to see how this all wraps up! Yes, I know I'm the author, but that means absolutely nothing.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

Tag List @k8loo @terrormonster55 @sp1dyb0y1008 @crocwork-clockodile @ali-r3n

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@vintagehellfire @royale1803 @cumslutforaemond @prestinalove @browneyedgirly93

@perpetualmessmachine @thebook-hobbit @cultish-corner @grishaversecaptivated @sortagaysortahigh

@siriuslysmoking @huffledor-able541 @pookiesnatcher @eddiesguitarskills @browneyes-8288

@sheneedsrocknroll92 @kores-mun-son-n-more @eddiebuttcheeks @kirsteng42 @dreamerjj

@moonisu @em022O @cosmorant

[mandowifey]

Porogue.

Father Paul/John Pruitt x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, P in V sex, unprotected sex, dry humping, mutual masturbation, lots of priest play, biting, pining, dom!Paul, semi established relationship, cum play, mentions of cervix, mentions of bite wounds.

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

It's a storm to end all storms.

That was what Beverly Keane proclaimed at yesterday's service. The woman had a penchant for dramatics and often spoke with puritanical judgment. Folks were accustomed to the devout woman's manic ramblings, which meant she was never taken literally. However, when the Coast Guard reached out to warn the town to evacuate not but four hours before the storm was due to impact, Bev Keane stood, smug and proud.

"I had warned you, all of you."

Towns folk rushed towards the docks with their families, arms full of the few precious belongings they had. Sturge was helping them up the ramp and into the ferry, trying to explain that there was no need to panic. Dark waves sloshed and rolled under the boats. People were gasping and crying out below the blackening sky. Hysteria at its finest.

"You lot wrought this upon yourselves," sighed Keane, who stood on the dock, hands linked together. "Those of us who remained loyal to our faith, who filled the church every day and lived our lives devout and holy have no reason to fear. The Lord recognizes his own and will shephard us unto his raft to guide us through the storm."

Over half the population fled Crockett that dreary afternoon. Those who remained boarded their windows and hunkered down to ride it out. While the last ferry departed, Bev Keane smiled and turned to head back up the trail. Confident in the hopes that God would sort things out in the end.

° ☆ ° ☆ °

Candles warmed the room around you, while flashes of lighting illuminated the windows and caught your eye. When thunder clapped and shook the wooden frame of the rectory, you would suck in a sharp gasp and tense, which drew a low chuckle from the man above you. Rain impacts noisily against the glass windows, causing a steady hum.

"Relax."

A hand closes under your jaw and tips your head back, exposing the curve of your throat. Lips press against your skin, making you rumble and start to smile. "You are so strange," the words leave your mouth in a breathless sigh. "How can you not be at least a little afraid?"

He chuckles again, and you feel teeth graze your flesh. "I have much more important things on my mind." There was a pull to his words that brought moisture between your legs. Heat consumed you, twisting through your limbs and fogging your thoughts.

"Looks like you do too." His palm cups your mound. Embarrassment overtakes you as you realize you had soaked through your underwear. "Messy little lamb." Lips slotting together, the man kisses you with intensity. He parts your mouth with his own and scoops his tongue between your teeth. You can feel the way his nose pushes to your cheek and taste the remnants of the tea he had earlier.

Words fail you as you cave below him. The bed moves under you as he shifts your bodies and lays himself between your legs. Another flash of lightning, another gasp, this time it's for him. He presses the aching bulge against your core and leans his weight into you. You feel so small with his body caging yours, and the contact makes you simper.

"O-oh, P-paul,"

"I'm sorry?"

Paul's voice was lile velvet in your ears. Candlelight flickers in those obsidian eyes of his, and you watch his angular brows start to vex. Heat burned in your stomach, and you paw at the blankets beneath you.

"F-father, p-please."

A smile breaks the tension, and he drops his head down to gently kiss the middle of your forehead. He rumbles his praise against your skin, balancing himself on his knees and one hand while the other pulls your leg around his hip. You tilt and groan unabashedly as Paul starts to grind into you. The friction of his clothed cock pressing and sliding over your crease had your clit engoring with blood.

Head tilting back, your mouth hangs open as soft groans waft out. Paul was watching you, admiring every line in your face as he began bucking into you. Your body bounces, your cries coming out louder as he thrusts as though he were fucking you. The impact had you soaking more than before, leaking a spot on the blankets.

"U-uhn, hnn, p-please-" You felt frantic, desperately craving the Priest to bury inside and claim you as his. To carve through your insides and nestle himself in the furthest reaches of your cunt. The ache within your body called to him, your scent nearly driving the starving man mad.

"Patience is a virtue." Paul sat back against his legs before placing both large hands on your hips. Fingers gripped bruisingly tight as he hoisted you upwards against him, locking your pelvis to his so he could continue rutting. The man sighed, his eyes closing as he grunted and panted softly. Both of you mutually wind your bodies together in a frenetic desire.

Panting fills the empty space, and you're using the massive bulge between his legs to chase your release. Paul used you, too. His hands greedily squeezed and pulled you while his hips bucked to yours. "T-that's it." He gasps, his large thumbs pressing down into the front of your pelvis, causing a pleasant pressure inside of you that made you mewl.

Ravenous, the holy man watches as you fall apart. Chest heaving, skin flushed, and nipples showing through your tank top. "Look at you, little lamb," His voice purrs. "So beautiful, a spectacle to watch unfurl." Rolling his hips forward, Paul grinds his cock into your core and makes you whine. You are gradually rising now, the friction pushing you higher and higher. Smiling, he smoothed one large palm over your stomach as he moved it onto your breast. "Let me hear you." He pinches your pert nipple between his thumb and index finger, causing you to arch and cry.

"That's it, good girl."

Your face burns. Sweat builds in a thin layer on your skin as the sensation of bursting swells inside of you. Paul lifts off his legs to get a better angle and alternates slow grinds with firm, steady rocks of his hips. Each impact jostles your smaller frame, bouncing you under him and pushing cry after cry from your parted lips. "I-im g-gonna-" It was hurtling towards you full speed. You knew there was no use in trying to fight it. You could feel the burn of his eyes on your face, watching you as you fell apart.

