#Patrick Hockstetter lemon

[ambrossart]

PAPER MEN

— CHAPTER 28

SUMMARY: All Evelyn Tozier wanted to do was make Derry High School a safer place for her kid brother. Well, somewhere between kissing Patrick Hockstetter and telling the principal to go f*** himself, things got a little off track. Now she’s stuck in the middle of a bizarre love triangle with two of Derry’s most troubled teens while her little brother and his friends hunt down a creepy, child-eating circus clown. This year, summer can’t come fast enough. PAIRINGS: Henry Bowers x Tozier!Sister; Patrick Hockstetter x Tozier!Sister WARNINGS: violence, profanity, sexual content, bullying, sexual assault, physical abuse, emotional abuse, all kinds of abuse, trauma, mental illness, implied/referenced self-harm, child death, angst, lots of angst, recreational drug use, underage drinking, underage sex, love triangles, toxic relationships, slow burn, slow build

WORD COUNT: 11,533

MASTERPOST

MASTERLIST

"See? Bitch!"

Christie's words sailed down the hallway and struck Evelyn on the back of the head, making her stop mid-stride. A gasp gathered in her chest as the hallway seemed to close in around her. Student faces blurred together. Sounds became muffled, all but the thunderous beating of her heart. I wasn't being a bitch, Evelyn thought, unaware of the students who gave her curious glances as they passed. I said hi, didn't I? What more do you want from me? Should I have gone up to you and shaken your hand? Said, "Oh my god, congratulations, I'm so thrilled for you two"? Because I am, I really am, I just...

(Bitch!)

Guilt and shame mixed uneasily in Evelyn's stomach. It made her feel nauseous. Made her want to walk back over to them and apologize profusely like an embarrassed little girl at a grown-up's dinner party. Oh please, oh please, don't be mad! I'm sorry if I came off a little rude earlier. I'm just having a bad day, that's all. Please don't take it personally, Christie. Pretty please? Pretty please with sugar on top? I'd really like for us to be friends.

Yes.

Friends. 

That's what I do. I make nice. I make friends. I make lemonade from lemons and turn rain clouds into rainbows. 

Well, I'm not in the mood for rainbows, Evelyn thought, and kept walking. Anger simmered inside her stomach now, and she made no effort to cool it down. I have enough lemonade, I have enough friends, and I'm not gonna apologize to Christie Gibson! Why should I? I didn't do anything wrong! She's the one who bombarded me in the hallway, smelling like Vic's bedroom, casually tossing around Mrs. Criss's first name like they're best friends. I've known Mrs. Criss my whole life, and she'd never let me call her 'Tabby'... not that I've ever really asked...

Sarah Tolleson, Evelyn's locker neighbor, said bye to Evelyn as she walked by. Evelyn, distracted as she was, said nothing back.

"Bitch," Sarah muttered under her breath. "Well, fuck you too, then."

Evelyn opened her locker, hung her backpack on the hook, and absentmindedly began gathering her textbooks one by one: English, psychology, world history...

So Christie wants to talk about Vic, huh? What could she possibly have to say to me about Vic? What, does she need gift ideas for Christmas? Buy him a bong or something, I don't know... Evelyn shoved her biology book into her bag and paused for a moment, lost in thought. She returned in a near-daze and, forgetting herself, pulled out the same book and put it back on the shelf. Oh, then she calls out to me in the hallway while she's with him, so I'd have to SEE them together. What the hell was that about, huh? Did she wanna gloat over her victory? Was she trying to get me to admit I'm jealous? Okay, fine, I'm jealous. I'm very, very jealous!

All Evelyn ever got from Victor Criss was cold distance and doors slammed in her face. Secret notes. Broken promises. He'd draw her in and then push her way. Get her hopes up only to smash them to itty bitty pieces. No matter how hard she tried, he refused to let her get close to him. And now, after wasting ten years of her life, she had to accept that this was as close as she was ever going to get: this friendship with a little asterisk next to it. They were friends, sure, but only when no one else was around. It wasn't fair.

Vic was with her—in front of everybody, and he didn't even seem embarrassed by it. How could he do that with her but not with me?

Probably for the same reason Christie Gibson won the student council vote.

Because Christie was cool and Evelyn wasn't. Christie listened to rock music, dyed her hair fun colors, and had a butterfly tattoo on her lower back. Evelyn wore knit sweaters and could hardly name a current song on the radio (she listened to Olivia Newton-John from time to time, but nobody would be very impressed by that). Yeah, Christie Gibson was the fun, laid-back rocker chick. She probably spent her nights going to parties and concerts. Evelyn, meanwhile, spent her nights studying and doing arts and crafts on her bedroom floor... making dozens of paper flowers for a sign that nobody cared about.

You know you're quite the artist.

Isn't that what Patrick Hockstetter had said? Yeah, he had. Last night, he was mesmerized by a tiny white daisy. It was such an insignificant little thing, yet he stared at it like it was something special, like Evelyn had somehow made a realdaisy bloom in the palm of her hand. It seemed strange for her to be thinking of that now.

Stranger still was the smile that came to her face when she did.

But then Evelyn thought of that shapeless violet, purple as the fading bruise on her neck, and her smile instantly vanished. She pushed the thought away and started unloading her backpack again.

Everyone thinks I'm annoying. Just Little Miss Busybody. I'm not cool like Christie Gibson. I'm not sexy like Manda Bosch. I'm just... just—

A long, slender finger poked Evelyn's shoulder twice, jolting her from her thoughts. She jumped away from it, startled. Her stack of books went leaning, leaning... leaning way too far! A dreadful moan sounded in her throat. She tried to correct the lean, failed, and clutched the two bottommost books to her chest while the rest went tumbling to the floor. Her disheartened sigh crashed against a boy's cry of panic:

"Oh, great," Evelyn said.

"Oh, God!" said the boy.

They dropped to their knees at the same time, hands bumping as they reached for Evelyn's psychology book. The boy made a whimpering noise and recoiled from her with a snap of his wrist. Evelyn followed his fleeing hand and saw it bury itself in a small nest of copper-red curls.

"I'm so sorry, Evelyn! I don't know what I was thinking, sneaking up on you like that. My mom always gets mad at me when I creep up on her in the kitchen, but I just can't help it. See, I used to make too much noise when I walked, and she would yell at me to stop dragging my feet, so I overcorrected and now I make too little noise. I didn't think that was possible, but someone how I managed. God, I'm so hopeless."

Evelyn blinked her eyes in disbelief. Soft blue eyes blinked back at her.

"Denny!"

Denny Booker responded with a frog-like croak, as if surprised by his own name. "Oh, uh... hi."

Overjoyed, Evelyn put down her books and wrapped her arms around Denny's scrawny shoulders, hugging him tightly just as she had in his kitchen the Wednesday before. Denny's face flushed with heat. As soon as their bodies made contact, his back went rigid as a plank and his skinny arms flattened against his sides.

"Sorry," Denny said once they parted. "I'm really bad at hugs, especially with, with girls. I just don't... see, I don't really know where to put my hands, if that makes sense. I'm always worried I'm gonna touch something I'm not supposed to."

Like what? Evelyn almost asked, bewildered, but she figured that would've only embarrassed him more.

Instead, she said, "It's fine, Denny. I'm just glad you're back. You are back, right?"

She stood, brushing loose specks of dirt off her stockings. Denny got up, too. He wore his backpack with both straps and kept fidgeting with the loose ends.

"Yeah... well, kinda. I just came today to drop off my homework assignments. Tomorrow's my first real day back. Oh, here, your books."

Denny bent down, picked up Evelyn's scattered books, and handed them to her with a sweet, unaffected smile. Evelyn thanked him sincerely and put them away in her locker.

"So—" Evelyn began.

"Hey, it's the Book Man!" 

They spotted Scott Kellerman at the other end of the hallway. He had been strolling through the freshmen locker area, thinking of fun, creative ways to kill a couple minutes. Now he was jogging toward them. Smiling, of course. Scott Kellerman was always smiling. He stopped briefly to give another one of his friends a high five. "Toodles, my good dude," Scott said to him. Then he rushed over to Denny and tackled him with a giant bear hug.

"What's up, buddy?" Grinning, Scott slapped his hands onto Denny's shoulders and gave him a brain-rattling shake that made Evelyn cringe and think, Oh, poor Denny. "Look at you, all rosy-cheeked and gorgeous! How you doin', man?"

"I'm, I'm good," Denny replied. "Hap-happy to be back."

"Shit, dude, you had us all freaked out in homeroom. People thought you were dying or something. As for me, I was getting ready to start sending around the ole donation jar like we did for J-Bird that one time. You remember that? 'Help, my brother needs a new kidney!' Nobody donated, though. Bummer. I guess they don't care about pot-bellied pigs in this town, not even a cute one like J-Bird."

"Oh..." Denny frowned. "Well, I'm sorry for scaring everyone."

Scott just laughed his usual carefree laugh. "Hey, no worries, dude. We're just glad to have you back. Wait, you are back, right?"

Denny nodded. "Tomorrow. I'll be back tomorrow."

"Sweetness!" Scott said, and laughed again. "Well, hey, I gotta go, man. Got a client waiting for me." He backed away from them while humming an upbeat tune he made up on the spot. "Adios, mis amigos. That's Spanish, if you didn't already know. My teacher taught it to me today. That's right, my dudes, I'm one step closer to being bilingual, baby!" He fired off two gunshots with his fingers before disappearing around the corner.

A moment of silence passed. Then Evelyn turned to Denny and said, "Did he just say he's meeting a client?"

"Oh right, yeah... Skelly's got a little side business."

"A side business? Wow!" Imagine that, Scott Kellerman was a fifteen-year-old entrepreneur. Evelyn was very impressed, and a little confused. "So does he, like, make stuff?"

"More like grows it."

To clarify what he meant, Denny pressed his thumb and index finger together and touched them briefly to his lips. Miss Quaver, the home economics teacher, came strutting out of her classroom. Denny panicked and pretended to have an itch on his face.

"Hello, children," Miss Quaver said to them with a smile. "Nice to see you back, Denny."

"Hi, Miss Quaver," Denny said, a faint blush tickling his cheeks.

When she was gone, he and Evelyn collapsed into a fit of giggles that left Evelyn in tears and Denny hacking up phlegm. This made Denny terribly embarrassed. He wiped his mouth with his sweater sleeve and apologized. Evelyn, who had been snorting like a pig, told him not to worry about it.

"Wow," she said afterward, while dabbing her eyes dry, "Skelly's a pot dealer. How did I not figure that out sooner?"

Denny cleared his throat one more time. "You're just wonderfully naive, I guess."

They shared another chuckle over that. Evelyn's shoulders bounced as she laughed. Denny, more careful this time, kept his hand cupped shyly over his mouth.

Then he said, "So, wait, why was Skelly dressed like a surfer?"

"Oh, because it's Groovy Monday," Evelyn told him. "Skelly's a Beach Boy. He had a surfboard, but he accidentally smacked Principal Hellyer with it, so it got taken away."

"Right," Denny said, unsurprised. "Yeah, I guess that explains your outfit, too."

"Yeah..."

Evelyn tucked her chin into her chest and shuffled back a step, wincing as she felt that familiar sting of self-consciousness. Oh, why had Denny returned to school on Decade Day of all days? If he had waited until tomorrow, he would have seen Evelyn dressed in comfy cotton pajamas instead of this hideously short dress that, apparently, made her look like a damn streetwalker. She braced herself for another searing hot stare, but from Denny Booker, all she felt was the most genuine warmth. His blue eyes were clear and kind.

"You look really nice," he said, and that was all. "Oh, I have your biology notes!"

He shrugged out of his backpack's right shoulder strap and pulled Evelyn's notebook out of the main zipper compartment. "You take really good notes," he said before handing it to her.

Evelyn flashed a modest smile. "Well, I do pride myself on my note-taking. Last year, I got these totally awesome gel pens that completely changed the way I..."

(It's a pen, Evelyn)

Her expression darkened. "Never mind," she said under her breath. Last year didn't matter anymore. "Anyway, I'm glad you found them useful."

She put her notebook away. When she turned back, Denny was rubbing the back of his neck and frowning.

"Hey," he went on quietly, "I want to apologize for the way I acted when you came to visit me last week. I'm honestly really embarrassed about the whole thing. You probably thought I was having a total meltdown or something."

Evelyn shook her head. "No, I didn't think that at all. And you don't have to apologize, Denny, not for any of it. You were going through a lot that day."

Denny gave a doubtful but grateful smile. "I found my dog, by the way."

"Really? That's great!"

"Yeah, we got a call from one of our neighbors this morning. He said Mandy Fazio found her sniffing around the junkyard last night and was wondering who she belonged to. I have no idea what she was doing all the way over there, but we took her to the vet, and she's perfectly fine, so... I dunno, I guess it was just one of those strange coincidences, just like you said."

"Yeah," Evelyn said.

A strange coincidence, indeed.

I questioned Patrick about this last night. Now, all of a sudden—

Denny's face paled, and he drew back with fright. "Uhh... I have to go now."

"Huh? Why, Denny? Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, I just, uhh..." Denny dragged his fingers through his curls. His hairline was damp with sweat, Evelyn saw, and now it was trickling down his forehead. "I just remembered that I need to pick up something from the office, and I... I need to head over there before, you know, before they close for the day. See you tomorrow, Evelyn."

He staggered backward, spun around, and sped off down the hallway... in the opposite direction of the office.

Weird, Evelyn thought, her chest tight with worry. I hope he'll be okay to return tomorrow.

She stared down the hallway for a moment longer, wondering what unseen terror had set Denny off this time. Her answer came in the form of slow, plodding footsteps. She turned around and saw Patrick Hockstetter walking up to her with a lazy, swaying stride.

"What's his problem?" he asked, seemingly unaware.

Seemingly.

Evelyn's eyes sharpened into a suspicious glare.

"What?" Patrick said, blinking at her with that same dumb, oblivious expression. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a wide, open-mouthed grin. "Wait, was that...?"

"Oh, stop it already, Patrick. As if you don't know."

He tossed his head to the side. "What was his name again?"

"You know his name, Patrick. I refuse to believe you have no idea who your fellow classmates are."

This was all just an act, and a bad one at that.

She grabbed her biology book, put it in her bag, and left it there this time. That's right, Evelyn finally had her head screwed on properly again. She wasn't floating through space or wading through a deep sea of sad thoughts. She was here, grounded firmly in reality... and keenly aware of how close Patrick had gotten. His warm breath fanned the side of her face.

"Believe what you want," Patrick said, "but as far as I'm concerned, you and I are the only two people in this school."

Evelyn turned to meet his empty, probing stare. When she did, a chill ran up her spine. Looking into Patrick's eyes was kind of like staring into a void. It was like leaning over the side of a ship and gazing into the deep, dark ocean below. Your survival instincts tell you to step back from the edge and walk away, but before you do, a small part of you wonders, What if I jumped? 

Evelyn was hearing that voice now, tempting and frightening all at the same time. She pulled away from it, away from him, and said, "No offense, Patrick, but that sounds kinda like a nightmare."

"Really?" he said. "I think it sounds pretty nice."

His eyes told her he wasn't kidding. But he had to be, didn't he?

Another shiver rolled through her. Evelyn put the question behind her and finished packing up her homework.

"So," Patrick went on, leaning against the locker beside her, "did he finally find his dog?"

Evelyn's eyes sharpened again. Strange coincidence, my ass. 

"Oh my god!" she said.

"What?" Patrick asked, looking at her with genuine surprise.

No.

Seemingly genuine.

Evelyn jabbed at his chest with an accusing finger. "Oh, you... you are so transparent!"

"What? I'm just making conversation."

"Yeah, sure you are, Patrick."

"I am," he insisted. Then his eyes flattened. "Wait a second, you still think I took that dog, don't you? Listen, Evelyn, before last night I didn't even know who that kid was, okay? I mean, jeez... you torture a few puppies and you're branded a dog killer for the rest of your life. Where's the justice in that?"

"Yes, Patrick, you're the true victim in all of this."

"Whatever," he said. "I'm sick of talking about this. Anyway, what are you doing after school?"

Evelyn gave him a tired look.

"What?" Patrick said. "We're friends, right? Friends hang out after school."

"Don't you have detention?"

"In theory," Patrick answered, "but realistically, it wouldn't be too hard for me to slip away for a few minutes... you know, if you wanted to find an empty classroom and let me fool around under that cute little skirt of yours." He eyed it with a lustful smirk, then started teasing the hem with his fingers. "By the way, have I told you how much I like this outfit? You should dress like this more often."

And with that, down went the judge's gavel.

It's official: I'm dressed like a whore.

"The stockings kinda ruin it, though," Patrick finished, observing them with a frown. Shamelessly, he tried to sneak a peek under her skirt. Evelyn swatted his hand away without looking.

"It was forty degrees out this morning, Patrick."

"Is that cold?" he asked, but he didn't wait for Evelyn's answer. "So you wanna hang out or not?"

"Can't. I'm grading quizzes for Mrs. Lafferty."

It was part of Henry's plea deal. In exchange for Mrs. Lafferty's support, Evelyn agreed to grade her quizzes for the rest of the semester. And how did Henry pay her back? The only way he knew how: with cruelty and malice. No good deed goes unpunished, right?

"Oh?" Patrick said, sounding very intrigued. "And will you be alone while you're grading these quizzes?"

"No, Mrs. Lafferty will be there. She has a student staying late to take a quiz."

"Well, I don't mind an audience... although it might make you a little uncomfortable."

Evelyn heaved a loud, frustrated sigh. "Okay, I'm leaving now," she said, and closed her locker. When she tried to walk away, Patrick gently grabbed her wrist.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he said, chuckling. "What are you doing on Friday night?"

"Friday's the homecoming game, Patrick."

"Okay, that means nothing to me... but I'm assuming you're going?"

"Yes, Patrick, everyone's going."

"Oh, everyone's going, huh?" His grey-green eyes gleamed. "So if I go, I'll probably see you there."

"Probably."

"Cool." Patrick smiled, very pleased. "We can hang out then."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Patrick."

Evelyn pulled her hand out of his grasp. Patrick frowned as he watched it slip away.

"Why?" he asked in a sullen voice. "You ashamed to be seen with me at a school event? Afraid of what your friends in the student council will think? What Jake Newham will think?"

"Of course not," Evelyn said, but she realized that was a lie. She was ashamed to be seen with Patrick, deeply ashamed, and now she felt like a total hypocrite.

Evelyn grunted low in her throat, regretting this decision with every fiber of her being. "Okay, fine, we can hang out at the homecoming game, but—" She raised her finger and spoke in her stern babysitter voice, the one she pulled out when a stubborn child refused to obey her. So far, she had only used it once: when Max Kenton wouldn't stop pulling his sister's hair, that little shit. "Don't ever interrupt my lunch meetings again, Patrick. Okay? I use those meetings to conduct very important business. The last thing I need is you feeling me up under the table."

"I thought that was a bug," Patrick said with a cheeky little smirk. Evelyn put her hand on her hip and raised her eyebrows, another trick from the babysitter's handbook. Patrick threw his head back and let out a disgruntled moan. "Okay, fine, I won't bother you at lunch anymore."

"Thank you." Evelyn smiled, pivoted on her heel, and walked away with a confident strut. Halfway down the hall, she stopped. "Oh, and I'm reenacting the 'No Touch' rule."

Patrick's jaw clenched. "What?"

"We're friends, right?" Evelyn wore a charming yet taunting smile. "Friends don't touch each other like that."

"Well, maybe not your friends," Patrick said, but ultimately he gave in. "All right, Evelyn, you win, but the same clause applies as before. Fair enough?"

Evelyn pressed her lips together tightly, holding in a laugh. "Sure, Patrick. When I beg you to touch me, feel free to go crazy." She released the laugh once her back was turned. It burst out of her in a series of giggles that rang throughout the hallway like the delightful tinkling of bells.

Patrick listened to it, smiling. "I plan to," he said to himself. Then, before she got too far: "Oh, Evelyn, just one more thing."

She turned around, still giggling. "Hm?"

"I love how you said 'when' and not 'if.'"

Evelyn's laughter caught in her throat, almost choked her.

Patrick's smile grew. "See you tomorrow, Evelyn." He backed away, slipped around the corner, and was gone.

Evelyn stood paralyzed, speechless, her face getting redder and hotter by the second. "That's just... semantics!" she declared, her arms flopping helplessly at her sides.

God dammit, she thought. How the hell does he do that?

It's because he's so attractive, that's what it is. Puberty screwed me over real good, but it gave him a massive growth spurt that turned him into a fricken Adonis. How is that fair? I get a flat chest, no hips, and Patrick gets the chiseled bone structure of a male model. Okay, I'm exaggerating. He's not that good-looking... No, actually he is that good-looking, and it's really unfortunate. If he looked like he did in elementary school, I wouldn't be in this predicament. He's vile and repulsive, but then he smiles and acts so weirdly charming. Oh my god, I hate that I just used the word "charming." But he is. He's grotesquely charming, if that's even a thing. Like most of the time I wanna slap him in the face for the shit he says, but other times, I wanna grab him and...

No. 

Wait. 

Oh my god, he's doing it again! 

Last night, he confessed to murdering cute, fluffy puppies—and I love puppies!—but I'm not even thinking about that right now. No, I'm too busy thinking about his hand under my skirt. I swear to God, if he ever tries something like that again, I'm gonna punch him in the face. Right in the middle of the lunch room, too. Who does that? A sexual deviant, for one. That was practically assault! But I have to smile and go along with it. I have to give him what he wants; otherwise, this torture will never end. 

Problem is, I have no idea what he wants. It's not sex, that's for sure. No, he's just using that to distract me... but from what?

Her steps slowed in the middle of the hallway. While contemplating Patrick's motives, Evelyn was fiddling with her right pinky: tracing over it with her thumbnail, bending it, squeezing it until the tip turned reddish purple. Down the hall was Mrs. Lafferty's classroom. The door was propped open, waiting for her to go inside. All right, that's enough now, Evie. She snapped out of her daze, picked up the pace and

"Bye, Manda!"

