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cherrywriterrr · 1 month ago

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Haunted (chapter one)

bodyguard!rafe x reader series

strong language, smut (18+ explicit content), graphic violence, blood/injury, captivity, emotional manipulation, talking about death, trauma responses, unhealthy relationship dynamics, age gap (consensual, adult) ,mentions of sexual assault (not between main characters), sexual tension (consensual, but intense), dark themes overall.

readers discretion is strongly advised. mdni. 18+ only.

introduction one two

➽──────────────❥

he’s leaning against your bedroom door like it personally insulted him.

backwards cap, jaw tight, gloved hand twitching against the grip of the gun holstered at his hip like he wants someone to break in. you wouldn’t be surprised if he staged it himself just for the thrill.

you’re half in bed, half out. one bare leg kicked free of the silk sheets, a white tank top and no bra — because you can.

“you could at least knock,” you mutter, twisting your hair up in one lazy fist just to feel his eyes move. “or do the hired thugs just walk in now?”

“not a thug,” he says flatly. “a babysitter.”

you roll your eyes, lips parting into a spoiled, mocking smile. “mm, right. my personal stalker. forgot.”

his jaw clenches again. if it were anyone else, it might be fear. with him, it’s something meaner. something hotter.

he hates you.

you give him a reason to.

he’s only here because your father didn’t want you alone. not today.

today marks three years. three years since your mother’s throat was slit in a hotel elevator — and the security footage was leaked before the coroner even zipped her up. your father was abroad. you were home. and there were enough pills in the marble bathroom sink to make headlines.

you survived, though. of course you did.

because perfect, arrogant, untouchable girls don’t die — they haunt.

and your punishment for living is him.

rafe fucking cameron.

he’s barely older than you. just enough for it to piss you off. tall, southern, clean trigger record with a dirtier mouth than you’ve ever heard. a body that makes security cameras glitch. hands that belong on weapons or waistlines and nowhere in between. and he’s made it very clear he thinks you’re unbearable.

“you don’t have to stare,” you mutter now, tipping your head toward the window, the moonlight slicing through your thighs like porcelain. “i’m not gonna jump.”

he doesn’t move.

you smile again, slow and poisonous. “what, scared i’ll land on your truck? dent your precious masculinity?”

he doesn’t bite. doesn’t blink.

instead, he moves forward — slow, precise steps, the kind that come from training. or rage. or both.

he stops just short of the bed.

“you took too many once,” he says, voice low and gravelled. “so don’t expect me to look away. not tonight.”

you freeze, lashes fluttering. something in your stomach twists — embarrassment? guilt?

no. you don’t feel guilt anymore.

“that was a long time ago,” you say. “i don’t even remember it.”

“i do.”

you look at him.

he looks back like he could kill you if he wanted. like he wants to.

and god, it does something to you.

“what’s the matter, cameron?” you purr. “tired of guarding your favorite brat?”

his nostrils flare.

you sit up a little, letting the strap of your tank fall off your shoulder like an accident. “your voice gets all low when you’re mad. it’s kinda hot.”

“shut up.”

you grin. “make me.”

rafe exhales sharply through his nose. his jaw ticks. his eyes drop to your mouth and stay there.

and suddenly the air between you goes nuclear.

because it’s not just hate. not just history. not just a rich girl in grief and a bodyguard with a bruised soul. it’s something else now. something no one dares to name.

“you’re not special, princess,” he says quietly, voice coated in contempt. “just another arrogant little girl with daddy’s money and too much time.”

“then why are you still standing here?”

“because if you take one fucking pill tonight, it’s my head on the block.”

“is that the only reason?” you ask, tilting your head, hair falling like honey against your shoulder. “not because you like watching me squirm?”

rafe’s hands curl into fists.

“you think you’re so powerful,” he mutters. “because you smile while you bleed.”

“maybe i am.”

“you’re not. you’re just broken. and bored. and so fucking used to being worshipped that you don’t know what it means when someone actually sees you.”

your breath catches.

he leans in.

“and i see you.”

silence.

the tension is thick, hot, awful. you swallow it like venom.

he straightens again, backing off. jaw tight, eyes colder.

“get some sleep,” he says. “your father wants you alive tomorrow.”

and then he turns — walks out without a second glance.

your legs are still shaking.

you let him go. for five whole seconds.

and then you’re slipping out of bed like sin itself, bare feet silent against the hardwood as you pad out into the hall.

the mansion is quiet. dark. all marble and echo and curated grief.

he’s halfway to the staircase when you speak.

“you gonna kiss me goodnight, or what?”

he stops. his back tenses.

slowly, rafe turns. his mouth is a straight, dangerous line.

“go back to bed.”

you raise a brow. arms folded under your tits, which you know are sitting real nice in that thin little tank. “aw. don’t be shy now. you wanted to be in here five minutes ago.”

he stares at you.

you tip your head. innocent. infuriating. “what, cat got your tongue?”

rafe doesn’t say a word. just stalks back down the hallway toward you, his boots heavy against the floor like threats.

you stay planted.

he gets in your face. you feel him before you even see him — heat and leather and danger. he’s close enough to taste. close enough that if you leaned in, your mouths would brush.

“you don’t fucking get it, do you?” he mutters, voice barely a growl.

“oh, i get it,” you hum. “you’re obsessed with me.”

“i’m this close,�� he hisses, holding up two fingers, “to putting your spoiled ass back in that bed myself.”

you smile, slow and smug. “jeez, cam. take a girl to dinner first.”

his eye twitches.

and before you can blink, he grabs your wrist. not rough — but firm. solid enough to make your breath catch.

“fine,” he snaps. “you wanna act like a brat? i’ll treat you like one.”

you let out a surprised laugh as he turns and drags you back toward your bedroom. “jesus, okay! get a grip!”

“i’ve got a grip,” he mutters. “you should be fucking scared of what happens when i lose it.”

you’re still grinning. too delighted for your own good. god, he’s mad.

he kicks your bedroom door open with his boot and pulls you inside.

you stumble, laughing.

he turns and shuts it with a thud, stepping into your space again — way too close.

your pulse is thrumming.

“you keep pushing me,” rafe says, eyes dark, voice low. “and i swear to god, if i catch you outside that bed again tonight…”

he pauses. looks you dead in the eye.

“i’ll sleep in here. on that fucking chair. all night. you want that, princess? wanna wake up to me in the corner every morning until your daddy says otherwise?”

you stare at him.

your mouth opens — then closes. then opens again.

because fuck, you want it. and he knows it.

and worst of all? he wants it too.

you smile. not sweet this time. something twisted. breathless.

“well,” you whisper. “if you’re gonna keep threatening me like that…”

he stares at your mouth. your lips. that sliver of your thigh peeking out from the tank hem.

“…maybe i’ll start misbehaving on purpose.”

he doesn’t flinch at first.

just stands there, jaw ticking, arms crossed, watching you with a look that could skin a man alive. he’s not stupid — he knows what you’re doing. poking. pushing. peeling the scab until it bleeds.

“jesus christ,” he mutters. “you’re exhausting.”

you just grin, all sharp teeth and sin. “you’re obsessed with me.”

“delusional,” he fires back.

“dominant.”

“insufferable.”

you lean forward on your toes, lips parted like a fucking promise.

“you’re gonna crack one day, cameron,” you whisper. “and when you do? it’s gonna be messy.”

he rolls his eyes and turns toward the door again, like if he doesn’t look at you, he might not fucking strangle you.

and that’s when you say it.

quiet. careless.

“maybe i’ll just take the pills again.”

he freezes.

you tilt your head. “leave a cute little note this time. real poetic. maybe in lipstick.”

his back is stone.

you don’t stop.

“will say you did it, of course,” you smile, walking toward him. “that you were obsessed with me. couldn’t handle the rejection. couldn’t take no for an answer.”

he turns around.

and for the first time tonight, rafe looks dangerous.

“don’t fuck around like that,” he says lowly, voice thick with something that’s not anger. not exactly.

you shrug. “i’m just saying. it’d make a good story.”

“you think this is a joke?”

“you’re here to make sure i don’t do anything, aren’t you?” you blink up at him, wide-eyed and wicked. “so do your job, cam. or don’t.”

he’s across the room in seconds. grabbing your face.

not rough, not gentle — somewhere in the middle. fingers on your jaw, breathing through his teeth like it’s taking every ounce of strength not to do something worse.

his eyes are raging.

“don’t say shit like that,” he snarls. “not even to fuck with me.”

you blink, lashes brushing his knuckles. “i fuck with you all the time.”

“that was different.”

you don’t look scared. not even close.

your mouth tips into a smile. small. deadly.

“so you do care.”

he lets you go like you burned him. backs off, jaw clenched, breathing shallow.

you don’t move. just stare.

“don’t flatter yourself,” he mutters.

you say nothing. because you both know it’s a lie.

➽──────────────❥

“you’re really fucking sleeping in here?”

he doesn’t even look up. just grunts from the chair by your window, legs stretched out, one boot already kicked off, the other hanging loose.

his gun is still strapped to his thigh like he’s expecting the devil to climb through the walls, and his stupid hat is tilted low over his eyes like this is some kind of sleepover.

“don’t flatter yourself,” he mumbles.

you cross your arms. “seriously?”

he doesn’t answer. adjusts his belt, shifts in the chair, and exhales like he owns the place.

you glare at him. “you know that chair cost more than your fucking salary, right?”

“good. comfortable enough to watch your spoiled ass all night then.”

“fuck you.”

he huffs a dry laugh. “tried that already. you’re not my type.”

“please,” you snort. “your type’s whatever makes you feel like a man for five seconds.”

“and yours is whatever breathes near a bank account.”

the silence after that is thick. not empty—just waiting. like the moment before a car crash. like thunder holding its breath.

you crawl into bed, spine to the wall, refusing to look at him.

and yet—you feel him. heavy. still. an itch under your skin you can’t scratch.

the moonlight cuts a silver line across the room and lands on him. his neck. his hands. one of them flexes, knuckles tight, jaw moving like he’s chewing glass.

you close your eyes.

then open them again.

“you gonna stare at me all night?”

“not if you stay in bed.”

“you’d love that, huh?” you smile into the dark. “me nice and quiet. legs closed. mouth shut.”

“jesus,” he mutters, running a hand down his face. “you ever stop?”

“nope.”

he mutters something under his breath. something that sounds a lot like fucking brat.

you roll onto your side, dragging the sheets with you.

the room’s too hot. your mouth’s too dry. and you can hear everything — the creak of the leather under his weight, the way he exhales through his nose, the slow, measured breathing of a man who’s trying real fucking hard not to snap.

you smile.

“sweet dreams, cam.”

he doesn’t say a word.

but his fingers twitch on the trigger.

you open your eyes again, voice low but sharp, slicing through the quiet like a blade.

“if someone comes in here to kill me, just let ’em. tell my dad you tried your best, whatever the fuck that means. at least i’d be spared the misery of living like this.”

he stills.

slowly straightens up in the chair like a rope’s been pulled through his spine, jaw locking tight. the lazy, half-asleep look he wore a second ago is gone—replaced by something colder. harder.

“what misery?” he snaps. “you’ve got everything anyone could ever wish for. a house the size of a goddamn hotel. people who move when you blink. closets full of shit you don’t even wear. what the hell do you mean ‘misery’?”

you sit up, blanket pooling around your hips. “oh, so that’s what you think, huh? that money and nameplates make someone happy? that i’m just some rich bitch who cries for attention?”

“you said it, not me.”

“fuck you, rafe.”

“don’t,” he growls, standing now. “don’t act like you’re the only person who’s ever had it hard. i’m not saying what happened to you isn’t real. but don’t come at me with this ‘let me die’ bullshit like you’re some helpless girl trapped in a tower. you’re not.”

you stare at him, chest rising, heat blooming behind your ribs.

“you think watching you waste yourself would be easy for me?” his voice drops now, tighter. lower. “you think i wouldn’t have to carry that with me for the rest of my life?”

you blink.

“cam…”

he steps back, shaking his head, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to physically pull himself together. “just… shut up and go to sleep.”

“you’re the one yelling.”

“yeah,” he mutters. “because you make me crazy.”

you lie back down. eyes fixed on the ceiling. the air between you still sharp, but quieter now. he doesn’t sit back down in the chair, just stands there in the shadows, breathing hard like he’s run a mile.

and somehow, knowing he’s still there makes it easier to close your eyes again.

the silence stretches.

not soft, not comforting. it buzzes.

you’re almost asleep when he speaks up again.

“why do you never show your back?”

his voice is low. not aggressive this time. not teasing either. it’s… something else.

your eyes snap open, breath hitching.

“what?”

“you heard me.”

he’s leaning on the edge of the chair now, elbows on his knees, watching you in that way that makes your skin itch. “you’ll wear a dress with your ass out and a neckline that’s one wrong move from a scandal, but god forbid i see your back.”

you sit up instantly, sheet clutched to your chest like you’ve been caught naked.

“jesus, are you keeping a log of my wardrobe now?”

he shrugs. “i’m observant.”

“no, you’re nosy.”

“no,” he echoes flatly, “i just don’t trust people with secrets.”

you scoff. “good thing i don’t trust you with them either.”

but your voice is off. a little tight. a little too quick.

his eyes narrow just slightly. “so what is it?”

you cross your arms. “drop it, cam.”

he doesn’t. of course he fucking doesn’t.

“you act like you’re untouchable, like nothing sticks. but whatever it is, it’s got you spooked.”

“you’re imagining things.”

“am i?”

he’s standing again.

you glare. “i said drop it.”

but it’s too late—there’s heat creeping up your neck, your hands gripping the blanket tighter, like he might somehow see through the cotton, see you.

his voice softens, which somehow makes it worse.

“i didn’t ask to hurt you. i just asked why.”

you look away. swallow. “some things aren’t meant for people like you to see.”

he watches you for a beat.

then sits again.

and—for the first time since he showed up at your door with a loaded weapon and a dead stare—you feel like he actually saw something real.

and that’s what scares you more than anything.

he leans forward again, elbows digging into his knees like he’s bracing himself for something. voice low, slow, baiting you like he always does when he wants to get under your skin.

“what does that mean, huh?” his eyes flicker, tone sharp but steady. “does your dad know why you’re hiding your back?”

you stiffen. there’s a pause.

and then—quiet, dangerous—you say,

“no. he doesn’t.” your fingers tighten around the blanket. “and he won’t. not from me. not from anyone.”

rafe raises a brow, not even pretending to hide the way he’s studying you now”

“never say a word about what, exactly?”

you shake your head, eyes flashing. “you don’t get to ask that.”

“the fuck i don’t.”

“you’re my bodyguard, not my priest,” you snap. “and definitely not my therapist.”

his mouth twitches like he’s about to smirk—but doesn’t.

“so it’s something bad then,” he says. not a question. just an observation. “something you think would ruin the little princess image if it ever got out.”

you sit straighter, jaw clenched.

“i said drop it, cameron.”

he tilts his head, still watching. not pushing now—just waiting.

so you throw the covers over your head. not like a child—but like someone seconds away from unraveling, and desperate to protect what’s left.

you don’t see his expression change.

but you feel the air shift when he finally says—

“fine. keep your secrets. but don’t act like they won’t eat you alive eventually.”

and somehow…

it sounds less like a warning,

and more like he would know.

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yandere-sins · 2 months ago

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The Cure

[My Commission Info] | [My Ao3] | [Ko-Fi]

a/n: Another commission for a lovely anon ♥

Characters: Dr. Ratio (HSR) x Male!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Non-Con/Dub-Con, Rimming, Anal, Hand job), Domination, Obsessiveness, Insults, Long Post Words: 6684

"I told you to be punctual."

Sighing inwardly, you put on an apologetic smile as you hurried into the exhibition space housing all the statues the museum had collected over the years. The hefty footsteps of the moving sculpture and the squeaky ones from your shoes were the only sounds echoing through the halls this late, and you scurried over to the bench closest to Ratio before letting the pile of books fall down on top of it, relieved once the weight was gone.

"I know and I was, but it's getting harder to fool that old guard that I am really so forgetful I need to be let in every night after closing."

"Excuses."

Dr. Veritas Ratio made no secret of his approach, not wasting any time before snatching the first book of the arm-full you brought and flipping it open. Better than anyone, he knew how precious time was when he had to return to being a silent and still piece of art again, the moment the museum opened its doors to the public. You could have been mad about his constant chiding, but in a strange way, you've gotten used to it, pitying him too much to do the self-respecting thing and leave him to fend for himself.

Because it was partly your fault, he was in such a bad position in the first place.

His statue had been your big find. Your breakthrough. The thing that paid all your bills now. When you found him in that abandoned crypt, left alone and ready to be discovered after being buried there, you thought he was exactly what he looked like: A statue. A very beautiful statue, but a piece of art regardless. Never in a million years would you have thought that the statue you brought to your home museum, working on it for multiple nights to clean and restore it, would at some point come to life, step off its pedestal, and demand unrestricted access to books on all kinds of medical conditions, spirituality, and biology to find out how he had been turned to stone… hundreds of years ago.

"Thirsty?" you asked, twisting the cap off your water bottle before holding it towards him. Ratio turned his head, scowling down at you with his picture-perfect features, and you lowered your hand, taking a quick sip of your drink before hiding it behind the bench, reminding yourself that your kindness wasn't appreciated. In the beginning, you still told yourself he was just under a lot of pressure and the stress of solving his predicament, but in time, you came to realize it was just his personality. The man was so focused on himself that he hardly tried to understand others—well, you since you were the only one interacting with him.

It was a conclusion you both reached. If it came out he was an immortal man, petrified by something or someone (Veritas swore he couldn't recall his last moments being flesh and blood), people would probably go nuts over the discovery. Not only would it raise questions about his rights and how to treat him, but he'd be the center of a freak show that he loathed even thinking about. Besides, maybe whatever made him this way would come to retaliate now that he had surfaced again, so he swore you to secrecy, and you, who put him into this museum in the first place, agreed. There were times you wished someone could assist the two of you in finding "the cure", but you respected Dr. Ratio's wishes not to involve more people than necessary.

For someone grimacing just because you offered him water, he was unusually convinced you two were enough to figure out all the mysteries around him.

Giving yourself a quick encouragement, you grabbed the second book from the pile, taking a seat before starting to browse. You two had gone through most of the common books found in the nearby library already, so you had begun scouting for more literature of interest around the bookshops and online. Still, neither of you were any closer to curing Veritas from his condition, and although he spent years able to ponder about it, the impatience was palpable as his heavy body walked up and down the exhibition.

You didn't mind his pacing, the even rhythm of his steps even a bit relaxing as you read through yet another biology book, trying to find hints of petrification between descriptions of mushrooms, but it also made you worry. Even though he was stoic and self-centered on his better days, Ratio usually liked to talk about his findings, even when he wasn't solving his own mystery. He called himself a scholar before, so the new and groundbreaking knowledge of the last century really captured his attention like nothing else. He'd sit by your side, the coldness of his skin slowly warming as your knees touched, Ratio not even flinching when he felt your breath on his cheeks from how close he was leaning towards you to show you the paragraph in the book he was reading. It made you feel like you two were more than just caught in this weird situation. Like you were actually becoming friends. But as of late, he turned back to being colder and distant.

He didn't want to admit it, but he was getting desperate.