"It's alright, my angel, let me see you."

Paul leaned over you, bucking himself against you just right. Your clit throbs, slick soaking through your panties and onto him as you gasp and jerk. Fireworks spark in your belly as the rush hits you. Your cunt clenches sporadically, your body shaking as you cum. Reaching your hands up, you curl your fingers into his arms, thighs shaking as he continues to grind against you. Paul coos, mesmerized by your face. When you rest back and relax, he leans and opens his pants to spring himself out.

With your head still spinning, you hardly notice him fist his cock. Eyes transfixed on your soaked underwear, the Monsignor inches closer and strokes himself against you. "S-such a messy lamb," his voice shudders with pleasure as his palm slicks across his length. "S-so beautiful." He sounds like he may cry, his dark eyes heavy with lids and lips parted. You look up at him, feeling your heart race at the sight. "P-please father, I need you to cum." Paul jerks, startled by your words and breath stopping in his throat.

That undid him. He bucked against his fist while you pulled your panties to the side. Whimpering and looking down, he groans as he cums. Hot, thick ropes spraying across your folds and fingers. You feel the heat as he drips inside your crease. "O-oh." He bucks one last time, a final spurt landing on your clit and dribbling downwards. Paul looks disheveled, breathless, as he settles down from his own high.

You were ready to speak when he dropped over you, impacting your lips with his own. Paul slips his large hand between your legs, using his nimble fingers to collect his cum and push it into you. You gasp, groaning into his starving mouth as he sinks inside your cunt to the knuckle. "Mh, p-paul-" He kisses your words and swallows them whole, adding a second digit which causes you to shriek into him. He pumps them inside of you, trying as hard as he can to reach your end with his seed.

Mouths and tongues lashing together, Paul slows his fingers right as you begin to buck against him. "So needy tonight," remarked the holy man as he licked over your kiss swollen lips. "I suppose you have been good enough to earn a little more. What do you say, my lamb?" His fingers curled inside of you, applying pressure to your gspot and bladder. Sparks flash behind your eyes, and your back lifts off the blankets. "Y-yes, p-please father Hill." You gasp, struggling to bring your eyes to his. The man flashes his teeth, and his eyes crinkle along the edges. His digits squelch inside of you as he begins to pump them faster.

"Since you asked so nicely." Paul nods, drawing his fingers out while you whine.

The loss of him makes your cuntache. Feeling no need to rush, Paul takes his time removing your sodden underwear and his pants. Carefully, he lays beside you and shifts you on your side, facing away from him. As he closes the distance between your bodies, you feel the cold press of his skin behind you. Paul lifts your leg and kisses behind your ear. "Keep this up for me, please." The delicate tone in his voice makes you throb, and you obey.

You feel the familiar prod of his cock and angle your hips back to make it easier for him. Paul guides his tip to your sopping opening and grunts with you as he presses inside. With a sudden snap of his hips, he submerges inside your heat and bottoms out. The stretch is immense, and you can already feel the tip nudging at your end. "G-god!" Your lip quivers and leg shakes, the muscle burning now.

As if he knew, Paul curls his frigid hand under your knee and holds your leg. Lips kiss at your shoulder as he starts liesurely rocking inside of you. The drag burning your cunt and making you whine. Eagerly, you shove yourself back against him, nearly sobbing each time he pushes fully inside and reaches your furthest depths. You're keening, whining, noisily falling apart for him as he rocks. Paul smiles against your skin, peppering you in soft kisses as he takes his time.

Thunder rattles the wooden frame of the rectory, but you hardly notice. Paul drives himself inside you faster now, spearing every inch of his aching cock deep inside your heat. More sparks are flying now, he's brushing everything right within you. You can hear him grunting and gasping behind you, his breath fanning your skin as he bucks his hips. His fingers dig into your skin as he plaps noisily against your ass. Paul grunts, his movements stuttering and becoming uneven.

It spurs something in you, and you fuck yourself back against him. "P-please, please!" You cry as he desperately stuffs himself inside you. Paul bites your shoulder, muffling his groan as he sinks to the hilt. You flutter around him, your abrupt orgasm taking you by surprise as you clench on his throbbing cock. Groaning louder, he bruises your skin as he empties directly against your cervix, the hot flood of his cum making you whimper and grind into him.

As he calms, he lowers your leg and pulls you into him further by wrapping his arms around you. Paul enjoys the rapid patter of your heartbeat, and he licks over the bitemark he left. You were melting, sinking back into him and closing your eyes as you smiled. "Thanks," you giggle, feeling him pause in licking you. "For distracting me from the storm. I think it helped quite a lot." His chest rattles with a soft chuckle. The two of you remained embraced while it continued to pour outside, safe and warm together from the storm.

[pookietv]

online embarrassment (part two!) | arthurtv

a dedication to @casualvanilla into bullying me to write a part two :3

being curious about arthur and his seemingly strange occupation choice, in your eyes at least, of commentating 90 day fiance, you decided that you may as well watch a little of the show, seeing if you could see what made it so interesting.

especially since you and him had been talking much more frequently, playing a couple of games of chess together most evenings, over discord calls and instagram messages

and your curiosity had definitely been quashed once you had watched as much as you could stomach of insanely dysfunctional relationships, exploitation and men going for women far too young for them.

so, with your newfound knowledge, you decided to text arthur again.

youruser: why is literally every couple on 90 day fiance either insanely malfunctioning or borderline exploitative

arthurtv: ah, i see you have exposed yourself to the world of discovery+

arthurtv: and in all honesty, that is kind of the grim premise of the show, a kind of strangely twisted curiosity makes us all watch them fall apart

youruser: grim is definitely the word for it

arthurtv: so are you doing anything tonight?

youruser: unfortunately, i have little plans that don't involve reading so many academic journals until my eyeballs fall out :(

arthurtv: i never even asked you what you study?

youruser: oh, i study politics with a focus on international law right now :)

arthurtv: no way! i studied law when i was at uni

youruser: when was that, fifteen years ago?

arthurtv: ha ha very funny i am twenty eight

arthurtv: ps, you're almost as dedicated to your uni work as you are to your outrageous bishop sacrifices

youruser: anyway, are you doing anything tonight?