"See you tomorrow!"

froze as a senior brushed past her right shoulder.

"Whoops, sorry," the girl said, and Evelyn got a big whiff of her spicy, exotic Yves Saint Laurent perfume. It was a woman's fragrance, strong and intimidating, and it masked the soft, sweet, candy-like scent of Evelyn's drugstore perfume. The smell overwhelmed her for a second. Made her nose wrinkle in a silly, childish way. She recovered quickly and spun around just in time to catch a glimpse of the girl's long, thick fishtail braid as she went around the corner. Wrapped around the tail end, winking in the light, was a metallic silver scrunchie.

Evelyn's breath hitched. "That's..." and her feet moved on their own.

Inside the senior locker area, Manda Bosch was humming U2's "With or Without You" while she strolled toward her locker with her books cradled in her arms. The heels of her boots thumped against the tile. Her wide, womanly hips swayed sensually inside a pair of high-waisted, loose-fitting jeans. A black long-sleeve shirt, which she wore tucked, hugged her upper body like a second skin, showing off her ample curves.

Evelyn, who had no curves, was sick with envy. She crossed her arms over her small breasts, feeling unsexy and unfeminine, and thought, If I looked like that, then maybe... 

No.

She inhaled sharply, her brown eyes glazed with panic and fear.

No, I shouldn't be here. This was a mistake! Why did I think seeing her would make this any easier? I was having a hard enough time accepting that Henry had sex with someone else, and now that "someone else" has a name and a body and... and I don't think I can handle seeing her face right now. If I see her face, then it becomes real and

A single tear rolled down her cheek, her lips, her chin.

I should go, she told herself, and stepped back. Mrs. Lafferty's waiting for me. I promised I'd grade her quizzes and...

She took one step forward, then another.

Manda Bosch was standing in front of her open locker now, still humming, occasionally singing under her breath: "With or without you… With or without you, oh..." The inside of her locker was decorated with pictures of her friends, her family, and her longtime boyfriend, Matt Aikman, a freshman at USM. Manda was pulling books off the shelf and putting them away in her backpack. While she did this, Evelyn couldn't stop staring at her hands. Manda Bosch had these long, red, perfectly pointed fingernails, and they had cut Henry's face.

At first, the sight of them filled Evelyn with intense, overprotective rage. She wanted to storm up to her and say, "How dare you put your hands on him?" But that feeling passed so quickly. It was there one minute, burning her from the inside, and the next it was gone. It had cooled and hardened into a giant lump that sat in the pit of her stomach, and now a cruel voice was whispering,

What else did she do with those hands?

No, Evelyn didn't want to think about that, not now, not ever, but her mind started conjuring up images on its own. Casting them onto a giant silver screen. Manda Bosch running her hands through Henry's dirty blond hair. Brushing the side of his face with her fingertips. Slipping her hands underneath his shirt and touching him lightly, caressing his stomach, his chest, sliding around to feel the strong muscles of his back.

Evelyn watched the whole film from beginning to end, unable to look away. She was trapped in the middle of a crowded auditorium, strapped to a cushioned red velvet chair, unaware of the surprise waiting for her. It was Friday night at the Aladdin, and everyone in the audience was being treated to a special double feature. Two films. One night only. Buy your tickets in advance, folks, because this is one event you don't wanna miss! The first picture was one of the year's most-anticipated blockbusters, and the next one, well... that one was a classic. Yeah, even an out-of-touch workaholic like Evelyn would recognize that title. In fact, was one of her favorite films. She watched it every night.

In her bedroom.

Alone.

While she sadly traced over the wrinkles in her floral quilt.

Excited applause sprang up around her. Then the lights dimmed and the opening credits began to roll. As soon as the first name appeared on screen, Evelyn's stomach churned with dread. No, she couldn't bear to sit through this movie again. Not again. Not ever again. She got up and fought her way to the aisle, trampling women's purses, tripping over outstretched legs. All the moviegoers lashed out angrily: Get down! Get down, you're blocking the screen! I paid good money to see this flick! She ducked as a box of popcorn came flying at her. It went over her shoulder and exploded against the screen like a spray of fireworks, but Evelyn did not look. No, she would not look. She put her head down and kept moving, eyes closed to the intimate scene that was playing in front of everyone, ears shut to the men who whooped and wolf-whistled, the women who voiced quiet murmurs of disgust. Blind and deaf to it all, she stumbled into the aisle and went running for the exit.

Mr. Foxworth smiled as she passed, his eyes glowing eerily in the light. Don't you wanna see the ending? he said. The ending's the best part.

Evelyn turned back to look at him, her expression a mixture of shock and horror, and then she saw...

("Hey, you okay?")

saw the screen flickering, stuck on a single image. It burned away as a hand reached out from the darkness and landed on her shoulder.

("Hey... Hey!")

"Hey, space cadet!"

Evelyn emerged from her thoughts groggily, blinking. It was Manda Bosch, staring at her with dark chocolate brown eyes, the kind of eyes a boy could get lost in... Henry probably had, too.

(What else did she do with those hands?)

Evelyn flinched with sudden awareness. She looked down at her shoulder, saw the girl's hand, and wrenched away from it. Warily, Manda Bosch withdrew her hand and apologized. There was a small wrinkle between her perfectly shaped brows now. Her lips, red and full, had gathered into a concerned pout that somehow made her even more beautiful.

Did he let you kiss him? Evelyn wondered, devastated.

"Do you need something?" Manda asked, tilting her head. Her voice was melodious and sweet despite her confusion, much sweeter than Evelyn expected.

"Uhh... no," Evelyn said. She drew back a step and crossed her arms in front of her. "Sorry..."

Manda smiled awkwardly. Even that was pretty. "Okay, well... take it easy, okay?"

She made a vague gesture with her hand, circled around Evelyn's right, and started humming again as she walked toward the senior exit. Evelyn cupped her elbows with her palms and withdrew into herself, feeling more like a child than ever. She wanted to go home. She wanted to go home, bury herself under the covers, and forget this day ever happened.

But then she heard Manda's voice again

"Hey," she said, leaning away from the door, "cute dress, by the way."

and that was more than she could take.

Smiling to herself, Manda pushed on the door and walked out. While she strolled through the senior parking lot and swung her keys, while she drove home and sang along to her favorite song on the radio, Evelyn collapsed onto the senior couch, dropped her head into her hands, and sobbed.

"Well, that test sucked."

"Yeah, I hate when they sneak in an extra essay question at the end. What kinda sick, sadistic shit is that? Like I'm stressed out enough, thank you very much, and now you expect me to write a perfectly structured, five-paragraph response to your vaguely worded question? Fuck off with that bullshit. In conclusion, you're a crazy Nazi bitch and your class sucks!" 

"Whoa, did you seriously write that? 'Cause you would totally be my hero if you did."

"God, I wish I did... I swear, every time I see that woman, I just wanna—Evelyn!"

Evelyn dried her eyes as Elizabeth Mueller entered the senior locker area with Desiree Van Blair and Peter Gordon.

Unlike most of the upperclassmen, Liz and Des had actually dressed up for spirit week. They figured, what the hell, right? It was their senior year and they wanted to have some fun before they graduated. Today, Liz was wearing a Twiggy-inspired green shift dress with an exaggerated collar, black fishnet tights, and a pair of Mary Janes. Des was wearing her Halloween costume from last year. She went as Holly Golightly from the 1961 romantic comedy Breakfast at Tiffany's, and she got really annoyed when the other students didn't understand the reference. "God, this town's a cultural wasteland. It's like living in the Bermuda Triangle or something. Nobody knows how to dress and everyone sucks."

Liz was currently gushing over Evelyn's outfit. She took the girl's hands and pulled her up from the couch to get a better look at her.

"Oh my god, you look absolutely perfect!" she said, squeezing Evelyn's face between her palms. Close as they were, it was obvious that Evelyn had been crying, but Liz was gracious enough to keep this knowledge to herself. She wiped away the last streak of wetness with her thumb and smiled. "You're the most precious thing I've ever seen in my life."

Evelyn smiled back timidly. "You don't think I look slutty?"

Liz gasped, outraged. "Oh, what bitch said that? Was it Jackie? 'Cause that sounds exactly like something Jackie would say."

Desiree spoke up from the couch. She was sitting on the arm and pretending to smoke from her long black cigarette holder. "Oh my god, Liz, did you see what she was wearing today? She thinks she's Jackie O."

Liz rolled her eyes. "More like Jackie O, could you be more fucking obnoxious? Wait, was that mean?"

"A little, but who cares? It was funny."

The girls tittered like wicked stepsisters and, for a moment, appeared every bit as mean as Greta Bowie and Liz's little sister, Sally. Evelyn stood between them, feeling uncomfortable, feeling like maybe it was time to leave. Liz noticed this and her face flushed with shame.

"Oh shit," she said. "Dammit, Des, we can't keep falling back into old habits like this! I don't wanna go to college with any negativity. I may not like Jackie personally, but that's no reason to cut her down for her unfortunate fashion choices... even though she's a fucking bitch and deserves it." Liz took a deep breath and carried on with a smile. "Anyway, come sit for a minute, Evelyn. Let's talk."

Evelyn's eyes drifted toward the hallway. "Oh, but I really should get going."

Mrs. Lafferty was already expecting her, and...

"Just for a minute," Liz said, and led her back to the couch. Evelyn followed the older girl obediently. They sat side by side, knee to knee. Liz laid her hands neatly on her lap and smiled prettily at her. "So, how's the situation?"

"The situation?"

"She means Hockstetter," Des explained bluntly, while Peter Gordon went to his locker and pretended not to listen. Evelyn suspected he was listening, though, because he kept peeking over his shoulder every now and then. This made Evelyn feel a little uneasy. She didn't want to talk about this around so many people. In fact, she didn't want to talk about it at all. Not with Liz. Not with anybody. She didn't think they would understand.

"We saw that stunt he pulled at lunch today," Des was saying now. "That was bold, even for him."

"Yeah," Liz agreed, "and we just wanted to make sure you're okay."

"Oh, I'm fine," Evelyn said, more abruptly than she'd intended. "Yeah, I've got the situation totally under control."

Liz's made-up doe eyes widened in surprise. "Oh..." she began in a chaste whisper, a faint blush warming her face. As her voice trailed off, her gaze fell slowly, softly, and landed gently as a feather upon Evelyn's neck. "Oh..." Liz said again. Her hand went to her mouth and her blush deepened.

By now, the hickey had faded enough that Evelyn could cover it pretty easily with makeup... or so she thought. Concealed or not, a well-trained eye could probably spot it with little effort. Desiree, who had already established herself as an expert on the subject, lowered her oversized sunglasses and peered down at her.

"Wow," she said with an impressed smirk. "Yeah, I'd say she definitely has it under control, Liz. Good girl. You ride that crazy train."

Liz swatted her friend away like a buzzing fly. Evelyn quickly covered up the mark with her hair.

"It's not what it looks like," she said. "Patrick just—"

"Hey, you don't have to explain yourself," Liz said with false sincerity. Evelyn would have thought it was genuine, but the shrewdness in her eyes gave it away. "We're not judging you or anything."

"Really?" Evelyn said. "Because it kinda seems like you are."

Her tone was sharp, and rightfully so.

"I don't know what you all expect me to do. Everyone keeps judging me for what I do or don't do with Patrick, but what nobody seems to understand is that I don't have a choice! Look, I didn't ask for this, okay? I don't know why Patrick's bothering me all of a sudden, but he is, and now there's nothing I can do about it. I mean, it's inevitable, right? That's what Marci seems to think, anyway, and honestly I'm starting to think she's right. So what am I supposed to do now, Liz? Huh? You were nice enough to warn me about him, but... now what?"

Liz Mueller recoiled as if slapped. All the color drained from her face.

"I don't know," she confessed quietly, suddenly afraid for her. "I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're supposed to do."

Silence prevailed for the next thirty seconds. Liz turned forward, dropped her chin into her chest, and stared guiltily at her manicured hands. Next to her, Desiree had removed her sunglasses and was gnawing anxiously on the plastic tip. Peter Gordon glanced over her shoulder and saw her doing this. He made a sickened face and whipped back around. Right now, he wanted to crawl inside his locker and close the door. He couldn't stand tense silences like this. They reminded him a little too much of home.

"Just... be careful, okay?" Liz finally said. "If things start to get weird, or you start to feel unsafe for whatever reason, make sure you tell someone. Tell your mom, your best friend, me, Marci, just... someone, okay? Most of the other girls wish they had. Shit, I know I did." She reached over and gave Evelyn's knee a comforting pat. "You're not alone in this, Evelyn. I know it might seem like you are, but you're not. We all know what you're going through."

Evelyn smiled gently, gratefully, but part of her wondered if any of them truly understood.

Time crawled forward. Evelyn looked up at the clock and saw that it was almost a quarter to four now. Mrs. Lafferty was probably getting angry with her. She was probably tapping her foot, glaring at the clock, and thinking, Well, is that little brat showing up or what? Evelyn felt guilty about that. She knew it wasn't polite to keep people waiting, and yet...

"Hey, do you guys know Manda Bosch?"

"Manda?" Liz and Des exchanged a furtive glance. "Sure. What about her?"

"There's just a rumor going around about her and a boy in my grade."

"Oh, right," Liz said, and for some reason, Des started to laugh. "I keep forgetting you sophomores are new to this. Look, you just have to learn to ignore her, okay? Manda does this kinda shit all the time, and I mean all the time. She parties way too hard, gets way too drunk, and then cheats on her boyfriend with some loser who won't refuse her. Then she sobers up the next morning, feels guilty, and cries rape to cover her own ass. It's really sad and pathetic, honestly, but I guess it works 'cause her boyfriend still hasn't dumped her even though he's way out of her league. I don't understand the appeal, personally. I mean, she must give really good head or something."

Evelyn squirmed at that remark. Behind her, Peter Gordon was coughing as if he'd swallowed something wrong.

"So you're saying she just made it up?" Evelyn asked, hopeful.

"Oh yeah, for sure. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm all for supporting victims and everything, but Manda Bosch is not a victim. She's just a sloppy, sloppy drunk who will spread her legs for anyone. That sounded really mean, I know, but it's just a fact. She even came onto Pete once, practically right in front of me."

"And I ignored that siren's song," Peter interjected passionately. "I said to her, 'No, you foul temptress, you stay away! I have a beautiful girlfriend and I love her with all my heart.'"

Liz gave him a dubious look. "Yeah, like you're going anywhere." Then, to Evelyn: "See, Pete's not the cheating type. He knows he hit the jackpot with me and he's not about to squander his winnings on some dumb, drunk slut. Find yourself a guy like that, Evelyn, and all these rumors just become background noise."

"Okay," Evelyn said uneasily. This conversation had taken a few unexpected turns and she was struggling to keep up. "So it's definitely not true?"

"No..." Liz said, but her voice sounded strangely high-pitched all of a sudden. "Well, I mean, it's probably not true... Why? Who's the rumor about?"

"Umm, Henry Bowers," Evelyn answered anxiously, and flicked her eyes away. "I don't know if you know who that is."

"Yeah, all you sophomores kinda blur together... Oh, wait, he's the really angry one, right? The kid who always looks like he's gonna stab somebody?"

Evelyn gave a reluctant nod. It wasn't the kindest description, but it was probably the most accurate.

"Huh," Liz said. "Well, that changes things a bit."

Evelyn's stomach dropped. "You think it could be true?"

"Well, no, not necessarily. Hold on a sec." Liz craned her head around and called out to her boyfriend: "Hey, Pete, you used to hang out with that Bowers kid, didn't you?"

"Yeah, for a like a summer," Peter Gordon answered shortly. He wore the tight, apprehensive expression of a man who'd just been asked to take the stand and testify as an eyewitness in a murder trial. "That was a long time ago, Liz..."

Peter was fifteen then and feeling rebellious. His parents had recently split up, and he was going through a tough time. He thought it'd be kind of cathartic to shoot stuff, smash a couple windows, and shoplift dirty magazines. Petty crimes. Maybe a misdemeanor or two. He wasn't expecting it to get as intense as it did, and there were times when Henry Bowers honestly frightened him. He'd never seen so much hate in one person.

"Okay," Liz said, "but did he seem like a rapist to you?"

Evelyn winced at that word. How could everyone throw it around so casually?

"Racist? Yeah. Rapist? No, I wouldn't quite go that far... but again, that was a long time ago. Who knows what that kid's capable of now."

"Not that," Evelyn said. "No, Henry didn't rape anybody."

Liz shrugged. "Okay, well... there's your answer. They probably just had sex."

"Sex. Right."

Evelyn gulped down both words, closed her mouth, and nodded stiffly, feeling her blood thumping in her temples. Liz and Des studied her quietly, looked at each other, and quickly put together the rest of the puzzle. When they saw the completed picture, Des cringed and Liz's pretty pink lips parted with an inaudible gasp.

"Oh..." Liz whispered, looking down at Evelyn with a sympathetic frown. "Oh, sweetie, no..."

Then Des said, "I remember when I was going through my bad boy phase. God, was that a mistake."

Evelyn's face flamed with dull anger. "No, that's not—" but a gruff voice cut her off.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Martin Davers had emerged from the hallway with a notebook wedged under his arm and a pencil tucked behind his ear. He opened his locker, tossed everything inside, and slammed the door closed. His biceps bulged under the tight fabric of his shirt. His eyes, a dark, stormy blue, narrowed into a fierce, territorial glare as he squared up to Evelyn like a menacing troll. Martin was six feet tall and heavily muscled. He used to be on the football team, but he got cut during his second year because he couldn't meet the minimum grade requirement. Now Martin was constantly looking for new ways to release all his pent-up aggression. Evelyn Tozier was his favorite target.

Liz rolled her eyes at Martin, unbothered. "Speaking of bad boys... What do you want, Martin?"

"I'm just wondering what a sophomore's doing in the senior locker area."

Evelyn flinched suddenly, forgetting where she was, and as she looked around now, all the furniture had grown shockingly large. She felt like she was sitting inside some silly funhouse where everything was comically oversized. All the lockers towered over her like skyscrapers. The couch seemed big enough to swallow her whole; Evelyn's feet could barely reach the edge. She sat upon the tattered cushion like a doll waiting for some little girl to come along and carry her off to tea time. Oh, yes, tea time. Tea time with March Hare and the Hatter. Evelyn was a child trapped in Wonderland, lost and scared, staring at the Cheshire Cat's mischievous grin.

"Look, she's with us, okay?" Liz Mueller made a dismissive motion with her hand, then turned back to Evelyn, who had shifted her weight forward in an early attempt to stand. The girl's face had gone terribly pale. "Oh, Evelyn, don't let him scare you off. Martin's just an asshole."

"No, it's okay," she said colorlessly. "I have to get going, anyway."

(I'm late for tea...)

Mrs. Lafferty was expecting her, and it would have been rude to keep her waiting any longer... yes, rude, that sounded right. It was Evelyn's good manners that compelled her to leave so quickly. It was good manners that made her press her thighs together and cross her arms over her chest. Good manners that had her staggering to her feet, mumbling goodbye to the floor, and walking away as fast as she could.

It had nothing to do with Martin's stare—that hot, searing stare that seemed to follow her down the hallway.

Evelyn started apologizing before she even entered the classroom.

"Sorry, I'm late, Mrs. Laff—" she began, but the rest of the words had tumbled inward and back down her throat. She stopped in the middle of the doorway, one foot in, one foot out, with her right arm bent at the elbow, beginning an apologetic wave. Evelyn never finished it, though. Much like her words, her hand had retreated into itself, curled into a loose fist, and fallen limp at her side. Her eyes widened with shock and disbelief. Her heart jogged in her chest. She drew in a breath and held it for a moment, forcing herself to calm down.

Before she arrived, the classroom had been quiet and empty apart from the two occupied desks. Mrs. Lafferty sat at hers with a cup of honeyed tea and was idly stirring it while she reviewed tomorrow's lesson plans. She looked up briefly when she heard Evelyn's voice. It was a very distinct voice, loud and clumsy as one might expect from a Tozier, but at least hers wasn't accompanied by crude humor and poorly performed (not to mention grossly offensive) accents. Yes, in that regard, her little brother was truly unique.

Mrs. Lafferty smiled at Evelyn. "Don't worry about it. You're in fine company. This one kept me waiting, too," she said, tipping her head toward the student sitting in the back. "He's lucky I didn't leave and just give him a zero, but I don't think I'll be getting a thank you for that, will I?"

Mrs. Lafferty was answered with silence. For once, Henry Bowers had nothing to say... not to her, anyway.

He had been hunching over his math quiz and glaring at question number four when he heard Evelyn's voice drift through the open door, her words amplified by the hollow silence that had fallen over the school. As soon as the sound hit Henry's ears, his back straightened and his heart started racing. It was an instinctual reaction, kind of like when Henry flinched whenever his dad reached for his belt. That one motion stirred up a decade's worth of painful memories and emotions and drove them straight to the surface like worms wiggling up from the dirt during a rainstorm. His dad didn't even need to beat him anymore (but he did anyway). He simply had to gesture toward his belt and Henry cowered back in submission. Yes, sir. No, sir. Straighten up and get back in line.

Of course, it was only kind of like that. There was no pain associated with the sound of Evelyn Tozier's voice (unless you counted the slight hangover-like headache that sometimes occurred halfway through a conversation with her). No with her voice, Henry felt only the most wonderful, comforting calm, bright with her laughter, warm with her smile, soft as the woven cotton blanket that he often found draped over him when he woke up in the middle of the night. Henry would sit up, look across the room, and see Evelyn passed out at her desk with her head nestled inside the crook of her arm. Usually, he would leave after that, but sometimes he would sit and observe her for a while, listening to her gentle snoring, watching her skin sparkle beneath the soft glow of her desk lamp, feeling his heart slowly thudding in his chest, getting stronger and stronger. Henry could have stayed like that forever.