You couldn't blame him, really. The way he described the misery of being encased in stone made your heart ache for him, even if Ratio wasn't the easiest to get along with. "It's like time stands still, nothing moves forward, and yet, you are entirely and completely aware it does—just not with you," he once said. It wasn't painful to have his body turned rigid and heavy, but the feeling of constant cold and lifeless organs moving within made him feel like something was constantly wrong. As if he was in a state of mind and body he couldn't escape from but wanted nothing more.

Considering this, centuries of being buried in the darkness must have felt like hell. And if that wasn't enough, you were the first face he saw in a long time, and he couldn't be sure if you were there to harm him. Instead, he was shipped off, and no one anticipated a living person as he was stuffed in a box and brought to an unfamiliar place at an unfamiliar time. The thought alone made your anxiety spike, and Ratio did it all without moving an inch and giving away what he was.

So, of course, the prospect of solving his condition would leave him restless and eager to find out about it, even if it made you a little sad. You quite enjoyed the talks you two had, night after night, at the museum. The few but precious laughs you shared and what little similarities you had. You wished there had been more time to learn firsthand what it was like centuries ago and, in return, teach him about modern technology and how to browse the internet to satisfy all of Veritas's curiosities. Who knew, you two might have actually become real friends? His criticism could be harsh, but he was just as interested in going back and forth with ideas and finding solutions to even the most challenging questions as you were. If not friends, you two would have made great work partners.

Your eyes tore away from the page to look at him across the room, standing still like the statue he was, in a thoughtful position. Although it was bad to objectify him, he was beautiful, his skin glistening in the moonlight, almost like marble, cold and mysterious as it stretched over fine details like the lines of his muscles and his firm expression. A sight to behold, even though his chest didn't lift like a real person's, and he could stand completely frozen in one position for hours if he wanted. It was somewhere between uncanny valley and marvelous.

Catching yourself staring at him for far too long, you shook your head, finally realizing that he seemed way too interested in the same page of the book he was holding. Knowing him just a little by now, you were well aware that the Dr. Veritas Ratio would not ponder just a single page in a book if it wasn't of any interest. Curiosity got the better of you, and you set your own book aside, standing up to walk over to Ratio and look over the edge of his book, standing on your tiptoes to see the contents.

Unexpectedly, Ratio jerked away, his whole body moving like a pillar being rocked by an earthquake, and yet, you jumped, too, expecting some kind of danger. Looking around, the exhibition was still the same, quiet place. Still, when you turned back to Veritas, his eyes were wide open, staring at you as if he had just caught you committing murder or something just as atrocious.

"Are you alright? I just wanted to check if you found something."

"I'm quite fine!" Ratio replied, emphasizing his words a little too much to sound believable. Narrowing your eyes, you took another step forward, and he let the book snap close loudly before clearing his throat. "It's fine. Just an interesting segment."

"Really?" you followed up, your eyes landing on the title of the book. "Ancient Spells and Curses," you read it out loud, raising an eyebrow and looking up at him. Ratio refused to look at you, his chin raised high like a prideful peacock. "Did you find a cure?"

"What? In this? Don't be ridiculous."

While he was speaking, you reached out towards the book, using his moment of vehement denial to snatch it from his grasp. If there was one positive for you about his petrification, he couldn't react or act as quickly as your soft, blood and skin body could, and you were almost across the room already as he put his feet into motion. With a grin on your face, you couldn't wait to see what the doctor had been looking at so intently, be it a cure or just another interest of his, and you skimmed through the book, looking for keywords that would reveal the pages he had read.

Naturally, when you saw the word "stone", you paused, flipping back two pages to find the following:

Cure against Petrification

The turned individual can resolve the misery of being petrified by being with their one true love. A body resting warm against their skin of stone, mouth soft to free their hardened lips, sounds loud to rush the still blood in their veins, and accepting the person no longer living as such—a human. Then, the spell may be lifted, and the body can return to flesh and bone.

Occasionally, the petrified will need multiple encounters with their one true love to sift out any remains of the spell.

You weren't sure if you should be laughing or rejoicing as you read the words. They sounded as fake and corny as only spiritualism could, and yet, it was the first thing you two ever found that would resolve the problem you were facing. Turning around, you stared at the hulking figure marching over to you with a sense of dread on his face, Ratio's expression turning from irritated to skeptical to surprised at seeing your wide grin and excitement.

But then you felt your own mood shift as you suddenly realized why he stared at the solution for so long. If there was anyone that loved Veritas or he loved them, they were long gone, centuries-long. Now that you two had found them, there wasn't anyone who could fulfill the requirements. It was heartbreaking to realize that the only thing that helped could never be tried and tested. Even if you two went public with Ratio's condition, there was no guarantee he'd find the one. His one and only love. And if you two didn't, then…

"I'm sure we can find something else," you mumbled, closing the book slowly. "I mean, this probably won't work anyway, right? It's just humbug."

You felt awful discouraging him after finally finding a solution, but you also didn't want him to feel your own disappointment. The nights spent with him had also taken their toll on you and your life. You didn't want Ratio to think you were going to drop him and leave him to deal with his predicament just because you were slowly giving up hope. He couldn't need that in his situation. He needed you by his side, helping and supporting him, even if Ratio made it hard to get along. With his personality, finding another pushover to rope into his plans would probably be even harder. Besides, he was your responsibility now.

"It'll be impossible to get anyone else here and we can't really drag someone into this either, right?"

You did your best to make it sound like you were joking to cheer Ratio up, turning towards him and shrugging your shoulders dramatically. It was your best try to cover up this awkwardness surrounding you two after finding the spell removal, especially considering that Veritas would not try to keep you both focused on the mission, so it was up to you to stay positive.

"Where would we even find anyone else?" you laughed as if it was the funniest idea you had in a long time when your body suddenly fell forward, the book being ripped from your hand while you face-planted directly into a stone-hard chest.

"Why would we need anyone else?"

The question sounded too certain for it to be a joke, yet you chuckled awkwardly, pushing your hands into his chest to create some distance again. Surely, he must be jesting, however weirdly phrased it was. So when you looked up, meeting his gaze head-on, his eyes clear and unwavering, with determination shining in them that made them look like jewels pushed into a bust, you gulped, wondering what else he could have meant.

"Exactly…?" you agreed hesitantly, wondering if you had upset him. It was frustrating how hard he was to read, but you couldn't dwell on it. You yelped when he suddenly took a step towards you, your bodies colliding further into each other as you stumbled backward. But one of his defined arms caught you before you could topple over. Step by step, Ratio led you back, and you looked left and right at a way out.

"Exactly," he repeated your words, his voice suddenly low, rumbling like a purr in his chest. It was a reminder that he was still human and could make your head flush with heat, goosebumps rising up your arms. He sounded almost sultry, but you would never admit that. Ratio wasn't the type to make your heart jump, he was barely even a friend!

"I'm glad you understand. Now, I don't need to explain myself."

Your hands pushing against his chest were snatched from their place on top of his pecs. You let out an involuntary gasp as he raised them so high over your head that you had to raise your heels off the ground to avoid the sting in your muscles. "Wait, what? What do you mean?! I don't understand it at all! What's gotten into you suddenly?!"

Ratio clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed that he would have to explain himself after all. You looked up at him in confusion until your back hit the wall, and your body was sandwiched between two unmoving objects, your arms pinned above you. "Let's not waste time talking, when we could be conducting our research in the meantime already."

"Research? What are we–"

Ratio pinched your chin between his fingers, his stiff lips falling to yours with the full force of determination. The rock bounced against your soft flesh, and yet, you couldn't taste any stone at all, not even as his tongue pushed inside your mouth. It was a strange, hardened, foreign object that slipped against yours, brushing the tips together and coating it in your spit. Yet, the longer the kiss lasted, the warmer it grew, its flexibility returning as it explored more of your mouth than anyone had ever done before.

By the time he finally released you from the kiss, Ratio was dipping his softened lips lower, down your jawline, and hovering above your throat, your pulse hitting them over and over. His tongue lapped at you, tasting your nervously shivering skin all the way down to your collarbones.

"W-What are you doing?!" you asked, flabbergasted and incredulous. Your relationship was undoubtedly special, but that didn't permit him to attack you suddenly! "That's not–Ah!”

Without warning, Ratio dug his teeth into the flesh between your shoulder and your neck, not enough to hurt, but enough to cause your muscles to jerk, your hips jumping forward and against him. You two had never been so close, never felt as much from each other as you did at that moment, and you felt all the blood leave your body as you met something prodding from his hips, brushing against your own crotch in an unmistakable feeling.

He had an erection.

Veritas let out something akin to a moan, but he caught himself and quickly cleared his throat, finally stopping the assault on your tender shoulder. "I had my doubts," he admitted, drawing away from you to look you in the eyes. His gaze was calculated and focused. It was the same with which he chided you for not understanding, minus the sneer usually plastered on his face. A face still stuck in a spell but with lips that had regained color after just a few seconds of being entangled with yours.

"But it seems to work, let's continue testing."

Pushing his leg forward, you hissed sharply as he ground it against your crotch, parting your legs and sitting you down on his thigh, the tips of your feet struggling to reach the ground. "I-Impossible!" you panted, trying hard not to moan as Ratio lifted his thigh even higher, gravity pulling your weight down like you were sitting on a wooden horse. "We're not… we're not like that! It said you need your one true love, and we've been tolerating and working together at best all this time! No way you like me like that!!"

Ratio didn't humor you with an answer, merely leaning forward, more of his cold rubbing against the warmth seeping through your clothes. He was all hard muscles and breathtaking pressure as he pinned you between himself and the wall. A slight shudder went through his body as his cock perked up from beneath the sculptured waistcloth around his waist, brushing up against your thigh. His one free hand slipped along your arm to relieve his other hand from pinning duty. Instead, both of them crept across your palms until he could slip his fingers between yours. But when Ratio interlaced his fingers with yours, you were surprised to find them already fleshy and warm, and you glanced up to watch the stone subside, turning his skin back into flesh.

"Your stupidity knows no bounds, but luckily, I am here to teach you," he mumbled, face back against your throat as Ratio let out a long sigh. "I waited so long for this. To feel that warmth, taste your skin. I'd done it at some point anyway, but if it returns my humanity, I won't waste time waiting for you to understand my desire."

Finally, Ratio rose to face you again, a slight flush in his expression, his cheeks not yet rosy. "I've never met someone even close to understanding me—until you pulled me out of that crypt. Yet, you think my feelings for you are so abysmal? If I'd care, it would hurt hearing you say that."

"S-Sorry," you whispered, his face so close that every sound louder than your breathing felt as if you were attacking him. Why were you apologizing? His brilliant eyes had their shimmer returned, the amber showing your reflection in them, making you shine in the golden light. You appeared even warmer than you felt with his cold body pressed against you, but it highlighted every one of your features, the beautiful glow of your tanned skin, the puzzled yet adorable look on your face, and the way your body contorted in front of Veritas in an almost sexy way, making you wonder if this was how Ratio saw you, too.

But just as quickly, the illusion shattered as you came back down to earth with Ratio pressing his leg even higher, grinding you against it. He was beautiful, apparently interested in you, and frankly, a catch if he didn't open his mouth, but that didn't mean you wanted him that way. He was reaching for straws with his research into the occult, and you had been an enabler and pushover so far, but not to this degree! You had to do something, or it wouldn't end how you thought it was right!

"Wait!" you cried out, but you were immediately shut up by Ratio's lips. This time, the kiss was passionate, yet soft, lips engulfing yours as he robbed the breath right out of your lungs, breathing it in as if he had drowned and was desperate for air. You slammed your torso forward, grinding your cock over his defined muscles on his thigh, but it only pushed more air out of your body as you were met with the same cold stone that used to cover Ratio whole.

When he finally released you, you were too busy gasping for air to continue your reasoning, and then suddenly, your soles hit the ground again as you were twisted around, your hot cheeks meeting the cold wall with a small thud. Your arms were released, immediately slacking to the side, and you listened to the sliding sound of fabric as Ratio pulled down your pants before you could react.

Gasping, you pushed yourself away from the wall, trying to cover your ass and crotch as Ratio dropped down behind you. He was down on one knee, and still had his head way above your waist, making you wonder just how good his genetics had been for this kind of growth in his century. But that wasn't the point at that moment!

"Stop it, Doctor! We're not that close, we can't just have sex! In the museum nonetheless!"

"Disagree. You and I are both men of science. If not us, who else can prove this method works? Look."

Parting his lips, his tongue dipped out, the pink flesh twisting and moving in perfectly human motions, no amount of stone left in it. You watched it, entranced by its flexibility, when Ratio suddenly parted your buttcheeks and lowered his head while keeping eye contact with you.

"Besides, I still seem to have failed in conveying my desire for you. I shall rectify it now."

You felt the slippery, wet drag of his tongue on your ass before you could attempt to move away. With a shudder and a jerk from your cock, your bud accepted the prodding muscle, allowing it to stimulate and pleasure you. With a face burning with embarrassment and arousal, you looked down to see your twitching cock bopping up and down as Ratio was undeterred, rimming you with more awkwardness than expected, yet his determination prevailed.

Half stone, half flesh hand reached between your legs, a palm dragging over your balls before his fingers split and reached around your cock, moving slowly back and forth. It was a harsh feeling, followed by softness, constantly interchanging, and your precum soon wet the palm stroking you, making it even stranger. That didn't stop you from gasping as Ratio's tongue finally breached the rim of your hole, caving out the entrance until it could fit inside. You let out an involuntary moan as you felt it wiggle inside of you, making space for itself and what was yet to come, while Veritas's hand moved faster, the back and forth soon falling into a rhythm with his tongue, making it very hard to think clearly as your legs began to shudder from the pleasure.

But just as you were edging closer to your orgasm, suddenly, his tongue slipped out, dragging over your bud one more time before his face retreated from your ass, and Ratio's hand came to a standstill. Your heart was beating so fast, it was tricky holding back and not fucking your cock into his palm for the sweet, sweet release. You bit your lips in an effort to keep them close and not reveal a pitiful mewl or moan.

You felt Ratio shift behind you, effortlessly standing up again, your cock still in his hand as he slowly tugged you forward with it, your hips shamelessly following where his hand went. Soon, your chest was pressed against the wall again, your body hot even when his stone hips molded against your ass cheeks. You felt the outline of his cock rub between your flesh, realizing it was far too big to take inside despite Ratio's preparation.

Looking back over your shoulder, you gave him a pleading look. "W-We can still stop this," you begged, but his grip on your cock only grew more rigid in return.

"We've come so far, and you just want to stop? I thought I taught you better than this."

Drawing his hips back, Ratio positioned the tip of his cock in front of your ass, releasing your dick so he could grip your hips instead. You mewled, trying to move forward and away, but his hold was firm, keeping you in place. Ratio's hands were big enough to part your ass cheeks for easy access whilst settled on your hips, and you watched in horror and awe as he was able to produce enough spit in his mouth to drip on his cock for lubrication. The fabric around his hips had magically moved aside to bare his still gray cock, but it was as lively as a real one, the tip glistening as the spit ran off and down the shaft.

"We've come too far to stop now."

And with that, his hips jerked forward, tip pressing inside you forcefully. You cried out in surprise and the first hints of pain as your bud parted to accommodate the cock prying it open. Another jerk, and this time, you felt him enter you for a few inches, the cold burning against your abused hole and being wet from your juices. "Shh," Ratio muttered, leaning over you and pressing you further against the wall. You hadn't even noticed the whines that had escaped you, too focused on the feeling of his cock forcing his way inside you.

"I know you can take me. Just relax."

One hand released your hips, his cock lodged between your cheeks now, stuck to your entrance, and Veritas reached around to the front, massaging his palm over your previously abandoned cock again. Slow, deliberate movements that made your hips move in sync with him while he pressed up from behind, your body both fleeing and welcoming him outside of your control. You took a sharp breath in…

And Ratio pushed it out of your lungs at the exact moment, snapping his hips forward and lodging his length completely inside.

You didn't know what hurt more, your body or the violating feeling you couldn't shake. Ratio could speak about research and desires as much as he wanted, but all this time, it hadn't felt real until you felt your insides clench around his cock, the cold sensation the only thing that didn't make you scream from pain—yet. Your own dick twitched in his hold, spewing ropes of cum over his fingers and onto the wall, and you barely noticed them, lost in a pitiful orgasm that made your muscles tighten and your legs shudder, your body unable to move even an inch.

But you didn't need to.

Slipping his feet beneath your soles, Ratio made up for the height difference by letting you stand on top of his toes, even though your heels still didn't manage to come down. It was all so he could keep you in place as he slowly dragged his cock out and plunged it right back in as if to preserve the space he had created. Your body tingled as he stroked your dick half-heartedly, resting his forehead against your shoulder before letting out a deeply held breath. He slowly, painfully retracted his body, dragging his cock out of you up to the tip before ramming his hips upwards and all the way back into you. And from then on, nothing was holding him back.

In a mix of screams, gasps, and moans, you two felt the desire burn through his stoney body, his cock pulsating inside you as it changed back with every plow Ratio conducted. Mercilessly, he forced your ass to take all of his length over and over while gripping your cock in his palm, fucking your hips into his grip. You could barely find any hold, falling and rising at the same time as gravity played the third wheel in the debauchery, and the once silent museum was filled with your sounds—both the pained and the aroused.

You couldn't be sure if he was still aware of the scientific research he claimed this was or if Ratio had been taken over by desire and pleasure, much like you. He didn't speak, only grunting his emotions into your ear. But with his free arm, he kept you tightly secured, wrapping it around your body while sandwiching you between the wall and him, never letting you fall or even escape as he fucked you senseless. The foreign object moving in and out of your ass pressed up against the wall, too, as it bulged your stomach to accommodate its size, your skin scrapping the cement and leaving it bruised, but it didn't seem to deter Veritas.

Soon enough, you both were gasping, breathless messes, feeling blazingly hot against each other. It was nothing compared to the cold firmness of his cursed body from before. All that was left was soft, fleshy, and comfortingly warm, his touches unrestricted, his cock wet and moving sloppily as Ratio was nearing his orgasm as well. And yours? You had spilled your jizz twice more while he had yet to finish once, sullying the wall with the pitiful painting of your violation.

"That's it," Ratio breathed into your ear. "We did it! We did–"

Interrupted by his own breathless groan, you felt his cum spill inside you, swapping around like molten lava, hot and sticky, a testament to his transformation. You cried out as he filled you up with years of restraint, almost feeling as if he was shooting another load right after the first one. You, too, let out one last pitiful, watery string of cum; his hand, now completely human and sticky, was dripping with your seed as if it was lotion for his newly acquired skin.

Your breath was ragged as you forced some focus on your hands, pressing them to the wall as your body shivered and moved. Ratio was still pumping you full of cum, but even he seemed to grow tired, staggering on his spot. And the mean, mean gravity did what it did best: pull you down the second Ratio took just one step back.

His cock slid out of your buttered hole, releasing all the cum to seep and bubble out of you as you sank to the ground. You didn't even register the pain of your knees hitting the floor as your mind focused solely on the feeling of cum spewing from your abused ass. But reality hit you hard as you leaned your face against the wall, only to be met by your own sticky semen now drawing ropes between you and the cement.

"Amazing," you heard the doctor mutter behind you, and although your ass and hips felt like they were mangled, you twisted around to look over your shoulder at him. Before you stood a man with the same statuesque looks as the statue you had spent so many nights sitting over books with. Yet, you couldn't see him with the same eyes again. At best, he was mad, completely out of his mind. And at worst, you had truly never registered what kind of monster he was all along, although the signs were clear and right in front of you.