arthurtv: going round to some of my friends house cause he's forcing us to rewatch the lord of the rings series

arthurtv: though that is fair enough because i have forced him to watch harry potter so many times

youruser: i've never even seen harry potter

arthurtv: WHAT

youruser: oopsie

youruser: just never got round to it

arthurtv: you need to watch it!!!!

youruser: it just doesn't seem like my kind of thing!

arthurtv: we can't be friends anymore smh

youruser: that sounds great! blocking you rn

arthurtv: shut up you

arthurtv: anyway, i had an idea, if you're down

youruser: and what would that idea be

arthurtv: i think we should meet up and play actual chess on an actual chessboard (and maybe drink a few bevs)

youruser: well, i mean, i don't even know if i should be meeting you, after all you are the Insane Chess Killer Man >:)

youruser: and if i didn't know any better, sounds like you're describing a date

arthurtv: hm that's a good point, i was looking for a new victim

youruser: are you referencing the insane chess killing or the date as the victim?

arthurtv: you can't see me but i am rolling my eyes so hard right now

youruser: okay, a truce on the serial killer jokes

arthurtv: thank god. what about tomorrow night?

youruser: drunk chess and a takeaway sounds good to me

youruser: the classiest first date

so that was that, he had texted you his address and to come round at seven so he could, in his words, destroy you in chess.

after a long day at uni and a slight worry, though you didn't know why, about meeting him, you started to get ready to go to his house.

since you were just going to his house, you settled on some flared leggings and a soft blue jumper, tying your hair into a somewhat tamed ponytail before looking in the mirror, making sure your light makeup hadn't smudged too much after a day of back to back lectures and discussion groups.

he didn't live too far from you, surprisingly, just a couple tube stops away, so you decided to walk, about twenty five minutes to his apartment, in a block of flats facing the river thames, and as you arrived at the building and pressed the button in the elevator for his floor, slightly picking at your nails with nerves.

what if it was insanely awkward in person? or what if he is a weird catfish looking for victims on chess websites? that seemed insane, right?

but your mind was working overtime as the buttons lit up and the elevator door opened, and you tried to unfurrow your eyebrows and look for his door number, finding it towards the end of the hall.

you waited a moment before knocking, bringing your hand up and timidly rapping it against the dark wood of the door.

when it swung open, and you saw that he was indeed who he said he was, or at least who he was on his instagram pictures, you smiled a little in relief.

"arthur! hi, it's nice to meet you, well, in person, you know..." you giggled a slight bit quietly as he gave you a friendly hug.

"you too! didn't know if i was just being catfished or something," he joked a little awkwardly back.

"me a catfish? i figured you would be a catfish, what would i even be catfishing you for?" you joked back, and he shrugged.

"i don't know, i don't get many pretty girls randomly texting me cause we played chess together so i wasn't sure," he said a little embarrassed, and your cheeks went slightly pink when he called you pretty.

"well, who knew that the insane chess killer had a hidden talent for flattery," i laughed slightly as he welcomed me in, shutting the door behind me.

he rolled his eyes jokingly, "hey, based on the way you insulted me with no remorse during chess games i was expecting you to be terrifying, so you can't blame me for being surprised at how easy you are on the eyes," he grinned a little, and it was your turn to roll your eyes in return.

"anyway, come in, honestly just make yourself at home... unless you're worried about losing to me on my own turf," he joked.

"i mean, i'm kind of impressed by your 'turf'," you giggled, "it's nice for a guy that exploits reality tv for views," you teased and he laughed a little as he led you to his living room, a chessboard set up on his coffee table, pillows on either side on the floor to sit on.

"hey, low blow," he mockingly warned, "i'd watch it otherwise i'll conveniently lose your queen piece," he said before quickly standing to go to his kitchen, "i have southern comfort and lemonade, if that's okay with you? it's kind of my weird speciality drink," he smiled.

"well, i suppose i'll have to try the arthurtv special then," i nodded in return, and after a few moments, he returned with two glasses, placing them at either side of the table as he sat himself down on the side of the board playing black pieces.

"so we're going straight for the intellectual torture of chess?" you grinned as you sat opposite him, "the girls must find it so charming when you sit straight at the chess board on a date, hm?" you teased in retaliation.

"oh shut up you, and prepare to lose, again," he smiled as you moved your first piece, "at least my view will be nice when i crush you,"

as the game progressed, there was joking smack-talk thrown between you and arthur, neither of you focusing too much on the game but more on the subtle flirting between each move.

"that rook sacrifice was not your best work," he laughed, but you raised your eyebrow at him as you moved another piece,

"or maybe i was setting a trap that you didn't see, hm, mr. television?"

as he captured one of your pieces in return, his fingers gently brushed against yours and you grinned, before swatting his hand jokingly, "hey, focus on the game!" you giggled out as he laughed in return and nodded.

about half way through the game, the focus had shifted slightly from both being heartset on winning to enjoying one another's company, nattering on about arthur's job and your degree.

at one particular point, you stopped, looking down at the board, tongue slightly poking out of your mouth in concentration as your brain worked as quickly as it could, trying to analyse the best move.

"what're you thinking?" he asked as he shuffled slightly closer, and you could smell his cologne, a kind of vanilla and cedarwood scent as you tried your best to ignore it.

"i'm trying to strategise, unlike some of us who rely on distracting the other to win," you teased slightly, and you could hear him chuckle a little.

"i'm plenty distracted myself, hard not to be when you look cute like that when you concentrate so hard."

you paused a little at the flirting, trying not to let your cheeks flush bright red, "stop trying to put me off my game, arthur," you playfully smiled.

once a couple more moves had been played, arthur missed what was seemingly an obvious capture he could have made, which would have put you at a disadvantage, and once you quickly realised and made sure your piece was defended, you tilted your head a little - arthur didn't often make mistakes like that.

"i completely missed that, fuck sake!" he mumbled to himself with a small smile on his face.

after a while longer of playing, and a few moves you didn't think arthur would normally make, you had him in checkmate, a grin on your face.

"looks like we're gonna have to have a rematch at some point," he looked at the board and shrugged his shoulders a little.

you narrowed your eyes at him a little with a small smile, "did you throw the game so we could have a rematch?"