Happy.

Peaceful.

Safe.

Evelyn Tozier was a sweet escape, and Henry craved her like a junkie needing a fix. It was a desperate, visceral desire that gripped him more firmly with each passing day. Growing. Intensifying. Evolving into a savage, carnal beast that was impossible to control.

When Henry heard her voice that afternoon, every nerve in his body came alive at once. He had to grip the edge of his desk because he didn't trust himself to stay in his chair. How could he when Evelyn was standing on the other side of that door? When that safe, peaceful, happy feeling was finally within reach? All Henry had to do was get up, run out that door and—

Evelyn appeared in the doorway, wearing that sunshine yellow dress with the flouncy little skirt that went whoosh-whoosh every time she moved her hips. The skirt that tempted him. Teased him. Taunted him. The skirt that Patrick Hockstetter's hand had crawled underneath like some filthy, disgusting insect... and she didn't push his hand away.

??WHY DIDN'T SHE PUSH HIS HAND AWAY??

(Because she's a whore, just like your mother)

No. No, she's not, Dad. She's nothing like—

(YOU ARGUING WITH ME NOW, BOY?)

Belt.

Flinch.

No, sir. 

Whore, sir. 

!!STRAIGHTEN UP AND GET BACK IN LINE!!

When Henry saw Evelyn in that yellow dress, his mind became a battlefield. All his thoughts were clashing against each other in bloody combat, and he didn't know which side was going to kill the others and claim him. He was being pulled in too many directions. Assaulted by too many urges. All the while, Evelyn stood there staring at him with that hopeful, frightened look, like she desperately wished he would speak to her, but she was also terrified of what he might say.

And that's when Henry realized he was frightened of himself, too.

If he ran to her now like he wanted to, he wasn't sure what would happen. In one thought, he was wrapping his arms around her and hugging her. In another, he was pushing her against the wall and smashing his mouth against her warm, soft lips. In another, he was squeezing his fingers around her neck and throttling her until all the light left her eyes.

Slapping her.

Beating her.

Bashing her head against the wall again and again and again.

(Because that's what you do with whores)

The thought rose up from nowhere. It had caught him off guard. Snuck up behind him and tried to seize control. Henry fought it back and it left easily enough, but he knew it wasn't gone for good. Eventually, it would come back even stronger. Maybe next time it would win. Maybe. Maybe—

"Head down, Mr. Bowers," Mrs. Lafferty said as she stood up from her desk. "You're here to take a quiz, not gawk at pretty girls."

"Fuck you, bitch," Henry muttered under his breath, relieved to hear his own voice again. Just his own voice again.

Mrs. Lafferty walked over to Evelyn, who had turned away and was now approaching a small table at the front of the classroom. Honestly, Henry was glad for the distance. The further away the better. For her sake. He put his head down and tried to focus on his quiz.

"You don't have to finish this all today, of course," Mrs. Lafferty was saying to Evelyn, "just the two morning classes should be enough. Whatever you have left, you can just leave in the pile there. I'll take the rest home with me tonight."

Evelyn nodded, pulled out the chair, and sat down. As soon as she did, she felt two eyes drilling through the back of her skull. Her heart bucked wildly. She looked over her shoulder and caught Henry's gaze for half a second, but then Mrs. Lafferty called her attention back and placed two red pens on the table. Upon withdrawing her hand, she said, "Oh, and Evelyn? No doodling on the quizzes, please."

Evelyn smiled back sheepishly. "Right, sorry... sometimes I get a little carried away."

After all, grading quizzes got awfully boring after a while. In that state, it was easy for her to accidentally turn a simple smiley face into a cat or a dog... or a cute, friendly little monkey swinging off the edge of the score. Evelyn was no artist, but she hoped her doodles gave the students a good chuckle when they got their quizzes back. Especially those who failed. For those unlucky few, Evelyn hoped her drawings helped soften the blow, if only just a little.

Mrs. Lafferty returned to her desk and reached for her tea. After taking a few slow sips, she lowered her cup and said with a forced smile, "By the way, Evelyn, I had a lovely little chat with your mother this morning."

"Oh?" Evelyn said, and that was where the conversation ended.

Judging by Mrs. Lafferty's expression, there had been nothing lovely about that chat, nothing at all.

Evelyn put her head down and quietly began her work: comparing each answer against the key, marking the wrong ones with her pen, counting up the marks, tallying up the final score, and printing it at the top of the page. Each score was accompanied by an encouraging message like GREAT JOB! WAY TO GO!! AWESOME EFFORT!!! Then she would place the paper in the completed pile and move on to the next one.

Behind her, Henry Bowers kept his head bent over his quiz the whole time, his expression frustrated and tense. Evelyn didn't look back at him either, not once, not even when the urge was so strong she thought she might go crazy. She couldn't bear to look at him now, conflicted as she was. It brought up too many questions... questions Evelyn wasn't sure she wanted the answers to.

Did you let her kiss you? she wondered as she stared down at the red pen. Because I never... 

"Head down, Mr. Bowers. I won't say it again."

Evelyn sucked in a quiet breath, held it, and slowly peeked over her left shoulder. Henry's head was down again, his hand furiously scribbling on the paper. Evelyn continued to hold her breath, continued to stare, until his eyes finally lifted off the page. Henry's writing hand slowed, then stopped. Evelyn's breath left her in a long, drawn-out sigh. Then Mrs. Lafferty got up from her desk, Henry dropped his head, and Evelyn turned back around.

"Evelyn, I need to go to the teacher's lounge for a few minutes," she said, but what she really meant was, I'm stepping outside for a smoke. "Henry, you have five minutes left. Leave your quiz on my desk when you're done."

Mrs. Lafferty's heels clicked delicately as she walked, the sound drifting further and further... further away. Then there was only silence.

Evelyn sat back and stared gloomily at the clock. It was four twenty-two now, but the time never registered in her head. She was too busy thinking, hoping, wishing those hands would unwind and go backward just this once. Take them back to that blissful Before: before Evelyn wore this stupid dress, before Henry had sex with Manda Bosch, before Patrick Hockstetter picked up Evelyn's clipboard, followed her into the hallway, and asked, Where have I seen you?, before the trunk, before the stolen shirts, before the long, lonely, miserable summer... before Evelyn crossed the line and messed everything up.

Can we just go back, please? she begged. Because every day after that has been a total nightmare. 

(and she had a terrible feeling it was only going to get worse)

Evelyn gave the clock one last pleading look, and the clock stared back in silent refusal. Its hands ticked, tocked, and crept forward.

(Tick)

(Tock)

(Tick)

(Tock)

Henry finished his quiz, dropped it off on the teacher's desk, and—

Evelyn stood up and said, "Can you please talk to me? Because I really don't understand what I did wrong."

Her plea was weak, desperate. Henry didn't even hear it. He went around her and started walking toward the door.

What the fuck?

"Henry!" she cried softly... in her Before voice.

Henry stopped as soon as he heard it, his whole body stiffening in recognition, and for a moment time seemed to stop.

(Tick—)

Finally, he spoke. "You know, I thought..." His voice emerged from deep in his throat, strangled with grief and despair. "I thought we were..."

"What?" Evelyn said. "What?"

JUST SAY IT!

Henry's jaw clenched tightly, and his lips drew back in a pained smile. "Fuck you, Evelyn," he said and went out.

(Tock)

Evelyn's mouth fell open in a stifled cry of disbelief. Hope left her eyes as defeat washed over her. Her legs went weak, gave out, and she collapsed back into her chair, numb, speechless. Above her, the clock watched with cold indifference. Its hands crawled forward... forward... forward.

(Tick)

(Tock)

(Tick)

(Tock)

Sometime later, while Evelyn was lackadaisically doodling on a student's quiz, she heard the slow, dragging thumps of Mrs. Lafferty's feet coming down the hallway.

"I've already finished the first two stacks," Evelyn reported half-heartedly, "and I'm halfway through the third."

She moved the quiz to the completed pile, turned around, and froze.

Martin Davers was leaning beside the door with his arms folded over his chest.

"That's a really nice dress," he said.

Evelyn rose from her chair slowly, her heart pumping loudly in her chest. "What do you want, Martin?"

"Nothing," he answered, his eyes calm and attentive. "I guess I just wanted to know why you're trying so hard to dress sexy all of a sudden." Martin seemed to ponder this soberly for a moment, his brow furrowed in mock perplexity. "'Cause from where I'm standing, it kinda looks like you're trying to advertise something. Is that right, Tozier? Are you open for business now?"

"Open for business?" Evelyn repeated. The phrase stunned her so completely that she almost laughed. "It's spirit week, Martin. I have to dress up."

"Oh, I see," Martin said, fascinated. "You had to dress in a skimpy skirt today. That was today's theme."

Evelyn's mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

"Wait, that wasn't today's theme?" Martin cocked his head to the side and frowned. "Well, then why are you wearing that dress, Evelyn?"

She stared at him, unable to speak. Why had she chosen this dress? Why this dress over all the others? Mrs. Criss had dozens of modest dresses that would have satisfied today's theme just as well. She had boxes and boxes of them. Evelyn tried them on. They had fit her perfectly, way better than this dress did. Why had she cast them aside?

"I was just following the theme," she said, her eyes vacant, glassy.

"You were just following the theme." He nodded. "Okay, Evelyn, answer me this: what was today's theme?"

Her stomach twisted. "Huh?"

"Go on, tell me. What was today's theme?"

His voice was shrill and full of scorn. Evelyn shut her mouth tightly, her bottom lip quivering, and shook her head as tears flooded her eyes.

"Please stop," she whispered.

"Well?"

"Stop."

"Tell me."

She swallowed hard and answered: "It was Groovy Monday."

"Right," he said, "it was Groovy Monday, not Skimpy Monday, not Slutty Monday. It was Groovy Monday. Thank you for clearing that up for me, Evelyn, because I was so confused for a second." He smiled at her, grateful. "Now, let's go back to my initial question: why are you trying so hard to dress sexy? Because that's an awfully short dress, Evelyn."

"It follows the dress code," she said, but then from the dark, shadowy part of her mind, she heard

(barely)

another voice that made her eyes widen with a horrific realization. This really was a terribly short dress. Yes. Yes, she saw that now. Not short enough to make her parents worry. Not short enough to violate the school's dress code.

(No more than four inches above the knee... Did you measure it, Evelyn?)

But just short enough to—

Martin wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Are you trying to get someone's attention, Evelyn? Show him what he's missing?"

"No," she answered in a shaky voice, but the other, faraway voice spoke the truth.

(Yes)

She had wanted to get someone's attention today, and she got it, oh yes, she got it. When Henry Bowers stormed up to her that morning, when he grabbed her arm and pulled her hard against him, when he glared down at her, stared at her lips with that feral, ferocious hunger, Evelyn felt her heart flutter with such excitement. For a minute, she thought he was actually going to kiss her. She wanted him to.

(If I had been wearing this dress that day, then maybe...)

Evelyn slapped her hand over her mouth, but still the voice persisted:

(Yes)

(Yes)

(Yes)

(and you got what you wanted, didn't you?)

(Yes)

(Yes)

(Yes)

Guilt crept into her heart and devoured her slowly, leaving her hollow and cold. "Look," she said huskily, blinking the wetness from her eyes, "Mrs. Lafferty's gonna be coming back in a minute, so..."

Martin clucked his tongue in dissent. "I think it might take her a little longer than that."

For a moment, Evelyn's gaze was blurry with tears. Then it cleared as strange, dizzying terror stole through her. It was almost like a bad dream. In a slow daze, she saw Martin walking toward the door. Saw him tuck his boot underneath the doorstop and kick it up with one flick of his ankle. The door moaned and swung slowly, so slowly, and closed with a whisper of a click. Evelyn's breath stopped. Her body froze with fear.

"What are you doing?" she asked in a small, trembling voice.

Martin answered her question with one of his own: "What were you doing in the senior locker area, Evelyn?"

"What?" The word came out dry and brittle, and it crumbled as it left her lips. "Nothing, I was just..."

Martin stepped toward her, his blue eyes glinting ominously in the light.

"You were just...?"

Adrenaline shot through her, sending Evelyn's heart into a mad gallop. She glanced at the door and made herself move. Martin closed the distance. She side-stepped, tried to duck around him, and he caught her brutally by the wrist. A scream fetched in her throat. Their eyes locked fiercely, and for one frightening moment, Evelyn saw the same savage hunger that had consumed Henry Bowers. Her heart stopped. Her mind exploded and went flying, crashing, tumbling down into deep blackness like a stone down a well, falling down to a cold, dark place, where a voice—that voice—was giggling.

(You got what you wanted, didn't you?)

Now her fear had collapsed into pure panic. She struggled against him, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, and tried to wrestle her arm free. Martin overpowered her easily, flung her around, and slammed her down hard against the desk. Evelyn's body hit the wood with a dull thud. Her head jerked forward, snapped back, and spun dizzily. Clockwise. Her vision blurred and became ringed with darkness. She was falling, plunging down to that cold, dark, guilty place.

"What's wrong, Tozier?" Martin asked breathlessly. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

"Please stop!" she said, but her voice had slipped away from her and went up, up, up.

"You wanted attention, right? Wanted people to finally see you as a woman?"

"No! No!"

(YES!)

"Well, I see you, Tozier," Martin said. "Yeah, I see you crystal fucking clear."

Evelyn fell deeper and deeper, screaming without a sound, and slammed against something hard and cold. The bottom. She had finally hit the bottom. Her right cheek was pressed against the desk, and Martin's hand was on her head, holding her firmly in place. He didn't have to hold her down, though. Evelyn couldn't have moved even if she wanted to. She was too far gone, trapped in that cold, dark place, and now the guilt was creeping toward her on all fours, its eyes bright and hungry, desperate to feed. Evelyn lay on her stomach, paralyzed, watching it come closer and closer... closer and closer... until—

The knob turned and the door opened.

Henry Bowers stood on the other side, blinking in dazed bewilderment.

Martin threw him a vicious grin. "You want in on this, Bowers?" he asked while he pushed some of Evelyn's hair away from her face. "You can go first if you want."

Evelyn flinched away from Martin's hand and felt Henry's eyes land on her softly, gently, filling her heart with such sweet relief. For a moment, she thought she was weightless, flying, floating far away from that cold, dark guilty place, but then she saw something that turned her heart into stone, and she plummeted right back to the bottom.

Henry's eyes, those bright, beautiful blue eyes, had suddenly darkened into the most terrifying shade of black. Evelyn didn't even recognize them anymore.

Time crawled forward and stopped. The clock on the wall stopped ticking. Its hands screeched to a halt and stood at attention, waiting for their next command.

It came a second later, in a shocking act of betrayal.

"No," Henry said, "she's not worth it."

The door closed and time resumed with a violent lurch, knocking Evelyn backward, backward, backward. The clock on the wall started tocking and ticking, tocking and ticking: backward, backward, backward. Its hands went spinning, whirling, unwinding: backward, backward, backward. Counterclockwise. Taking them back. Taking them all the way back.

And now that voice was speaking to her again, speaking from that cold, dark place.

(You got what you wanted, didn't you?)

Yes, she answered. Yes, I did.

_____________________

PREV // CURRENT // NEXT

taglist: @secrethologramflower @rosepresley

[ao3feed-kiribaku]

5 Fandoms 1 Booklet

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/QFzRwoq by 4otten8oy5ubby, Subject_Premium I'm putting my whole heart and soul into this booklet. Requests are fully open :3 If you hate, please do. I get off to degrade and your hatred (however if the hate fills the comments, I will delete them because people need room to request). If not? Have fun and request (or just read) :3 Words: 1737, Chapters: 2/100, Language: English Fandoms: Friday Night Funkin' (Video Game), IT - Stephen King, Creepypasta - Fandom, Five Nights at Freddy's, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other Characters: Boyfriend (Friday Night Funkin'), Senpai (Friday Night Funkin'), Monster | Lemon Demon (Friday Night Funkin'), Pico (Pico's School), Bakugou Katsuki, Midoriya Izuku, Iida Tenya, Ashido Mina, Sero Hanta, Kirishima Eijirou, Todoroki Shouto, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Henry Bowers, Patrick Hockstetter, Pennywise (IT), Jeffrey Woods | Jeff the Killer, Creepypasta Character(s), Eyeless Jack, William Afton | Dave Miller, Henry Emily, Michael Afton Relationships: Boyfriend/Senpai (Friday Night Funkin'), Monster | Lemon Demon/Senpai (Friday Night Funkin'), Boyfriend (Friday Night Funkin')/Pico (Pico's School), Boyfriend/Daddy Dearest (Friday Night Funkin'), Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto, Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou, Bakugou Katsuki/Todoroki Shouto, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Bakugou Katsuki, Kaminari Denki/Kirishima Eijirou, Kirishima Eijirou/Todoroki Shouto, Iida Tenya/Sero Hanta, Henry Bowers/Patrick Hockstetter, Eyeless Jack/Jeffrey Woods | Jeff the Killer, BEN (BEN Drowned)/Jeffrey Woods | Jeff the Killer, Moon/Sun (Five Nights at Freddy's), William Afton | Dave Miller/Henry Emily Additional Tags: Necrophilia, Femdom, Trans Male Character, Trans Female Character, Dacryphilia, Fetish, Clothed Sex, Clothing Kink, Self-Harm, Gay Sex, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Dom/sub, Light Dom/sub, Light Bondage, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, Obsessive Behavior, Obsession, Drugs, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gentleness, Roughness, Teasing, Sex Toys, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Sex, Public Sex, Underage Sex, Shower Sex, Drunk Sex, Phone Sex read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/QFzRwoq

[a-pretty-nerd]

Happy Halloween (Patrick Hockstetter x reader smut)

Request: "Could you do a Patrick x reader smut where they're at a Halloween party and reader wears a revealing costume and he takes her to a room and punishes her?" ~ Anonymous

Ooooh it feels good to be back! ❤

A/N: Requests are now officially OPEN! Please be patient with me and the rate at which I answer and finish these. I just got this one this mornings and I'm doing it because I have the time to. This will vary! ALSO! If you are interested in some original work, I will be posting it on my wattpad account! So please follow me on wattpad considering that Tumblr is slowly becoming more and more of an inhospitable place for writers like myself.

Warnings: sex! Dom/Sub! Etc! Etc...

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Oh Halloween! What a sweet, sweet holiday! A teenager's paradise filled with house parties, candy, drugs, alcohol and best of all...each other.

You and Patrick had been going steady for quiet some time now. You were his little pet, his prized toy, nobody fucked with you. It was nice to have a gaurd dog on your arm every once in a while.

This Halloween the boys decided to rade a house party, rather than torment little boys like last year. They picked you up at 8, and the boys whistled as you stepped out of your house. Patrick, was lost for words for a moment as his eyes washed over your form. You had managed to rope him into a couples costume, all you requested of him was to comb his hair back and wear white. He did one of those things. He watched as you came out in a bright red bikin, heels, a fake tail, and horned clips in your hair.

"What the fuck is this?" Patrick grunted as he closes the door behind you.

"We're an angel and devil!" You smiled. He watched you pull out a pair of cheap white feathered wings. You tossed it at him before walking past and to the car.

"You sure we can't trade?" Patrick sneered as you took your seats in the car.

"Aw c'mon, thats the fun part! Can't you let me be the naughty one for once? Just one night?" Patrick climbed in the back seat next to you and curled his arm over you to keep you close. No one was coming near you.

"One, night." He repeated as you drove off. When you got to the party the rest of the guys headed straight for the keg. Drunk teenagers were a plenty at this party and there was dancing and halloween themed games, mostly drinking games, but still. There were plenty of other girls dressed like you there but Patrick didn't seem to care. He didn't care that you fot right in because he didn't want you to. You were different, thats why he liked you in the first place.

He followed closley behind you as you greeted friends and acquaintances. He watched as other boys took notice of you. He watched them watch you, and it made him seath with hate and rage. At one point he came from behind and wrapped his arms around your shoulders to keep you close. Something he didn't often do. Patrick had no respect for personal space, but he was either on top of you entirely with aggressive pda, or he wasn't touching you at all. He'd let you touch or hold him but with Patrick it was either all or nothing. So this clear act of "mine" was strange.

He starred others down with his dark brooding gaze, his glassy grey eyes shot men down for miles. He made everyone, including your girlfriends as they watched him gaurd you.

"Hey," Patrick looked down at you, "you alright? You haven't spoken all night." You noted as you starred up into his dark gaze.

"I'm fine." He muttered.

"You don't look fine." Patrick leaned his head forward to hide in the crook of your neck.

"I'm going to tear you to shreds." He growled. It sent a shiver down your spine.

"Did I do something wrong?" You knew what you did, and he knew it too. You loved to make Patrick jealous. You loved his protective reaction, you loved to play with him, tease him, toy with him. You brat.

"Don't you fucking-" he was cut off by the slow swaying of your hips. Your pressed your ass against him and swayed back and forth to the music that played. Patrick went silent. You took your shoulders in his hands and began gauding you through the unfamiliar house. One of them had to be an empty bedroom, or at the very least, a newly open one. At parties like this, these houses turned into miniature brothels.

But no rooms were available, fuck it, bathroom then. Patrick shoved you inside before slamming the door behind him and locking his. His chest already heaving, his heart racing. He pulled you close and planted a heated kiss to your lips.

"I'm going to fucking ruin you for this." He growled.

"For what?" You cooed. Patrick reached down and grabbed your ass.

"You little tease. You know exactly what you did, what you were doing to me out there." His fingernails dug into your flesh and dragged until he let go to feel you jiggle. "You are miiine." He hummed as he pulled down your bikini top to reveal your breasts. He gropped them harshly, it made you whimper. "You are mine and mine alone." He growled into your neck he began leaving hickies. "They don't deserve you. They don't GET to have you like I do." He smacked your ass before grabbing and playing with you as he spoke. "You crossed a boundry tonight baby girl," he cooed, "and now I'm gonna have to teach you a lesson." You melted in his arms.