Neither perception looked as good as he did now.

With hair as blue as the night sky through the ceiling window above you, eyes that of liquid gold, and the build of an Adonis, Dr. Veritas Ratio was still a breathtaking sight. And you hated how it made your body flush with arousal when his gaze lowered back to you, gracing you with that unreadable, haughty expression on his face you knew too well, his cock still standing majestically, even after fucking you. To think you wanted to be friends with someone who had no regard for your feelings and rights if it proved useful to him. There would be no such thing now. You two would never be able to recover and form a relationship after what he did to you.

Absentmindedly, you watched as Ratio picked up the book that had caused all of this. At some point, he had discarded it to force himself on you, but he seemed to immediately find the page again, reading it over when something else caught his attention. A short, unamused laugh echoed through the room, and he lifted one hand, twisting and turning it in front of his face. Squinting your eyes to see better through your teary vision, you could see the rigidness taking hold of his fingertips, stone spreading like ice crystals over his skin. His lips parted as if to comment on the circumstance, but he quickly closed them again, knowing it made no difference whether he spoke about it or not. It was happening again, and he could only watch. You saw his euphoria disappear into the depth of disappointment. However, you couldn't feel bad for him this time like before.

Ratio's expression turned stern, his thoughts unmistakingly twisting around what went wrong and how to fix it. His gaze fell back to the page, then to his hand, the book, and finally, to you. Tapping his petrified pointer finger onto the paper, he took a deep breath before reading aloud, "Occasionally, the petrified will need multiple encounters with their one true love to sift out any remains of the spell, it says. Let us do it again to be sure."

Do… it? Again? Did he mean sex? Forcing himself on you as if you were nothing more than a means to an end? Perhaps you were—at least to Ratio. It had never been about camaraderie or pursuing the same goals, but now you had to suffer for his selfishness. Were you nothing more than an accepted sacrifice to solve his problem?

Your thoughts were interrupted by a tender kiss, much different than the ones before. His lips were almost playful as they coaxed you to return the affection that you refused to do. "Tell me what's bothering you," he mumbled against your lips. "I can see your brows crinkling from all the thinking when, really, you should only look at me."

His words only made you more upset, as if to say you weren't smart enough to think. Your contribution was no longer appreciated unless it was your body he needed to reverse the spell. You should have said something, making him understand how awful he was. But your anger settled above everything; your need to be validated after being used and abused greater than anything.

"I brought you here. You should be thankful I took you out of that crypt and helped you come this far. How dare you think you can treat me like this."

Ratio grew silent as he listened to your words, his eyes falling down to your lips ever so often before returning your angry gaze with one of belittling mockery. "I must admit, you're cute when you're angry. Is this what you are thinking? That I am using you, ready to discard you once I'm done? You are wrong, which isn't new, but you should know I am not planning on letting you go, especially not now."

Pushing your legs apart, Veritas positioned himself between them, his hands falling to your body, roaming until you attempted to stop them with your own. However, he merely interlaced your fingers again. This time, they had already returned to their stone-cold version. Yet, he forced them to comply, however uncomfortable it must have been. Back in this compromising position, you had no choice but to let him pin your hands to the ground, hovering above you with eyes so brilliant, they were beginning to fill you with dread.

They showed yourself in them, vulnerable and resigned, knowing you couldn't fight him. That despite what he was doing, you couldn't just leave him and this place behind. That his discovery would always come to haunt you, one way or another. But far behind that reflection of yourself lay something much more sinister. It hadn't been there when he was still petrified from hair to toe, but you saw it now. Ambition and desire, feelings that only you could awake in him after all this time and in this new day and age.

"You could have left so many nights ago, but we both know you need me," he whispered, lowering his face again and bumping his forehead to you. "All these times I gave you a chance to never return, but you did. Perhaps, I know why. I am your magnum opus—and you are mine. I will make sure those idiots mocking your finds and achievements witness the greatness of the one and only person I desire to be with. Once I have my body back, you'll bask in the glory of excellence with me by your side. Together we will be unstoppable, darling."

His hand slipped off yours, and you remained still as you let his words repeat in your mind, like a proposal of sorts. But when his touch found its way to your ass, you jolted awake, trying to scurry away as he probed at your violated bud with his cold, stiff fingers.

"But first, you need to do this for me. For us. A small price to pay for recognition, don't you think?"

Panic set in, tears shooting into your eyes as you shook your head vehemently. You wanted to say something, but the sounds coming from your hoarse throat didn't form words.

"Don't pretend to be shy now," Ratio scolded you gently, and for the first time since meeting him, you saw a genuine smile play on his lips. Lips that parted to lick his fingers as he raised them before they twisted into a wolfish grin. "We still have a lot to study and find out. What's your favorite position? What makes you cum the fastest? Things like that. And we need to be thorough."

He looked almost boyish as his smile softened again, eyes scanning your body with a never-before-seen interest before he found your gaze with his. You flinched as you felt his wet fingers back at your entrance, and you couldn't help but struggle, mewling and trying to get away from what seemed inevitable. Ratio shook his head and sighed. "Still resisting? Thankfully, we have all night to answer the questions."

Ratio looked up. Gone was all the softness, only ambition and lust remaining in its stead. Desire that needed to be quelled and strive that demanded absolut dedication from him. And then there were you, caught in the bullseye, the only thing he was focusing on at this and surely many other moments.

"I am sure you'll be a valuable asset to my research. Now relax, darling."

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penny00dreadful · 2 years ago

Text

STWG Prompt: "Hey, that's mine!"

"Are you flirting with Steve?"

Eddie jumped, the beer he'd been getting out of the refrigerator nearly flew out of his hand. Dustin seemed to have manifested behind the open door as he closed it.

"Jesus H. Christ, Henderson." He clapped a hand to his chest. "Wear a fucking bell or something."

"Are you?"

“Am I what?” Eddie asked, raiding the still capped beer to his mouth.

“Flirting with St- DON’T DO THAT!” Dustin shrieked as Eddie uncapped the bottle with his teeth. “Appreciate what you have, don’t abuse your fucking teeth if you have them man, come on!”

“It’s fine.” Eddie dropped the cap from his mouth into the bin.

“What was I saying?”

All Dustin got in response was a shrug and Eddie started to walk back out towards Steve’s sitting room.

“Wait, wait!” Dustin grabbed the back of Eddie’s shirt and pulled him back before he could leave the kitchen. Steve was out there and he couldn’t very well get the answers he was looking for when he was within earshot.

“Don’t manhandle me, you little shit.” Eddie placed the heel of his hand on Dustin’s forehead and pushed.

Dustin slapped him away. “Stop distracting me! Are you or are you not flirting with Steve?”

Eddie only looked vaguely amused. “Why are you asking?”

“You did the move.”

“What the hell is the move?”

“Y’know, like the-” Dustin dragged his hand back through his hair with some kind of ridiculous pout on his face.

“Don’t insult me like that, man. Any moves I have are better than that.”

“But it’s what you did. Because you were flirting.”

“You really think jocks are my type?”

“Steve is everyone’s type.”

“Incorrect. Buckley’s been quite vocal about how she’s not into him.”

“She’s stubborn.”

“Sure, that’s it.”

“I know what I saw.”

“Well then you must have seen wrong.” Eddie shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. Why don’t you worry about your own love life?”

The next second he’d disappeared around out of the room.

Dustin huffed, but followed.

“My love life is fine, thank you very much. We talk all the time.”

“Mhm.” Eddie hummed, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention anymore. Steve had heaved himself up from his seat, bent over and with one hand on the coffee table and the other attempting to snatch the remote out of Robin’s grip.

Eddie sat down slowly, watching, until his eyes drifted down.

“Hey.” He said, plucking his bandana out of Steve’s back right pocket. “That’s mine.”

Steve gave up, throwing himself back onto the couch and practically into Eddie’s side. “Well maybe if you didn’t leave it lying around-”

“Last I remember it wasn’t lying around.” Eddie said, leaning in a little further as though he was telling a secret. “Maybe a little tied up, but-”

Robin slapped her hand down on the coffee table. “I’m pressing play.”

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #stwgdailyprompt #dailydrabble

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midnightwinterhawk · 7 months ago

Text

I found this unfinished fic rec list in my google docs and I have no idea what the theme was supposed to be so I'm setting it free into the world. I've read all of these more than once but that's the only common thread I can see. 😂

Since @outtoshatter told me to publish it (many, many months ago) this is dedicated to her.

The One You Choose by @asterekmess

13k | Mature

Stiles hadn’t seen Scott in over a week, except for glances he caught during school hours.

Sex Therapy by Asterekmess

51k | Explict

Stiles wanders into a club named Eclipse, looking for a one night stand to help him get over his breakup, only to realize that he has no idea what he's doing. Luckily for him, Derek is happy to be his Yoda.

The only problem comes when neither of them are able to keep it to just one night.

In One Kiss You'll Know All I Haven't Said by @aussiebee

1.7k | Teen

Derek accidentally kisses Stiles goodbye. They aren't dating.

It becomes... a thing.

we are the resistance by @callunavulgari

7k | Mature | (Pacific Rim au!!)

“So,” Stiles says after a moment. “Werewolves.”

“It’s a thing,” Derek murmurs sleepily.

Stiles chokes on a laugh. “Yeah, I realize that now. I just, I don’t know why I expected anything different. We live in a world where giant aliens attack every few weeks through a trans-dimensional portal at the bottom of the Pacific, why wouldn’t werewolves exist?”

[Hilary Duff Lyric Redacted] by calrissian18 (@wellhalesbells)

40k | Explicit

Stiles hadn’t been in Beacon Hills in five years, hadn’t seen Derek in nearly as long, when he got the text:

New number: (+530) 365-2421

An abundance of overeating and geekery, dangerous caffeine/sugar cereal addictions, surprise werewolves, bird insults, purple-eyed shrimp, reincarnated serial killers (it's cool, he has a leash), poorly played professional baseball, and a love story. In that order.

stuck in reverse by @crazyassmurdererwall

65k | Explict

Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf.

Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks.

Still, no one deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody.

And it’s about time somebody told him that.

Step into the daylight (and let it go) by dearericbittle

14k | Mature

Stiles is a grad student with serious insomnia. So when he sees a stranger in need of help, he thinks it’ll be a good way to allevbore the boredom. How the hell was he supposed to know that the weird guy with the baseball cap was a famous actor (and a fucking werewolf)? He just keeps running into the guy. Coincidence? Stiles thinks not.

Come with Me and Walk the Longest Mile by @devildoll

40k | Explicit

"Stiles shouldn't accept rides from werewolves he meets behind abandoned convenience stores." In which the zombie apocalypse is just one of their worries.

of gods & monsters by @dexterous-sinistrous

6k | Mature

“I’m not the best at conversation. I’ve been told I have no finesse for it.”

Stiles took a step closer to Derek, pushing the billowing silk out of the way. “And what would you say if you looked at me now?”

Derek looked up, startled for a moment when he realized he was now looking at Stiles’ unveiled face. He was silent for a beat, taking in Stiles’ features for the first time, convinced he would never see such beauty unveiled for him alone.

Painted Wooden Letters by @discontentedwinter

10k | Teen | (Stiles & John with a tiny side of Sterek)

All he ever wanted to be was Stiles Stilinski.

Smoke & Mirrors by doodle

69k | Explicit

"Mirror twin, actually,” Stiles corrected automatically. “It’s a subset of identical, but we’re not identical in the normal way. I'm the mirror image of him, or him me, whichever way you want to look at it."

Stiles has spent his entire life in the shadow of JJ, his popular, captain of the lacrosse team, jackass twin brother. Now he only has to make it through the summer until JJ goes to college.

Easier said than done when JJ starts hooking up with Stiles' crush, Derek Hale, and there's a dead body in the preserve.

Windows by @drgrlfriend

83k | Explicit

Derek has a new neighbor who won't stop looking.

Excerpt:

“You’re blind,” Derek said flatly, the anger draining from him so suddenly he felt almost woozy. His vision cleared, his claws sliding back into blunt fingernails.

“Thanks for the memo, genius,” the kid said acidly. “I can still fucking defend myself, so don’t take another damn step.”

“Fuck, I...I’m sorry,” Derek stuttered.

“What?!” The kid’s brow crinkled. “I mean — what?! You’re fucking sorry!?” His lips thinned into a harsh line. “What, is this some kinda Hallmark movie where you’re discovering the error of your ways because you don’t want to rob a blind person?! That’s fucking condescending, man. I’ll have you know that —”

“Just, wait.” Derek interrupted what was apparently the start of a convincing argument as to why he should rob the kid after all, feeling his head start to spin. “This is — it’s a misunderstanding. I’m — I’m not robbing you. You’re — you’re safe, okay? I’m taking three steps back. Just — just let me explain.”

“Explain why you came busting into my apartment? Yeah, go right ahead, man, I can’t wait to hear this epic tale.”

Watch as the waves, fall back into place. by DropsOfAddiction

32k | Explicit

Derek rakes his eyes over Stiles’ exposed arms and his gaze lingers on the lithe muscle there. The evidence of years of staying in shape, working as an FBI field agent is blatant and was he always that hairy?

Derek’s mesmerised by the dark hair running up his arms and it’s only when Stiles clears his throat and flails his hands at him that Derek manages to bring his eyes to his face.

Stiles’ brown hair is longer and he looks taller somehow, fitting his body in a way Derek’s never quite seen on him. He looks totally comfortable in himself, propped there against the jeep like he does this every day, like he’s not making Derek readjust his entire world view, just by being there.

Derek scents the air blatantly and he steps closer to him, pleased with the way Stiles’ heartbeat spikes a little, despite his cool demeanour.

“Hey Hale. Looking good,” Stiles grins, still not moving an inch, even when Derek’s only about a metre away.

lovely, dark, deep by @elisela

3k | General

Stiles floats.

That’s all there is to do; the day is sunny and warm, like every other day he’s been in this pond, though he’s not sure how long that’s been. Sometimes he thinks it hasn’t been long, but whenever he tries to think about it, he … forgets. He told Kate once, when she came out to the garden late one night and let a fox tumble from her hands onto the ground, and she’d patted his cheek and told him that merpeople weren’t known for anything but looking pretty, so she wasn’t surprised to hear he didn’t have many thoughts in his head.

Sometimes it bothers him, that he can remember every day he’s been in the pond but nothing before, but if he thinks about it for too long he forgets that, too.

By Any Other Name by @entanglednow

33k | Explicit

He doesn't know his name, he doesn't know who he is, and neither does the werewolf he's on the run with. But he's pretty sure they hunt monsters, because they seem to be really good at it.

Hide Of A Life War by @etharei

26k | Explicit

“We have received confirmation that there is a hostage situation in progress at a warehouse compound two hours out of Los Angeles, following a multiple-vehicle pileup on Highway 101 this morning...”

The one in which Stiles has lived to (legal) adulthood and, along the way, become a bit of a badass himself.

One Dollar Yoda by exclamation @adventures-in-a-world-of-fiction

11k | Mature

Stiles is an unbonded spark, so he's been dealing with courting alphas since he was ten. It's gotten a lot worse since he turned sixteen. Some are assholes, some are nice, but Stiles hasn't wanted to spend the rest of his life bound to any of them.

When Derek Hale shows up at his school, Stiles expects him to be just another asshole alpha attempting to buy him with expensive gifts. But Derek Hale puts no effort whatsoever into his courtship gifts. Stiles ought to be offended but instead he finds it refreshing.

On my Way by Gia279 (@outtoshatter)

18k | NR

Huge black paws smacked the window, followed by a fuzzy face smooshing up against it.

He scrambled over the gear shift, tipping into the passenger seat. Bear, he thought hysterically. It had to be a bear, a freaking bear.

A big pink tongue rolled out, lips pulling back as the creature panted.

Forward Motion by Gia279

9k | Teen

Stiles and Claudia have just opened their magic shop, finally moving to a brick and mortar store instead of selling potions and amulets from their kitchen.

Derek is having strange dreams, and Peter keeps asking him to go pick up some weird herbs from the new shop while the rest of the Hale pack is in an uproar preparing for their chaotic winter celebration.

Stiles has not one but two embarrassing run-ins with Derek before he manages a conversation with him, and Claudia gets the last laugh.

Shifted by Gia279

48k | NR

What the fuck? Stiles’s eyes snapped open. He leaped back.

A semi-truck blew by, horn blaring in annoyance.

Stiles looked around. His heart quickened at the unfamiliar shadows. His phone rang again, startling him. He fumbled it out of his pocket to answer, fingers sliding awkwardly over the screen.

“Where are you?” Talia’s voice snapped with urgency.

Stiles looked down. His feet were bare and dirty, but he’d still been wearing jeans when he fell asleep. “I’m not sure.”

flint & tinder by grimm

43k | Explicit

Casting spells, chasing monsters, wooing your coworkers and fucking them in their offices - it's all in a day's work for Stiles Stilinski.

North of Salem by @halehathnofury-blog

85k | Explicit

The world is ending in a fight between the supernatural and human worlds. On the front line there are packs that keep the threat at bay and one of them is run by an Alpha wolf and a Spark.

Quack (Stiles Stop Calling It That) by @isthatbloodonhisshirt

16k | Teen

“Stiles, I’m serious, I need a favour.”

“That sounds like a trap,” Stiles Stilinski muttered sleepily into both his pillows. “You know,” he continued when the man in his room made no move to leave, “you’d think I’d be used to this. My dad, coming into my room, smacking my ass to get me out of bed, waking me up at the ass crack of dawn—”

“It’s almost one.”

“—waking me up at the ass crack of one,” Stiles continued without missing a beat, “and asking for a favour. Given my life growing up with you, you’d think I’d be used to this by now. I think the reason this hits so hard now is that I specifically bought my own apartment so that you couldn’t wake me up at the ass crack of dawn—”

“Stiles, it’s almost one.”

“—so that you couldn’t wake me up at the ass crack of one.”

Words Cannot Espresso How Much You Bean to Me by isthatbloodonhisshirt

68k | Teen

“You’re late,” Derek informed him coldly, jaw clenched. He barely even moved his mouth to speak. This guy was seriously scary.

And because Stiles was suicidal, he said, “No, I’m Stiles.”

The look he got could’ve curdled milk. Stiles even noticed that Derek’s muscles were tensing, arms bulging even more and wow this guy was scary and hot but mostly scary holy shit.

“You’re not funny,” Derek informed him coldly.

Stiles shrugged. “I think that’s a matter of opinion.”

Puppy Love by @jerakeenc

7k | Teen

"You stole half the dogs in town," his dad says, hands on his hips. "I should arrest you."

"They're in protective custody," Stiles corrects him. He's trying to sound serious, but it's almost impossible when you have a Pomeranian eating your hair.

Waiting Games Jerakeen

6k | Explicit

Being an only child and heir to the throne, Stiles had always known he may not have the luxury of marrying for love. When he’d realized he was an omega to boot, things had taken an even more uncomfortable turn for him.

Omegas are rare. An omega as the heir apparent is almost unheard of.

Which is why there is no wiggle room when it comes to the tournament.

Don't Worry Baby by @kalpurna

20k | Explicit

"You know you're allowed to ask for vanilla sex, right?" he says, afterwards. "We can do whatever you want. That's kind of the point."