"i think i may use the lawyer lingo here and announce that i refuse to answer on the basis that i may implicate myself," he laughed a little to himself.

[witchwyfe]

best way to spend a summer day - kook friend group

pairing - (non-canon) platonic!kook friend group x female reader, (non canon) platonic!rafe cameron x female reader, (non canon) platonic!topper thornton x female reader, (non canon) platonic!kelce x female reader

précis - golfing with the boys!

content/warnings - mentions of alcohol, alcohol consumption, mentions of food, mentions of eating, language

word count - 818

"What if we--"

"No."

"Please!"

"No."

"Please angel, we'll only do 9 holes and then buy you lunch after." Topper, ever the mediator, offers.

"You were gonna buy me lunch anyway."

Rafe rolls his eyes and you snicker, leaning back in the lounge chair you're resting in.

"I just don't understand why this how y'all want to spend your time. Kelce's internship and Rafe's study abroad start in one month, we're wasting our one month of summer by fucking hitting balls on grass."

You're met with three glares and simultaneous responses.

"Okay, you can't say 'we' if you haven't even been going."

"There is way more technique than just hitting balls."

"Hey!"

"And what would you suggest we do then, mamas?" Kelce asks, raising an eyebrow over his sunglasses. 

Your face warms at being put on the spot, three gazes stuck patiently on you.

"I don't know, shopping on the mainland, movie nights, brunch at the island club--"

"You can have island club drinks on the golf cart!" Rafe exclaims, throwing his arms up before slapping them at his sides. "And we'll get brunch afterwards."

You sigh dramatically. "9 holes? Not 18?"

Rafe smiles, knowing they've already won. "Of course."

Topper picks you up bright and early the next morning, Rafe and Kelce already packed into the backseat with one set of clubs, the other two in the trunk.

"Morning boys." You smile sarcastically, climbing into the front passenger seat.

"Good morning mamas." Kelce smiles. "Thank you for coming."

"Hm, y'all better make it worth my while." You joke.

"Getting to spend time with your best friends isn't worth it?" Rafe asks, feigning offense.

"Shut up," You groan. "You guys know I love you. Even when you make me golf."

They all made a big deal about your new Lululemon golf dress, and promise to take cute pictures of you in the golf cart, all by the time you pull up to the country club.

You juggle your sunglasses, phone, and water bottle once Rafe opens the door for you.

"Thank you Rafe," You smile, reaching up to pinch his cheeks. "You're such a gentleman."

You wait with Kelce while the other two go to get the cart. You let their clubs stay propped up against your legs so that don't fall to the ground.

Topper takes the purple Stanley--that he got you for Christmas--from your hands and sets it into the cup holder. You help them load up their clubs then you're making yourself comfortable in the front again.

"Do they sell cocktails at the beverage carts?" You wonder. "Or should I grab one now before we go?"

"Think they only sell beer, babe." Kelce frowns. "And they don't allow open cups on the course."

You groan, leaning your head back. Rafe digs around in his golf bag, brandishing a small bottle of champagne.

"Don't worry bestie girl, we didn't forget about you." He smiles, shoving the bottle back inside. "Gonna get you some orange juice from the bev cart and you can make a mimosa."

"Rafe!" You cry, throwing your arms around him. "You're the best!"

"I know, I know," He smirks. "Aren't you glad you came with us, now?"

"I guess," You grumble, playfully rolling your eyes.

You sit comfortably in the golf cart, while your friends play, sipping on the mimosa Rafe mixed you, scrolling on social media, and occasionally reminding the boys to reapply their sunscreen.

Kelce even dragged you out to take a swing and they all cheered you on when you failed miserably, taking a sloppy bow before skipping back to the golf cart.

Once you’re back at the club, seated at your favorite table, you’re lightly clasping your mimosa glass in your hand—this one prepared by your waiter and not Rafe with his Blender bottle.

“I think it tasted better when you made it, Rafe.” You frown, taking another sip anyway.

“'Course it did.” He grins smugly. 

You pull a lip gloss from the handy pocket in your golf outfit, coating a thick layer over your lips. You take your napkin and work it over the rim of your glass too, even though you'll get more gloss stuck to it on your next sip.

"You're just one of the boys, aren't you?" Topper teases, just to mess with you.

You cap your gloss and set it on the table, narrowing your eyes into a glare at Topper. "No, I am not."

 "Yeah, she's like our bratty little sister." Rafe pipes up, reaching over the table to steal a handful of your fries. 

"Yeah, I'm the bratty one." You smack Rafe's hand, grinning when he whines. "And I'm literally older than you, Rafe."

"By like two months!" He argues.

"Okay and?" You retort. "Still older."

He makes a point by stealing more of your fries.

"Brat. You know you're the one paying for those, right?"

© witchwyfe 2023. absolutely no reposting, translating, or modifying, even with credit.

[seecarrun]

Richie feels someone staring him down, and isn’t at all surprised to see Eddie’s giant brown peepers leering at him when he looks up from his phone.

“Dude, what?” he asks, and it’s only then that Eddie seems to realize what he’s doing, and he blinks in surprise, looking down at his phone quickly in response.

“Nothing. Fuck you.”

Richie rolls his eyes, but bites back a smirk. “No, do I have something on my face or something?”

“Just a bad case of the ugly, like usual.”

Richie breaks at that, laughing out loud in surprise. “Dude, are you thirteen again? What the fuck?!”

Eddie throws his arms up in the air in frustration, looking just on the right side of manic. “You got new glasses!” he cries out. Richie chuckles.

“Yeah, got them like two days ago. I made Bev pick them out for me in the group chat, remember? You said the other ones made me look like homeless Dwight from The Office.”

Eddie frowns, glaring down at his phone, refusing to make eye contact. “They look nice,” he grumbles.

Richie, embarrassingly, flushes just a little at that, a, what he’s sure is a pathetic, lovesick little smile sneaking across his lips.

He too returns back to his phone, scrolling mindlessly.

“Thanks, Eds.”