He pressed you down and you kelt for him. He pulled down his pants as you waited patiently for him. His cock sprung free from his boxers as he threw them off. He held your head as he pressed his head go your lips and you took him in with ease. He did with you as he pleased, he slowly rocked his hips as he slid in and out of your mouth. He let drool fall from your mouth and his cock before he pushed himself all the way down your throat. You looked up at him, water streaming down your eyes. He looked down with a cruel grin.

He pulled you away before he picked you up and bent you over the counter table. There you saw yourself in the mirror, devil horns still in, makeup runny, your hair messy. Your breasts fell from your top and were planted firmly on the marble counter.

"Look at you. I'm the only one who can make you feel like that." He purred as his fingers reached into your bikini and pulled the fabric. It pressed against your clit and aching entrance. "You wanted this, didn't you?" Smack, "you knew what I'd do to do." Smack. "And you had me dress up like an angel for it too." Smack! You gave a soft cry. "You really are a little devil aren't you?" He stood directly behind you as he pulled at your bikini one more time. "Naughty, naughty girl." He took his other hand and gently tapped at your clit.

"Patrick, pleease." You begged him as you leaned back into him.

"Don't tell me what to do, little devil. The angels always win, don't they?" He chuckled before fiercely pulling your bottoms off and letting them drop to the floor. He played with you for a moment. He sunk a finger into you and it made you moan. He loved watching you as you arched your back and started to push back to get any sort of friction.

"Fuck..." you gasped as a second finger entered you and he began to move them. Back and forth, in and out. That could work. You tried to push back as he fingered you, trying to get a much needed release. But as you were getting close he pulled away. You whinned and moaned helplessly for him.

"Goddamn you're so fucking wet. It'd be a shame if I didn't use this tight pussy of yours." He placed his head at your entrance and you watched yourself in the mirror as he sunk into you. Fuck he felt so good, you almost came as soon as he entered you were so tense. Soon you started to shake as his hips smacked against your ass.

"Ooohh shit...oh fuck.." you muttered as he fucked you. You watched him in the mirror, his gaze was switching between your ass and your face in the mirror. An insane smile plastered on his face as he fucked you.

"Thats it, thats it, ohh fuck yeah." He was triumphant. His hands clung to your hips as he started to pick up the pace, soon you were cumming all over him. It was made him lean forward and nibble on your earlobe as he whispered in your ear. "You cum so fast for me, Y/N. Naughty girl. I'm gonna show you who you belong to. Look at you, you can't help yourself. I'm all you need, baby." He grunted before standing back up straight and continuing to fuck you. You bouncing underneath him, your eyes rolling in the back of your head as you came once again.

Your last orgasm drove Patrick to the edge. He started to huff and puff as he got closer and closer. You could feel him shaking, losing his cool as his climax came. He leaned over and rested hid head on your shoulder as you watched him crumble. Patrick loved to press himself as far in as he could, and cum deep inside of you. You shuddered as you felt him pull out and felt everything seep out with him.

[patrick-in-the-junkyard]

The Flash.

Bowers Gang X Reader

Notes: This is my first time writing on here, I’m sorry if it's terrible.

Warnings: NSFW, Language, Gang is 18-19

Words: 3k

(Under construction)

    It had all started when you woke up that early Friday morning, expecting it to be one of those normal mornings. You quickly rolled over, pushing your blankets to the side and sat up. Groaning at the burning of your eyes, blinded by the sun pouring through your window. You quickly place your fingers over your eyes, taking a moment to wake up. After taking a moment, you lay back down. Rolling over to face your clock, was a mistake. Eyes landing on the deep shade of red glowing numbers lighting the inside of the clock sent your whole body into a rage of adrenaline.  

    “Shit, I’m gonna be late!” You blurted out to yourself rising quickly up from your bed, it was currently 7:24. Excited, the past week you had been trying to plan something to do for the incoming waves of summer heat. Last minute the plan you decided the other night as it was way overdue for a swim in the local quarry. Your main concern was that you wouldn't be alone like you did the year before more teens started swimming there. 

    One thing anyone wouldn’t know was you came across the past year while walking through the hidden path you discovered down to the quarry. The thickets of tall grass aligned with the swarms of trees that surrounded the area. One look and people would normally pass by not thinking anything of it. You had discovered that someone had etched markings that trailed a line of trees that cut down the side of the hill.  

    After walking downtown, you had decided after all that walking a swim would be nice. Making your way down your usual path, you started to hear low distant talking. It became closer and closer with each step you took.

    Picking up the direction of where is was coming from, you head over. Taking slow tip toe steps you managed to stealthily come across whom ever was making noise. It was when you had gotten to the end of the path where you came across the infamous Bower’s gang. They were skinny dipping in the quarry!

     You couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the sight of them, the big bad bullies were naked and clueless. Victor’s head turned your direction, eyes finding yours. Both of your eyes widen, the boys take notice of his sudden stiff pose and dart their gazes as well. 

    Panicking, you spin around making a head start back up the path from where you had came from. They had definitely all definitely saw you. Making a huge sprint without tripping you managed to reach the top. Thinking quickly you hide behind one of the thicker trees. 

    After a few minutes, they appear at the top of the path fully clothed, looking around, up and down the street. You didn’t even dare to peak, knowing that you could give up your location.

    “We’ll find her!” All your worries withdraw as you here them go down the other side of the road. Their voices trailing off as they turn a corner, voices fading away as they pass in front of a building. 

    Knowing the coast was clear, you leave the spot that you had hid at and made your way to the opposite side. You knew that they all knew that you were also going to be in the senior class with them next year.

    Since then they had messed with you every opportunity they had, mostly Victor and Belch placing little notes with profanity and catcalls. Patrick mostly messed with you out of everyone since Henry didn’t do much. Patrick would look for your to find you and bump into you on purpose. He would try to catch any moment to find you and say the most vile things ever.

    But now it was coming to the end of the year, where you’d be graduated in no time having no doubt they wouldn’t graduate. You were just glad you didn’t have to deal with them anymore.

    Opening your closet door, your hands reach for a cropped stretched-out Flash Gordon t-shirt and a beautiful red linen skirt. After rushing to put the loose pieces of fabric on your body, you finish the morning routine that you follow every day as fast as you could forgetting some things from your nightstand. Starting to pass the door of your parent’s bedroom, you had the urge to stop. Cracking the door open to see them asleep and not up for work like usual was odd.

    “That’s strange, they are always up at this time of day, must’ve had the day off.” You couldn’t help but mutter to yourself as you close their door making a small creak before walking away.

    Before you know it was time for you to leave for the short walk to school. Locking the front door, you shut it knowing that no robber would get in if you made sure it was properly locked. Taking a few steps down from your porch, a sudden breeze brushes against your skin and you freak pulling the skirt down as you felt the cold air touch you in places that you didn’t expect. You were so tired that you forgot to put any undergarments on, as you come to the realization, you rush back up the steps to the front. Bending down to the door mat to find the extra key you turn it over and all that was under was the outline of where a key used to be.

    “Shit!” As a last resort you decide to kick the door trying to get any of your parents awake so they could come and open the door. But there was no use, they aren’t gonna hear you when they are sleeping heavily. After testing your luck and waiting a couple of minutes while getting no response you just leave hoping no one on the street catches a look.

    When reaching the cracked sidewalk where most teens hung around before school, you did not pay any mind to the looks and glares from most of the people out there. A lot of the men, all taking a full profile of you. The parking lot was lined by the sidewalk, full of cars where most of the richest of the rich with their Mustangs and Porsches parked. Trucks, broken down shitboxes and the expensive littered the parking space. When passing one of the trucks with a bunch of boys huddled in the bed, a boy, black slicked mullet, stood and threw cat calls at you while the rest of them ogled. You of course rolled your eyes and went on your way, reaching to the end of the parking space.

     Like always when you reached the end there was sometimes was a few empty spaces where the towns infamous Trans Am was parked. They didn’t always park there but when they did you always got uncomfortable as you passing that car knowing that you’ll get a comment from one of them. You’d tried avoiding them as much as possible, as about a month ago at lunch you accidentally tripped Henry up when he was holding his tray. Making his food fly all over the students in front of him. Now you were on his radar since then he’s always gone out of his way to bother the hell out of you. They all huddled up in front of Belch’s car, Vic sat on the hood along with Henry while Patrick and Belch leaned back on the passenger doors. You hated how they all stood there, one by one noticing you making your way over. Patrick gawked at you with his mouth parted, the corners of his mouth pooling saliva, like you were a little gift all wrapped just for him. 

     “Is it just me or is it really cold out here?” Victor was the one to crack the joke to make you stop in your tracks, trying to process what he was even talking about.

    “Oh?” Was the only thing to leave your lips as you saw victor pointing at your shirt making your gaze follow down. He was pointing at the clear outline of one of your nipples that were poking out at the fabric of your shirt making it obvious for anyone including them to see. In disgust your instinct was to move your backpack straps over to have some sort of cover from those perverts.

     “You’re welcome princess!”

     All you could do was bat, roll your eyes at them snickering and walk away, there was no reason to pick a fight this early in the morning. You made your way around the corner making your way to the front entrance. Ignoring everyone else, you pushed through the crowds at the that stood in tight circles that were blocking the doorway.

    After walking in and taking the long way, the loud stomps of your worn out sneakers echoed throughout the small empty hall breaking the painful silence. Arriving to your locker, you glanced around noticing how odd it was that no one else was already at the lockers. You threw a history textbook in your bag, reassuring yourself that everyone that came in early were probably already in class. Shutting your locker, you began to head for your first class when you heard someone behind you whistle. Thinking it was the janitor just whistling while mopping the floor you ignored it. Until you heard loud footsteps stomping from behind you, getting closer and closer. It was obvious that someone was trying hard to get your loving attention. Turning around to see the one and only Patrick Hockstetter standing only four feet away from you. 

     When his eyes locked into yours, thoughts about the terrifying stuff you heard of about him slithered into your head. All the creepy shit Gretta said about him out loud in your class really got to you, like the “rumor” about flies he’d swat and swipe into his pencil bag for keeps. What could he possibly need from you, only you could dream that it would be innocent this time as from the last time it was vile.

    “The hell you want Hockstetter?” Your voice squeaked with concern, making his snarky grin grow even more. He inched closer towards, hunched towering over your body.

    “I and the guys were wonderin’ what time do those legs open.” He sneered at you seeing as he knew that your reaction would turn into disgust. You knew how perverted he was, but decided to play along with his game and see if it would surprise him if you responded willingly. It was your last few day you’d see these fuckers so why not play with their heads.

    “Maybe you should ask your boyfriends since they definitely don’t open anytime soon for you.” You send him a forced wink, giving him a taste of his own medicine by smirking at him. His shit-eating grin was dropped at that remark, but Hockstetter had something up his sleeve.

    “Maybe if you stop stuffing your bra in gym all the time then maybe someone would notice you.” His attempt to piss you off was unsuccessful but it caught you in a tiny fit of adrenaline. You stuck your tongue out at him, spiting a fat loogie on him before running off, heading for your class. From the way you ran, it looked like you were trying out for the cross country team. 

    Arriving to class you immediately made your way to your desk. Putting your bag down onto the floor, you took a seat at your desk. The blinds of the classroom window were open causing you to be exposed to everyone passing that class. So of course Patrick would follow you and stand in front of the window. Too busy messing with the workbook, you had no idea who had came in the room. Thinking it was another few classmates coming in, you didn’t pay too much mind.

     Someone grabbed you by the hair, pulling your head back to see that Patrick was now towering over you again.

     “Next time you spit on me, I’ll spit in that pretty mouth of yours princess. Only warning.” With that he leaned in, licking from your cheek to neck before letting go and walking away. You took the edge of your shirt heavily wiping at the damp saliva that was left on your cheek. 

    Minutes later the rest of the class had been inside and class had started. You had been focusing on your paper you were writing. A paper wad hit the back of your head, you turned seeing Henry just a seats behind you. He had good aim and perfect range for your head.

     You moved over grabbing the wad that was now on the floor, smoothing out the crumbled piece of paper on your desk. It was a sloppy written note.

    “Your ass is ours. Watch it!” You read out to yourself, quietly so Henry couldn’t hear you. Great, now you got your main sign that you were a target, all because you spat on Patrick. You turn to look at him again, he does a gesture; dragging his finger across his neck before looking away with a shit-eating grin. Getting up from your seat, crumbling the paper back up, you threw it in the trash making sure he was watching. 

    The rest of the class period was just Henry trying to get your attention but you ignored every attempt he came up with until the bell rang. Which you piled up pushing though kids trying to not end up facing him again just yet.

    The rest of the school day was filled with the gang trying to get your loving attention, knocking into you in the halls, writing little “love” notes and following you around. Patrick managed to find you walking down an empty hall and attempted to unzip himself and show what the talk was all about. Minutes before the last bell you get an idea, a horrible idea that might end up having your name spread around town. You took a second contemplating it, as it was the last year you’d ever be in town. Making a decision last minute you decided to definitely follow through with it. Rushing out of class to get your things from your locker. Once you had everything you made your way to the exit, heart pounding.

     Your heart stops as you see the boys piled up by the lockers next to the open door. By now you were rethinking your choice, but end up not giving a shit and sneaking over to where they stood.  Giving a light tap on Patrick’s turned back making him swing back. They all notice you and perk up turning towards you, giving you their attention.

    “Hey Bowers, is this what you wanted?” You smirk as you raise your shirt with no problem, showing your bare breasts to them. Henry’s unlit cigarette fell from his mouth as his lips parted, stunned like the others. Patrick had other plans as he reached his hands out to you, attempting to grab you. Dodging him you held onto your backpack as you took off, running through the crowd to the front door.

     Once you ran outside, you hid behind the bush in front of the parking lot exactly in front of Belch’s car. It wasn’t too long before you could see them arrive at the spot.

     “We need to find her now.” Victor’s voice could be heard, it sounded as if you were a lamb that they were looking to slaughter. Waiting until they left, you made up your mind to walk through the back ways to the quarry. They wouldn’t possibly find you there. It had only been ten minutes and you had been halfway there to the quarry.

     The neighborhood you strolled was nice and quiet, the only sound being the soft chirping of the birds. You felt that this would be the start of a great night. Distance sounds of a engine revving up was coming closer and closer, making you anxious. Turning around, there was nothing in sight but you knew it was coming closer. Picking up the pace you kept your eyes at where the sound was coming from. You watched a old busted Cutlass Ciera pull down the street and pass you. A sigh of relief left your lips until you realized that car wasn’t making the noise you heard before.

     You watched as the Trans Am you saw before hit on the brakes at the stop sign at the curb.

    “Fuck!” You went a full sprint, running as fast as you could across the concrete. The noise of them hitting on the gas ruined the previous calm ambiance. It wasn’t to long before they had caught up, pulling up beside you.

     “Where you’d think you were going princess!” Patrick hung out the car window, yelling out to you. You made a sudden stop watching the car fly by you, and ran down a side street.

      In the background, the noise of a car door slamming was heard behind you. Running through the countless houses lining the , you spotted a elderly couple sitting on their front porch at the end of the street. It was your goal to reach them.

     Not paying attention to your surrounding you missed your step and your left foot fell into a hole. You twisted your ankle, hissing in pain as you fell over onto the grass. But you couldn’t lose hope now, you push yourself up and stumble across the grass. With every step you could feel the swelling pain from your ankle.

     Loud footsteps on the pavement came closer and closer to you, making you panic and almost losing your footing. You watched as the car you saw before hard stop before pulling down the road inching closer to you.

    Going to turn, someone purposely knocked into you from behind. They gripped you from behind, preventing you from moving your arms. Causing you to struggle from their grip. All you could do was scream out to the elderly couple.

     All hope was lost, you could see as the couple leave from the porch and go into their front door in fright. You were helpless. It was as if you were a fly that flew into a spider web.

     “Let me go please.” You pleaded with whoever held you from behind.

     “How bout you beg some more, it ain’t gonna do you any good.” It was Henry, he had tightened his grip on you. The car pulled up beside the two of you and you watched as Patrick climbed to the front. He opened the door, Henry dragged you close until Patrick was able to get his hands onto you. He roughly pulled you into the back, scratching you in the process causing you to shriek.

     “Ouch you fuck!” You looked at the deep scratch mark that he had left on your arm. Elbowing him in the face, one of his hands goes to his face where you hit him. Victor sprung into action, grabbing duct tape and wrapped it around your hands. You were already in some pain from your swollen ankle.

    “Why’d you do that princess?” Patrick had his arms around your waist, his grip feeling dirty on your skin.

    “I was just fucking with you” Henry laughed at your response. 

    “I don’t think so girl, I think you saw something you wanted and you finally are trying to get it.” Henry was intrigued, curious of you. 

    Patrick held you tighter his lap, you could feel something his pants slowly start to harden and slightly press into you. It was slightly uncomfortable since the bulge was pressing firm into you and your skirt rode up. If he hadn’t had pants on he would practically be between your folds. 

    “So what do you want from me huh?” You managed to speak even though the tightened grip on your waist had your heart thumping. Anxious of what they’d do to you.   

    “A game? What kind of game ” Your mind raced at the words that came out of Henry’s mouth, you couldn’t even begin to imagine what sick game they’d thought you had planned.

    “Well all you need to do is pick your poison, the quarry or the junkyard.” You knew a way to get out of this. They just needed to pick the right place and you’d be home free. Besides you had a paper to write and this was just going to take the time away from that.

    “Quarry sounds nice princess.” Belch replied, your reaction to the nickname could be seen plain on your face. He made it sound weirdly arousing, they made the tension obvious. You had this though, You knew your way around 

    “Good Idea, besides we all knew you from there. You sure had an eyeful of us.” Patrick’s thumb traced your hip, swirling a circle pattern into your skin. Belch started the car with no haste.

    The ride was long, and had you on the edge of your seat. Belch wasn’t necessarily a slow or cautious driver most of the time. It wouldn’t make any sense why he was allowed to drive around like that around Derry until you had found out Henry’s dad is a cop.

   Passing by the downtown area, Belch was slowing down as he had spotted some teens; they were around thirteen years old.  Henry turned around, giving Patrick and Victor a look that made your stomach drop. You watch as Henry opens the center console, grab a handful of things. Shaking them in his hand, you could hear small clanks. Pulling up closer, henry cranked his window down. His intentions were clear.

   HIs body was halfway out of the window when Belch stopped the car. Flying out of his hands came pebbles and trash at the teens who had turned away as they spotted them.

   “Yeah! You better run you pussies!” Henry hollered at them, now running into the ally. 

   This kept on for a few more stops, another one being beside a 1989 Porsche Carrera with its sun roof down that had been packed with some of the tops at the high school. Mostly known was the quarterback; He was a brunette, wasn't the best looking but you knew that huge letterman jacket brought him the ladies. Next to him was the cheerleader that wasn’t his girlfriend: generic blonde that wore bright lipstick. 

   “Hey, you’re not Cassie? Victor had his window down now too, now getting in the road fun. The girl turned to him, if looks could kill this would be it for him.

   “Oh piss off you guys, you know to keep it hush.” He tried saying hushed through his teeth back at him. Two girls who had been cruising along with them in the back now looked at each other with confusion and slight disgust. 

   “Not for long.” Patrick could be heard whispering from behind you.  

   “That’s too bad.” You had wondered why the other three had been so silent, they had one last joke to pull. Watching the stop light switch to green, Henry shoves a McDonald’s cup in Victors hand.

   Victor rips of the lid and throws it, landing onto the quarterback. As it splashes all over his lap, Belch put into gear and hauls it down the street. Not stopping for another joke it was a short wait before you had reached your destination. 

   The empty lot that was vacant, over grown with pits of moss and weeds sprouting out of the gravel was the spot people parked if they wanted privacy. You recognized the path as Belch passed the usual lot, proceeding into the one way road that was shaded.

   Pulling in, he put the car in park and turned it of; silencing the sound of Anthrax through the cars speakers. You could feel all eyes land on you, the silence was almost too painful. 

   “So what now sugar.” Belch turned around, waiting for your game plan. The long car ride had made it perfect for you to come up with an escape. Your favorite part about the quarry was that jump that most kids never risk. 

   “A little game of catch me if you can.” Hearing your idea made Henry laugh, a mischievous grin on his face. You heard as the glove box opened and papers wrestling around as Henry struggled to grab something from it. 

   The scent of what you thought was a skunk filled the car, it smelled potent and you couldn’t help but inhale. 

    “There it is.” Henry pulls out a crumbled makeshift soda can and a bag of bud, you thought it was moss. That’s where that smell was coming from, you watched as he opens the bag and sprinkles some of the crushed up buds into the circle shaped dent pushed into the can. After packing it to his liking he turned facing you holding out the can to you. 

  “You ever smoke before?” Henry questioned, you indeed hadn’t you had avoided that crowd, surprisingly staying sober unlike a lot of your peers. 

   “Yes.” You lied, you didn’t want to seem like a pansy to them. Victor laughed dead in your face, it was like he could see right through you.

   “Bullshit, no way you ever smoked.” Patrick released his grip on your sides to reach for the can. 

   “Well if she’s hit a joint or two she can hit this.” Henry remarked at you, his  whole body turned now to look at you; knees on the seat and his hands resting on the head rest. 

   You couldn’t believe you were going to do this especially it being with Henry and his goons.

   “I can light this for you princess.” Patrick brought out a lighter with his other hand. He puts the open hole part to your mouth and brings the lighter to it. You inhale the smoke, taking all it as Patrick dickishly lit the whole bowl. 

    After taking it all, you move your face coughing into your hands as you couldn’t handle the smoke. Patrick laughed at you coughing up your lungs and proceeds to take a hit and pass it off. 