Derek doesn't respond.

The (un)Usual? by @rhysiana

28k | Teen

Stiles works nights at the local college-town diner. Derek is the weird, taciturn new regular who apparently needs huge quantities of food in the middle of the night. Stiles is determined to figure out why.

#who knows what i was thinking #I'm a mystery even to myself #rec list #Sterek fics #Stiles Stilinski #Derek Hale #mystery theme #my rec list

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5starluvr · 2 days ago

Text

NORTHSIDE

pairing: jeongin x reader (fem)

summary: The frat house was too loud. The music too bassy. The beer too warm. You weren’t supposed to stay long. But then Jeongin looked at you like he saw past all of it. And for one night, maybe he did.

genre: college au, smut, angst , one-shot

wc: ~4.8k

warnings: graphic sexual content (oral, protected p-in-v, rough sex, dom!jeongin),party setting, alcohol, one-night stand dynamic,emotionally intense,themes of loneliness, casual sex, fleeting intimacy

The bass is a pulse.

Jeongin leans against the splintered railing of the frat house porch, beer bottle dangling from his fingers, condensation dripping down like sweat. Someone inside is yelling about flip cup. Someone else is crying in the backyard. The night is breathing heat and smoke and perfume and sour breath.

It’s the kind of party you don’t really want to be at, but you show up anyway. Senior year. Expectations.

His eyes are sharp, half-lidded, tracking movement. People pass like smears of color and noise, none of it sticking — until her.

She’s standing alone at the edge of the kitchen, plastic cup to her lips, red as blood. Her eyes sweep the room like she’s trying to memorize it all in case she never comes back. Tight black dress, one strap off her shoulder, hair half up, lip gloss smeared slightly at the corner. She looks too young for this crowd — and too self-aware to admit it.

She’s not looking at anyone.

So naturally, Jeongin looks at her.

He drifts toward the doorway like he’s being pulled. Or maybe pushed.

“Freshman?” he asks, not bothering to shout. If she hears him, because he knows she will.

She doesn’t look at him right away. Just sips. Then: “You say that like it’s an insult.”

Her voice is low. Not soft. Like she only gives it to people she wants to hear her.

He smirks, teeth flashing. “I didn’t say it was.”

“Then why ask?”

Jeongin tilts his head. “Because you’re standing like you don’t know whether to stay or run. And that’s a freshman thing.”

She finally turns to face him. Her eyes are steady. Grey or green — hard to tell under the shitty LED light strip flickering above them.

“I stayed.”

“You did.” He steps a little closer. “What’s your name?”

She hesitates, then gives it. “Y/N.”

He repeats it, quieter. Like a password.

———————-

She doesn’t know why she’s still here. The party is too loud. The house stinks of beer and cologne and sweat. Some guy with a backwards cap just tried to explain NFTs to her.

But now there’s this guy. Tall, sharp-jawed, brown hair tousled like he just woke up — or like he always looks like this. He doesn’t lean in too close. Doesn’t scan her legs. Doesn’t use that voice guys use when they think they’re being charming.

He just watches her like he’s curious. A little detached.

Which is worse. Or better.

She steps into his space first. Subtle. Maybe imperceptible. But he notices — his hand brushes hers by accident, or maybe not.

“You live here?” she asks.

“God, no.” A smile. “I have taste.”

She laughs — short, real.

He tips his beer toward her. “Come upstairs.”

It’s not a question.

She should say no. She should ask his name. She should pretend like she hasn’t already decided.

But she doesn’t.

She just follows.

————-

The door clicks shut behind them.

Someone’s room — no idea whose. The walls are lined with peeling posters and dirty laundry piles. A candle has been burned too low on the windowsill. Smells like wax and vanilla and boy.

She’s already sitting on the bed. Legs crossed, one hand tugging at the strap slipping off her shoulder. Her eyes are locked on him like a dare.

“Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor,” he says, voice rougher now.

“I’m not.”

Jeongin crosses the space and stops in front of her. She stays seated, looking up.

“Then what are you doing?” he asks.

She stands slowly. Her hand slides up his chest — not gentle, not sweet. She stops at his collar, grips it, tugs.

“Staying.”

That single word from her mouth presses something deep and primal inside him, and before either of them breathes again, her lips crash into his.

The kiss is fierce—teeth, tongue, heat. No soft prelude. No testing the waters. Her mouth tastes like spiced rum and want, and he groans into it, gripping her hips through the clingy fabric of her dress.

She’s already tugging his shirt up, her nails scraping his abs. He peels it off and tosses it. Her hands roam like she’s memorizing muscle—over his chest, shoulders, arms. He watches her while she works his belt loose, knuckles grazing his hard-on.

The zipper comes down and she smirks when she feels how hard he is already through his boxers.

“Jesus,” she mutters.

He’s already backing her toward the bed.

Her dress pools to the floor—no hesitation. No shame. She steps out in black lace and heels. The bra barely covers anything; the panties are already damp. She hooks her thumbs in them and starts to slide them down, slow, like she wants him to watch. He does. Every second.

Then she’s sitting on the bed, legs open just enough to tease.

He drops to his knees between them, gripping her thighs. She’s warm, already slick. He leans in, licks a stripe up her slit, and her head falls back with a gasp.

“Oh—fuck—”

He groans against her, tongue working slow at first, then faster. His hands pin her thighs wide, fingers digging in as he sucks her clit and flicks it with his tongue. She’s soaked, dripping onto his mouth, and when she grabs his hair and grinds forward, he lets her.

“Shit—don’t stop—right there—”

He doesn’t. His tongue circles, flattens, dips into her, and then he’s sucking her clit again while two fingers slide inside—wet and tight and so fucking hot.

She arches off the bed, moaning loud now. He curves his fingers just right, finds the spot, and—

She breaks.

Her thighs clamp around his head and her body jerks, cumming hard on his tongue with a strangled sound. He groans and keeps going, tongue softening now, kissing the insides of her thighs, slow licks to soothe her as she shivers.

She looks wrecked. Lip bitten, eyes glassy, chest rising and falling like she ran a mile.

“You’re still wearing too many clothes,” she pants.

He’s out of his jeans in seconds, condom in hand, tearing the foil with his teeth. She takes it from him and rolls it on slowly, fingers curling around him, stroking once—then again, tighter.

“You’re fucking big,” she murmurs.

“Can you take it?” His voice is gravel.

She just pulls him down by the neck and kisses him again—hot, open-mouthed, filthy.

Then she rolls onto her back, legs open wide, and nods once.

“Come fuck me, Jeongin.”

He pushes into her in one long, slow thrust. She moans loud, hips rising to meet him. Tight, wet, hot—she feels insane. He stills halfway, jaw clenched.

“Holy shit,” he growls.

“Don’t stop,” she hisses. “Fill me. All the way.”

He thrusts the rest of the way in and her nails rake down his back, pulling him deeper, harder.

They find rhythm fast—his hips slamming into hers, the slap of skin on skin loud in the room. She wraps her legs around his waist, pulls him in, takes every inch like she’s starving for it.

“Harder,” she gasps. “Faster—fuck, right there—”

He drives into her, holding her down by the hips as he pounds her, the bed creaking with every thrust. Her tits bounce with the movement and he ducks down, sucking one into his mouth, biting lightly until she cries out again.

He flips her over—hands on her waist, pulling her ass up. She looks back at him over her shoulder, flushed and panting.

“Please,” she whimpers.

He sinks into her from behind, deeper this time, and she chokes on a moan, hands clutching the sheets.

Her body takes everything he gives—every thrust, every slap of his hips, the sting of his palm on her ass when she clenches too hard.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans. “You love this, don’t you?”

“Y-Yeah—god—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. He holds her hair, thrusts harder, her pussy sucking him in like it doesn’t want to let go. She’s shaking again, and when he reaches around to rub her clit—

She breaks again.

Loud, filthy, clawing at the sheets as she cums hard, body convulsing. Her walls clamp around him and he barely holds on—one more thrust, and then he’s cumming too, deep, gasping her name as he pulses into the condom, body going rigid.

They stay like that for a long moment—bodies slick, breath ragged, tangled in the sheets.

Eventually, he pulls out, ties off the condom, drops it in the trash.

She’s already slipping her panties back on, pulling her dress over sticky skin, tucking her hair behind one ear. She doesn’t look at him right away.

Jeongin stays on the bed, sheets twisted around his waist. He watches her like he’s trying to memorize the shape of her spine.

“You don’t have to go,” he says, voice low.

She pauses at the mirror. Smooths her dress. Stares at her own reflection like she doesn’t recognize it.

“I wasn’t supposed to stay this long.”

He swallows. “Still. You could.”

She turns, finally facing him. Her lipstick’s long gone. Her eyes are clearer now — less drunk, more real.

“You’ll forget me tomorrow.”

“No, I won’t.”

She crosses the room slowly. Not toward the door — but toward him.

And then — she kisses him.

Soft, this time. Nothing like before. A slow press of lips, a breath shared, her fingers threading briefly through his hair.

When she pulls back, her eyes linger on his face like she wants to say something else. Something real.

But instead, she just whispers, “You were the only reason I didn’t leave sooner.”

Then she’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind her.

Jeongin lies back.

Worst thing?

The sheets still smell like her.

#stray kids #skz x reader #skz fluff #skz imagine #skz scenarios #stray kids imagines #yang jeongin #skz jeongin #jeongin x reader #jeongin #jeongin smut #skz smut

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alltimecharlo · 2 months ago

Note

I love all your will/mack content but I am LOVING the frat boy will content. It really just fits him so well. If you ever expand the verse it could be funny to see them in rival frats. And Mack’s trying to take the rivalry very seriously and Will is like … can we pls hookup I think I’m in love w you. But they have to sneak around ? That could be cute

amazing levels of wsh desperation here, i love it. thank you anon - fic under the cut!!! :)🩵

Will leans against the porch railing of his frat house, a half-full red solo cup dangling between two fingers, and watches the chaos across the lawn.

Sigma Delta Phi is throwing their usual Friday-night bash, all neon lights and thudding bass and shirtless guys on the roof howling along to throwback pop songs. It's a mess. It's always a mess. And across the street, Alpha Rho is doing their version of a party too—cooler lighting, tighter dress code, a line of people waiting to get in like it's a club downtown.

Will smirks. Mack's party.

Mack, president of Alpha Rho, king of the clean-cut, all-American jock types, is standing at the top of his frat house steps, arms crossed and jaw tight, glaring like he's trying to manifest an earthquake under Will's feet.

Will lifts his cup in a mock-toast. "Evening, sweetheart."

Mack flips him off.

God, he's cute when he's angry.

"You're not taking this seriously," Mack says later that week, when they run into each other by the gym.

Will is in joggers and a cropped hoodie, sweat-damp and flushed from a run. Mack looks like he just stepped out of a recruitment catalog: backwards cap, team jacket, those ridiculous thighs.

"Taking what seriously?"

"The rivalry."

Will raises an eyebrow. "You mean the fake little frat war you started because I stole your float idea for Greek Week?"

"You did steal it!"

"You put it in the group chat. That is not legally binding."

Mack makes a frustrated noise and stalks past him, but Will falls into step beside him, grinning.

"You're really cute when you're mad, you know that?"

"You're not funny."

"Debatable."

They don’t stop running into each other. The campus is small, the Greek life smaller. There’s meetings, fundraisers, mixers. Will keeps catching Mack looking at him across crowded rooms. Glaring, mostly. Occasionally staring. Once or twice blushing.

The first time it happens, it’s after a fraternity council meeting that ran too late. Everyone's tired and cranky and half the group peels off to get drinks. Mack walks past Will in the hallway with a muttered, "Still think your pledge class is weak."

Will grabs his sleeve and pulls him into an empty classroom.

"Say that again."

"What, that your pledges couldn't organize a bake sale without crying?"

Will kisses him.

It’s not a gentle kiss. It's teeth and heat and Mack making this low, shocked sound in his throat before he grabs Will by the hips and backs him into the wall.

They don’t talk about it after. Not really. Just text each other things like "study night?" or "I know you’re at the gym. Come over after."

Will knows he should care more about the secrecy. But honestly? The sneaking around part is kind of hot.

There’s a thrill in showing up to Mack’s frat house in a hoodie pulled low, slipping around the side entrance while some pledge is mopping the floor. In making out in closets during campus-wide events. In whispering insults at each other with mouths barely an inch apart.

But also, there’s the quiet stuff.

There’s the time Mack makes him pasta in the tiny Alpha Rho kitchen and doesn’t even complain when Will sits on the counter eating mozzarella straight from the bag.

There’s the night Will falls asleep on Mack’s couch after one too many rounds of Mario Kart and wakes up covered in a blanket and with Mack’s hoodie tucked around him.

And then there’s the moment it all tips over.

They’re at a joint fundraiser. Mack is working the dunk tank. Will is supposed to be manning the raffle table. But he keeps drifting closer, watching Mack get soaked over and over.

Mack catches him staring and calls out, "Why don’t you try, pretty boy? Afraid you’ll mess up your nails?"

The crowd laughs. Will grins and saunters over, digs into his wallet for a few crumpled bills.

He nails the target first try.

Mack goes under.

Later, soaked and grinning, Mack corners him behind the supply shed.

"You’re enjoying this too much."

Will shrugs. "What can I say? I like watching you get wet."

Mack groans like he's in pain. "You are impossible."

"And you love it."

Mack hesitates. For once, he doesn’t deflect.

He leans in and says, quiet and rough, "Yeah. I think I do."

Will blinks.

"Say that again?"

Mack presses his forehead to Will’s. "I think I’m in love with you, dumbass."

Will laughs. He kisses him. It's softer this time. Real.

Maybe rival frat presidents aren’t supposed to sneak around behind the scenes.

Maybe they're supposed to hate each other.

But Will is done pretending.

And it turns out, so is Mack.

♡

#they're sooooo stupid i love them #usual disclaimers lol: i am british!#willmack #willamck prompts #will smith hockey #macklin celebrini #mackwill #wacklin #san jose sharks #hrpf fic #hrpf #hockey fic #hockey rpf

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thefemmefatalexo · 4 months ago

Text

Gojo SMAU - The Art of Falling Fake

Chapter 5 - Tricks, Treats and Terrible Ideas

Summary: The campus buzzes with life, but you feel like a shadow slipping through the cracks—unnoticed, unimportant. At home, it’s no better. Your parents dote on your step-sister, the star tennis player, while you’re the afterthought they barely acknowledge. She’s here too, her perfect reputation casting an even bigger shadow over your existence. College was supposed to be your escape, but living at home and walking the same halls as her makes it impossible. Then he shows up—Satoru Gojo, the rich, arrogant engineering major everyone seems to worship. His smug grin and effortless charm are the kind of things you can’t stand, but when a ridiculous twist of fate forces your lives together, you find yourself fake dating the most insufferable man you’ve ever met. It’s just a deal, temporary and harmless—or so you try to convince yourself.

an: hehe… SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 4} ; {next}

taglist: @hanakotateyama @sleepykittyenergy @inthedarkshadows000 @codeseven @byakuya61085 @minzxec @ivydoesit23 @naughteehee @mysteriaqueen @not-aya @bochichi @emlient

࣪˖ ��𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

The eyeliner refused to cooperate.

You leaned in closer to the mirror, biting your lip as you dragged the pen across your lid, only for it to smudge—again. Frustration curled in your chest as you reached for a makeup wipe, erasing the mess for what felt like the hundredth time.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered under your breath, resisting the urge to chuck the whole eyeliner across the room.

You had spent the last hour trying to recreate a Halloween makeup tutorial, and for some reason, it just wasn’t working. Maybe it was your shaky hands, maybe it was the universe conspiring against you—but at this point, you were ready to give up.

And after the day you’d had? This was the last thing you needed to go wrong.

It had started with spilled coffee on your clothes before class, followed by nearly failing a pop quiz. Then, after spending hours at the library, you walked outside to find it pouring rain—without an umbrella. The final insult? Coming home to Brielle gloating about her latest tennis win while your parents showered her with praise.

Now, as you sat in front of your mirror, determined to at least look good for this stupid party, your patience was razor-thin.

You exhaled deeply, steadied your hand, and tried again. This time, miraculously, it turned out perfect. Maybe even great.

Just as you exhaled in relief, your door swung open without warning.

“Wow,” came Brielle’s smug voice. “Didn’t know cops were supposed to look desperate.”

You clenched your jaw and turned in your seat. She was already dressed for the party in—what else—a tennis outfit.

“Can you knock?” you asked flatly.

“Can you not embarrass yourself?” she shot back, arms crossed as she leaned against your doorframe. “Honestly, you’re really going through all this effort? For what? You do know no one’s going to believe that Gojo’s actually into you, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “Leave, Brielle.”

“But I’m curious,” she continued, tilting her head with a fake-sweet smile. “How exactly did you get him to date you? Did you beg him? Threaten to expose some deep, dark secret? Oh! Maybe you paid him.”

You turned back to the mirror, adjusting your police cap. “Shut up.”

Brielle smirked. “You didn’t deny it.”

Before you could fire back, the doorbell rang. Your heart skipped.

Brielle noticed, her smirk widening. “Oh my god, is that him?”

Ignoring her, you pushed past and hurried down the stairs, heart pounding a little too fast. When you swung the door open, you were immediately met with Satoru, looking unfairly attractive.

His inmate jumpsuit was slightly unzipped, revealing a white tank top underneath. Silver handcuffs dangled from one wrist, and his white hair was effortlessly tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed looking perfect.

He grinned. “Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite officer. Are you here to arrest me? Because I’d gladly surrender.”

Behind you, Brielle and your parents watched the exchange with varying levels of curiosity. Brielle, in particular, was staring like she’d just seen a unicorn.

“Oh my god,” she practically purred, stepping forward. “You look so good. You know, if you wanted a matching costume, you could’ve told me. I would’ve made such a good cop.”

He didn’t even glance her way. Instead, he ignored everyone and stepped forward, grabbing your waist and pulling you into a tight hug.

“You look amazing, sweetheart,” he murmured close to your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. Then, before you could process anything, he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

Your brain completely short-circuited.

Brielle looked like she might combust.

Before you could even recover, he pulled back and flashed you a grin. “Ready to go?”

You barely managed a nod before he tugged you toward the door, not sparing your family a second glance.

“You ready for our big debut?” he grinned once you were inside his car.

You exhaled sharply, still recovering. “I hate you.”

He laughed, throwing an arm over your shoulders as he pulled out of the driveway.

The house was packed, the music was loud, and Satoru was making sure everyone saw you two together.

It had started with subtle things—his arm lingering around your waist, leaning in closer than necessary whenever someone looked your way, the occasional forehead kiss that left your skin burning.

Then he turned it up a notch.

He pulled you into conversations with people you didn’t know, introduced you as his girlfriend, and sent pointed smirks at the gossip-prone girls who clearly didn’t believe it.

You barely had time to process any of it before he was dragging you toward another group of people, where an enthusiastic voice called out, “Seven Minutes in Heaven, let’s go!”

Satoru’s eyes lit up. “Oh, we have to play.”

You groaned. “Do we?”

“Obviously. What kind of couple doesn’t?” he teased, giving you a look like he was daring you to say no.

You sighed, letting yourself be pulled into the circle forming in the living room. A few people had already gone, disappearing into the closet or a nearby bedroom to the loud whistles and teasing of the crowd.

And then it was Satoru’s turn.