[wassupmygays]

"at the drive in, brill was eyeing paul... i was like okay i (bev) can do one more year of this i guess" and "i think its just cause paul misses darry lets be honest"

thank you melody rose for these crumbs but also i love paul being the saddest gay man who will never get over the relationship he fumbled

paul comp-het crushing on marcia/any of the soc girls. paul playing into ryo!brill's feelings while he figures himself out. bev watching all of this rolling her eyes at paul's messy hopelessness

paul picking fights with the greasers, definitely not hoping to see darry. paul taking out his anger and frustration at his inability to get over this by beating up on soda and ponyboy

[lillypad910]

So I just read your fic with Big Dick!Billy and I were wondering if you could do something like this with reader being a Cheerleader and a Queen Bee (pretty much like Regina George) and he just put her in her place in public… >///<

Queen Bee

Pairing: King Billy! Billy Hargrove x Queen Bee! f! Reader

Warning: references sex (oral specifically), but doesn't have any smut. Sexual tension is STRONG; very much enemies with benefits vibe. Reader is dating Tommy (helped with the Regina vibe, ok).

Summary: You're the Queen Bee of Hawkins and everyone loves you, except one certain King of the school, Billy Hargrove.

A/n: You didn't specify if you wanted smut or not so I didn't write it for it, HOWEVER, I'm open to writing it if you want me to, Anon! So please let me know!!

You are the Queen of Hawkins High, from your attitude to the way you dress. Every girl wants to be you, every boy wants to fuck you. You are everything.

You smile wide as you finish out the routine, raising your pompoms up into the air for the final pose. You have been practicing all morning with the rest of the girls, well, almost. Nicole hasn't shown up, and practice is already ending.

"Alright! Good job, everyone! You've all done amazing!" Coach Lively smiles at all of you. "You are dismissed for the day, enjoy your weekend!" The lot of you step away, but you stay put, requiring Tina and Carol to come to you.

"Oh! Bev!" You turn to your fellow cheerleader, her red hair tied in a high pony, "that skirt is so cute! Where did you get it? I might have to ask Coach about getting them for the Spring Uniforms!" You smile at her.

Beverly's cheeks go red, the corners of her lips pull up into a smile. "Oh! Thank you! I actually got it from my mom's closet..." She gives a small twirl, which your posy giggle at.

"Ooh, vintage! Love it!" You watch her walk away and turn to the two girls behind you, "That skirt is so ugly. Why would her mom own that?" They snicker.

You step out of Tommy's passenger seat, him following shortly after you, throwing his arm around your waist. Carol steps up beside you, glancing away at the show of affection as her recent ex-boyfriend clings to you like a lost puppy. You all step into the house party, Tina walking up to you and smiling.

"Tommy, could you go get us a drink?" You turn to your boyfriend, hoping to make the boy feel useful.

"Of course!" He gets everyone's drink orders before going to walk off, but someone stops him.

Billy Hargrove blocks his path, making the poor guy knock right into him.

"Sorry, Billy." Tommy recoils a bit before glancing back at you. You try desperately not to roll your eyes.

"Tommy, Baby..." You bat your eyelashes at him, "Our drinks?" Carol glances at him then you, before looking away again, obviously uncomfortable with the name calling but too scared to say anything.

"On it!" Tommy perks up, but Billy once again steps in his way. This time you don't bother hiding your eyeroll.

"Ugh, Billy, let him pass. Jesus, you're such a nuisance." Your comment makes Tina giggle. "Don't you torture him enough with your stench during practice?"

"Do you always have to be such a bitch?" He counters.

"I just speak truth."

"Truth? While fucking your friend's ex-boyfriend? Please, you're just a whore who doesn't know how to behave." Billy steps closer to you, getting too close for your comfort. His comment get's the attention of some people nearby.

"Excuse you?" You scoff. No one had ever talked to you like that, and they weren't gonna start now.

"You heard me, Bitch. You bite the hand that feeds you enough times it's gonna bite back." He looks you up and down, looking at every curve of your body.

The things he could teach you...

"All high and mighty for a dick with legs." You snicker, "What? Nicole didn't give good enough head today?" You notice the girl behind him look at you, the fear in her eyes fuels you.

"You know, from what I hear, Nicole isn't the only one on her knees regularly... Even the good old King Steve," He lifts his arms, getting the attention of even more on-lookers, "used to shove his cock down your throat. So why don't you get down there and show me just what a good whore you are."

You glare at him, your blood practically boiling. "You're an ass, Billy."

"And you're just a good lay, Queen Bee."

Tag list!

@cagethemunson

@spikeybatt

@cherrycolas-things

@r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e

@ali-r3n

[bella-goths-wife]

A moment of peace

Beverly x ballerina reader

Warnings: illusions to disordered eating, mentions of domestic and paternal abuse, smoking, mentions of bowers gang abuse

“Got a light” you ask quietly from behind Beverly as she sat behind the bleachers, unlit cigarette hanging from her mouth

Her tormented face lights up slightly as she pats the space next to her almost excitedly at the idea of spend on time with you.

You liked Beverly, she was probably your only friend and you were hers. She felt comfortable and quiet in the chaos that was your life, so your rare smoke breaks together were like sanctuary for the two of you.

You recognised the abuse in each other, you both had the dead eyed stare that haunted the mirrors you looked in. You were both broken enough that you didn’t mind the chips and cracks within each other because you both knew you couldn’t glue yourself back together. You embraced the rubble that was your connected souls.

“Haven’t seen you in forever” she comments almost bitterly beneath her excited tone while she playfully bumps your shoulder as you sit by her side “lover boys got you locked up or was it a competition this time?”

“Something like that” you say with a lacklustre shrug and a slight sigh

Beverly simply replied by grabbing another cigarette from her carton and placing it between your lips, almost apologetically for asking her question.