    “I knew you haven’t smoked.” Henry laugh

   “Can one of you get this stupid tape off me so we can start the game.” Your arms had started to hurt from how tight the tape had been placed on your wrists. Henry opened the door and put down his seat to help you out, pulling you over the seat. You sat there as he takes his switchblade out and goes to cut the tape on your wrists. The others were passing around the can still and adding more to it. 

   Ripping the tape from you with out warning, Henry tosses it to the ground. Hands free at last, you rub the area that had previously been in pain from the tape being pulled off.  Flipping open a box of cigarettes, Henry took a moment to speak.

   “What’s the game plan, we going to chase after you? Follow you for a certain prize?” He loved and fantasized about the thought of the perfect cat and mice game. Besides he’d loved your idea of the prize, he wanted you since he saw you take a peek. Tossing the switchblade at you, he turned his attention to the pack. Picking up a cigarette, he took a look as if he wanted if offer you one but relucted.  He lights his cigarette, taking a long drag before blowing it in your direction.

   “I guess you can say that you’ll have to catch me, trust me I don’t think you know my plan.” Henry sneered at your comment as he watches you cut and rip off the rest of the tape that held your ankles together. 

   When you struggle to begin to stand up, he holds his hand out for you. Pulling you up, Henry pulls himself into you, his breath trailing on your neck before moving to your ear. 

    “When I catch you, your sweet little ass is mine. I will fuck you until you are sore and you legs shake slut.” The pure look of shock was present on your face, jaw wide open at his main proposition. He didn’t come to bully and fight you, he came to fuck you. 

   He pulls away as the others started to get out of the car, shutting both car doors. Belch comes up to you two, taking the cigarette from Henry and switching it with the can. Inhaling the smoke he takes a moment before blowing it into your face. 

   After taking a moment standing up it hit you like a train, the static feeling getting more intense. You were high as balls and hadn’t felt so woozy in your entire life.

   “I think its hitting for her.” They all laughed at the sight of you, it felt like your heart was flying around your chest. The slight grin from the feeling on your face said it all.

   “Shut up! Are we all ready to start” You elbowed Patrick who had been close behind you. Belch nodded, Victor and Patrick pulling stuff out of their pockets and throwing it into the cars window. While they were off doing that you started to where the cliff was, only stopping to look back at them. 

   “Slowly follow me.” Limping slowly your way over to the cliff jump, your ankle still stung but the feeling was numbed slightly. Getting five feet away from the cliff you turn to look at them.

   “There no way you have the balls to jump in.” Lucky for you you had concurred the cliff two years prior. Leaning over you pull your shoes off, throwing them by a dead bush and raise your shirt of your head. Chest in full display you didn’t stop there as you unbutton your skirt and let it drop at your feet.

  The boys were in awe speechless and stunned at your actions to strip. Patrick began rubbing himself in his pants at the sight of you. If they didn’t know the objective of what was happening they should've known now. 

   “You have twenty seconds until you can jump in, try to catch me if you can boys!” Turing around you take one final breath and you jump off with no hesitation. It felt as if you were stuck in air in slow motion as you cascaded down.

    Landing, you make a huge splash as your body hits the cool water. The rush of adrenaline giving you a shock of excitement. Your skin tingled as you were fully submerged in the water.  As you began to swim up to the surface, the sound of shouting could be heard from up above. Getting a breath you look up, moving the wet hair covering your face to see the guys standing over the edge. Their lustful sneers showing up on their faces as they spot you in the water. You start to make your way following the plan. The ultimate plan was to try to not have them catch you, give them blue balls, find the trail you go to get up back to the top.

    “There you are, were comin’ in to get ya.” Henry shouted out loud enough so you could hear him. They start to take off their clothes off tossing them to the side as you did. Belch hesitated before pulling his hat off and throwing it at them.

   “I don’t know about you guys but I’m heading in, lets see who gets her first.” He leaps off into the water leaving the guys to stumble to get the rest of their garments off. Belch lands in and following is Henry, Victor and Patrick all in order now.

    “Holy shit my balls are cold!” Victor screams out obviously not used to the quarry temperature. They get halfway towards you, Belch in lead as you get to the trail entrance.  

    “Catch me if you can boys!” You shouted limping up the path to the top of the cliff. Obviously, they were going to follow you since you were butt naked and kinda giving them a chance. As soon as you got up there you hid behind Belch’s car not making a sound as the loud stomps of feet come up to the car. You weren’t paying attention as Patrick sneaked up behind you by grabbing you which made you screech. He pulled up onto the trunk of Belch’s car which you were now facing a group of naked boys.

    Henry forcefully nudged Patrick away from you, slamming his lips onto yours, kissing you roughly. The heat was flowing through the both of you, his hands tracing your body. His lips are removed from yours as he traces down to your neck, sucking and biting down. You knew that you were gonna end up with a lot of marks on your body. Your eyes open to the sound of shuffling, and you see belch putting on his clothes in the car and bringing out some blankets. He lays them on the ground neatly, his face was bright. Belch comes over and nudges Henry that there were blankets on the ground for them. Henry picks you off of the car and puts you down on the ground.

     Victor comes to you first as he sits next to you leaning on you, kissing your neck. one hand comes up to your breast, gently squeezing your nipples as you squirmed and the other is focused on your dipping core. You’ve never felt this good for a long time ago, and you never wanted it to end. Henry threw a box of condoms at him while laughing and Vic took one out. He tore one side of it, took the condom out, and rolled it on him. He laid you down while stroking himself to get ready.   

      “Are you ready?” Vic asked biting his lip, you smiled up at him and nodded. He lines up his hard cock with your entrance, his face bright red. He pushes in into you causing you to gasp and moan, his head finds a spot in your neck as he bites off a groan of his own. His hips went painfully slow as he could feel that you fit around him so nicely. He didn’t want this to end so quick so he stopped his hips for a moment to get some relief before starting up again.

     “God, you’re so tight” He looked at you with eyes full of lust as could barely manage to speak as his thrusts were getting faster and sharper. His fingers lingered on your clit as if he knew you were close. His thumb circling the spot only making you squirm even more and he could tell. The pleasure for you was unbearable, your moans getting louder by the second. Until you felt his hips finally snap, thrusting into you harder than before. At this point, you forgot the guys were even there watching you squeal and drool of the amount of pleasure you were getting. Vic moves his mouth to your neck again sucking and marking a new spot. His body comes to a halt before thrusting a few more times before getting off of you and leaving a kiss on your cheek.

     As soon as Vic walked away Belch comes over to you, a big smile on his face. He sits down and pulls you on his lap. Obviously already ready for you to ride him. He grabs one of the condoms out the box and rips it out of its package. This time you help him roll it on him, and he cringes in pleasure at the feeling of your hand. You move your hips to where your entrance meets the tip of his cock, and his hands grip your hips. His hand pushes your hips down and your mouth drops open at the new position change. His eyes are blown and his mouth ajar at the feeling. He starts thrusting up into you as you work your hips for him, making you and him edge closer to the end. 

     He was getting close as you could feel his cock twitch inside of you. You honestly love that this was happening to you, a girl who is completely different from them. After a few more movements and your orgasm rides through you making you come all over his cock. As you ride out your orgasm you tighten around him, making him fill the condom. You both stay like that for a few seconds before you give him a kiss and get off of him. He gets up and walks over to where Vic was and throws the condom in some random bushes. Henry and Patrick walk towards you in unison and you knew it was going to get wild. Patrick puts your head in his lap and just stares into your eyes. Your hips are moved to the side as Henry’s hands move them. He suddenly slams into you making you collapse at the force. 

     “Jesus, you feel so good.” Henry spat out making you more aroused, Patrick leaned down to silence you by kissing you. Henry went faster and you could hear the sound of your skin slapping along with his. His fingers glided to your clit and you were in heaven. You whined as you could feel yourself get closer to your second orgasm.

“You like that you little slut. Don’t you?” Henry sneered drooling at the exceeding amount of pleasure. Henry’s eyes were rolling out of his skull and his smirk appeared. He groans as soon as he comes, hips snapping into you hard.

     Henry gives your ass a slap as he moves over and he and Patrick switch places, and Henry starts kissing you like before. As soon as Patrick gets his hand onto you, he just dives in, thrusting hard and fast into you. Seeing you all worn out made him just go faster. He leaves a mark by slapping your ass really hard His grin was big and his eyes were bright with lust from the way you looked.

     He wasn’t gonna last long but he still wanted to please you. He leaned over you and put your nipple into his mouth, sucking hard and twirling his tongue around. The pleasure was too much that you came a second time, coating his cock. After that, it only took a few more thrusts until he was finished off. He pulls off of you and Henry helps you up along with Patrick, by this point your legs were jelly. As you were getting carried to the car to put on your clothes something came from me.

     “Holy Shit!” A voice came from behind you, and you turned around to see a tiny group of kids that seemed to be around thirteen.

     “Shut the fuck up wise ass, they heard us!” Another voice spoke out, causing Henry to get Patrick to carry you without him. 

     “If any of you losers say somethin’ about this to anyone, I’ll kill you myself” He yelled out causing them to run away. The gang helped you into your clothes and helped you into the car. You laid down across Vic and Patrick, almost drifting asleep the car ride to your house. As soon as they pulled up to your house you gave them all a kiss on the cheek and try your best to walk to your door seeing the light was still on.

     ”You’re ours now,” Henry says out the window before Belch speeds off, and you smiled. You walk in the door and to your room, not saying a word to your parents. The clothes hit the floor as soon as you step in and you are ready for a nice night of sleep.

The Next Morning

[mxlti-fand0m-imaginess]

How To Request!

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Characters That I Write For!

*= platonic only!

American Horror Story

Tate Langdon

Violet Harmon

Billie Dean Howard

Kit Walker

Lana Winters

Mary Eunice

Kyle Spencer

Zoe Benson

Madison Montgomery

Cordelia Goode

Misty Day

Jimmy Darling

Maggie Esmerelda

Dandy Mott

James March

The Countess

Sally McKenna

Tristan Duffy

Rory Monohan

Kai Anderson

Winter Anderson

Michael Langdon

Mallory

Brooke Thompson

Montana Duke

Xavier Plympton

Bottoms

Hazel Callahan

Criminal Minds

Spencer Reid

Derek Morgan

Aaron Hotchner

Emily Prentiss

Penelope Garcia

Jennifer Jareau

Elle Greenaway

Deadpool

Negasonic Teenage Warhead

Yukio

Domino

Disney

Hiro Hamada*

GoGo Tomago

Honey Lemon

Wasabi

Fred

Tadashi Hamada

Paige Olvera*

Frankie Wong*

Amelia Duckworth*

Mal

Evie

Jay

Carlos

Jane

Audrey

Uma

Ben

Lonnie

Dizzy Tremaine*

Celia Facilier*

Harry Hook

Riley Matthews*

Maya Hart*

Lucas Friar *

Farkle Minkus*

Zay Babineaux*

Mabel Pines*

Dipper Pines*

Wendy Corduroy

Nini Salazar-Roberts

Ricky Bowen

E.J. Caswell

Ashlyn Caswell

Gina Porter

Kourtney

Olivia White

Wen Gifford

Mo Banjaree

Stella Yamada

Charlie Delgado

Scott Pickett

Liv Rooney

Maddie Rooney

Diggie Smalls

Lewis Robinson*

Wilbur Robinson*

Franny Robinson

Billie Robinson

Stargirl Caraway

Leo Borlock

Brady

Mack

Tanner

Lela

Zed Necrodopolis

Addison Wells

Eliza Zambi

Willa Lykensen

Wyatt Lykensen

Wynter Barkowitz

Every Witch Way

Emma Alonso

Andi Cruz

Maddie Van Pelt

Daniel Miller

Jax Novoa

Diego Rueda

Gigi Rueda

Mia Black

Harry Potter

Harry Potter

Hermione Granger

Ron Weasley

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Ginny Weasley

Luna Lovegood

Neville Longbottom

James Potter

Sirius Black

Remus Lupin

Poly!Marauders

Wolfstar

Lily Evans

Heathers

JD

Veronica Sawyer

Heather Chandler

Heather McNamara

Heather Duke

I Am Not Okay With This

Sydney Novak

Dina

Stanley Barber

Bradley Lewis

It

Bill Denbrough*

Beverly Marsh*

Ben Hanscom*

Mike Hanlon*

Richie Tozier*

Eddie Kaspbrak*

Stanley Uris*

Henry Bowers

Patrick Hockstetter

Victor Criss

Belch Huggins

Julie And The Phantoms

Julie Molina

Luke Patterson

Alex Mercer

Reggie Peters

Carrie Wilson

Nick

Flynn Taylor

Willie Ortega

Marvel

Peter Parker

MJ

Wanda Maximoff

Pietro Maximoff

Druig

Makkari

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Stucky

Loki Laufeyson

Natasha Romanoff

Miss Peregrine’s Home For Peculiar Children

Enoch O’Conner

Jacob Portman

Emma Bloom

Olive Abroholos Elephanta

Outer Banks

JJ Maybank

John B. Routledge

Pope Heyward

Kiara Carrera

Sarah Cameron

Rafe Cameron

Scream (Movies)

Billy Loomis

Stu Macher

Poly Ghostface

Sidney Prescott

Tatum Riley

Randy Meeks

Jill Roberts

Charlie Walker

Tara Carpenter

Sam Carpenter

Amber Freeman

Kirby Reed

Ethan Landry

Quinn Bailey

Chad Meeks-Martin

Mindy Meeks-Martin

Scream (Series)

Audrey Jensen

Emma Duval

Brooke Maddox

Zoe Vaughn

Riley Marra

Noah Foster

Kieran Wilcox

Stavo Acosta

Jake Fitzgerald

Stranger Things

Max Mayfield

Eleven

Mike Wheeler

Lucas Sinclair

Dustin Henderson

Nancy Wheeler

Robin Buckley

Eddie Munson

Steve Harrington

Chrissy Cunningham

The Darkest Minds

Ruby Daly

Liam Stewart

Chubs Meriwether

Zu Kimura*

Clancy Gray

The Last Of Us

Joel Miller

Ellie Williams

Tess Servopolous

Abby Anderson

The Outsiders

Ponyboy Curtis

Johnny Cade

Dallas Winston

The 100

Clarke Griffin

Lexa Kom Trikru

Octavia Blake

Raven Reyes

Jasper Jordan

John Murphy

Madi Griffin*

Monty Green

Echo Kom Azgeda

Gaia Kom Trikru

Hope Diyoza

Timeless

Lucy Preston

Wyatt Logan

Rufus Carlin

Garcia Flynn

Emma Whitmore

Jiya Marri

Victorious

Tori Vega

Jade West

Cat Valentine

Andre Harris

Beck Oliver

Robbie Shapiro

Voyagers

Christopher

Sela

Zac

Willow

Kit Tanthalos

Jade Claymore

Elora Danan

X-Men

Peter Maximoff

Kurt Wagner

Hank McCoy

Jean Grey

Scott Summers

Alex Summers

Yellowjackets

Shauna Shipman

Jackie Taylor

Natalie Scatorccio

Misty Quigley

Taissa Turner

Van Palmer

Travis Martinez

Lottie Matthews

Callie Sadecki

[alstanfordart]

Bob’s Nightmare. Scene below.

@queenoftheclownsme

@theblackrosegoddess

It awoke. Not particularly rested. Its mind had drifted. Drifted back to the Todash, leaving Its material presence hidden beneath the ground, safely stashed away in a dark crevice of the cave. As Its conscious was violently ripped back into Its avatar of Robert Gray, It could feel the wound. No healing. Something had awakened It.

Not healed. Not healed but awake prematurely.

Confused, It staggers up, focusing Its one eye, seeing only black. Hearing creaking sounds and door slamming. Unable to see a few feet in front of It with just a subtle hint of weak light from an unknown source. It begins to walk and as It does, It hears, at the edge of the darkness, children singing;

'Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clement's, you owe me five farthings, say the bells of St. Martin's.'

It pauses in Its steps as It sees a flash of yellow accompanied by giggling.

A boy.

The voice of the child causes unease as another blur of yellow dashes past, before the child appears before It, partially obscured by the shadows save for emerald rain boots stark against the midnight and a speck of light in each iris.

What the Hell is this?

Little Georgie Denbrough in his slick rain coat, skin flaps dangling from his bloody stump as he slowly reveals himself as a gentle sound of thunder and rain drift out from behind him.

The boy approaches, neutral expression, standing before It.

"Why did you kill me?" Georgie asks, his round face pale, his eyes rimmed with dark circles as he gazes up. "I didn't do anything. I just wanted my boat."

Georgie holds out his hand, the paper boat sitting on his tiny fingers, blood starting to seep through and engulf the faded paper.

"It wasn't anything personal kid, I was hungry." Robert growls, lip curling up in disgust and taking a step back from this unwelcome mirage.

Like It needs to justify Itself to this brat. He is what led to Its confrontation with the hated ones. Perhaps had It targeted another child...

But maybe that would have lead to an entirely different group of children targeting It.

Maybe the Final Other intended it that way.

And that boat. That fucking boat is what started the whole mess.

It doesn't pursue this train of thought further, as it enrages It.

There's a shift in Georgie's melancholy demeanor and a creepy grin breaks out as he bends down to place his boat on a thin river of blood that has manifested, suspended a few feet above the ground.

Georgie then steps back, his form breaking apart as it evaporates upwards into the darkness as the now crimson-soaked boat starts to glide along as the singing starts up again;

'When will you pay me? Say the bells at Old Bailey. When I grow rich, say the bells at Shoreditch.'

Robert stares down at the boat as it starts to move, the blood river carrying it along. The boat's route becomes altered as the river begins to flow out, a small wave lifting it through the air. Robert's gaze follows as a red-haired woman appears amid the swirling ruby.

Beverly Marsh.

"Well, aren't you a sight," she smirks, hands perched upon her hips. "Just as bad as the time I stabbed you in the head. Couldn't sleep that one off, huh?"

The little bitch.

Snarling, quill teeth now jetting out his mouth, Robert lunges, only to have her vaporize as he goes to tear at her throat. Her disembodied laugh echoing around him. The blood river drifts off, taking the small boat along as it disappears into the gloom as a cream-colored wooden door appears. It steadily swings open, revealing a bathroom. Robert refrains from coming closer, but the room appears to envelope him, moving on its own.

The steam cloud blanketing the area barely conceals a dark-haired man slouched in a bathtub.

Stanley Uris, head lolling against his shoulder.

Spotting Robert, he sits up as he holds out his wrists, thin slashes appearing and dripping, inking the bath water red and dotting the white porcelain.

"I got to grow up at least." he says.

Robert gives a contemptuous scoff. "You did that to yourself."

"After you came to me." Stan retorts, lowering his arms slowly, staring blankly at Robert, a little half-smile just barely showing. Robert quickly retreats, slamming the door as it dissolves in a puff of thin smoke.

It is growing increasingly uncomfortable. Anxious. It must get out of here, whatever this is.

A dream. A nightmare.

Limbo? Had It been killed while slumbering?

Robert's head darts around as he searches the area, strange clanking sounds and echos vibrate in the distance coupled with a growing forest of giggling children's voices and the baaing of sheep.

'When will that be? Say the bells of Stepney. I do not know, says the great bell at Bow.'

Mike Hanlon comes forth, holding up a photo album. Opening it, there are various photographs of black birds.

"We're all afraid of something-even you." he says as the birds come to life and begin to flap their wings and squawk, emerging from the album's pages in droves, growing larger in size as they fly at Robert, pecking at him, their beady eyes glowing yellow. He ducks down and swats at them, growling as Mike fades into the dark.

As the birds swoop away, another familiar male voice appears.

"What's up clown man!" Richie Tozier jumps out, bat in hands as Robert, startled, stumbles backwards.

Ugh, of all the Losers, It had hated this one the most. The insulting little shit.

Richie continues to swing the bat, the wood making audible swooshing sounds that cut through the air.

Roaring, Robert grabs at the weapon, only to have his hands pass through it, tumbling forward as Richie cackles.

"Hey, no! Sorry no cigar! You know this place is worse than that crack house." he says, as he pauses to adjust his glasses.

Another final voice, immediately recognizable.

"He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts, he thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts."

Bill Denbrough steps forth from the tenebrosity, the boat pinched between his fingers.

"You're not real. None of you are. Old age took you back to the weeds long ago." Robert says glaring at him, his one iris starting to spark as Bill approaches.

Save for Mike. All are gone.

Bill smirks. "We're not real enough for you?" he replies, chuckling as an inhaler rolls out beside his feet. Eddie Kaspbrak reaches down to pluck it up, standing alongside Bill.

Raising it to his lips, he halts. "I actually don't need this anymore." Eddie says as he chucks it casually over his shoulder.

Richie moves to stand by them along with Mike and Beverly, with Georgie close behind, followed by Ben Hanscom, who holds up a piece of a large eggshell, black and shiny. Robert's expression drops at the sight, an angry grimace exposing his razor incisors.

Stanley Uris suddenly joins them, that same barely-smile still there. Almost mocking.

Robert glances around at his former adversaries.

"You should have stayed out of it. All of you, had you just kept to your business, let me have what I wanted, Stan and Eds would have lived longer, happier lives. I would have been nothing more than fragments of a forgotten dream. Amnesia is a kindness."

"We forgot, but you haven't forgotten us," Mike offers. "Have you?"

"We're still here," Bill adds, tapping the tip of the paper boat against his temple. "Can't escape that."

The eight are now bordering around him, with more emerging from behind: Candice Swain, Veronica Dell, the drunk Samuel, Colin and Hank Dobson, Esther, Noah Brady, the Muncy family, Julie, the hateful redhead Heather Taggart, Brandon Wilkes, Emily and her mother and the rest of the newest souls he'd claimed on this planet as well as his victims from Derry; the boys from the tunnel, Derek Stuart and James, Henry Bowers, Patrick Hockstetter decked out in his cartoon cat shirt, features chewed, the other two punks from the Bower's gang whose names he couldn't be bothered to remember, their necks bloodied, ripped open. Betty Ripsom, little Victoria, Adrian Mellon and the faces of endless Derry children and adults, some recognizable, some barely a hint of familiarity, many just a passing blip on his existence like pretty Martha and naive Alison. Many he'd used and killed like Tom Rogan, some that survived his Deadlights like Audra Denbrough.