He grabbed the bottle and spun it with an exaggerated flourish, watching it twirl with that signature shit-eating grin.

It slowed, making a few more rotations before finally landing on—

You.

The room erupted into cheers.

Satoru immediately turned to you, his smirk widening. “Looks like we’re up, babe.”

Your eye twitched at the pet name, but before you could react, he was already tugging you to your feet.

As he led you toward the hall, you caught sight of Toji and his girlfriend standing nearby.

Toji regarded Satoru with a displeased stare, as if his mere existence was an offense to him. But it was his girlfriend who caught your attention—she wasn’t smiling, wasn’t laughing, just watching with an unreadable expression.

For some reason, it made your stomach twist.

Without thinking, you hugged Satoru’s arm a little tighter.

He noticed.

And instead of questioning it, he just smirked and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

Then, as you passed, he made sure to dramatically pull you into his room, slamming the door shut behind you.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, Satoru spun around, hands in his pockets, smirking like he had already won something.

“So,” he drawled, tilting his head, “what’s the plan, babe?”

You crossed your arms. “Don’t call me that.”

“Babe. Sweetheart. My beloved.” His grin widened at the way your nose scrunched in irritation.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re avoiding the question.” He flopped onto the bed, propping himself up on his elbows. “We need to make it look real.”

You groaned, running a hand down your face. “We could just sit here and talk. Let time run out.”

“Lame.”

“Realistic.”

Satoru scoffed. “You think my friends wanna open this door and find us having a casual conversation about our majors?” He gave you a look like he was daring you to be smarter than that.

You bit your lip. He wasn’t wrong.

“Okay… then what do you suggest?”

A slow smirk crept onto his lips.

“I have a couple ideas.”

“Absolutely not.”

Your bickering went on for a few more minutes, the occasional knock interrupting your conversation. As Time went on the voices behind the door grew louder and more animated.

Another knock on the door made you both freeze.

“Times almost up, lovebirds!”

Panic flickered in Satoru’s eyes, but then his face shifted into something more determined.

You barely had a second to react before he grabbed you, threw you onto the bed, and buried his face into the crook of your neck.

Your breath caught. “Satoru—”

“Shh, relax. Just making it convincing.”

Then you felt it—his lips on your skin.

Your whole body stiffened. The first press of his mouth was warm, but then—a sharp pull. Teeth. A slow, deliberate drag of his lips.

Your fingers dug into the sheets, eyes going wide.

“Satoru—”

He hummed against your skin, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine.

“Mm, you’re reacting a lot for someone who hates me,” he mused, voice low, teasing.

You wanted to throw him off of you, but you couldn’t move. His lips were still there, sucking, biting, soothing over the mark with his tongue. It was too much, too good, too embarrassing.

A sound slipped out of you before you could stop it—soft, breathy, needy.

Satoru stilled.

Then he grinned against your skin.

“Oh?” His voice dripped with amusement. He pulled back just slightly, lips brushing over your ear. “Did you just moan?”

Your entire face burned.

“I—shut up!”

His laughter was low and smug. “Nah, don’t get shy on me now, sweetheart.” He pressed another slow, taunting kiss over the mark. “Was that your first time getting a hickey?”

You shoved at his chest, hard.

“Get off, asshole!”

Before he could tease you more, the door swung open.

Satoru didn’t even flinch. He just shifted slightly so that he was still half on top of you, turning just right so that the mark on your neck would be visible.

“Yo, Gojo, time’s up—”

Satoru sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes.

“Guys. Seriously?” He let out an exaggerated groan. “I wanna spend some time with my girlfriend if you get what I mean.”

A chorus of whoops and knowing laughter followed.

“Alright, alright, we see you.”

“We’ll leave you two alone.”

Satoru smirked.

They shut the door.

Silence.

You shoved him off of you immediately.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.” He stretched out on the bed like he hadn’t just completely ruined your life. “No need to be shy, princess. You were totally into it.”

Your face felt like it was on fire.

“I was NOT!”

He just grinned. “Sure you weren’t.”

You turned away, flustered, only for your eyes to catch your reflection in his mirror.

The deep, dark mark on your neck stood out way too much.

Your stomach dropped.

“Oh my god.” You grabbed at your neck like it would somehow disappear. “You gave me an actual hickey, you psycho!”

Satoru propped his chin up with one hand, looking very pleased with himself.

“Oops.”

“Oops?!”

He chuckled. “Hey, it’s good. Now people will really believe it.”

You stared at him in horror. “I’m going to murder you in your sleep.”

He grinned. “Joke’s on you, I’m a very light sleeper.”

“I hate you.”

“You said that already.”

“I’ll say it again!”

Satoru just smiled, looking entirely too entertained. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

You hurled a pillow at his head.

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jokeringcutio · 2 years ago

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Art the Clown x Reader (WARNINGS) Halloween smut.

AN: Follow me for more Halloween Reader Inserts. More stories will follow this month.

Drabble. Please read ALL warnings. Pairing: Art the Clown x Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: It is Halloween when you bump into a clown and, embarrassed, apologize. Later that evening, your roommate Meri seems to have invited that very same clown into your house for a bit of fun. But that fun turns quickly into a nightmare.

Warnings: Mention of Murder, Cannibalism, death of a friend, Sexual content, dub-con. Reader is scared of clowns. Implied Virginity/First Time. Mention of Blood. Coulrophobia.

The streetlights cast eerie shadows as you hurried home on Halloween evening, arms laden with bags of candy. It was the right atmosphere for it, you thought. All the shadows seemed longer, and in the dark, the ornaments of the houses seemed to come to life. Pumpkins, fake skeletons… Your heart pounded in your chest, the brisk autumn air chilling you to the bone.

As you turned the corner, you collided with a man dressed as a clown, gasping in shock. His attire immediately sent shivers down your spine; black and white suit divided vertically down the middle, large ruffles at his collar and cuffs. A tiny black hat perched atop a white bald cap, while his face was painted with stark contrasts of black and white makeup. The pointy nose bore a black dot, and his eyes were as dark as the abyss.

"Sorry, I didn't see you," you stammered, feeling your pulse race. As if it wasn’t bad enough that you accidentally walked into someone, he had to be dressed as a clown. And you had an irrational fear of clowns. You could not help but tremble and blush in embarrassment. Come on, you thought to yourself, it’s just a grown-up man wearing a costume. Clowns are supposed to be funny. Don’t be so scared.

Art the Clown stared at you silently, unblinking. It was unnerving, but you thought he took offense to the way you had reacted to his outfit. He probably had spent a lot of time getting dressed up, you thought, when you saw all the makeup he wore. And when people put a lot of effort into their costumes and looks, they want to be complimented. Not for some stranger to freak out and insult all of their hard work.

"I-I have coulrophobia,” you stammered, trying to explain your weird reaction to him. God, this was all so embarrassing. You wished you could just fade away. “I'm scared of clowns."

He tilted his head, a cruel smile forming on his painted lips. Nope, that definitely freaked you out again. You had to force a smile on your own, praying he did not see how much effort it took you to be kind and polite to him.

"Nice costume, though," you whispered while you let your eyes rove over his form shortly, just enough to note once again how oddly this man was dressed. Most clowns you met were colorful. But this one, he was grim. A true horror clown, you realized. He fits the theme of Halloween excellently.

“You’re going to enjoy yourself tonight,” you shyly mumbled, embarrassed by the entire encounter. You couldn’t wait to get away. Clutching the candy closer to your chest, you quickly bid him a good evening before stepping away from him and resuming your hurried pace toward home.

You felt the man’s eyes stare at your back until you rounded the corner.

A few hours had passed and children from all over the neighborhood came trick-or-treating at the door. Their laughter and excited chatter filled the air. You glanced at the clock. Just one more hour before the party started. Meri, your roommate, was already wearing a nice blue dress with a very short skirt. Deliberately. You knew she wanted to score tonight. Meri was like that, always eager for a nice time with a willing man.

You glanced down at yourself. You hadn’t really had the time to come up with something nice, but you knew that Meri had more than enough dresses in her closet. You’d borrowed some of her before.

“Yeah, you can borrow one of mine again,” you heard Meri say, and when you looked up you caught her looking at you with a grin.

“As if you can read thoughts,” you whispered, earning a chuckle from your friend.

“I can and I am damn good at it,” Meri said. “I have a pretty red one that would fit you well. Show a bit of cleavage,” she winked at you. “Can’t do no harm.” She turned around and beckoned you to follow her to her room. Once inside, she took the dress out of her closet and showed it to you. You chewed your lip worriedly.

“I don’t know,” you said, earnestly concerned about how revealing that dress actually was. Then your eye fell upon a dress you had borrowed from her before. “Can’t I just take the green one?”

Meri rolled her eyes. “God, no. You definitely need some action, babe. This dress will give you that. I guarantee it.” She thrust the dress into your hands and started to push you towards the door. “Go on, get changed.”

You were about to protest when the doorbell rang and you could hear kids shouting "trick or treat!" from beyond the door.

“I’ll get that,” Meri said with a wink. She smiled warmly at you while she made her way to the door. “Now go get changed, princess. I can’t go to the party with you dressed like that.”

You glanced down at yourself to see what she meant by that. Comfy pants, a baggy shirt, wintery socks. All right, you did not look like any of those women in the magazines. She had a point. With a sigh of defeat, you turned around to head to your own room.

But that was when an idea hit you.

Meri was answering the door. You could quickly slip into her room and pick up the green dress. It would only take a second.

Seizing the opportunity, you slipped into her bedroom, rummaging through her closet where you’d seen the dress you wanted to wear. With a bright smile, you found it. But just as your hand landed on the desired green dress, the sound of Meri's voice reached your ears. “Come in, thing. We can have a bit of fun in my room.”

You froze. The sound of footsteps heading your way made your heart leap into your throat. Had she invited someone in? By the sound of it, she was not alone.

Panicking, you dove into her wardrobe, the scent of her perfume enveloping you as you hid among her clothes.

Your breath hitched as Meri entered the room, the wardrobe door cracked open just enough for you to peek out. “Come on in, sweetheart,” Meri playfully said. You saw her beckon someone who was still on the other side of the threshold. Meri was horny, there was no doubt. You knew she had been so for a while now, hence why she insisted on going to the party tonight. But apparently, someone had come and offered himself willingly at your door. A friend? Someone you knew? Steve again? He would sometimes come around. Or Will?

But when Meri turned around, that excited smile still on her lips, you could finally see the man who wished to follow her into the bedroom. An oversized shoe appeared over the threshold, followed by a suit that was half black and half white.

The evening's events played like a twisted nightmare in your head, the clown’s haunting smile refused to leave your thoughts. It was him though. He was dressed exactly as before: black and white suit, pointy nose, black eyes that held a malicious glint. Fear gripped you, but curiosity kept you from fleeing. Was Meri actually going to have sex with this stranger?

Peeking through the crack in the wardrobe, you saw Meri lead Art the Clown into her bedroom, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Quite the costume," Meri purred, running her fingers over his ruffled collar. "I like a man who knows how to stand out."

She didn't seem to care about his silence, only growing bolder in her advances. The stranger sat himself on the edge of her bed and Meri purred again. You wanted to roll your eyes at the show she made. Slowly, she began to undress, exposing more and more of her flawless skin. Meri was beautiful like that. It had often irked you how easily some things came to her, simply because of her looks.

Meri moved her hips alluringly from side to side, unhooking her bra like a stripper before she let it drop to the floor. Her fingers pressed against her breasts, pushing them closer together while she let out a moan. Art's gaze never wavered, locked onto her every movement. Then she shimmied her panties down her hips, slowly stepping out of them.

"Want a taste?" Meri asked, lying back on the bed and spreading her legs. Your breath caught in your throat as Art moved closer, kneeling between her thighs. One bandaged hand was placed on her naked thigh. You could have questioned why the man remained in his costume, but you didn’t. Instead, you felt your breath hitch in your throat at the sight. Sensual, you thought. You felt your own body respond, slick gathering between your folds unbiddenly. And yet, you could not tear your gaze away.

The clown’s tongue darted out. You could see the pink coming from between the black of his lips. A slurping wet noise. "Y-yeah, just like that," Meri moaned, arching her back as he went down on her. Another slurp, another moan, another spark of arousal down your core. You pressed your legs shut, a hand firmly against your lower abdomen. You shouldn’t respond to this. You shouldn’t. "God, you're so good with your mouth," Meri gasped.

The clown gave no reaction. He continued to lick and slurp, his fingers folding Meri’s pussy lips aside so his mouth could easily reach her pearl. He was sipping, slurping, licking, and nipping and you could not tear your eyes away. It was a mesmerizing sight. Meri’s hand found his scalp, pressing him even deeper between her legs. He licked her now. Long, languid licks.

Meri shuddered in ecstasy, but after a few moments of the same, she started to catch her breath again. "Too bad my roommate isn't like this," Meri murmured, but you could hear it. "She's such a wallflower, probably never even had sex. Scared of it, I'd bet." You felt your face flush with shame, wondering if she knew you were hiding there, listening to her words.

“That’s it, baby,” Meri panted, the hand between her legs bobbing up and down faster now. “That’s it, make me cum.” The clown was working his magic apparently, because Meri threw her head back, lost in pleasure.

You bit your lip and clutched the green dress closer against your chest. You didn’t want to watch, knew it was supposed to be a private moment. But curiosity got the better of you, for Meri was right. You weren’t like her. You weren’t-

Suddenly, Meri screamed, her hands started clawing at the sheets. Her eyes turned wide, bulging, the screeching sounds of her screams were painful to your ears. It took you a moment to realize what you saw. The clown’s head kept bobbing up and down between Meri’s legs, but something was wrong now.

Those dreadful black-painted lips no longer glistened with fluids of passion, you realized with a shock. Instead, a darker liquid streamed down the man’s chin, and something large and chunky was caught between his teeth. Your eyes widened in horror as you realized Art was no longer merely pleasuring her. He was literally devouring her, tearing into her flesh with his teeth. Panic surged through you, but you couldn't look away. Your hands itched for your phone, to call 911, but you had left it in your room.

All you could do was watch. Watch and listen and pray.

Darkness surrounded the place. All you heard was your own heavy breathing, like a drum announcing a war. Your ears hurt, your throat was dry, your body felt numb. A horrible stench reached your nostrils.

It was over, had been so for possibly hours. You could not tell. You had not dared to move in case the clown had not left the house yet. But you had heard the door ages ago. Yet fear had kept you frozen.

An eerie silence filled the room. You stayed hidden in the wardrobe, paralyzed by terror until you were sure the clown must have left. Logic told you that you could not stay here forever. Shaking and weak-kneed, you slipped out of your hiding place.

Moving as silently as possible, you tiptoed through the dimly lit apartment, avoiding the gruesome scene in Meri's room. Whatever was left of her - and it wasn’t much – had dripped all over the bedroom walls and floor. Her bed was drenched in blood. All you wanted was to get your phone and call for help – you couldn't bear to look at whatever was left of your friend.

The door to your bedroom creaked open, and you stepped inside, the scent of lavender from your bedsheets a faint comfort in the midst of chaos. Your eyes darted around the room, searching for your phone. Hadn’t you left it on your nightstand? You felt around in the dark but found nothing. And so, with trembling fingers, you flicked on the light switch.

You looked at the nightstand first, but your phone was nowhere to be seen. Strange, you thought, and with a frown, you turned around. You’d closed the door upon entering, and it still was. But there was something odd about the shape of the shadow you saw that fell on it. Almost as if you had grown larger all of a sudden.

With eyes wide, you very slowly turned back to your nightstand. It was just as you had feared. There he stood, Art the Clown, grinning maliciously as he waved your phone in the air. Fear clawed at your throat, leaving you unable to scream or move. His black eyes bore into you, holding you captive.

"Please," you whispered, voice barely audible, "don't hurt me."

He didn't respond, his silence more chilling than any words could be. In one fluid motion, he lunged forward, overpowering you with ease. He threw you onto the bed, his bony fingers digging into your flesh, betraying his inhuman strength.

"Stop," you choked out, but he continued, undeterred. His fingers ran down your body nimbly as he tore off your clothes. Piece by piece. You heard the fabric rip and tear and had to squeeze your eyes shut. The sound reminded you too much of earlier. Of her. Your friend.

You hardly noticed how swiftly he had you exposed and vulnerable beneath him. Not until a cold puff of air made your nipples peak and you finally looked.

Pitch-black eyes bore into yours and you had to bite back a cry of fear. His face was very close to your own, hovering over yours. From this close, you could see the black paint around his eyes and lips, how there wasn’t a single crack in the white surrounding it. With a shock, you realized his teeth were a rotten color. Black, brown. But they weren’t ordinary teeth. As he grinned at you, you saw that something about his mouth was wrong.

Scary thoughts clouded your mind. Would he tear his teeth into your flesh like he had done with Meri? Would he torture you too? You forced yourself not to think back to any of it. Not to the pleasure you had felt at first, or the fear after, or the helplessness.

You became aware of the sound of fabric rustling and followed his movements with your eyes. His arm moved, his hand was doing something down below. Your eyes came to rest just below his abdomen. You had not thought his suit could open there, but it could. Something large and pale popped out of its confines. Flesh, you thought alarmed. Hard and large. Veins throbbed, purple and black. The head spilled a droplet of something white. Pre-cum.

This was his cock? This monstrously large cock was to fit inside of you?

Your mouth had been dry before, but it became impossible to swallow as you watched the clown position himself between your legs. You wanted to protest, say no, push him away. Your hands were upon his chest without thinking, but he was stronger than you. You stood no chance.

“No, please,” you gasped while he fumbled with his cock at your entrance. He looked down at himself as he tried to position himself and seemed annoyed when he couldn’t find your entrance. You felt the leaky head brush past your folds a few times and panicked. Your heart beat faster and your chest heaved rapidly.

“Please,” you begged again, your hands still pushing against his shoulders – to no avail. Then, you felt it. The head nudged against your entrance, parting your walls ever so slightly. But he had noticed it as well. Art’s sour expression made room for a smile as if he was relieved. His eyes darted up to meet yours again, silently telling you that this was going to be fun.

“It won’t fit,” you pleaded weakly, but your whispered words ended in a silent gasp when Art thrust forth, burying his large cock inside your deep warmth in one go. Too much. Your back arched, pressing your body up against his. Your naked breasts brushed past the coarse fabric of his suit. You didn’t care at this point that his clothes were riddled with spots of blood. Everything was focused on the feel of his shaft deep inside of you, hitting the depth of you mercilessly with a blunt thrust.

You gasped silently - as if the clown had ripped your voice away and had rendered you mute. Blood covered his shaft as he pulled out, making him smile even wider. Was that yours? You were pleading silently for this nightmare to end. But as he thrust inside of you, a shameful warmth began to spread through your body. Despite the terror, you found yourself responding to his touch, your heart racing for reasons other than fear. With your hands you tried to claw at him while his hands circled your hips, getting a good grip on your flesh before he started pounding into you in a steady rhythm.

That awful grin of his never seemed to leave his face. Not while he was treating you like a nice piece of meat, slapping your ass while he thrust inside of you. You could see his wicked teeth - black and brown and yellow - and had to force yourself not to think of what his mouth could do. His hips slapped against yours, hipbones prodding against your softer flesh. He was lean and nimble, but the grip he had on you with his hands was fierce and unyielding, certain to leave bruises.