You grab her lighter and you watch the dancing flame as you hold it up to her mouth to light her cigarette before lighting your own. Your sleeve falling down to show a fresh bruise on your wrist

“You fall?” Beverly asks with a knowing look as she pulls up your sleeve to cover the bruise from her own prying eyes, granting you your dignity

“Must have knocked it on something” you lie with an uninspired tone, too tired to commit to your deceit fully

“Sure” Beverly says with a sigh as she holds your wrist gently and strokes it while also showing a similar bruise on her own arm, almost to reassure you that you weren’t alone

You both smoke in silence for a few moments, not awkwardly but almost like your silences could speak a hundred words

“I heard that Patrick got with another girl at Mandy’s party this weekend” Beverly says casually, but her eyes portrayed a testing look

“Huh” you say with an uninterested tone as smoke falls out your mouth “poor girl”

“Doesn’t it upset you?” Beverly asks curiously “he is meant to be with you, well sorta I guess”

“Not really, I’m kinda glad it wasn’t me” you say quietly as you smoke

“Why though?” Beverly asks with a searching tone “shouldn’t you be upset with him having sex with someone else”

You shrug half heartedly as you search for the right words, memories of Patrick’s hands creeping into your mind as you suppress a shudder

“I’ve never really been interested in it all” you answer honestly “sex in general just isn’t very interesting to me”

“But you have to at least want it sometimes” Beverly says with a small snort and a roll of her eyes “not with them in particular but just in general”

“Nope” you say with a shake of your head “never have”

“Never?” Beverly says with a bewildered expression

“Never” you confirm with a small chuckle at her shock

“Weirdo” Beverly says playfully as she reaches into her bag and pulls out a sand which before taking a bite “want some?”

“I’m good thanks” you say with a shake of your head, looking away from the food with an uncomfortable look

“Sorry I forgot, perfection means no calories” Beverly says with a playful scoff as she looks over at the ballet shoes that laid in your open bag

“Bev” you say with a scoff as you nudge her “stop”

“I’m just kidding” Beverly reassures as she takes a bite out of her food and you smoke instead

A silence hangs in the air between the two of you as you both try and ignore the painfully obvious truths between your words. About how you don’t consume food and how Beverly consumes enough to get her by before eventually ducking into the bathroom stall. it’s easier than dissecting what you both know to be true, and it’s not what your friendship was built on your mutually destructive paths.

“I went to your ballet performance the other day, the one on Saturday” Beverly admits quietly

“You did?” You say surprised as you turn to look at her fully

“Of course I did” Beverly says with a scoff “you couldn’t stop talking about it and practicing for it, had to see what the fuss was about”

“And?” You ask with a small grin “what did you think? Did I meet your high standards?”

Beverly lets out a small laugh before leaning back on her palms with a grin

“Of course” Beverly says with a smile “you were brilliant as always”

“As always?” You say with slight confusion “you’ve seen me dance before?”

“Duh, I’ve been to like almost all of your shows” she says with an obvious look and a laugh “I always sit in the back near the dance logo”

“I never knew” you say with surprise laced into your tone “why didn’t you tell me?”

“You always invite me” Bev points out with a shrug “I thought you knew”

“Yeah, well… um” your tone becomes unsure as you struggle to find the words to explain that despite inviting people to your shows it was extremely rare for anyone other than belch to turn up “I just thought you wouldn’t go, thought you’d think it was boring”

“Nah, I like it” Beverly says with a chuckle “I like it when you do the… um… what’s it called? The spinning one?”

“Pirouettes” you say with a laugh “you like them?”

“Yeah they look super cool” she says with a smile “but I bet they hurt like hell”

You let out small giggles as you lean your head on her shoulder out of amusement, cigarettes long forgotten as you stub them out

“You have no idea” you say with an amused sigh

There’s another moment of silence as the two of you just enjoy sitting in each others presence, your hair tickling Bev’s neck from where your head rested on her shoulder

“Your a really good dancer” Bev says gently with a small smile

“Thank you Bev” you say quietly with a grin full of genuine joy at your talent being acknowledged

You stay like that for a few moments before noticing the time and sighing.

“I better get going” you say as you get up and gather your things “Henry will be wondering where I am”

Beverly nods silently with a bitter look as she watches you get your stuff and begin to turn away before her hand raced out and gently grips onto your unbruised wrist

“Take care of yourself, okay?” She says with a concerned expression “don’t let them grind you down too much, okay?”

You’re slightly taken aback by the genuine concern so you just nod silently before giving her a reassuring squeeze on her hands and taking off towards the school where you could see Henry waiting with a grim expression.

You sigh internally at the sight, but at least being with Beverly offered you a few moments of peace.

Taking this time to confirm asexual ballerina reader since I’ve had a few requests for an asexual character and I think it fits her best but let me know what you guys think

Also think this could be a ship post or nah?

[a-casual-egg]

I've seen people headcanoning, Hazel, Winn, Dev, and Peri as aroace, and that makes me really happy, so I wanted to share some of my headcanons about what kind of aroaces they are for a lack of a better term

I think Hazel loves romance, but only for other people and fictional characters. She thinks how in love her godparents are, and how in love her parents are is sooooo cute! She'd ship so many things and always be down to talk about her ships. However, she'd be uncomfortable if any romance is directed at her (like in The Multiverse of Jenkins, tho that's about not wanting to make things awkward). She'll lovingly tease Antony for his crush on Daisha (or is it Dejah? Idk) but if he teased her about her seemingly having a crush, she'd feel gross about it. Like sure, she's attracted to some fictional characters (I'm pretty sure she has a thing for Kennueth in Prime Meridian Love), but it's different if a real person wants some kind of romance with her, it feels weird (not in the good way) and kind of icky.

Winn doesn't really feel gross about romance. They're not romance-repulsed, but I don't know if I think they're favorable towards romance. For example, Bev asked them to the school dance, and I think they were pretty neutral about it, like ''oh, Bev is cool! Sure, I'll go to the dance with her.". I think their stance on romance is neutral leaning towards positive, like I could see them dating someone when they're older.

To me, Dev just finds romance gross, like he sees people kissing and acts like he's about to throw up. He thinks how lovey-dovey Cosmo and Wanda are is so annoying and disgusting.

Peri is similar to Dev with how he feels about romance except he's more mature/polite about it, he's not gonna gag at his parents being so aggressively in love but he will roll his eyes and look annoyed (like he does in canon). He won't do anything that'll offend the romantics he's around, but he's not gonna pretend he likes romance.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In Bloom 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, allusions to trauma, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After wasting much of your youth in a toxic situation, things are starting to look up. That’s until you meet a certain flower seller.