As well as the unfortunate wife of the true Robert Gray, Agnes and their daughter Emma. Scowling and hateful.

Decades upon decades of victims. Many missing limbs, their eyeballs gouged out, blood bubbling from their mouths.

"Why'd you kill me?"

"You ripped my legs off and left my body in a ditch."

"You ate my baby. My only son."

"My father died from a broken heart after I went missing."

"They only found my head with no eyes."

Whispering, talking, with some laughing menacingly, all tinted in dull green-blue as the numbers begin to grow as more appear behind them.

Then a few clear a path, allowing another achingly familiar figure to step into the bleak light.

Mirasal.

She moves to stand before him, bringing her arms up to scissor them across her chest, she gives him a somber scowl.

Robert lowers himself to his knees, keeping his gaze locked with hers as resentment and hatred glimmer within her cerulean disks.

"What was that you told me? That I could trust you?" she says, giving a repulsed head shake.

No. This is not her. Remember that. None of this is real.

Just a dream. It's not real.

Robert hangs his head in his hands. "I don't want to hurt you." he mutters into his palms, his face shooting up at the sound of her chuckling derisively.

"Like I would believe you, you even thought about killing me," she replies. "Or perhaps give me a little scare."

With that, she leaps forward, her mouth unhinging, the blue eyes switching to ebony as she comes at him with her claws out. Robert winces back, covering his face, ducking his head down, only to feel nothing. He gingerly peeks out from beneath his fingers.

She's vanished. But the others, their irises blacking out to mimic that same appearance, still remain. All begin to draw closer, the Loser's Club at the forefront, their hands growing paler, some stained with blood splatter, grabbing at him as they close in, swaying back and forth, becoming more zombie-like.

"Get away from me," Robert rapidly stands, whirling around, panic gripping him as he growls, his one intact pupil now burning bright. "Get away."

"We all float down here, Robert. Float with us. Float with us. " they all cantillate in unison. "Float with us."

"No, no. Leave me alone." Robert drops back down to the ground, cowering, shielding himself from their increasingly grotesque faces, their features shriveling up and dropping to the ground. Their cackles resounding through his skull, magnified.

"You'll float too! You'll float too! You'll float too!"

"No!" Robert shouts, covering his ears as the area begins to spin, the faces around him now blending together. "No! No! No! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Their laughing abruptly ceases, their fingers no longer grabbing and prodding at him, and all is quiet save for the angelic crooning beginning to rise again;

'Here comes a candle to light you to bed.'

Robert follows the source, coming into view of a tall lithe figure, its slouching back facing him, standing in the center of a circle of light. The air above has red balloons hovering, completely still as Robert approaches, pausing every other step as the being becomes more visible, its ruffled off-white costume beginning to twitch as it turns to face him, bells jingling.

Robert stands facing his favorite form as it gives an empty grin.

What?

"Here comes a candle to light you to bed." Pennywise says as he reaches his elongated gloved fingers to grip the nape of Robert's neck. His eyes are two empty sockets, devoid of any color, his teeth yellowed needles as he brings his ghostly features closer, smooth, almost as if they were set in porcelain. Without warning he slams Robert to the ground, the strings of the balloons suspended above gently blow in response as he straddles him.

"Time to pay the piper, ol' Bob Gray," Pennywise intones as he lowers his teeth, only an inch from Robert's visage of both fear and confusion, the dripping saliva strings cold against his skin. Pennywise traces a bony finger along Robert's nose. "And here comes a chopper to chop off your head! Chip chop chip chop, the last man is dead!" he starts to maniacally cackle.

Squeezing his lids, Robert lets out a roar, fighting to free himself, thrashing beneath his double.

And just like that, the clown and the balloons are gone.

[davidskam]

rules: answer 21 questions about yourself and tag 21 mutuals who you want to know better

i was tagged by @thewhatgay and @massiveweirdo

okay i’ll be honest. i don’t keep track of mutuals. like i just don’t care about that kind of thing. so if you want to do this just say that i tagged you!

nickname: nick

zodiac sign: sagittarius (pisces moon cancer rising)

height: 5’5” :( i wanna be taller

hogwarts house: according to the sortinghatchats new sorting quiz i’m a slytherin primary and a slytherin secondary, and i model ravenclaw primary! i also get slytherin on pottermore if anyone cares about that anymore (i don’t)

last thing i googled: patrick hockstetter (i was watching IT chapter 1 and wanted to spell his name right while texting my friend about how i gender envy him in the movie. i do NOT gender envy book patrick hockstetter)

fav musicians: hmm i don’t listen to a lot of specific artists. i usually get listen to whatever comes up in my discover weekly on spotify. BUT i like hozier, harry styles, lil phag, still woozy, dayglow, johnny goth, and dillon francis

song stuck in my head: diamond by good intent

following: 451

followers: 755

do you get asks: on occasion but not very often

amount of sleep: depends. if i have class the next morning probably 7/8 hours. if i don’t have class more like 10

what are you wearing?: sweats and a hoodie

dream job: ohhh idk.... i’ve always wanted to be a writer but that’s a hard thing to say. being an english teacher would be cool. more recently i’ve been interested in the idea of being an editor. even MORE recently i’ve been toying with the idea of screenwriting or directing. i also want to be a sheep farmer in iceland (see next question)

dream trip: ICELAND. i’ve wanted to go to iceland for YEARS now i want to move there and farm sheep it’s a pipe dream for me i want it more than ANYTHING

languages: i’m only fluent in english and i’ve been learning german on duolingo for 161 days

10 fav songs: these aren't necessarily in order 

the night by HONNE

like real people do by hozier

something, in general by ritt momney

bruise by ryan beatty

dope on a rope by the growlers

talk by khalid

idontloveyou by EYUKALIPTUS

i’m just a buzzkill by mickey darling

i can’t handle change by roar

dancin closer to the edge by johnny goth

random fact: oh god ummm. my go to answer for questions like this is always that i live in alaska. people usually think thats cool. i like to read? i’m an english major so that comes with the territory. i have over 50 unread books on my bookshelf. 

my aesthetic: the smell of lemon. warm sweaters. hair just long enough to fall into your eyes. loud laughter. endless amounts of books. yearning. nails bitten down as far as they can go. septum piercings. vaguely homoerotic indie music. the color grey. long car rides. judgmental looks. biting your lips (biting your tongue). colorful sunsets. skirting the edge of being a little too mean. plants. the smell of fall. the northern lights. tattoos. lighthouses. dreams of being far away.

[reddieao3feed]

Sonnet sur la fin du monde

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/33VPUq1

by ScytheOwens

Maturin a décidé de donner des armes supplémentaires aux ratés afin de combattre Pennywise. Mais rien ne se passe comme prévu pour la tortue gardienne.

Words: 390, Chapters: 1/?, Language: Français

Fandoms: IT (2017)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Underage

Categories: M/M

Characters: Pennywise (IT), Bill Denbrough, Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak, Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom, Mike Hanlon, Stanley Uris, Henry Bowers, Victor Criss, Patrick Hockstetter, Reginald "Belch" Huggins

Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Pennywise, Henry Bowers/Victor Criss/Patrick Hockstetter/Reginald "Belch" Huggins, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris

Additional Tags: Lemon, Love, Alien Sex, Foursome - M/M/M/M

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/33VPUq1

[ambrossart]

PAPER MEN

— CHAPTER 22

SUMMARY: All Evelyn Tozier wanted to do was make Derry High School a safer place for her kid brother. Well, somewhere between kissing Patrick Hockstetter and telling the principal to go f*** himself, things got a little off track. Now she’s stuck in the middle of a bizarre love triangle with two of Derry’s most troubled teens while her little brother and his friends hunt down a creepy, child-eating circus clown. This year, summer can’t come fast enough. PAIRINGS: Henry Bowers x Tozier!Sister; Patrick Hockstetter x Tozier!Sister WARNINGS: violence, profanity, sexual content (not smut), bullying, physical abuse, sexual abuse, emotional abuse, all kinds of abuse, trauma, mental illness, implied/referenced self-harm, child death, angst, lots of angst, recreational drug use, underage drinking, love triangles, unrequited love, toxic relationships, slow burn, slow build

WORD COUNT: 9,535

MASTERPOST

The Toziers ate baked ziti that night, along with a Caesar salad, which came from a bag, and a basket of store-bought bread. The dish was too salty for Evelyn’s liking, but otherwise it was okay. Not great, not terrible. Meanwhile, the Crisses were eating pan-seared salmon for dinner, with a lemon garlic butter sauce. Evelyn caught a whiff of it while she was leaving. The entire first floor smelled like a French bistro, or at least what she imagined one would smell like. In truth, the closest Evelyn had ever been to a French bistro was cooking along with Julia Child in her ninth-grade home ec class. Her beef bourguignon came out tough, dry, and way too salty. Turns out, Evelyn had inherited her mother’s lackluster cooking skills.

Earlier in the kitchen, while Evelyn was coloring her diagram of a prokaryotic cell, she said to her mother, “Did you know Mrs. Criss cooks all her meals from scratch? Seriously, nothing comes pre-made. She even makes her own herb blends and sauces.”

“Well, Tabby loves to cook,” Maggie Tozier replied, and then poured canned tomato sauce over a skillet of ground Italian sausage. “Plus, she doesn’t have a job that sucks up most of her time.”

“Yeah, I know that,” and Evelyn hadn’t meant it to sound like a jab at her working mother. “It’d just be nice to do something like that here every once in a while.”

Maggie turned around, her right hand instinctively settling on her hip. “You know, sweetie, you could always cook a few dinners yourself. Hmm? How does that sound? We’ll set aside one night a week for you to make whatever your little heart desires, and you can do it all from scratch, just like you want.”

Evelyn frowned. “I don’t have time for all that. I’m too busy.”

“Ha!” Her mother’s voice boomed with vindication. “See? Now you know my struggle. Those big, fancy meals sound like a lotta fun until you realize how exhausting they are, and I’m tired enough as it is, thank you very much.”

“Well, how about on holidays?” Evelyn suggested. “Thanksgiving’s coming up. Can we have a real Thanksgiving dinner this year? Please?”

“What’s wrong with our current Thanksgiving dinner?”

“You buy a pre-cooked turkey, instant mashed potatoes, and boxed stuffing. I think we can put in a little more effort than that.” Evelyn picked up her sky blue pencil and went back to coloring. Halfway through the cytoplasm, she said under her breath, “Or maybe we could go to the Crisses’ for Thanksgiving this year…”

Maggie Tozier flashed a triumphant smile. “And there it is. I knew we’d get there, eventually. I’m sorry, Evelyn, but we can’t go to the Crisses’ for Thanksgiving. It’s our turn to host, remember? Your aunt and uncle are coming, all your cousins are coming, and your grandparents are flying up from Scottsdale just to see you.”

“I know, I know… but Mrs. Criss invited me, and there’s gonna be pie.”

Pumpkin. Apple. Cherry. With hand-whipped cream! Oh, Victor had no idea how lucky he was.

Maggie said, “There’ll be plenty of pie here, too.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same.” The ones her mother bought from the store had an unpleasant aftertaste. “Besides, you just wanna use me as a shield against Grandma and Grandpa.”

Her mother didn’t even try to deny it. “That’s why I gave birth to you, sweetie. You’ve been acting as my shield since you were a baby.”

“Well, why can’t you use Richie as your shield for once?”

“Oh, your brother’s more like a hand grenade. I only whip him out when I’m backed into a corner. Or when your aunt Cheryl comes to visit.”

Cheryl Stojak was Wentworth’s older sister, and she was twice as critical of Maggie as Sonia Kaspbrak was. Luckily, she lived on the other side of the country with her husband, a city councilman, and their three children. She only visited once every four years (kind of like the Olympics) because Derry was too dreary for her. At the end of her last visit, she pulled Wentworth aside and said, “You might wanna consider a change of scenery, for your children’s sake. California has a lot of great private schools, and you know we wouldn’t mind pulling a few strings for family. Just something to think about.”

Yeah, they would think about it, all right… right after Maggie tossed Cheryl’s latest self-help book into the trash. And that’s how I find my inner peace.

Maggie drained a pot of penne pasta and set it aside while the sauce simmered on the stove. After drying her hands, she pulled out a chair and sat down across from her daughter. “So, you’ve been spending a lot of time at the Crisses’ lately. Are we back to that again?”

Evelyn glowered at her, unamused. “No, we’re not. And can you not say it like that, please? You’re making me sound like some floozy.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to keep track of all your crushes. You go back and forth quite a bit.” She moved her finger back and forth like a metronome.

“I’m a teenager; indecision comes with the territory. And what do you mean, all my crushes? I’ve only had, like, four my whole life.” And one (Brad, a counselor at Camp Chewonki, who Evelyn swore looked just like Jason Bateman) barely counted because he was five years her senior and already taken. He wore a promise ring and everything. “Besides, I’m completely done with Victor, and have been for a while. That was just some silly childhood infatuation. I’m a mature woman now, with mature feelings.” She declared this proudly with her hand pressed to her chest.

Her mother snorted and went to stand. “Yeah, well, you better be careful with those mature feelings. That’s how you wind up pregnant.”

She slid the ziti into the oven to finish cooking.

Evelyn wasn’t lying when she said she was done with Victor Criss. That ship had sailed years ago, crashed into a rocky coastline, capsized, and sank to the bottom of the sea.

At first, the whole thing felt like some great tragedy, like the destruction of Pompeii or, more appropriately, the sinking of the Titanic. Evelyn spent the whole weekend locked in her bedroom with a copy of Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë (it was required reading for her eighth-grade English class), and she identified a little too strongly with the plight of Catherine and Heathcliff. By Saturday night, Evelyn was convinced that she would never experience true love again, that this one moment of heartbreak would torture her forever, and even if she married someday, her soul would never find peace, and she would die an empty shell of a woman and then haunt Victor for the rest of his life, because that’s what he deserved.

But then Evelyn reached the last page of the book, where a student before her had scribbled in pen: this book BLOWS, and she realized, with sobering maturity, this wasn’t the kind of relationship she wanted at all. So she wrote her book report, turned it in, got an A, and moved on with her life.

Turns out, that old cliche was right: there were plenty of other fish in the sea. Of course, in Evelyn’s case, she was more like the fish than the fisherman. She was just swimming around, minding her own business, and then—bam!—there was a hook in her lip.

And I’m still trying to get that one out, Evelyn was thinking now. Sucker’s in real deep.

The butter dish passed in front of her face. Richie Tozier was already on his fourth piece of bread.

“And that’s your last one,” his mother told him, and pulled the basket out of his reach. “If you’re still hungry, there’s plenty of salad.” Maggie turned her attention back to Evelyn. “Anyway, how are all the homecoming preparations coming along? Did you finally settle on a skit?”

Evelyn rested her chin on her palm while she cracked apart croutons with her fork. “Yeah, Jake and I came up with a couple ideas.”

Her little brother snickered. “Jake Newham…”

Evelyn swiveled her chin toward him. “What’s so funny?”

Her father was curious, too. He lowered his water glass in mid-drink and asked, “Who’s Jake Newham?”

Richie was quick to slam his hand on the buzzer. I’ll take Annoying Brothers for 300, please.

“He’s the senior class president, and a total doorknob.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “He’s not a doorknob. He’s actually a very nice young man with a bright future ahead of him. Did you know he got accepted into Dartmouth? That’s a pretty major school. He thinks he might double major in economics and political science, and then he’ll probably run for congress or something, maybe even become president someday.”

Of course, her father didn’t care about any of that. His focus immediately went to one word.

“He’s a senior?” Wentworth Tozier said. “Oh, I don’t like that.”

“Yeah,” said Richie, grinning with a piece of basil stuck between his front teeth, “and he wants to bang Evelyn.”

“Oh, shut up, he does not.”

Evelyn shoved her brother, and he bounced right back, glasses slipping halfway down his nose. Richie pushed them back up and carried on with a wise-ass grin.

“No, he totally does. He’s always coming up to me at school and asking about you. Guess he figures that’s the quickest way into your pants.”

“He’s just being nice.”

“Yeah, sure he is.” Richie took off his glasses and started cleaning the lenses with the hem of his shirt. “You know he’s gonna ask you to prom, right?”

“No, he’s not.”

And then her father chimed in: “You’re too young to go to prom.”

“I’m not going to prom, Dad. Richie’s just talking out of his ass.”

Richie took a sip of soda, his second cup of the night. “Hey, I’m just repeating what Newham told me. He said he’s planning on getting a hotel room. That way, he can finally lose his virginity and then brag about it to all his friends in the horn section.” To punctuate this, Richie put up his hands and started playing an imaginary trumpet, fingers fluttering across invisible valves. “Brr-brr-brr-brrrr! I’m Jake Newham. I play the trumpet. Brr-brr-brr-brrrr! Brr-brr-brr-brrrr! I wear a retainer at night. Brr-brr-brr—”

Evelyn slammed her hands on the table and yelled, “Oh my god, shut up! Mom, please tell him to shut up!”

In a tired voice, her mother said, “Richie, stop antagonizing your sister.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna do?”

Her brother was already on the second verse, and now her father was pointing his fork at her and saying, “You’re too young to be dating, young lady. We had a deal, remember? Sixteen, that was the agreement. Is it October already?”

“I’m not dating!”

When she said that, Richie’s face scrunched up behind his imaginary instrument. “Then where’d you get the hickey?”

There was a loud gasp and a clang of silverware. Evelyn’s mouth hung open in a silent scream. She clapped both her hands over it and sank deep into her chair, wishing with all her heart that a meteor would come crashing through the ceiling right now and strike her dead.

“Richie!” her mother hissed.

“What?” said Richie. “Am I supposed to pretend I don’t notice the giant hickey on her neck? I mean, look at that thing! It’s huge!” He reached over, intending to tug down his sister’s sweater collar, but Evelyn angrily swatted his hand away.

“That’s enough, Richie,” Wentworth said in a stern voice. Richie retracted his hand, a hot flush of guilt engulfing his face, and fell back into his seat.

“May I please be excused?” Evelyn asked, unable to lift her eyes from the table.

“Sure,” her mother said.

Evelyn got up and ran out. As she was making her way upstairs, she heard her little brother say, “Well I, for one, am not too thrilled about Evelyn dating, no siree, not at all. Girl’s better off sticking to her studies, am I right? I mean, I know I said she’d have a slut phase, but I didn’t think she’d actually do it. Kids these days, man, they’re growing up way too fast… So, anyway, can one of you two sign my math test? I kinda failed.”

For the next two hours, Evelyn buried herself in acrylic paint. By the time her little brother came knocking on her door, both her forearms were splattered with vibrant hues of orange, yellow, red, and blue. She got some of it on the carpet too, which Richie was quick to point out.

“You know Mom’s gonna kill you when she sees that.”

Evelyn rubbed an itch on her face and smeared blue paint across her chin. “I’ll clean it up,” she said, unbothered, and then leaned back on her knees to admire her work. “So what do you think, Rich? Does it scream ‘sixties’ to you?”

Richie scratched the top of his head. “Well, it definitely screams something.”

It was a thirty-six by twenty-four-inch sign made of ultra-thick poster board, the premium stuff that cost you a buck twenty-five at the office (the school had a real racket going). Evelyn made it look like it was worth much more than that, though. Yeah, she made that plain white paper come alive. Color ran rampant from corner to corner, swirling in unrestricted swarms; some clustered together to form bright symbols of peace, while others sprouted magnificent flowers that bloomed right off the page. It was clamorous and chaotic, yet somehow the message in the negative space remained perfectly clear:

SOPHOMORE CLASS SHIRTS ONLY $3

Out of the corner of his eye, Richie saw his older sister studying his expression. “Well?” she asked in a timid voice. “What do you think? Is it lame?”

Oh yeah, Richie thought, it was totally lame and a major waste of her time. Poor Evelyn had probably been designing that sign for days: drawing mock-ups in her notebook, swapping ideas with her friends. And all for what? Some dumb T-shirt sign that would attract, maybe, ten seconds of attention? Tomorrow morning, she would get up early and show it off to their dad at the breakfast table, and he would call it “real groovy” or something lame like that. Then she would haul it onto the bus, drag it up and down the aisle, probably smack a student or two, and then tape it to some rusty folding table, where she would sit for twenty-five minutes, smiling like a doofus while everyone passed her by. At times like this, Richie wanted to grab his sister by the shoulders and shout, “Don’t you get it, dummy? Nobody cares!” But he couldn’t do that, not after the mess he’d caused at dinner.

Instead, he told his big sister exactly what she wanted to hear.

“It’s really great, Evie. You did a good job.”

Evelyn awarded him with a grateful smile, one that made Richie look at his feet and blush. “Thanks, Rich. I’m thinking about making some paper flowers—just a couple, you know, for a little extra dimension. I think they’ll add a nice pop. What do you think? Too much?”

“No,” Richie said, lying again, “that sounds great.”

Evelyn nodded, committing herself to the idea. “Cool, I’ll do that before I go to bed. Right now, I’m too exhausted.”

She pushed herself up and walked over to her desk, where the rest of her homework was stacked in two neat piles. Evelyn grabbed a textbook from the left and a notebook from the right and sat down.

Richie clucked his tongue behind his teeth. “So are you really dating Jake Newham? Inquiring minds wanna know.”

“No,” said Evelyn with a disgruntled sigh. “Why are you even asking me that?”

“Toby Bickford said he saw you two sucking face at the library on Saturday.”

“We were just working on something together.”