A low moan threatened to spill from your lips and you rolled your head from side to side. What was he doing to you? The clown’s pointy chin brushed past your clavicle as he dipped his head forward, and then you felt his teeth brush past your skin. Scared that he would take a bite and tear out your flesh, you tried to arch your back away from him, but felt him respond by intensifying his grip and pushing you back down. As a response, you had earned a deep harsh thrust with his hips, feeling the head of his cock batter your cervix cruelly.

With each stroke deep inside, you felt your pussy lubricate the way for him. You felt your body respond to his wicked touch. Each slap against your ass had your walls squeeze down on him hard. Each thrust deep inside your core seemed to hit a delicious spot that made you see stars.

Breathlessly, you allowed him to rut inside of you, unable to stop him and unable to so much as make a sound while he pounded you into oblivion. You were helpless against the pleasure that threatened to consume you. He moved relentlessly, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

It didn't make sense – how could you enjoy this? Was there something wrong with you?

A few times you tried to close your eyes, but a slap to your cheek had you open them again to gaze up into the black depths of hell. His devilish smile was above you at all times, grinning down, reminding you of the pleasure he derived from your body. And the pleasure he gave you in turn. Sickening as it was, the demonic man above you managed to bring forth feelings that made your body tremble in agonizing pleasure.

When you came, your walls clamped down hard upon his shaft, milking him in a silent plea for more. You bit your lip from crying out. No way you’d show him that you enjoyed this. You wouldn’t give him the pleasure of your moans.

The silence made the wet sounds only seem louder. Wet thrusts of his cock as he slammed it inside of you hard, despite your walls milking him for all you were worth. Noises of sin, of pleasure, of lust. And then, as he finished inside of you, a shudder ran through your body, your climax tearing through you like a wildfire.

You were still biting your lip, aware it must be bleeding by now, but you’d be damned if you so much as would let him hear your passion. You glanced up at him. The wicked clown’s smile had disappeared. In its stead, you now saw a pensive, almost endearing look in his eyes, as he cocked his head and seemed to study you.

A calloused finger tilted your head back, revealing your throat to him while you looked back at him through half-lidded eyes. He tilted his head to the other side again, dick still twitching inside of your tight cunt, and seemed to study the tears in your eyes. You hadn’t noticed they had formed there. Would have wanted to say they were out of fear or sadness, rather than the harsh truth that they were out of pleasure.

With bated breath, you waited for what he was to do next. Would he kill you now, you wondered? The clown moved, his cock slipping from your core limply, leaving behind a trail of dark blood and yellowish cum.

He surprised you by moving forward, leaning on his elbows, as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead in a twisted mockery of tenderness. The contrast between his sadistic actions and this tender gesture only served to confuse you further.

You squeezed your eyes shut, thinking that surely this would be it. But the rustle of fabric against the bed indicated that he moved away. You waited and listened, heart beating wildly in your chest. But there was only the sound of another rustle. Plastic?

Curious, you opened your eyes to find Art standing several feet away. Picking up a garbage bag you hadn't noticed before, Art slung it over his shoulder and made his way to the window. Not the door, you noted. But the window. How odd?

He opened it. The sound of the window sent a shiver down your spine as you lay on the bed, watching the clown swing one leg over the edge and step outside. He turned around to face you. His black eyes glinted demonically in the darkness of the night – like little coals of fire. And then his smile returned once more. Seeing it, seeing him like that, made something twist deep inside of you.

And still, no sound could come forth from between your lips. The only thing you noticed was how warm your pussy felt at the sight of him, how your nipples peeked, and how your walls clamped down around his phantom cock, craving the real thing to be returned to you.

With a final, silent laugh, he blew you a kiss before disappearing into the night, leaving you alone in the aftermath of your orgasm, mind racing with a thousand unanswerable questions. ~ Fin ~

AN: Hope you enjoyed it :) ♡ Support me on Ko-Fi ♡ Love you all

#art x reader #art the clown x reader #terrifier #terrifier 2 #art the clown #art the clown x you

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phillystrega · 15 days ago

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To Be Gorgeous, To Be Seen 3/5

Yeah I don’t know, for some reason I double dipped this week. I’m caught up now so next chapter won’t come until next week. Like it’s SUPPOSED to.

Anyway, in this chapter: casual homophobia from the FDA, krispie treat abuse, and Buck’s betrayed by his own tendency to deep dive into documentaries.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three on AO3 or below

When the federal rules changed around blood donation, Buck remembered making a note of it briefly and then moving on with his day. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, it was just that blood drives at the 118 were Hen and Chim’s thing and Buck didn’t usually have to worry much about the rules surrounding them. His role on blood drive days was limited to helping set up tables for sign in sheets or picking up post blood draw snacks at Costco.

But now, he was an out bisexual firefighter, and suddenly he needed to review the rules around blood donation. So he looked them up, read them, read them again–and then he got angry–a kind of angry that lingered, simmering in the background for days until suddenly it was blood drive day and Buck was setting up the snack station with maybe more force than individually wrapped rice krispie treats deserved.

“Are you off refined sugar again?” Chim asked.

“What? No.”

“Well then unless Snap, Crackle, and Pop insulted your sister, I don’t think they deserve such rough treatment.”

Buck stared down at his hand and realized he’d unconsciously closed his fist around one of the krispie treats. The package stayed shut but what was in there was now definitely squished into a ball.

Eddie walked up to them then, as Buck was hiding the mangled krispie treat at the bottom of the pile, and said, “You two signed up yet?”

“Yup,” Chimney said at the same time Buck growled out, “absolutely not.”

And then Chim and Eddie were both looking at him, their heads cocked in confusion.

“They changed the rules, Buck, you can donate,” Bobby called over from where he’d been silently organizing sign in sheets and Buck had fully forgotten he was over there, one day he was going to put a bell on Cap and it’d be worth the latrine duty he got afterwards.

“Oh I know,” Buck said pointedly because he was now annoyed and mildly embarrassed that he had a small audience. “I know all about the rule change, particularly the part where only monogamous bisexual and gay men can donate.”

“Uh,” Chim exchanged a look with Eddie who seemed as lost as he was. “Are you and Tommy open? Because if so, you know, you do you, but that is way more than I need to know about my brother in law.”

“What? No.” Buck scoffed. “One boyfriend is all I can handle right now, thanks. Our schedules are complicated enough as it is.” They only got time together through sheer force of will and a shared google sheets doc that Buck put together at the start of every week to identify overlapping free time.

“Okay then, I admit,” Bobby said slowly. “Not sure what the problem here is.”

“The problem is that they only ask gay and bisexual men to be monogamous,” Buck said, waving his arms around as his voice increased in volume. “They don’t ask STRAIGHT guys if they’ve been loyal to their partner or confirm they’re not poly first.”

Eddie was looking down at one of the guidance sheets like he was seeing it for the first time and said, “huh.”

“And, I mean, maybe I’m monogamous but I sleep with other people, right?” He had soared past waving his arms and was now actively flailing a bit–for emphasis, it was necessary. “As long as it’s been negotiated with my partner and everyone is safe then it’s fine but I guess NOT for the FDA, who tests blood ANYWAY–”

“Okay,” Hen said as she darted into the scene from the side and gently began to herd Buck further into the fire station and, most importantly, away from the public. “Why don’t we go inside–”

“I guess only gay and bi men can be giant sluts,” Buck said, “I thought I was straight for YEARS and I had so much sex so I can attest that is NOT true–”

“Yup, I hear you, let’s go,” Hen said, practically leaning her shoulder into Buck’s sternum to shove him the extra few feet towards the locker room.

“Okay that got a little loud,” Buck admitted once they were inside.

“It did,” Hen said.

“But I was NOT wrong.”

“You were not.”

Buck stared at Hen for a minute before he sighed and crumpled into a seat on the empty bench. “Thank you,” Buck said.

Hen shrugged and leaned against the closed lockers. “I’m not a gay or bi man, I can’t tell you how to feel about this, you should feel any way you need to feel about it.” She smirked. “Just maybe, you know, feel those things AWAY from the poor blood drive volunteers.”

Buck groaned in frustration and dragged his hands through his hair. “Sometimes I just…I learn these things and I get angry.” He let out a dark laugh. “And then I feel stupid for not, you know, knowing about them before. So then I get more angry.”

Hen sat down next to him, her knee bumping against his. “You know now, Buck. Save your anger for the feds where it belongs.”

Buck huffed out a laugh. “Yeah.”

They say in silence for a minute before Hen rocked sideways, bumping her shoulder against his. “So…can’t help but notice the specific example you brought up out there.”

“Yeah, uh,” he cleared his throat a little awkwardly. “Tommy and I talked recently about how if I wanted to have sex with someone else, it’d be fine because our relationship is our relationship and whatever works for us is what’s most important.” And it had only been a week since their talk, Buck hadn’t had the chance to follow through on anything. Truthfully he wasn’t even sure he wanted to, he mostly just liked fantasizing about it with Tommy, but the blood drive rules felt like a hard smack from reality that flattened him for a bit.

“Historically our identities and relationships haven’t fit neatly or nicely into the boxes the government or polite society give us,” Hen said, shrugging. “Doesn’t make us wrong.”

“Even when it means I can’t donate blood?” Buck gestured behind them to the set up that continued without them.

“Buck,” Hen said dryly. “You’re O negative.”

“Okay, and?”

“We’re hardly running low on universal donor blood.” She gave him a ‘there, there’ pat on the head and he tipped himself sideways to accept the mildly mocking affection.

“But there’s a shortage,” he whined.

“Then donate today and if you ever decide to have some, uh, extra fun with Tommy,” Hen said, clearly amused by Buck’s pink cheeks. “You’ll skip donation day and the world will not fall apart around us, I promise.”

“Yeah, okay,” Buck grumbled halfheartedly. After a few more moments of silence he added, “don’t feel like you have to stay in here with me.”

“Oh I don’t, I’m just killing time,” Hen said cheerfully.

Buck frowned. “Til what?”

There was a knock on the doorway to the locker room and Buck looked up to see Tommy there, leaning into the room carefully, like he was worried about interrupting.

“Til that,” Hen said, popping up to her feet. “I have a blood drive to help run, I’m tagging in the specialist.”

“Specialist?” Buck said, confused. He watched Hen pat Tommy on the shoulder and slide past him out the door.

“Evan specialist,” Tommy said. “I guess I qualify now.” He sat down carefully next to Buck on the bench and he must’ve rushed through his routine leaving Harbor because he was wearing jeans and non-work shoes but had on one of the t-shirts Buck knew he saved for wearing under flight suits and his hair was still damp from the shower.

“Hey, that is a highly sought after speciality,” Buck said. “It takes hours to get certified.”

“I am happy to put in the time,” Tommy said, leaning over to press a quick kiss to Buck’s temple.

Buck sighed. “You didn’t have to come here.”

“Well, Eddie texted me,” Tommy said. “And then Bobby texted me. And then Howie–”

“Jesus,” Buck groaned.

“He, as far as I know, has not texted me,” Tommy said.

“No, just everyone else on my team,” Buck said, rolling his eyes. He looked in the general area of the rest of the crew and watched as Chimney and Eddie, who had clearly been watching them but trying to look like they weren't, moved at the same time to appear busy with other things and knocked over a box of pamphlets on organ donation.

Tommy huffed out a small laugh. “Howie’s text said pretty firmly that he thought this was a ‘guy loving thing’ and my presence was needed.”

“I don’t even know how to respond to that,” Buck muttered.

“Yeah I’m trying not to think about it too much,” Tommy admitted. He wrapped his arm around Buck’s back, his thumb rubbing at the curve of Buck’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“I may have…gotten a little shouty,” Buck admits, waving at the blood drive going on outside. “Medical history of homophobia, the FDA…etc.”

Tommy hummed. “Evan.”

“Yeah?”

“Were you, by any chance…spending your down time during shift watching documentaries?”

Buck suddenly was looking everywhere but at Tommy. “I watch a lot of documentaries.”

“Right, but were these documentaries by any chance about the gay community in the 80s?”

Buck winced. “Maybe?”

“Evan–”

“I know, I know, I promised no more mainlining movies about the AIDS epidemic, but I thought Paris Was Burning was more about dance moves!”

“That’s some seriously heavy subject matter to get lost in for…hours on end.”

“Right but don’t you think I should know this?”

“Sure, but as a firefighter you should also know it’s better to drink from the water fountain than the firehose,” Tommy said knowingly. “I’m just saying, I can see why you weren’t in the best mood for the casual homophobia of the blood drive today.”

Buck groaned and pitched forward to bury his head in his hands. The blood drive rules, the FDA, the conversation he’d had with Tommy, the documentaries, even the savior sibling thing, he had to admit–it all sort of pulled together to create a chum of anger and fear and joy and frustration. He heaved out a heavy sigh, just so tired of himself and the weight of his feelings. “This is embarrassing, isn’t it.”

“No, no,” Tommy said immediately, his big hand coming up to rub comfortingly across Buck’s back. “It’s a lot to learn about the community and yourself, and I mean, you just got a little shouty at a blood drive, I alienated my only nice coworkers and punched at least one bartender.”

Buck squinted at him for a moment before he said, “so when you said you met your ex Alex in a bar fight…”

“Yeah, not my greatest moment,” Tommy said flatly. “This…realigning your concept of yourself and your place in the world shit is a lot. In so many ways you’ve been amazing at it. You’re allowed to struggle with it from time to time too.”

“Yeah?” Buck sat up and leaned into Tommy, wrapping his arm around Tommy’s middle and encouraging Tommy to settle his arm around Buck’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” Tommy said and he pressed another kiss to Buck’s temple. “In fact, being a bit of a mess is practically a cultural must-have, so…”

“Oh great,” Buck said, laughing. At least that was one way he could align with the community–through being a disaster. It was strangely comforting.

“Listen,” Tommy said softly. “You’re already clocked out for the day, the blood drive was volunteer stuff. Why don’t we skip it. Go home. Order some food.” When Buck frowned Tommy quickly added, “You can put on that movie about Mars–”

Buck’s eyes widened. “The Martian?”

“Sure.”

“Andy Weir really studied orbital mechanics to write the book, Tommy, the scientific detail is amazing,” Buck said in a rush. “NASA was so inspired by it they published a whole study on human health hazards related to a prolonged mission to Mars’ surface.”

“I’m going to assume you mean health hazards other than trying to exist on a planet with no oxygen.”

“Not no oxygen, just extremely low oxygen, like, 0.13%,” Buck said, fully aware that he was flailing again, but it was a more enthusiastic, excited flail than a sad and confused sort of flail, so that was a win.

“If you say so,” Tommy said. He smiled, shook his head, and stood up so he could open Buck’s locker and begin to pull his things out of it, handing them one by one to Buck with a sappy indulgent grin.

“Wait,” Buck gasped suddenly, and Tommy froze mid-reach towards Buck’s overnight bag. “Have I ever told you about carbon dioxide snow?”

#bucktommy #911whatisyourpride

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amazinglystay · 5 months ago

Text

Curveballs and Close Calls

‧‎₊˚✧ Bf!Seungmin x reader ✧˚₊‧

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

warnings!:

Mild language (playful insults like "loser") and a intense sports game with some fluff

(not proof read)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting the baseball field in hues of amber and gold. The energy was electric, the kind that made your chest tight and your palms clammy. You stood just outside the dugout, bouncing on your heels, arms crossed as you squinted at the mound. Seungmin adjusted his cap, his familiar sharp gaze locked on the batter.

The bases were loaded, the score tied, and there were two outs in the bottom of the ninth. A classic baseball cliché, but it didn’t make it any easier to watch.

“Don’t choke, loser,” you muttered, knowing full well he couldn’t hear you. But a small part of you hoped he could.

One of his teammates, sitting next to you on the bench, snorted. “You’re brutal. Isn’t he your boyfriend?”

You smirked, not taking your eyes off Seungmin. “That’s exactly why I can say it. Besides, if he screws this up, he’s walking home.”

That got a laugh from the guys around you, though you didn’t miss the way your fingers tightened nervously around the edge of your jacket.

Out on the mound, Seungmin wound up for the pitch, his form as effortless as ever. You watched as he threw a blistering fastball, the kind you’d seen him perfect over countless late-night practices. The batter swung—and missed. Strike two.

Seungmin stepped off the mound for a moment, his eyes scanning the dugout. You rolled your eyes when he found you, tilting your head as if to say, Get on with it already.

He grinned—just the faintest twitch of his lips—before turning his attention back to the plate. He knew you were freaking out, even if you’d never admit it.

“Show-off,” you muttered, even as your heart flipped.

The next pitch flew out of his hand, a slider that curved wickedly. The batter swung and connected, the crack of the bat sending the ball soaring into the night sky. Your stomach dropped as you watched it arc toward the outfield, where the center fielder sprinted back, his glove raised high.

“Catch it, catch it, catch it,” you whispered under your breath, the words tumbling out like a prayer.

The fielder leaped, his glove snagging the ball just before it could clear the fence. The crowd erupted, cheers drowning out groans from the opposing side. The game was over. Seungmin’s team had won.

The dugout exploded with shouts as his teammates rushed the field, surrounding Seungmin on the mound. You stayed put, leaning against the fence with a small smile tugging at your lips. You’d never admit how proud you were, not right away, anyway.

It didn’t take long for Seungmin to break away from the chaos, jogging toward you with his cap in one hand and a cocky grin plastered across his face. His hair was damp with sweat, his jersey streaked with dirt, and yet he still somehow managed to look annoyingly good.

“Thought you were gonna walk home if you screwed that up,” you teased as he stopped in front of you, his breath still coming fast.

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Guess I’ll be driving us home, then. You can thank me anytime now.”

“Thank you? For what? Nearly giving me a heart attack?”

“For winning the game,” he replied, leaning down slightly so your faces were inches apart. “Or is that too much to ask from my very supportive girlfriend?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at the proximity. “Don’t get used to it, Kim. I’m only sticking around because I promised your mom I’d make sure you don’t starve.”

“Aw, so you do care,” he said, his grin widening.

“Barely.”

But before you could fire off another jab, he reached out, his hand cupping the side of your face. The playful glint in his eyes softened, replaced by something far more sincere.

“You know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “I was nervous for a second there. But then I looked over at you, and… I don’t know. You kind of make everything feel easier.”

Your heart melted, the teasing retort you’d been ready to throw at him dissolving on your tongue.

“Well, someone has to keep you from falling apart,” you murmured, your voice softening despite yourself.

He smiled, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Good thing I’ve got you, then.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all mushy on me now,” you muttered, though your cheeks betrayed you with a telltale blush.

As the celebration roared on behind you, Seungmin laced his fingers with yours, tugging you gently toward the field. “Come on, you’re part of this, too.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t throw the winning pitch,” you said, letting him pull you along.

“Maybe not, but you’re the reason I did.”

And as the two of you stepped onto the field, surrounded by cheers and laughter, you couldn’t help but think that Seungmin was worth all the mean jokes and every heart-stopping moment in between.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

A/n 🖤 : make sure to like or reblog if u enjoyed it and to make sure u eat sleep and drink 👌🏾Okie bye bye now!