Characters: Cole Turner, short!reader

Note: It’s suiting that it's hump day cause I feel like cole is into that.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You slice into a cucumber, moving the knife carefully. As you focus on the task, you notice Aunt Bev’s glances. Are they intentional or is she concerned? You keep the blade steady and slow, sure not to catch your fingertips. 

“Hon, did you want to borrow one of my skirts for dinner?” She offers. 

You look down at yourself. You think the jeans and tee are just fine but now you’re doubting yourself. You blink at her and shrug. 

“Should I?” 

“It’s up to you, of course. Just whatever you’re comfortable in. I just have this nice blue flowery one and it suits you better.” 

“Well, I...” you put the knife down and gather up the cucumber in your hands, dumping it onto the bowl of lettuce, “I could try it on.” 

You grab the dish rag and wipe your hands. You just want to make her happy. You never had someone like Aunt Bev, someone who is happy over the smallest things. She makes everything you do seem like some great achievement. 

“Oh, come on, it’ll be nice,” she insists and gestures you down the hall, “in here.” 

You follow her upstairs to the bedroom she shares with your uncle. She rolls open her closet as she hums. She pulls out a wrap skirt; blue petals on white. 

“You’ll need a shirt to go with it,” she insists, “one sec.” 

She hands you the skirt and turns to sift through a dresser draw. She pulls out a plain chiffon blouse with a little scallop at the bottom. “It will go nicely.” 

“Thanks, uh, but what... what if I spill?” 

“That’s okay, honey,” she holds out the shirt, “you can keep them. They’ll look much better on you.” 

“Oh, uh,” you look down then up again. 

“You just get changed,” she sweeps past you, “I’ll be downstairs.” 

You can’t deny her. The door closes before you can even think of changing your mind. It would be rude to say no anyway. They’re such nice clothes. You look down at what you’re wearing and crumple inside. You made the wrong choice again. You should’ve known to dress up for company. 

You change as quickly as you can. You carry your clothes back downstairs and into the small room you’ve been allotted. It was once Aunt Bev’s craft room. You feel bad about that too. 

You return to the kitchen. She’s not there. You rinse some cherry tomatoes and quarter them on the wooden cutting board. As you do, you hear voices. 

Aunt Bev strolls in as Cole follows her. You don’t turn to see. You’re too shy. You hope he doesn’t even notice you. 

“Oh, honey, you look lovely,” she chimes as she nears the counter and sets down a round pan, “isn’t it wonderful, Cole brought dessert.” 

“Ma sent a pie,” he explains, “do you like rhubarb?” 

You want for Aunt Bev to answer. She doesn’t. You look up and over and realise they’re watching you. Oh. 

“Uh, I never had it.” 

“Never had rhubarb?” Cole blusters, “well good news, my ma makes the best strawberry rhubarb crumble.” 

“Um, oh, thanks,” you try to smile but your lips just strain tightly over your teeth. You turn back to the counter and add the tomatoes to the bowl. 

“Salad looks yummy. Very colourful,” he comes closer. He’s so tall you can’t help but shrink down. “Bev’s right, that’s a really nice skirt. Suits you.” 

“Thanks,” you cheep. 

“Can I help with anything?” He offers. 

You look around him at Aunt Bev. She smiles and gestures as if to say, ‘go on’. You turn back to the cutting board and lay the knife down. 

“I’m almost done,” you say, “no thank you.” 

“Well, when you’re done, honey, why don’t you show him the garden?” Bev suggests, “she has really livened it up, you know? She spends hours out there.” 

“I’m sure. I’m excited to see it,” Cole agrees as he lingers close by, “nice house. Cozy.” 

“Ah, you know, we try to make it home,” your aunt preens. “I didn’t even say how nice you look. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a tie.” 

“Shucks,” he waves her off as he leans on the counter right next to your work space. 

You go to the fridge to get the container of feta and come back to sprinkle it over the salad. 

“Smells delicious too. Did you cook all this?” Cole asks as he looks down at you. 

“No,” you shake your head, “just the salad.” 

“She’s a good helper,” Bev beams and nears, taking the bowl from in front of you, “I’ll just go set this out on the patio table, why don’t you two go check out the garden?” 

“I’d love to,” Cole stands straight, “ladies.” 

He waves ahead of him and you hesitate. You pause to put the feta away then follow Bev towards the sliding doors. She goes out onto the deck and plants the large bowl on the wooden table. She stays there as you drag your feet past. You do your best to keep moving as you feel Cole getting too close. 

You go down the steps, nearly stumbling at the bottom. You cross your arms as you approach the garden where daffodils stand tally among the pansies. He puts his hands on his hips as he steps up. His blue eyes rove over the foliage as he peruses it thoughtfully. 

You peek over at him. He wears pale khakis and a grey button up rolled to his elbows, a trim of teal along the buttons. He wears a tie in a darker shade of grey as his hair is even fluffier than the last time you saw him. You shy away before he can catch you. 

“Wow, it’s so nice, and the placement is wonderful. Great for crossbreeding,” he points around. “You know a lot about plants?” 

“I read,” you say. “Library books. Aunt Bev brings them home.” 

“I love the library,” he chirps. 

“Oh, I don’t... I haven’t gone.” 

“Yet,” he insists, “one day, I’m sure.” 

You nod and fold your arms. You sway and search the grass. He kneels by the edge of the garden and touches a leaf. 

“What happened to your daylilies?” He asks. 

You bounce on your toes, “put them in my room.” 

“Really? You must have petals all over,” he chuckles as he continues to rustle the plants, feeling each one. “Do you have a favourite?” 

“I don’t know, they’re all pretty.” 

You nibble your lip. He talks a lot. He makes you talk a lot. You sniff and squeeze your arms. 

“Don’t get lost out there,” Aunt Bev startles you as she calls from the deck, “I’m about to bring the rest of the food out.” 

“Ah, thanks, Beverly,” Cole waves at her and smiles, turning to look at you, “shall we?” 

“Okay,” you don’t move. He doesn’t either. 

“You go first,” he says. 

You do as he says and he follows. The skirt flutters around your legs, swirling in a way that tickles the back of your knees. You’re not used to it. You never really wore one before.  

As you come up on the deck, he trails you toward the table. He sidles past you and pulls out a chair before you can do it yourself. He opens his hand to the seat, “please.” 