Yeah, Richie figured as much. Man, that bullshitting Bickford. Richie cursed himself for even half believing that asswipe. “He does like you, though. Jake does. I wasn’t making that part up. He likes you a lot.”

Evelyn flipped to a new page. “I know he does.”

“Hey, that’s good news, isn’t it? I mean, you keep posters of the guy hidden behind your door.” Richie swung her door closed and pointed at them. “See? They still have the kiss marks and everything.”

“I never kissed them.”

“You liar! I bet you make out with them every night, you ole horndog. I’m surprised they haven’t gotten all soggy by now.” He paused to allow enough time for his sister’s usual retort (Oh, shut up, Richie!), but it never came. Evelyn just kept reading. Richie staggered back in shock. “So you’re not into Newham anymore? Seriously? When the fuck did that happen?”

Evelyn put her head in her hands and squeezed. “Please, Richie, I’m not in the mood to talk about it.”

“Okay, okay, fine.” But the million-dollar question remained. “Wait, so who gave you a hickey then?” Apart from the golden boy Newham, his sister didn’t have a lot of suitors—or any, for that matter. He gave his sister a playful jab with his elbow. “Were you and Hannah-Beth practicing on each other or something?”

Evelyn scoffed. “Do you and Eddie practice on each other?”

Richie stifled a laugh. “Oh yeah, sure, all the time…” Then his right hand went up to find the plastic bridge of his glasses. They hadn’t fallen out of place, but he readjusted them anyway. “Seriously, though, who was it?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Oh, a mystery then!” He could have some fun with that, for a day or two at least. “Come on, you know I’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Sure you will, Sherlock.” Evelyn returned to her homework.

Richie, bored out of his mind, decided to stick around and see the sights for a bit. He shined up his sister’s display of citizenship awards (“You like me!” Richie squealed, clutching a bronze trophy against his chest. “You really like me!”) and browsed her bookcase—a modest collection of fantasy, sci-fi, and classic literature. The bottommost shelves consisted entirely of thirty-two volumes of the Encyclopædia Britannica, plus a two-volume dictionary and thesaurus. Riveting stuff.

Then he found some framed photos on her dresser: Evelyn in her pee wee soccer uniform (she quit after one season, never scored a single goal), Evelyn smiling between Jimmy Duncan and Victor Criss at her ninth birthday party, Evelyn sitting arm in arm with Hannah-Beth, Evelyn with their parents at last year’s awards banquet, and finally, Evelyn and Richie trick-or-treating a few Halloweens ago.

Richie was surprised she kept that picture. His sister, twelve then, went as a medieval queen; Richie, nine, was her court jester. They had a lot of fun that night, ate so much candy it made them sick. That’s why it was so hard for Richie to break the news to her the following year: at ten, he was simply too old to go trick-or-treating with his big sister. Evelyn was gutted, but she handled the rejection with grace.

“Don’t worry about me, Rich,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

After that, Evelyn started taking some of the neighborhood kids trick-or-treating. One year it was Kirby Schafer and his brother Karl; another year it was the Muntz twins, Allie and Brandy. This year, she was taking Georgie Denbrough trick-or-treating (so his parents could attend the town’s annual Halloween party, which, according to the rumor mill, may or may not have been a giant orgy). They were going as pirates.

“And I’m gonna make him a paper mache parrot,” Evelyn bragged at the dinner table.

Richie was unimpressed. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, but honestly, he was just being spiteful. Her parrot would probably turn out pretty cool.

Richie hoisted himself onto his sister’s desk and got comfortable. “You know Dad’s downstairs, looking at all your baby pictures and crying right now.”

“No, he’s not,” Evelyn answered in a bored tone.

Richie frowned, but recovered quickly. “Yeah, you’re right. He and Mom are drinking in the kitchen.”

His sister snorted a quiet laugh. It was like music to his ears. “That sounds more accurate,” Evelyn said, and laughed again; this time, Richie joined her. “So you failed your math test, huh?”

“Technically.”

“What happened?”

“I dunno… I guess I was tapping my pencil a lot during the test,” something Richie often did when the classroom got too quiet. It was impossible for him to focus otherwise. “Anyway, about halfway through the test, Mrs. Lafferty comes over and starts hollering at me about disrupting the class and threatens to take my test away if I don’t stop. Obviously, I didn’t stop, so the bitch took my test away.”

“What?” Evelyn’s eyes flared up with rage. “That’s bullshit! She can’t do that!”

“Well, she did. I failed, remember?” And then Mrs. Lafferty made him go sit out in the hall until the test was over. Richie didn’t want to tell his sister that part, though. It would only infuriate her more.

“Richie, you need to go to the principal. That’s a clear abuse of power.”

“It’s just a stupid test. Who cares?”

“You should care. You need to stand up for yourself, Richie. Be your own advocate.”

“Be my own advocate? God, where do you come up with this shit?” Richie swung his legs and jumped down.

“I’m serious, Richie. You can’t joke your way through high school. This is a crucial period of your life. These next six years are going to set the foundation for your future. If you’re struggling to keep up, you need to say something. I can always—”

Richie tore away, putting his sister’s worried face behind him. “No, I don’t need your help! Just forget I said anything, okay? I’m fine.”

“Richie…”

“No, I don’t wanna hear it anymore!” This wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to go. Evelyn was supposed to laugh or roll her eyes, call Richie a spaz or something. “Everything always turns into a lecture with you, Evelyn. God, you’re worse than Mom!”

He went out with a harsh slam of the door, leaving Evelyn shocked and confused.

Twenty minutes later, Maggie Tozier came to say good night in her nursing scrubs.

“Try not to stay up too late, okay?” While stroking Evelyn’s hair, Maggie found a smudge of yellow on the side of her daughter’s face, then a bit of blue on her chin. “Planning on wearing this to bed?”

Evelyn blushed and shook her head. “I’ll wash up.”

“Mhm, and you better get those stains out of the carpet, too.”

“I will, I will.”

“Thank you.” She bent down to kiss the top of Evelyn’s head.

“So did Richie tell you why he failed his test?”

“Indeed, he did… I don’t care what he says, I’m going to the school tomorrow to give that old buzzard a piece of my mind.” No doubt the woman was already expecting her. The school often invited Maggie and Wentworth to discuss their son’s many, many talents—none of which seemed to align with the school’s code of conduct. Maggie and Went weren’t terribly concerned. Their son didn’t have attention deficit disorder, despite what everyone in town thought. Did Richie have trouble focusing in school? Absolutely. Did he find long periods of silence unbearable? Of course. So did Maggie when she was his age. Was that any reason to take his test away and embarrass him in front of the class? No, it wasn’t, and that’s exactly what Maggie planned to tell Mrs. Lafferty tomorrow afternoon, although much less kindly. “Anyway, don’t worry about your brother. That’s my job, okay?”

“Okay,” Evelyn said. Then before her mother left, she asked, “How’s Dad doing? Is he really mad?”

Maggie leaned against the doorframe. “No, he’s not mad. He only cried for an hour.”

“Yeah, Richie already tried that one.”

Her mother swung her fist in defeat. Darnit.

“Look, your dad’s fine. Try to cut him a little slack, okay? This is a frightening stage for him. Odds are he’s gonna mess up more than once. God knows I’m gonna be the same way with your brother.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’m prepared for that.”

“Nobody is. It’s gonna be a natural disaster.” Both women cringed at the thought. “Am I a terrible mother if I hope he stays a virgin forever?”

“Nope, I’m right there with you.”

If Evelyn ever found tissues and lotion on her little brother’s nightstand, she would probably die of a heart attack.

Maggie walked out. “Don’t spend the rest of the night obsessing over that sign, okay? It looks amazing, and everyone’s gonna love it. I’ll see you when you get home from school.”

“Okay. G’night, Mom.”

“Good night.”

When the door closed, Evelyn turned around to look at her sign. “It still needs more,” she said, unsatisfied.

At nine-thirty, while Evelyn was reading a case study about the wild boy of Aveyron, the telephone rang.

“I’ll get it!” Evelyn announced, and ran for the phone on her nightstand. It was probably Paul Colborne returning the message she’d left with his mother earlier that day. As soon as Evelyn answered the phone, she said, “Listen, Paul, before you say no, just hear me out, okay? This is a truly brilliant idea.”

“Who’s Paul?” said a playful voice.

Evelyn’s heart dropped when she recognized who it was. Oh no, my whole night’s about to be ruined, isn’t it? Sighing, she switched the phone to her other ear and sank down beside her pillows. “How’d you get my number, Patrick?”

She imagined him grinning. “I broke into the school and found your personal record.”

Evelyn gasped. “You what?”

“Oh, relax, I found you in the phone book.” Paper rustled in the background. “Yup, here it is. Margaret and Wentworth Tozier. Current address: 425 East Summer Street. Phone number: (207) 565—”

“What do you want, Patrick? And make it quick. I’m busy.”

“Oh, you’re busy, huh?” His tone lifted with interest. “What are you up to tonight?”

Evelyn threw her head back and groaned. “What. Do. You. Want? You have five seconds or else I’m hanging up.”

Patrick let out a long sigh that made the phone crackle. “My hand hurts,” he said. “I think it might be infected.”

Evelyn wasn’t falling for that trick again.

“You think it’s infected?” she said. “Go to the hospital.”

“Yeah, but I don’t wanna go to the hospital…”

“Well, then there’s always amputation. Good night, Patrick.” Evelyn pulled the phone away from her ear, intending to smash it down on the base.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Patrick, and reluctantly she did. “You don’t want me going to the hospital, Evelyn. If I go to the hospital, they might ask how I got this cut on my hand, and I’ll have no choice but to tell ‘em what happened.”

“That you broke into someone’s house and got stabbed in self-defense? Sure, Patrick, go with that story.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that. We never finished our conversation, remember?” Bill Denbrough came home early that night, and Evelyn had to sneak Patrick out the back door. “You promised we’d talk later.”

“I meant on Monday,” Evelyn said, because it was the only way to get him to leave.

“Yeah, but I don’t wanna wait till Monday. I wanna see you now.”

Well, tough shit, Evelyn wanted to say, but instead she lowered the phone to her shoulder and thought it over. Think strategically about this, Evelyn. If you say no, he’s gonna come over anyway, and he’s gonna take up your entire night. But if you say yes right now, you maintain control. Set the time. Get it over with. Get him out. Go back to work. Simple as that.

After a minute, Patrick said, “You still there?”

Evelyn brought the phone back to her ear. “Be here in thirty minutes.”

“Eh, I’ll get there when I get there.”

“No, Patrick, I’m not staying up all night waiting for you. You come here now or you don’t come at all.”

“Well, someone sounds eager.” His laughter made Evelyn’s stomach turn. “Anyway, I can’t come over right now. I’m watching infomercials with my mom. We’ve got our eye on a new crock-pot. Hamilton Beach, four quart, only one-twenty. That’s a real steal.” To his mother, Patrick said, “Write the number down. I’ll give ‘em a call when I’m done here… Yeah, just leave your credit card on the counter. I’ll take care of it.” Then to Evelyn: “You know, my mom’s got a fantastic rice pudding recipe, Evelyn. You’ve gotta try it sometime. She says hi, by the way.”

Evelyn huffed. “Eleven, then.”

“What’s that?”

“Eleven, Patrick. You get here by eleven or I’m locking the door.”

“Oh, that’s okay, you don’t need to wait up for me. I’ve got a key.”

“What?”

“Yeah, didn’t I tell you? I swiped your spare key the other day.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I sure did.”

“Oh yeah? Where was it?”

“In the flowerpot on the porch. There’s a little gnome next to it.”

Evelyn smirked. “Nice try, but that’s not where we keep the spare key.”

“Well, not anymore,” Patrick answered, chuckling. “See you later, Evelyn.” Then he hung up.

Evelyn listened to the dial tone for a minute, a feeling of unease swelling in her chest. Patrick hadn’t actually found her family’s spare key. No, he was just trying to creep her out. He had been on her porch before, and the flowerpot probably caught his eye. So when the time came for him to think up a quick lie, he pulled out some random image from his memory. That’s all this was—a guess, a very, very lucky guess.

Right?

“Fuck,” Evelyn whispered. She couldn’t take that chance.

She ran downstairs and out the front door. Wentworth Tozier was watching television on the living room couch. When he heard his daughter come stomping down the stairs, he turned the volume down and asked what all the commotion was about.

“Please be here, please be here, please—” A cry of hysterical relief burst out of her. “Oh, thank God!”

The silver key was still there, hidden beneath a loose layer of soil. Evelyn dusted it off and brought it back inside, where her father was waiting by the door, a perplexed wrinkle between his brows.

“We need to find a new hiding place for this,” she told him, and set down the key on the entryway table.

“Okay… Do I wanna know why?”

“No,” Evelyn said, shaking her head. “No, I don’t think you do.”

Wentworth glanced down at the key, then back at his teenage daughter; and as he looked at her now, a strange shiver rolled through him.

This is the start of it, isn’t it? From now on, my daughter will wear two faces: the one she shows me and the one she keeps secret. The one I see will always be that of a smiling child, a little girl who loves her dolls and her daydreams, the one who would come running: “Daddy! Daddy! Look what I made!” The one who would fall asleep on the couch because she wanted to stay up and finish the movie. The one who never cried on the first day of school, who always came home with a million stories, and would talk and talk and talk until Maggie said, “Okay, sweetie, that’s enough now. You’re giving Mommy a headache.”

That face would never go away, not even when Evelyn was old and grey and had children (and grandchildren) of her own. But now, tonight, Wentworth had to accept his daughter’s other face—a woman’s face—one he would never truly see. Sure, he would catch glimpses of it from time to time: while she nervously paced the hallway before a date, while she pinned a boutonnière onto her prom date’s lapel, while she hooked her arm around Wentworth’s as a string orchestra played “Canon in D Major,” but it would only be a sliver, a shining crescent in an otherwise dark sky. Went wasn’t sure if he was ready for that.

“You know, honey, I…” His mouth closed. Wentworth Tozier, who in forty-one years was never short of witticisms, suddenly found himself speechless. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

Evelyn smiled. “It’s okay, Dad. You don’t have to say anything.” Then she rose onto the tips of her toes and placed a kiss on Wentworth’s cheek. “Good night.”

Her father turned out the lights at around ten-thirty. Shortly after that, Richie went into the bathroom to brush his teeth, came out, closed his door and turned on his TV. Within twenty minutes he’d be passed out under the covers, snoring with his mouth wide open, an open comic resting on his chest. Evelyn envied them both. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten to sleep before midnight.

She glanced at the clock again. It was half past eleven now and still no sign of Patrick. At this point, Evelyn was beginning to think this was a trick, an act of mental warfare, that Patrick had no intention of ever coming, and he wanted Evelyn to stay up all night waiting for him. Then tomorrow, he would saunter into homeroom like everything was normal, and he would act so surprised when Evelyn, sleep-deprived and irritated, confronted him about it.

I don’t even remember calling you last night. You sure that was me?

Evelyn furiously erased the last sentence of her book report. That’s it, she decided. I’m not gonna let this control me. I’m just gonna go about my night assuming he isn’t coming. Because he probably isn’t coming. Because he’s an asshole.

By midnight, she was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a hot glue gun in her hand. That’s when she heard a quiet tapping coming from the window. Evelyn looked up and—”Oh my god!”—there was Patrick Hockstetter, crouched in front of the window. He had his face pushed up against the glass, hands clutching the A-frame above, feet grounded on the unstable slant of the roof. The heels of his boots kept sliding down the asphalt. Tomorrow morning, while leaving for work, Wentworth Tozier would discover a few shingles on his front lawn. He would peer up at the roof, adjust his glasses, and wonder if he needed to call up his contractor.

“You gonna let me in?” Patrick said, his voice muffled by the double-pane glass.

Evelyn hurried to the window and unlatched it. “Have you lost your mind? You could’ve broken your neck.”

“And wouldn’t that just solve all your problems…”

“Actually, it’d only create more. What would I do with your dead body?”

Patrick shrugged. “You can do whatever you want with my body, although I didn’t quite peg you for a necrophiliac, Evelyn. Guess I shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, huh?” He ducked down and crept inside, stomping two dirty bootprints onto the cushion of Evelyn’s window seat.

She dusted some of it off with her hand. “So did you get your crock-pot?”

The absurdity of this question wasn’t lost on Evelyn. Patrick Hockstetter shopping for crock-pots? It was too ridiculous to not be true.

“I did,” Patrick said, sounding very pleased. “It’ll be here in ten to fourteen business days. My mom’s really excited to use it.”

“I’m sure she is. Anyway, I’m going back to work.”

Evelyn returned to her spot on the carpet. To her left lay a children’s craft book; in front, about a hundred sheets of crepe paper, one for every color of the rainbow. Before Patrick’s arrival, Evelyn had traced, cut, folded, and glued a dozen flowers: daisies, petunias, poppies, roses, violets. The finished ones sat in a pile off to the side.

Patrick, now seated at her right, picked up a small white daisy. “Doing a little gardening?”

Evelyn cracked a small smile, but remained focused as she shaped a stack of red paper into petunia petals. “It’s for my sign,” she said.

Oh yes, the sign. Patrick had briefly glanced at it when he first sat down. Precious as it was, it hadn’t grabbed his attention the way this flower had. Paintings did nothing for him. His mother had a few hanging around the house: bowls of fruit, vases of flowers, landscapes of forests, bridges, and rivers. “Doesn’t it just transport you?” she would always say, but it didn’t. How could it? It was pigmented liquid smeared on canvas. Sure, it may have looked real from far away, but as soon as you touched it, the illusion shattered like a mirror. You couldn’t feel the leaves or dip your fingers into the water. Everything was flat. Everything was fake.

But this tiny paper flower was different. In his hand, it almost seemed real.

“You made this?” he asked, staring at it still. “Outta paper?”

“Mhm.”

He looked at her. “Show me.”

“Okay, I’m working on one now.”

“No, not that one.” He ripped the red paper out of her hand and flung it across the room. “This one,” he said, pushing the daisy towards her. “Make one exactly like this.”

Evelyn was taken aback. “Ummm, okay.”

She grabbed a stack of white paper from the pile and went to work. “It’s just paper, you know. You cut it, give it some shape, and then stack it on top of itself like this.” She glued the final petal into place and fluffed it up a bit. “Then you make your center, which is—you guessed it—more paper. Anyway, you just get a strip of it, cut up a nice little fringe, roll it all up, and then fan out these pieces here.” When she was done, she glued that into place too, then did a little flourish with her hands. “Tada! There you have it. And, yes, I do accept tips.”

Patrick picked up the paper daisy and studied it for a long time, but it was no use. Even though he had just watched her do it step by step, he couldn’t fully grasp how a stack of flat paper, the same paper that lay before him now, could transform into this.

“You know you’re quite the artist,” he said.

But “artist” felt like the wrong word.

Evelyn brushed him off. “That’s just kid stuff. You should see some of the stuff the art students make. I’m telling you, those will blow your mind. Like, there’s this junior who paints these portraits that look so amazing and lifelike. Seriously, they’re incredible. They belong in an art gallery or something. This is small potatoes compared to that. I’m no Van Gogh, but it keeps the kids entertained. You wanna make one?”

“Not really,” Patrick said, his voice slipping back into that dull tone.

“Oh, come on, try it.” Evelyn slid the craft book over to him. “You just follow the directions here. See? It’s really easy.”

Now Patrick was getting annoyed. “You know this isn’t what I came here for, right?”

“Yeah, I know, but if you insist on interrupting my night, the least you can do is help me. Otherwise, you might as well just go home. Come on, I have to get this done tonight. Once we’re finished, we’ll do whatever you want.”

His grey-green eyes gleamed with reignited interest. “Whatever I want?”

Evelyn threw him a disgusted look. “Oh, don’t be gross.” She handed him a pair of children’s safety scissors. “Now get to snipping.”

Patrick glared down at the unwanted tool. “How do you expect me to use these? My fingers barely fit through the holes.”

“Well, it’s all I have… Oh.” Evelyn turned her head and saw.

His hands are rather large, aren’t they? She always knew Patrick had big hands, but the children’s scissors seemed to draw more attention to it, to provide that necessary contrast that highlighted it, and now they seemed enormous. The size of them made Evelyn look down at her own hands, which fit so perfectly in the grip of her own scissors; and when she did, her whole body flushed, because at that moment two thoughts skyrocketed through her head:

First, she thought of Nathan Weller in the sixth grade. During a science discussion, the teacher instructed the class to compare hand sizes with their neighbors. Most of the students got really shy about it, especially those stuck in boy-girl pairs. Evelyn was struck by how large Nathan’s hand was compared to hers. She wondered how small her hand would look if she pressed it against Patrick’s right now.

And that led to the second thought, of Mallory Stone and Jeanette Gough giggling in English class. They were obsessing, for some reason, over the substitute teacher’s hands. Evelyn asked what was so funny, and Mallory looked down at her with such pity. “Oh, Evie, how can you be so dense? Mr. Ludlow has big hands, and you know what big hands mean, don’t you?” Evelyn said she didn’t, so Mallory leaned over and whispered it into her ear. The answer was coming back to her now, as she watched Patrick clumsily slide his fingers through the scissor grip’s top and bottom loops. They only went in about halfway.

Evelyn shuddered and stomped out both those thoughts, stomped them like you would stomp out a small fire before it got out of control. And didn’t it feel just a little bit hot in here all of a sudden? She turned away from him.

“Just, just do your best,” she said, and went back to cutting.

Sometime later, while Evelyn carefully glued together the petals of an orange poppy, Patrick turned to her and said, “So lemme ask you something: do you make all that shit they hang in the hallway?”

“That shit?”

“Yeah, like the pumpkins on Halloween and the little candy canes at Christmas?”

“Oh. Yeah, some of it.”

“Well, why bother?”

His question irked her. “What do you mean, ‘Why bother?’ It creates a sense of holiday cheer, puts people in a good mood. Well, most people, anyway.”

“It just seems like a lot of work is all.”