Masterlist ist here

#skz fluff #skz fanfic #skz x y/n #skz scenarios #straykids x reader #seungmin fanfic #skz #seungmin x reader #seungmin x you #seungmin x y/n #Seungmin fluff

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bittencandy · 1 year ago

Note

can you write nsfw alphabet... with manmon?? i'm begging please there is no alphabet with him

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓲𝓷𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓮𝓭𝔂 - 𝓝𝓢𝓕𝓦 𝓪𝓵𝓹𝓱𝓪𝓫𝓮𝓽

♡ ᴀ = ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀᴄᴀʀᴇ (what they're like after sex): He's admittedly, not the best. But believe it or not, he's actually improved since those first couple of flings you had with him in the beginning. Back then, the very concept of something like aftercare had been completely foreign to him. He was very much the sort of guy who'd pass out afterwards or resume whatever he had been doing beforehand: a phone call, watching trash television, a quick trip through a fast-food drive thru.

For the longest time you had thought that he was doing it on purpose. That he wanted to hurt you our make you feel unwanted and useless, but you were quick to gather that he really was just that out of touch when it comes to other people's emotions. His indifference didn't stem from a place of ill intent (not entirely), just pure detachedness. He's never truly considered another's wellbeing or desires before, and it's made him that clueless.

It took you turning the tables on him and leaving before he could shrug you off and ignore you for him to even understand a shred of what he had been putting you through for the last couple of months. And even then, it was still a bit of an uphill climb. It didn't click instantly. It wasn't a light bulb moment where he reflected and pondered about it for hours on end, but it did help to nudge him in the right direction.

He does still grumble when you all but kick him out of the bed to go get a warm cloth to clean up with, or when you tell him to carry you to the bathroom for a shower or bath. He hates having to move afterwards, when all of the endorphins are still rushing through his veins and his limbs are heavy and lax.

But you can usually sway him with some praising, and a few stokes to his ego. Offering him some physical doting of your own is a sure-fire way to get him all pliant and just as needy. Offering him something like a massage will have him like putty in your hands and he'll latch himself onto you all night. Not to mention that he has a little cabinet in the nightstand that's stock full of all kinds of snacks (all of it is absolute junk). He acts like you're taking a knife and stabbing him each time you reach a hand into a bag of his chips and take some for yourself, but it's all just bark, no actual bite.

The two of you will lay in bed for hours, with you curled up on the soft press of his stomach and chest while you catch up on the most recent episodes of whatever TV show you're currently watching together. He'll cling to you the entire time, keeping you secured to his body with a pair of his arms while crams food into his mouth with a free hand, swearing and making comments towards whatever is happening on screen, tossing insults around a mouthful of his snack.

♡ ʙ = ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴘᴀʀᴛ (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners): There isn't a part of Mammon that he doesn't love. It genuinely surprises you how he's the embodiment of Greed and not Pride sometimes with how he can admire and preen over himself. It's difficult to say which trait or part that he favors most. If he had to pick, it would most likely be his face. It's the image of his brand; posted along all corners of Hell, from hot sauce labels to perfume bottles, to the very currency that demons of all kinds use to buy said items with; there isn't a citizen or denizen in all of the Seven Circles who doesn't know who he is. From the wide, jagged grin on his face, the burning green of his eyes and the fool's cap on his head, it's all an easily recognizable facet from a simple glance.

It isn't a body part per se, but he also loves the sound of his voice. Not necessarily on a personal level, but the influence that it has on you never fails to make his body thrum with a heavy sort of satisfaction; ego and delight flaring whenever he sees you shiver or fall under the sway of that accented rumble of his. It makes you go all malleable and soft. And it's one of his first arms of defense against you whenever he annoys you or pisses you off. You hate to admit it, but he's gotten good at getting under your skin and twisting your emotions back into his favor with close to all but the sound of his voice.

For what he loves about you however, it might just be your mouth. He loves the watching the shape of your lips part open to talk to him, especially if you're speaking about him specifically - singing him praises and stroking his ego or saying his name. It might be a such a simple thing, but it never fails to have a shudder of delight skipping down his spine like a shot of electricity. But even better is when those same lips are stretched open and struggling to fit the thick girth of his cock down into your mouth. Forcing him down until you might choke on him with tears trailing from your waterline like diamonds, glittering in the light like flecks of silver and an iridescent shimmer.

No matter how many times you've taken him like that, there's always a bit of struggle with the difference in your sizes. And the strain of him in your mouth always has drool slipping down your chin and smearing and coating the length of him. It's filthy and messy, but it's a sight that he won't ever get enough of.

♡ ᴄ = ᴄᴜᴍ (anything to do with cum): He's an absolute degenerate with his cum. He's possessive and (of course- no duh) greedy, so there's always this consuming, almost ugly need to leave his mark on you. With his mouth, his tongue and teeth, and claws. He wants everyone to know who you belong to as soon as you enter a room, by sight and scent alone.

His possessive nature nearly makes him feral. He'll pump you full of his cum for hours, until you're completely dumb and useless if you let him, keeping you stuffed with his cock while he lifts you up and down on his girth like some kind of rag doll. Gripping ahold of you by the waist to work you around him until he's spilling what might be the third or eight load in you for the night while the rows of his sharp teeth clasp onto the tender flesh of your neck deep enough to break skin and leave marks.

Sometimes, he'll smear his cum over your body like some vulgar kind of lotion or perfume. Rubbing it in along the expanse of your abdomen and smudging it along your chest and throat like it's a fragrance. He wants it to stick to your skin. For your flesh to remember the scent of him, all musk, and ozone, and salt, and money; a subtle way to instinctually declare to anyone who may step near you that you're his.

There are some days, when the both of you have snuck away to slip inside a janitor closet or tucked yourselves away in some hidden corner between showings at his clown pageants or other performances that he'll cum deep inside of you until it's smearing and threatening to trickle down your thighs. And like some kind of pervert, he'll slip your underwear back over your hips and sweetly request that you walk around in your ruined undergarments for the remainder of the night. He gets some sort of sick thrill to know that underneath your clothes you're dripping full of him, and all of the strangers and fans around you and him are none the wiser to the fact that his cum is soaking your garments and defiling the fabric. But they can smell it on you for sure.

♡ ᴅ = ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ: Mammon doesn't hide many of his fantasies from you. He's pretty open about them, for better or for worse. Sometimes to an annoying degree. Annoying because of how jealous he makes himself with a particular fantasy of his. The possibly sharing you. It is completely a dream though. He could never actually stand watching someone touch you like he does. But he likes the idea of showing you off. Of letting people all see and experience what they're missing out on.

He's seen all of the tabloids and threads on social media platforms of people raving over Mammon's lover, simping over you and singing you praises and insults - the gorgeous demon who's always hitched to his arm at social events, and restaurants, and exclusive clubs. People want to be you. They want you. To hold you and fuck you like he does. But they never will. And that gives him a rush like no other. That the masses desire what he has - who he has - and that they'll never get it.

♡ ᴇ = ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ (how experienced are they?): Believe it or not, Mammon isn't very sexual. His libido is fairly low and the desire for sex is an urge the doesn't rise in him all that often. It's typically spurred on by a sense of possession or jealousy if he ever feels that someone is attempting to get too close to you. He can be extremely territorial, and he usually warns off potential threats to your relationship by warning them verbally or even the occasional physical confrontation every now and again. But usually just the sight of him alone is enough to get most demons to back off, unless they want to get on the bad side of the Sin and find themselves dead in a ditch in the middle of some toxic trash heap in Greed. And it's when all of those possessive urges rise up in him and build up that he needs an outlet. But even with all of his jealousy and avarice being such strong traits in him, his experience wasn't all that high when you had first got together.

He knew enough for it to be a pleasurable experience for the both of you, but he lacked overall skill and expertise. Though you didn't mind it all that much. It gave you plenty of room to teach him what you like specifically. What makes your mind draw a useless blank and your body become a writhing, burning mess. But you have made a bit of a monster with how determined he's become in reducing you to some dumb mess that only knows how to take his cock, or how desperate he gets for you to pleasure him until he's the one who's drooling and stupid.

♡ ꜰ = ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴘᴏꜱɪᴛɪᴏɴ: Mammon has a penchant for being a bit lazy, and the air of important that he holds himself at makes him feel as though he was born with the right to be served. As such, he absolutely adores any position that has you doing the majority of the work. He loves it when you ride him, working yourself up and down on his cock while he reclines himself back along the cushions of the bed with a pair of his arms crossed behind his head and the other set roaming over your body wherever he pleases. Reaching up with greedy fingers to pluck at your nipples and slipping them between your thighs to tease where you're all hot and slick and smeared with his cum. It gives him the perfect angle to analyze your face and admire the almost drunken expressions that slip across your expression; pleasure tugging your jaw down to release weak moans while your eyes nearly go cross.

It's one of the reasons that he loves head so much as well. There's something about being able to just relax and lie back while you devout yourself to laving your tongue and the warm, wet grip of your mouth and lips over his cock that turns him on like nothing else. He loves peeking down at you from where he sits to admire you, choking and gagging on him while you scatter kisses along the veins that throb along the thick length of him; worshiping him in the way that he deserves.

♡ ɢ = ɢᴏᴏꜰʏ (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? Etc.): Despite being arguably the most famous jester in Hell, he isn't usually trying to be intentionally funny at the best of times. Though there have been plenty of occasions where he's said something in the heat of the moment that's easily garnered more than a few laughs from you - much to his chagrin. He always gets so pouty and offended if you laugh at him because of a mistake he might have made or something that funny he's accidentally said in the heat of the moment. Much like the time that he had managed to fall off of the bed nearly mid stroke and lost his footing. He tumbled from the edge of it with enough force to shake the room and make the floor tremble. But it had been the string of startled swearing the had caught you the most of guard with the series of curses squawking out of him in rough yelp of, "shit! Fuckin' cunt - fuck me, dammit."

When he's deliberately trying to be funny during sex, it's usually because he wants to try something different - experimenting with a new position or such - and is trying to sweeten the incentive or distract you with humor. But there is every so often or so that he does use his jokes in a genuine manner, such as when you've had a rough day and he's trying to draw you out of your internal conflicts and troubles.

♡ ʜ = ʜᴀɪʀ (how well-groomed are they? Does the carpet mat the drapes? Ect.): Mammon doesn't have much hair on his body at all. But he does have a sparse scatter of hair that trails down his stomach and leads down to his groin. It's nothing too wild or unmanageable thankfully, and it's naturally pretty scarce, which is probably a win. You doubt that Mammon would be the type to be very motivated on his self-grooming if it was the opposite.

♡ ɪ = ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴄʏ (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): Intimacy isn't something that comes easily to him. It isn't a natural urge or instinct that he has, and it was very much a learned behavior that took him months to get a grip on. In the beginning, sex was just something to take the edge off. Something that he acted out on because he wanted it. It was purely a selfish act for him. All about his cravings and desires, and once he got his rocks off, he was always quick to leave or would dismiss you entirely. But with a lot of time, patience, and frustration, you were able to get him to soften up a bit and indulge in a bit of intimacy. Mostly through bribing him with massages, soft praises and gentle kisses after sex, and eventually he learned to adopt and translate that during sex as well.

He isn't the most romantic by any stretch of the imagination, but he has been improving in subtle ways by giving you tender compliments and sweeping, dulcet touches. He knows how big he is in comparison to you. How much strength he causally holds in his body. He could crush you like a twig with the brush of a single finger; and so, he's grown to be careful with the way that he holds you. Like you're delicate. A thing made of glass or porcelain that might shatter if he so holds you too closely. It makes him uncharacteristically gentle with you.

Mammon rarely cares for others in a way that doesn't stem from a personal gain. And honestly, he might not be able to truly care for anyone at all - not like you or other demons are able to. He's greed incarnate after all. He was born selfish. But when he clutches you close, stroking his fingertips along your spine and mapping out the shape of your face with curious hands, it truly does feel like he cares. It feels intimate.

♡ ᴊ = ᴊᴀᴄᴋᴏꜰꜰ (masturbation headcanon): He doesn't jerk off all that much. He doesn't need to. If the urge ever arises in him, he'll just find you. Though if you happen to be out of reach for whatever reason, perhaps in a different Ring entirely or busy taking care of personal affairs, he's quick to blow up your phone. He needs to hear you. Your voice, the sound of your breathing - anything will work while he grips his cock.

He'll absolutely spam the device if you don't answer. Calls, texts, DM's - it doesn't matter. Anything to get your attention onto him so that you can help him with his current predicament. It is technically your fault after all, it's the least you can do.

♡ ᴋ = ᴋɪɴᴋ (one or more of their kinks): Exhibitionism: He enjoys being watched - putting himself and you on display to show everyone just what they're all missing. What they'll never have.

Size kink: Even in terms of most demons, Mammon is quite tall. Towering over a decent amount of the population, and it delights him to no end that he's able to look down at you. To stand over you by several feet. Dwarfing your smaller form with his own. And that translates into sex. He could never tire of the way that you struggle to take him. Even after all of this time, it takes so much for your smaller body to stretch open around the thick girth of his cock for him to slip into your soaked warmth; tight walls fluttering around his length while they struggle to adjust to his size.

Breeding kink/cumflation: It doesn't matter if you're able to get pregnant or not, he's insistent on filling you up with load after load of his cum until you're both completely spent and gasping for breath and soaked in sweat and cum. Just the idea of him filling you up so much that your stomach is all swollen and heavy with him will have him hard in seconds.

And if you got pregnant, all round with his baby, then everyone would know that you're his. That it's his child that you're carrying. It soothes that rapacious nature in him like scratching an itch, but it's also like an accelerant on a fervent fire that'll have you both burning for hours.

Free use kink: It's one of those kinks, that even with his low libido, never fails to make him feral. The day that you had eagerly agreed - requested even - to be used for his pleasure had nearly sent him over the edge. It delighted him to no end to know that you make an effort in keeping yourself prepped and ready for him. That you're slick and stretched out, sometimes with a toy stuffed inside your hole to keep yourself nice and prepped for him. Especially on days when you know that he's going to be stressed and overworked. He loves that you'll happily take him when he needs it. That you'll let him bend you over the kitchen counter, or fuck you in the back of his limo, or that you'll let him take you backstage at one of his shows like a whore that he had paid.

♡ ʟ = ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ (favorite places to do the do): He'll do it anytime, anyplace - everyone else be damned. He's perpetually torn between the desire to show you off to the masses - to let them see what they don't have, and to keep you completely hidden away and private for himself. But regardless of his internal debate, he easily lets himself get carried away and if you allow it, near public sex becomes a pretty frequent fixture in your life with him. He loves the thrill of it. The idea of possibly landing himself on a news channel or headlining all of the social platforms and tabloids because you two got caught has molten lust rushing through his veins.

But he also loves taking you within the safety of one of his webs. There's something so tantalizing about seeing you all strung up and vulnerable within the confines of his silk that really turns him on. Especially when he sees that excited glimmer burning in your eyes when your wrists and ankles are strung up and bound tight. You like being caught and at his mercy.

♡ ᴍ = ᴍᴏᴛɪᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴ (what turns them on, gets them going): Jealousy or a sense of possession. But on a more positive note, just stroke his ego. Praise his skills and ideas and successes and you'll have him rock hard in seconds flat. He also loves it when he can pick up his scent on you. He complains if you (use) steal any of his bodywash or cologne, but he practically salivates when he smells himself on you. Especially when it's his natural musk and not just his shampoo. It'll make him want to rub his scent on other much more intimate places.

♡ ɴ = ɴᴏ (something they wouldn't do): He won't ever share you. No cuckholding or threesomes or orgies. Just the thought of touching you can turn him angry and jealous. Sometimes he'll trigger himself with just the thought of it and walk around pissed off and angry with a nasty sneer on his face and venom in his voice. He'll get snippy and curt with you like you had actually gone out and had sex with someone else. But he won't communicate why he's upset. He'll just leave you to be confused while he grovels around the house until you finally interrogate him enough until he can't hold in the "betrayal" and all of his emotion come pouring out of him. It's gotten to the point that you don't even bother listening to his little rants anymore, you just let him stew in his own self-induced jealousy until he works through it.

♡ ᴏ = ᴏʀᴀʟ preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.): Very unsurprisingly, he prefers to receive. He's a king after all. Royalty. And as such, he deserves to be praised and serviced. It's an honor to be able to share his bed, to be called his, to lie between his thighs. It's such a sight to watch you taking his cock between your lips. To observe the soft, wet drag of your tongue lap along the head to take the cum dribbling out like it's something to be savored. But he has come to enjoy giving as well. Definitely not as much as he likes getting head, but that's not exactly a surprise. He didn't have all that much experience with giving head in the past. It was a skill that he never bothered to acquire or refine until you had managed to spark his interest in it. Mostly by poking at his ego, but that's another story.

Although, he usually finds a way in making it about himself by dragging orgasm after orgasm out of your body until your brain is fogged and lost. And just to be cruel he makes you keep track of every single one. Let's hope you don't lose your count though, or else you'll have to start all over again!

♡ ᴘ = ᴘᴀᴄᴇ (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): It really just depends. As stated before, Mammon has a proclivity for being a bit . . . lazy, for lack of a better term. He wants to be the one being pleased, and worshipped, and loved. It makes his thrusts all languid and unrushed in a pace that's completely frustrating. It works you up, building up fire and heat in the pit of your stomach and dangling you over that debilitating precipice but failing to guide you over the edge. And it's entirely intentional. He does it so that you'll have no choice but to use him to get yourself off. To get him off. The lust searing through your body forcing you to bounce yourself up and down his cock to make you both cum.

But even he has his moments where his greed gets the better of him. It turns him into a slave of his own wants and hunger, until all he does is take and take and take in a frenzied pace that threatens to make you pass out. It's like he's starved. Using your body and his own to work the both of you into exhaustion; with both of your muscles quivering and thrumming weakly, lungs pulling in air with labored breaths, sweat and cum smearing your skin until you're certain that it's impossible to cum again. But he never fails to pull another orgasm from your spent body. And another. And another . . .

♡ Q = Qᴜɪᴄᴋɪᴇ (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): Isn't the fondest of quickie's. Once he gets started, it's difficult for him to stop, and being forced to pull away from the slick heat of your body can easily push him into a bad mood. Quickies are a tease. They require a restraint that he doesn't possess, and you learned a long time ago not to try and initiate sex with Mammon if you have a place to be or an appointment to get to. There's a very high chance that you won't be reaching it otherwise. Not unless you want to deal with a pouting, frustrated Mammon for the next few weeks. He tends to hold a grudge.

♡ ʀ = ʀɪꜱᴋ (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.): Absolutely. Especially in terms of public sex and being seen. He loves to risk of other demons walking in on you two and seeing you all spread out and split open on him, stomach bulging from his girth while you moan and whimper helplessly. It's feels like he's proving to them that you're entirely his. That they'll never have you like he does.

Experimenting in general is always on the table. He loves finding new ways to take you apart piece by piece. And in turn, he loves discovering new things about himself. Of watching you find another way to please him and prove your devotion to him, just like he deserves.