“Uh, thanks, you don’t have to...” 

“My ma always taught me manners,” he assures. 

You sit and he slides the chair toward the table, trapping you in it. He claims the one next to you, his elbow almost on the armrest of yours. You make yourself small. You’re really good at that. You miss when you could be invisible. 

Bev appears again, a long pare of tongs in her hand. She approaches the roiling BBQ and opens it up. As she turns the drumsticks, she smiles over at the table. 

“Don’t you two look ready to eat,” she trills. “I just told the others to come out and get a plate. Just gotta get this chicken and the potatoes.” 

She uses the tongs to transfer the drumsticks to a large serving plate. Cole clears his throat and gets up. He goes to take it from her and brings it to the table. 

“You are just the biggest, sweetheart,” she grins, “your mother must be so proud. Such a lucky lady.” 

“I do what I can,” he says, “don’t want you to burn yourself.” 

“Oh, don’t you worry about me. You do too much of that,” she removes the wrapped potatoes from the grill next, “I can’t thank you enough for helping us last weekend.” 

“Really, it’s fine. It was a very busy weekend,” he meets her again to take the next tray, “I can tell a lost soul when I see one. I figured it was best to get her out of the tide before it swallowed her up. Sometimes I even get overwhelmed.” 

“It really was so amazing,” she insists, “we got more than enough. You make sure you take leftovers for your mother. She sent that lovely pie.” 

“Sure,” he agrees easily as he sets down the potatoes. He sits down once more, further crowding you. Is he that big or that oblivious. “She’s a nice girl,” he peers over at you and you look at the table, “I couldn’t just let her get lost.” He turns slightly in his chair, towards you, “I hope it didn’t scare you away. I have some new stuff I’m bringing next week; thought maybe you’d like to see.” 

“Oh, you know that would be so lovely, honey.” 

“If that’s too much,” Cole leans his elbow on the arm rest and extends his fingers as he speaks, “she could come up and see them at the farm. Right in their natural habitat.” 

“The farm?” Bev exclaims, “how exciting.” 

“Of course, you’re all welcome to come up and see. My ma loves having a full house but my sister never comes around anymore and it was only ever the two of us. She always wanted more but, ah, you know?” 

“That’s too bad,” Bev says, “but that would be so wonderful. Honey, wouldn’t you like to go see all his flowers?” 

“I could use some help potting too, if you have a set of hands to spare,” he suggests. “Not that I’m looking for free labour, I just... figured.” 

“We’d love to help out, wouldn’t we, honey?” 

That’s it. She’s given the answer for you. You can’t disagree with her or you’d be mean. You’re not a mean person. Not like she always said you were. 

“Sure,” you murmur. 

“We’ll make a day of it,” she sings, “just let me know when.” 

“Will do,” Cole says brightly. “Sorry, I’m a dweeb about these things. I don’t really meet a lot of people who like flowers as much as me.” 

“We can all use friends,” Bev goes to the sliding door and pushes it open, “right, hon?” You nod, choked of your voice and she sighs as she pokes her head inside, “where is everyone?” 

🌷

You help clear the table after dinner. You sit down as Cole gets up and you’re relieved to be on your own. The others sit on the other side of the table; Uncle Morris along with your cousins, Mason and Lena. The latter two are on their phones and Uncle Morris chews on toothpick. 

You’re content enough to watch the clouds in the sky. Aunt Bev is so good at keeping things lively but you never know what to say. You don’t really feel safe around anyone but her. She’s the one who found you, who helped you. 

You look down at your hands and the faded welts. There’s more up your forearms and on your legs. They are almost indiscernible, though a few are stark enough to be picked out. You rub your hands together, as if you might wipe them away. Some memories are wrought as much into your skin as your mind. 

The sliding door opens and your Uncle Morris sits up and pats his stomach, “ah, about time. Dessert! The best part of dinner.” 

Bev and Cole dole out the saucers. Yours is placed before you as he sits next to you again. You take your fork and spin it nervously. Morris is quick to dig in as your aunt asks Mason and Lena about school. Their conversation edges you out, but you’re used to that. You prefer it. You never have much to add. 

“You gonna try it?” Cole keeps his voice low as he pokes at his crumble. 

“Oh, uh, sure,” you scoop up some of the reddish pink goop and oats. 

“You have to tell me the truth, if you like the rhubarb. I gotta report back to ma.” 

You nod and take a bite. You don’t like how he watches. It makes you self-conscious. His eyes linger on your hand as you slid the fork from your mouth and chew the tart dessert. Your cheeks pinch and you swallow tightly. You like it. 

“Well?” He nudges you and you wince. “Oh, sorry, are you okay? Was that too hard?” 

“No, I... I liked it,” you put the fork down and try to hide your arms. They’re oversensitive. Most of you is; just brushing against furniture can make you whimper. “Thank you.” 

“Told you, ma makes the best,” he proclaims, but a vee of worry remains between his brows, “you sure I didn’t hurt you?” 

“Yes, I’m sure,” you insist. You have to act normal. 

You grab your fork and take another bite. He continues to watch you, moving the crumble around as he does. You wish he'd stop looking so much. 

“Oh, wow, did that hurt?” He points to the back of your hand. That one scar that stands out. 

“No,” you lie. 

“What happened?” 

You shake your head, “nothing.” 

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you hiss and drop your fork. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“I’m not upset,” your eyes well and you flick your lashes. Your hand throbs. You hear the snap of the switch, you feel it against your tendons. You want to scream but you can’t. “I’m fine, I’m fine...” 

“I...” Cole babbles and looks around. The table is silent as you gulp for air. 

“Oh, hon,” Aunt Bev gets up and comes around to your chair, “have some water, alright?” 

“I didn’t... I don’t know what I did,” Cole stutters. 

“It’s not you, sweetie,” Bev pets your hair as she offers the glass of water. “She’s okay. She was out in the sun today, she gets a bit faint.” 

You want to cry even more. Not just for the embarrassment. Because you’re grateful. Because she lies so easily for you. She protects you like no one else ever has. 

“Can I go inside?” You whisper. 

“Sure, hon, I’ll put your dessert aside for you,” she smiles.