“Well, I enjoy doing it. It’s fun. Everyone hangs out in the art room after school, and it’s kind of like a little party. And yeah, it probably seems stupid to people like you, but what would you know? You guys contribute nothing to this school. You barely even go to class.”

Patrick listened with mild amusement. “Clearly, this is a sensitive topic for you, or are you always this high-strung?”

“I’m not high-strung. I just don’t think it’s fair for someone to make fun of another person’s hobby. You might not see the value in it, but that doesn’t mean it’s a waste of time. I take a lot of pride in my work, all my work. Decorating the school makes me happy. If I had to stare at blank walls all day, I’d probably go insa—Oww!” Evelyn burned her finger on the metal tip of the hot glue gun. She jerked her hand back and shook out the pain. “Dammit! Man, I hate it when I do that!”

“Burn yourself?” asked Patrick.

“Yeah, just a little.”

“Can I see?”

The question made Evelyn squirm; plus there was something terribly off-putting about Patrick’s vacant stare. She hid her finger from view.

“It’s really nothing,” she said. “Anyway, how’s your flower coming along?”

Patrick showed it to her. “What do ya think?”

Evelyn struggled to hide her grimace. Judging from the picture in the book, it was supposed to be a purple violet, but Patrick’s came out looking more like a violet that got stomped on a few times—and that was a generous description. It was this shapeless blob of purple with a smushed yellow center. When Evelyn looked at it, she was instantly reminded of all those looping black and brown scrawls his mother kept on the fridge. He’s really not artistic, is he? How strange.

Evelyn pressed her hands together like she was about to pray. “I think… it’s a very good effort.”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “You think it’s shit.”

“No, I wouldn’t say that… Hey, don’t crush it!” Evelyn pried the innocent flower out of Patrick’s death grip and carried it to safety. “Just because it’s not sign-worthy doesn’t mean the poor thing deserves to die. Besides, no two flowers look alike, right? This little guy here is unique.” She placed the violet on her nightstand, right next to the postcard Patrick had given her.

Patrick said, “You’re the sentimental type, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but I think everyone is a little bit.” She spun around. “Why, aren’t you?”

“Not really,” Patrick said, but while Evelyn was busy fluffing up the wilted petals of his violet, he plucked the white daisy from the pile and stuffed it into his pocket.

After making a couple more flowers, Evelyn packed up her craft supplies and put them away in the hallway closet. When she came back, Patrick was lying comfortably on her bed with his hands folded behind his head, lying in the exact same position that Henry Bowers used to lie in.

Evelyn stood in the doorway, blinking. For a second, she thought it actually was Henry lying there, and her heart sped up a little. A force of habit, she supposed (or was it wishful thinking?). After so many years of being there, the boy had carved out a natural place among Evelyn’s bedroom furniture. Now that he was gone, the room felt kind of empty. Patrick was like a cheap plastic substitute.

Evelyn quietly closed her door. “Are you gonna be leaving soon?”

“Why? Do you want me to leave?”

“Uhh, yes.” She figured that was obvious by now. “Yes, I’d very much like for you to leave.”

But of course he didn’t. Instead, Patrick dragged himself up to a sitting position and propped his elbow upon his bent knee. After a long, thoughtful pause, he said, “I’m gonna be honest with you, Evelyn. I was… annoyed when you showed up at my house the other day. See, I don’t like people invading my privacy.”

A dry sound escaped Evelyn’s mouth. “Really? Well, that’s ironic.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Patrick said, smiling a crooked smile. “You know what else is ironic? The sophomore class president running around after school, trying desperately to keep the school bully from getting expelled. See that, to me, is ironic. I don’t think your pals in the student council would be too happy to hear about that.”

Evelyn’s expression soured. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”

“No, just observation.” He picked a pebble out of his boot and flicked it away. “Everyone at school writes you off as some little goody-two-shoes, but you’re a lot more complicated than that, aren’t you? You’ve got secrets.”

“Oh yeah?” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Well, I could say the same about you.”

Patrick cocked his head. “How do you figure?”

He made it sound like a challenge, and Evelyn refused to back down. She sat down at the foot of the bed and took a minute to organize her thoughts.

“For a whole summer, my little brother was obsessed with close-up magic—you know, that sleight-of-hand, penny-behind-your-ear kind of stuff? Richie was never very good at it. The kid wasn’t smooth enough, didn’t have the timing or the dexterity to pull off half the tricks. He’d go to place the penny behind your ear and bobble the damn thing. And he never quite mastered the art of misdirection. All magic relies heavily on misdirection. ‘Look over there while I do this over here.’ The audience is so distracted by the big, flashy show, they don’t see the real trick that’s happening right in front of them. I think you’re something like that.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah,” Evelyn said, and felt the mattress dip beside her. Focused as she was, she barely noticed it. “You say and do all these outrageous, perverted things, but it’s all just a big distraction.”

The bed creaked.

“A misdirection,” said Patrick.

“Exactly,” Evelyn replied as a huge grin spread across her face. The adrenaline rush was hitting her now, making her heart beat so fast. “And that’s why you got so mad when I showed up at your house. You didn’t want me to peek behind that curtain, because then I might figure out the big trick. And when I started asking too many questions, you whipped out the only weapon you have: your sexuality. That’s why you got so aggressive all of a sudden. It was the easiest way to—”

She gasped when she felt cold fingers on her neck. Then her whole body went rigid with anger. “Get your hands off me, or I’ll scream.”

Patrick drew back his hand, feigning surprise. “Oh, sorry. I was just checking to see if it was still there.” He smirked. “Left quite the mark, didn’t I? You must bruise easy ‘cause I wasn’t even sucking hard.”

Evelyn gnashed her teeth. “How dare you,” she said in a low voice. “Do you have any idea how much trouble this caused me? My parents saw this!”

“So? It’s just a hickey, Evelyn. You and I both know I could’ve done a lot worse.” Patrick unfolded his legs and threw them over the edge of the bed. Now they were sitting side by side. “Anyway, I like your theory a lot. The way you led up to it, built up all that suspense, it really gave me the chills. But… there’s one tiny thing you left out.”

“Oh yeah?” she said thinly. “What’s that?”

He leaned in and whispered into her ear, “What’s my big trick?”

His question landed on her like a sucker punch. “Your trick?” she said in a small voice. “Oh, well, I don’t really know… I guess I haven’t quite figured that part out yet.”

Evelyn scooted away from him, suddenly very uncomfortable. She went to her desk and started stuffing homework into her backpack. “Look, Patrick, it’s getting really late and—”

“I’ll tell you, if you want.”

Evelyn’s hand froze mid-reach, casting a long shadow on her algebra book. “You’ll… what?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know.”

Evelyn turned around slowly, a skeptical frown on her face. “You’re just messing with me now.”

“I promise I’m not. Go on, ask me anything.”

Evelyn opened her mouth, closed it, then smacked the air with her hand. “Oh, come on, Patrick. How gullible do you think I am? You’ll probably just tell me a bunch of lies.”

“I would never lie to you.” Patrick’s voice was sincere and strong, and now Evelyn could feel the full weight of his stare bearing down on her. “Go ahead, ask me.”

She shook her head. “No… No, I don’t want to.”

“Why not? Afraid you won’t like the answer?”

(Yes)

“No… No, that’s not it.”

Patrick leaned back, putting his weight on his palms. “It could be mutually beneficial, you know. I get some shit off my chest and you get to practice playing therapist.”

Therapist? Evelyn scoffed. “Oh, please. You don’t want a therapist, Patrick. You want an audience.”

“Yeah, so? What difference does that make to you? Either way, you get what you want: a chance to figure out what makes me tick, put some of those psych classes to good use. Who knows? Maybe you’ll even get to diagnose me. I’m sure you’ve already got a couple ideas floating around in that head of yours. That’s probably why you’ve been thinking about me so much.”

“I have not been thinking about you.”

“No? I don’t believe you.” He stood up and approached her with a slow, swaying stride. “Come on, Evelyn, we’ve already established you’re a terrible liar. Why do we need to keep playing these games with each other? Just admit it already: you’re curious about me, just like I’m curious about you. You don’t need to make it so complicated.”

Just get it over with, a voice whispered, but Evelyn pushed it away.

“Fine, you win. I’ll admit it: I’m very curious about you, Patrick—about you, your family, everything. And I desperately want to figure out what’s really going on with you. Sometimes it’s hard to sleep because I’m thinking about it so much.”

Patrick smiled at that, a wide, unnerving smile. It made Evelyn’s voice tremble.

“But even so, that doesn’t change anything. I still don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be around each other, to get any closer to each other.” She broke his gaze and started fidgeting with her hands. All the while, the pink-and-yellow floral quilt hung in the corner of her eye. It was wrinkled now. “You see, I… I have a really hard time maintaining proper boundaries. It’s something I’ve struggled with all my life. After a while, the lines start to blur, and I, umm, I get confused. I get confused and I fuck everything up and—”

All of a sudden, Patrick was right in front of her, pinning her against the desk. Actually, that wasn’t true. Evelyn wasn’t pinned at all. There was no force. Nothing holding her in place. She could’ve easily slipped out of his grasp if she wanted to.

If she wanted to.

His face was so close their noses brushed against each other when Evelyn raised her head to look at him. And once she looked at him, she couldn’t look away. Patrick was staring at her lips now, staring with a heavy-lidded hunger that Evelyn had never seen before. It turned her mind into mush.

Right before he leaned in, his eyes flicked up to hers, and he said, “I’ve never really believed in boundaries.”

Evelyn should have just stayed still. If she had, this probably would have ended a lot more easily than it did.

Instead, she pushed him away. “Please. I still don’t want to.”

Patrick groaned deep in his throat. He rolled away and slumped down beside her. “You know, you’re awfully protective over your first kiss. Whoever you’re saving it for must be pretty damn special.” He nudged her a few times with his elbow. “Hey, who is it? If you say Jake Newham, I’ll kill myself.”

“That’s not it,” Evelyn said, and shoved him away.

“Oh? Then what is it? Nerves? Ah, yeah, that must be it. You’re all worked up because you don’t know what to do with your lips.”

Evelyn scowled. “I know what to do with my lips. Besides, that’s not the point. Even if I’d kissed a hundred guys, I still wouldn’t want your lips anywhere near mine.”

Patrick put up his hands and surrendered. “Okay, no need to be so rude… I just don’t get what you’re so hung up about. It’s just a kiss. I don’t even remember my first.”

“Then I feel very sorry for you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s supposed to be special.”

“Special?” He held in a laugh. “Man, you girls read way too many books. Sorry to burst your bubble, Evelyn, but the real thing isn’t nearly that memorable.”

Evelyn looked away. “Sometimes it is.”

At two in the morning, Patrick finally decided to leave.

Evelyn watched him depart from the front porch, shivering in her pink cable-knit sweater. Patrick, not shivering, walked out in just a T-shirt and jeans. There was an unsettled feeling in Evelyn’s stomach the whole time. It was slowly twisting her up in knots. Once Patrick was halfway down Summer Street, she bolted down the steps and took off running as fast as she could.

“Denny Booker!” she screamed down the silent street, down the row of lampposts glowing in the night. They passed by her in a string of blurred blobs. One. Two. Three. She flew by them all and kept running.

Patrick was waiting for her outside the old Anderson place, standing right next to their green mailbox. As soon as Evelyn reached it, she doubled over and grabbed her knees. Under her ragged breath, she kept saying, “Denny Booker, Denny Booker.”

Patrick bent down and put his face next to hers. “Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”

Evelyn nodded, still panting. “He’s in our homeroom.”

“He is?”

“Yeah.” She took a deep, painful breath and straightened herself. “Did you take his dog, Patrick?”

Patrick reeled back, a befuddled expression on his face. “You ran all this way just to ask me that?”

Evelyn’s head bobbed a weak yes. She had to know. “Did you take his dog or not?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes. Honestly.”

“No, I didn’t. You satisfied now?”

No, the knot was still there. “But you took the other ones, right? The ones—the ones in the fridge?”

“Those ones? Yeah, I took those.”

Evelyn’s face contorted in horror. “You did?!”

“Sure. I figured everyone knew that by now.” Patrick turned and left, whistling as he strolled down the sidewalk.

Evelyn, shocked and appalled by his lack of remorse, shouted, “You know, you’re gonna be a case study someday! Years from now, classrooms full of students are gonna pick you apart and try to figure out what went wrong!”

Evelyn would figure it out. To her own terror, she would.

______________________

PREV // CURRENT // NEXT

[a-pretty-nerd]

Hey Everyone!

Request Updates:

I have been writing on this blog for roughly three years now, starting my Senior year of high school. I am 20 now, with a fiancé, a job, rent to pay, and my own projects.

At this point in my life, it simply is not worth it to keep taking requests out of the kindness of my heart. I know that maybe my work on this blog has not been super duper high quality, but I am willing to clean up my work and take requests and I would not now.

However, this does mean that I will be charging for requests, taking commissions. Here are my rates:

Headcannons: $0.50

One-Shots:

500 Word One-Shot - $1

1,000 Word One-Shot: $5

5,000 Word One-Shot: $10

and so on and so forth

Series:

If you request a series, or request that a particular one-shot be made into a series, here is how that would work.

Each chapter will be 1,000 words long.

Each chapter will be worth $5

If you request a series, and you do not know how many chapters you would like, that is fine, I will be working closley with you regarding your requests and budget.

Because of this, I will no longer be taking requests through my inbox, I will be taking requests through messanger.

If you have already made a request, you will not be charged, your request, if accepted will be finished. However, after that I will be charging for my work.

If you wish to stay anonymous, please let me know in your request. All of my payment information/recipes will be given to you through messanger.

Thank you so much everyone who has followed me and enjoyed my work over the years, you have been a blessing.

I am also excited to announce that since charging for my work I will be able to work on and post some of my original work which I am very excited about.

Thank you, again.

Love,

Ruby

[infantiicide]

A  VERY  DESCRIPTIVE  PROFILE  OF  YOUR  MUSE .     repost with the information of your muse ,   including headcanons ,   etc .

NAME :   Patrick Dean Hockstetter AGE :    17 SPECIES :    Human .   GENDER :   Male .   ORIENTATION :   N/A INTERESTS :  Fire, Bones, Music. PROFESSION :     Student   BODY  TYPE : Slender. EYES :  Blue-Green HAIR :    Shoulder length brunette.      SKIN :   Pale. FACE :    Oval HEIGHT :     6′2″ COMPANIONS :  The Bowers Gang ANTAGONISTS :  The Losers club, Pennywise. COLORS :    Black, Purple, Red. FRUITS :      Lemons, grapes, cantalope. DRINKS :      Sodapop, Beer, Water. ALCOHOLIC  BEVERAGES ?   Nearly anything he can get a hold of but likes whiskey a lot. SMOKES ?   Yes.  DRUGS ?      Yes.

DRIVERS  LICENSE ?    Yes.

TAGGED  BY:  stolen from @dcadflies

TAGGING :    Anyone~

[a-pretty-nerd]

Red Handed (Patrick Hockstetter x reader smut)

Requests: "If you’re not too tired of pat x reader could you do one where the reader and Patrick are hooking up somewhere and they get caught? Maybe by the gang or the losers? Love your fics they give me life ❤️" ~ Anonymous

"Could you make a one shot about Patrick hocksetter dating a cute innocent reader with lemons :3 lots of lemons 🍋🍋🍋" ~ @weepingprincepeace

I'm combining these, I hope thats cool! ✌❤

A/N: Keep requesting and such! So because I fucking feel like it, Imma go ahead and write that damn Jasper series. Another one, Ruby? YES! As always, your requests and feedback keep me goin'! ✌❤

Warnings: NSFW, sex, rough sex, public sex, etc.

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School dances weren't your scene. Well, really nowhere was your scene. But your mom made you go with your friends. Who all kind of wondered away from you with their boyfriends. They danced while you stood leaning against the snack table watching and waiting for your date to arrive.

Could you really call him a date? It wasn't so much like he asked you or you asked him. It was just a general understanding that at some point your boyfriend and his friends would crash the spring bash.

You awkward sipped at your punch as you swayed back and forth in your incredibly hideously pink dress decorated with gawdy lace and fake flowers. Your mother picked out for you, obviously. You didn't even see him walk in. All of a sudden, out of the corner of your eye you saw a tall shadow figure. You turned to see a lanky boy swaying his arms as he walked towards you. Dressed in ill-fitting office casual. His pants were a little too short, and so was his shirt.

Behind him came three, equally awkward guys. His friends. Wearing old button ups and jeans. Belch wore a clip on bowtie over his short sleaved button up with jeans. Henry only owned one pair of dress pants and an old flannel. Vic was the only one who looked like he somewhat belonged.

"Oh, h-hey!" You stood up straight and watched as Patrick's gaze waved from the crowd to you. He looked you up and down and gave a hardy chuckle.

"What the fuck is this?" He snorted, pulling up your dress skirt. You swatted his hand away.

"My mom picked it out..." you explained with an embarrassed blush. He nodded and stood next to you as you watched the crowd for a moment as he spoke.

"Makes sense. Peggy has shit taste..." he waited a second, "personally, I'd rather see you in...nothing at all." He purred as he leaned in and down to your neck. Your cheeks flushed a bright pink.

"Patrick!" You scolded wtih shrill embarrassment. He giggled into your neck and he kissed the soft flesh. You pushed him a little farther away.

"Aw c'mon sweetie pie," he cooed jokingly, "put out a lil won't ya?" He hooked you by your waist and pulled you to him. It made a chill go down your spine. "Lets get out of here." He rocked you from side to side as music played, almost dancing with you. The way his hands glided across your body, and way he looked at you. Oh god. "I wanna see these nice tits you've been hidin'" His hands slid up and gave two quick gropes.

"Hey!" You swatched again and he just laughed at you. "Patrick, y-you know how I feel about-"

"I'll change that." He told you as his hands went back to your waist and he kissed your neck. He made you melt. "C'mon. No ones in the hallway. We can sneak out to the janitor's closet." He pulled you out towards the door and into the hallway. You couldn't fight him. You wanted him too. His lips kisses your hungrily, sloppily, as you made your way to the closet. He practically threw you into the room with giddy giggles. It shut tight behind you, and you were left alone in the dark.

"Oohhh Patrick." You moaned as he left hickies on your neck. He quickly got your dress unzipped and he let it fall to the floor with a loud 'huff' of fabric. He instantly went for your breasts. Gropping and squeezing. He played with your nipples as he kissed them and sucked. He breathed heavily as he chuckled to himself. He pulled you close to him as his hips curved up so he began grinding against you through his pants. You whimpered as he played with you.

"I knew it. I knew you had a rockin' bod!" He cheered and laughed.

"S-Shut up." You struggled. He pulled away and through the darkness you heard him remove and drop his clothes. Before you knew it, he turned you around and pressed you against the shelves. His long fingers ran over your as and he took a sharp breath.

"And what a great ass too!" He remarked before giving a good slap.

"Ah! Hey! I didn't say you could- ow!" He spanked you again. He did again, and again. It made you wild. You pressed your ass against his cock and he chuckled at you as he ground himself against you again. Enjoying the sweet little sounds you made.

"Oh thats it." He growled and pulled your panties down to your knees. A single fingers dragged from the front to the back before he inserted a finger. "Haha, so wet." He remarked.

"N-No....Patrick." You moaned. He took a moment to finger you first before he pulled his finger and placed it in his mouth. You heard a loud smacking sound.

"Oh hoho, what a taste." He growled before you felt his tongue. He licked, and sucked, and nibbled anywhere he could.

"Ooohh Ah!" You cried. You squirmed for him as he held your ass and moaned into your wet flesh. He stood, and wiped his mouth with a slurp before he adjusted himself. You felt his tip, and you opened your mouth to say something. "Patrick, I- oooohhh FUCK!" You barked as he slid deep inside. You shut your eyes tight and braced yourself. He only took a few good slow thrusts, before he got intense. It felt so good. You moaned his name as he held your hips and started really fucking you.

"Fuck Y/A," he grunted, "you're a wild one, huh?"

"N-No." You whimpered.

"Oh yes you are." He leaned forward as he hips kept slapping against your ass. He stuffed his face in your neck and pulled your hair. "You can't lie to me. Your body's telling me everything I need to know." He snacked a hand down to your clit and played with it.

"Ah!!" You cried in pleasure.

"Like how you're about to cum." You kept your head dead down as he drove you to orgasm, pausing his own movements. Suddenly there was a loud creeking sound and a bright light came. Your heart jumped. You were still cumming and there was nothing you could do.

"FUCK OFF!" Patrick screamed at what appeared to be a young kid who was attending the dance.

"Ahhhh!!! Run Eddie! He's killed her!" A voice cried before the door slammed shut. You road out your high before Patrick just went back to fucking you.

"P-Patrick they...oh god- we-"

"I told you. You're a wild thing." He growled with a smile as he fucked you, harder. He fucked you senseless in that closest for what felt like forever. Making you cum, god knows how many times. Your eyes were rolled in the back of your head and you were focused on your breathing when Patrick started to really struggle. He bucked irrationally and grunted. His nails dug into your skin as he lost himself. "G-Gah..ah..fuck!" He cried as he came. You panted and leaned against the shelves. He leaned against you. His arm out stretched to balance the both of you as his chin rested on your shoulder. "Mmmh my wild little thing." He finally cooed.

Suddenly, the door opened again and you would have panicked had it not been for the intense wokrout prior.

"Patrick!" A voice shouted. He looked up at Henry, who stood in the doorway. "What the fuck man!? We've been lookin' all over for you! Those fuckin' loser kids keep shoutin' about you killin' someone!"

"I'm busy!" Patrick yelled back.

"Get your dick out of your girl and lets go!" The door slammed shut.

"Come on. We'll give you a ride home." He got himself dressed and just barley helped you. You felt dizzy. When you were dressed, he walked you out by your waist. And when no one was looking, he stole a kiss on the cheek.