♡ ꜱ = ꜱᴛᴀᴍɪɴᴀ (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): It really just depends. Mammon isn't the most motivated individual - not unless money is involved. But he is greedy. And once he gets worked up it can take a lot for the heat to get entirely snuffed out, and if he's in one of his rare moods, he can last for hours. However, that doesn't mean that he's going to be the one doing a good deal of the work. He'll have you bouncing on him. Pulling orgasm after orgasm from his spent body, even when the friction of your tight, sloppy walls gripping his cock is too much. Sparking something raw and tender along his nerves like an electrical current with every downstroke and grind from your hips. It's too sensitive. Almost brutal in a way that might make his eyes cross, but you can't stop now. You can't leave him like this. Moaning and whimpering and begging for another one - just one more - even though that's exactly what he had told you about four orgasms back. The sheets are beyond ruined now. Soaked with your shared arousal and sweat. It's a chore to breathe. It's no longer an automatic bodily response anymore, you have to constantly remind yourself to force in lungful's between each bounce. Your thighs are burning and screaming at you from the exertion, and there's no way that you aren't going to be sore tomorrow but Mammon's still begging. His claws are latched onto the meat of your hips, threatening to slice skin and leave you bleeding, but the blissed-out expression on his face takes precedence amongst all else. He still needs you. Crying out like a slut for you. And who are you to deny him?

♡ ᴛ = ᴛᴏʏꜱ (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): You'd think that the guy who produces sex robots in his company's name would be a bit more open to using toys in the bedroom, but Mammon's jealousy truly knows no bounds. He sees them as an insult to himself and his capabilities. What could you possibly need a dildo or vibrator for when you have him? Let's be honest, a toy couldn't satisfy you like his fingers, or tongue, or cock can. They'll always pale in comparison in terms of how easily he makes your eyes cross, and your jaw drop from the flood of pleasure seizing your body.

But every now and again you may be able to persuade him into using something on you. . . Though it typically ends up backfiring and bringing him more enjoyment with the way that he never fails to torture you with whatever device you had insisted on using. He makes you regret even asking to use a toy; making sure to wring every ounce of bliss from your body until you're pleading for him to give you a break.

♡ ᴜ = ᴜɴꜰᴀɪʀ (how much they like to tease): To an almost annoying degree. He downright tortures you with his teasing, playing with your body so carefully. Working you up until your muscles are drawn taunt and tight and it feels like something molten and sugared is thrumming through your veins; keeping you right on that almost agonizing edge like he might finally have mercy on you and tip you over it with the brush of his fingertips or tongue. All of that just so that he can pull away from you and leave you empty and unfulfilled. Sobbing mournfully and writhing from your ruined orgasm. But he never has any sympathy for your tears or pleads - no matter how much he delights in the way that you beg for him. He'll work you back up again to hear your desperate moans and whimpers, just to stop and repeat the process all over again. For the second, fourth, sixth time in a row.

But sometimes he gives too much. Using your body for his own pleasure until you're pliant and stupid and filled with cum; nerves burning and raw from use and ecstasy. He'll have you split between bliss and something that might just be agony - a pleasure that's almost too much. But he's greedy. Using you like a doll as he chases after his own satisfaction like the ultimate hedonist. And you're just the vessel that was created to grant him his pleasure. He's made you black out from cumming over and over again and being filled to the brim until it's smearing down both of your bodies and soaking the silk sheets underneath.

♡ ᴠ = ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): He can be very vocal. He mostly groans and grunts, swearing and mumbling underneath his breath in a guttural purr that always has an exited tremble skipping down your spine. But it also doesn't take much for him to get loud either until he's practically whimpering (he always gets so flustered and angry when you tell him that he whines); drool slipping past the corners of his lips while his brows furrow close from the pleasure burning through every inch of his body. When he gets like this, he rambles. Sometimes it's straight up nonsense. His words too slurred and garbled to understood, but every now and then he manages to make a proper sentence. And when he does its usually complete filth.

. "Just' gimme another one. Jus' one more, I swear."

. " Keep yourself nice and spread open for me. Fuck, you're so fucking sloppy baby, you should be ashamed of yourself. But you're too stupid for that, ain't ya?"

. "You're such a slut. But you're my slut, huh? C'mon, say it."

. "You look like a porn star. I wish you'd let me film ya, you'd look so good all fucked out on film."

. "You should feel terrible makin' me do all the work while you sit back droolin' all over yourself like a useless little toy. Nothin' but a hole fer me to use - oh, don' act like you don't like it. I can feel you squeezin' me."

♡ ᴡ = ᴡɪʟᴅᴄᴀʀᴅ (a random headcanon for the character): It's been said before that Mammon would never share you. But that doesn't mean that he doesn't maybe fantasize about it every now and again. He's far too possessive to ever truly indulge in the dream, but he does entertain the idea every once in a while. There's just something so tempting about imagining the both of you all sprawled out among a sea of writhing bodies while you're brought to bliss by the glide of hungry, wet mouths and tongues. Teeth nipping at your tender flesh and stroking at you until your whine and writhe and scream.

It's a nice though but he'd rip apart anyone who touched you limb from limb.

♡ x = x-ʀᴀʏ (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): An absolute monster. It was extremely intimidating the first time that you had seen him bare and fully hard - but who are you kidding, he's intimidating even when he's flaccid. You weren't even sure if he was going to fit the first time that you had fucked. And he didn't. It took week of stretching you out and training for you to be able to take him. Hours of working yourself open with fingers, and his tongue and toys for you to finally stretch out around his cock. The first few times that you had sex, all that you could manage was the tip. And there were times where it felt like it was ripping the air from your lungs and stuffing you full when it would finally slip past your tight walls with a filthy, wet pop.

Just the head of his cock would have you going dumb. All cross-eyed and slack jawed like one of those stupidly dramatic porn stars. And with the size difference, you were practically little more than a flesh light; all stupid and drooling while your body struggled to take him. But Mammon was remarkably patient for someone so stingy. Probably too caught up in his gloating and sickly-sweet cooing to be truly greedy.

Even now that your body has adjusted to him, he's still a lot to take, but it's always worth it.

♡ ʏ = ʏᴇᴀʀɴɪɴɢ (how high is their sex drive?): Not the highest sex drive. The impulse for sex typically evades him, and as stated before, when the desire does spark it's usually triggered by a bout of jealousy or a sense of possession. But on the rare occasion that the two of you are separated by business meetings, family affairs or events, he has a tendency to set himself off by thinking of you. He tortures himself with the memory of you sometimes and it often leads to him calling you no matter the hour of the day or night and demanding that you help get him off. He just wants to hear the sound of your voice, all dipped low and saturated with lust as he works one of his fists over his cock until he's cumming all over himself with a ragged groan.

♡ z = zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep after?): He's usually out like a light. It's honestly a little fascinating (and irritating) how quickly he's able to pass out afterwards. One second, he's panting and heaving and catching his breath while he clutches you close and the next, he's passed out and already drooling on his pillow.

#hb mammon x reader #helluva boss mammon #helluva boss mammon x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #mammon helluva boss #helluva boss x you #helluva boss x reader #helluva boss x y/n #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel

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tenpintsof-sundrop · 2 years ago

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I really really hate to be that person - especially because I know a lot of people are under the impression that fanfic authors are greedy and we should be grateful for any comments we get, even if those comments are full of unauthorized concrit, even if they're kind of rude, even if they're weirdly self-shaming (sometimes insinuating that people should feel bad over reading the dark or smutty content in the fics or that we should feel bad for writing it in the first place even though you're also reading it??).

But like, lately, I have been getting so many comments along the lines of "this fic should be longer!!" "I wish this was a series!!" "please turn this into a series!" "I would read endless sequels of this!!!" - today someone literally commented on one of my fics saying that it was a war crime that the fic was 30k instead of being 'a whole series'. And I totally understand the mindset that if something is good, you want more of it. If you enjoy something, you want more of it. But these comments are definitely not as flattering as people think they are.

When reading those comments - it doesn't always come off as a compliment. Most of my fics range from 5k to 30k on average, and they are usually oneshots or oneshots that I have split into multiple parts in order to be more readable - most of my longer, ongoing series are abandoned because I didn't have the steam to maintain them. (Most people don't know at all how hard it is to write a good, coherent, well-plotted 100k fic and actually keep up with it.) After I post the fic I have written later this week, I will have written over 400k this year alone, with my entire AO3 having over one million words split between 79 different fics.

So often, having people look at my fics and having their only comment be to 'write more' - feels like an insult. Because I do write more. I have written more. I write consistently. (It just sucks that people have almost nothing to say about what I have already written.)

Having people look at my fics - usually very long fics - and go "hey, this would be better if it was longer!!" or "hey, that was good, but the only productive thing I have to say about it is: make it longer" - it always feels very discouraging.

It doesn't make me want to rush to write more of that fic. In fact, most of the time, I actively avoid working on sequels to fics where the only comments are 'more please' because I know the only thing people will say about the sequel is 'when are you gonna make more?' - and oftentimes, I don't intend to make more.

I have said this in another post, but the ending to my fics are always intentional. I don't write fics with the mindset of turning them into a 100 part series. I write fics with the mindset of making them like a film or a short TV series - telling a capsule of a story with a very intentional beginning, middle, and end. And if I write a sequel, it's because I feel there is more to be told - but I will also cap off that sequel with a very intentional ending.

(Also, don't get me started on the complex of - if fics don't have the classic 'happy ending' people feel like every single thread needs to be resolved until it gets to a more classic happy ending, when I love writing intentional melancholic and thoughtful endings.)

Also - in general, I feel like people don't understand how much work goes into a fic. It might take you about 2 hours to read a fic that's 30k (and a lot of people who are avid readers probably read faster than that, reading it in an hour or less) - but concepting that fic, writing that fic, and meticulously editing that fic so that it can be readable and pleasant for people takes upwards of 20 hours of work. I would say realistically, upwards of 30 hours. And those are just working hours - hours sitting at the computer actively working. That doesn't include the time spent in between workshopping the ideas in my head while I am doing other mundane tasks in life.

It's very, very easy to consume a 30k oneshot in one sitting and then hold out your plate and go "more please!!" without putting any thought into how much work went into the original fic.

All of this just to say - please think about these things next time you are commenting on a fic (or even closing a fic without commenting at all), or doing something stupid like generating a fic with AI - which steals from everyday hard working fanfic writers. Fanfiction is hard work - it's a labour of love, and it shouldn't be about blind consumerism where you finish one and then rapidly start looking for the next one. You should appreciate each one like a good, hand pulled taffy instead of gobbling them all down like cheap candy mass made by factory machines.

Yeah - I think that's it.

-your local over worked (but still passionate) fanfic writer

#uuugh #either nobody will see this or everyone will and they will complain about it #sundrop speaks #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #ellie williams x reader #spencer reid x reader #abby anderson x reader #mike schmidt x reader #fanfiction #fandom #vanessa shelly x reader #gar logan x reader

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celiastjamesoscar · 2 years ago

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Would That I

Pairings: Sam Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: You accidentally ran into someone at a frat party, and she quickly became your best friend. But you fell for her sister, who wouldn’t even give you the time of the day (this is a shitty description)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of weed, alcohol consumption, small joke of role playing sex, jokes about getting salmonella and dying, slight angst. Let me know if I missed any!

My Masterlist

AN: Came from this request here!

Word Count: 6.8K

You could smell the alcohol and weed in the air before approaching the house. It was Halloween night, and you were going to a frat party with your friends, even though you had zero intention of staying longer than ten minutes. You were just here to ‘shake babies and kiss hands,’ as your friend Miles would say.

He was the one hosting this frat party, so of course, you had to show your support for your friend, even though you hated parties and drinking. He was one of the biggest recruiters for his frat house and very well known across the campus for his promiscuous activities, but he wasn’t your typical frat guy. Yes, he loved to drink, party, and sleep around, but he was a nerd. He had been his high school’s team captain of Scholar Bowl his junior and senior year, and led them to a state championship win. And he was also extremely socially awkward; it pained you to watch him interact with people.

“What the actual fuck are you wearing?” Anika questioned as you walked up the stairs to the house. She and Mindy were patiently waiting outside for you, and they both laughed at your outfit. “What? This is a vintage Gucci,” you stated as you did a twirl for the girls.

You were dressed up as Alan Garner from the hangout, and Anika hated to admit it, but you pulled off the cheap fake beard and wig. You also had a fake baby strapped to your chest with cheap sunglasses covering your eyes.

“You are really asking me that, Mr. Worldwide?” You jabbed as you eyed Anika up and down. The girl wore a god-awful bald cap, a black suit, and a white shirt with a shitty penciled-on goatee. “Haters gonna hate,” Anika replied as she pulled a pair of sunglasses out from her jacket pocket and put them on.

You scoffed at the girl before looking at Mindy, “I don’t even know what to say to you.”

“I’m going to have a BF if you insult me,” Mindy scolded as she stared you down. She wore a jean skirt with white pantyhose topped off with a jean jacket and a pink shirt that said ‘Dude, where’s my couture’ in red letters.

“Was this your idea?” You asked with an eyebrow raised.

Mindy scoffed at your words, “Of course not! I wanted to go as Vector but Chad wanted to match,” she said as she rolled her eyes, “So now, I’m from White Chicks instead of Despicable Me.”

“I think you would have made a very sexy Vector,” you admitted with a smile.

“Thank you. At least someone,” Mindy sent Anika a glare, “thinks it would have been sexy.”

Anika rolled her eyes at Mindy, “I told you I’m not having sex with you while you are dressed up like Vector!”

“Okayyyy, this just got weird,” you interrupted as you walked past the fighting couple but stopped just before the door, “you two coming?”

The two quickly stood up and followed you into the house. The smell of alcohol and weed was enough to turn your stomach as you opened the door. You saw partygoers dressed in all different kinds of costumes as you pushed through the crowd and made your way into the kitchen. “I shall have a bottle of Smirnoff, and what will my lady have?” Mindy asked as she dug around the cooler full of alcohol. “I shall have the same, my lord,” Anika replied, and you almost gagged at their conversation.

You politely pushed past Mindy and fished around for a bottle of water, and you quietly rejoiced when you pulled up the last bottle. “Seriously? Water?” Mindy questioned as she glared at you. “Yes, seriously. This is a frat party, and I only know three people here!” You exclaimed while holding your water.

Mindy muttered a quiet ‘whatever,’ and you were going to retort when you felt someone throw their arm around you and pull you into a hug. “How’s my favorite homo doing?” Miles questioned while ruffling your hair. “I’m fine, Miles. Thanks for asking,” Mindy butted in with a slight smile.

Miles let out a small laugh as he left your hair alone and gave Mindy a fist-bump, “I’ve missed you too, Mindy, and you as well, Anika.” Anika smiled at the man as she also fist-bumped him. “Well, me and Y/N here are going to go hunt for some Latinas to hit on, you two gay-bo’s have fun,” Miles said while pulling you off into another room.

“Really? We are going to ‘hunt for some Latinas?’” You questioned as you followed Miles into the living room. People were elbow to elbow, and you had to shout over the loud music to converse with the man. “Obviously! I know your three main things you look for in women, and I bet we can find someone here who is all three,” Miles replied as she slung his arm over your shoulder while scanning the room for a potential hookup for you.

You scoffed at your best friend’s words, “I do not have three things I look for in a woman. I only care about her personality and her thoughts on Dr. Pepper.”

A sound of fake gagging caused you to send a death glare at Miles. “I forgot you're a Dr. Pepper whore,” your friend joked as he started listing your three interests on his fingers. “Number one: you love Latinas, same here. Number two: you love emo chicks; same here again. And finally, number three, you love a woman older than you, and guess what? Same here too!”

“I hate that we are basically the same person in different fonts,” you mumbled under your breath as you shoved yourself off Miles, causing you to bump into a stranger accidentally.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” you quickly apologized as you faced the woman. She was close to a foot shorter than you, but had a beautiful smile and seemed like she had a charming personality. “No, it’s okay,” the girl replied slurredly. You could tell this girl was hammered out of her mind, and you had seen the eyes of preying men on her.

Not knowing what to do, you asked her, “Hey, I know we just met, but would you want to go outside with me?” The question was an innocent one; you didn’t want to leave an intoxicated girl who was pushing five feet nothing to fend off men like Frankie. “Sure,” the girl replied with a smile as she grabbed your hand and pulled you outside. You sent Miles a scared smile as the man responded with a comical smile and a thumbs up.

You followed the girl out to a small wooden swing and sat down next to her. “So, what’s your name?” You quietly asked. You had no intentions on hitting on this girl even though she was your type; you were just in need of some new friends, and you thought she could be a good addition.

Not that Anika and Miles were bad friends, you just needed someone else to hang out occasionally.

The girl reached her hand over to you while saying, “I’m Tara; it’s nice to meet you.” You gently shook her hand and sent her a grin, “I’m Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The further the night went along, the more you talked with Tara. You two quickly discovered that you both shared a love for art and elevated horror, and you even exchanged numbers with the girl.

“Oh shit,” Tara quietly mumbled as she stood up from the bench. You gave her a puzzled look before standing up as well, “is everything alright?”

“Yeah, it’s just my sister is freaking out about me right now,” Tara replied as she texted someone back, presumably the sister in question. “You aren’t in any trouble, are you? Because I can try and help to get you out,” you offered, causing Tara to chuckle at your words.

“Thank you, Y/N, but I think Sam would kill you if she ever met you,” Tara joked while looking up at you before returning to typing.

A minute passed before Tara sighed and closed her phone. “Well, I better get back home,” Tara said as she moved in to hug you, but your fake baby got in the way.

You gave Tara an awkward smile as you pulled the girl into a side hug and whispered in her ear, “Babies, am I right?”

“Why do you even have that thing?” Tara asked while flicking its head.

You quickly wrapped your arms around the baby’s head and shielded it from Tara. “Hey! Do not hurt my baby Carlos!” You exclaimed.

“Carlos? Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am serious. Do not hate on his name.”

“Why did you pick such an outlandish name?” Tara asked with a smile as she crossed her arms.

You scoffed at the girl’s words, “‘Carlos’ is not an outlandish name, Tara. And besides, it’s from the movie The Hangover.”

Tara chuckled at your words, “Oh my god, my sister loves that movie; she watches it all the time.”

“Is your sister single?” You asked with a playful smirk.

“Ha! Yeah, right. Good luck with that. Sam is pretty reserved,” Tara stated as she slowly started to walk toward the road.

“How come? If you don’t mind me asking,” you asked while following Tara and stopping on the sidewalk beside her.

The girl shrugged while pulling out her phone and texting someone. “Her last relationship ended badly. And ever since then, she’s just been closed off to everyone except me and always stalking me,” Tara admitted while putting her phone away, “but you’ll get a chance to meet her; she’s on her way to pick us up.”

“Us?”

“Yeah, only if you want to come over. I know we just met, but I feel like we could be friends,” Tara admitted with a smile as a black car pulled, parked, and the driver got out.

Tara continued talking to you, but as soon as you saw the driver, you couldn’t hear anything else. She was, to put it lightly, the most attractive woman you have ever seen. She had dark eyes that captivated you and a stern look as she approached you and Tara.

“Who’s this?” The alluring woman asked, and you could only think, ‘You’re future girlfriend’ with a giant smile.

The younger sister beamed at her sister’s question and placed a hand on your back, gently pushing you toward the woman. “Sam, this is Y/N. She’s my friend,” Tara stated.

“Hi,” you breathlessly replied with an awkward smile as you stuck out your hand toward Sam. The woman looked you up and down before scoffing and slapping your hand away. “How come you’ve never mentioned her before?” Sam questioned while crossing her arms.

“Because, Sam, we just met tonight.”

At that, Sam’s eyes instantly widened as she stared at her sister. “Are you serious?! You don’t even know this stranger, yet you came outside to be alone with her?” Sam exclaimed as she checked her sister over for any injuries.

“I’m fine, Sam. And besides, Y/N isn’t that bad,” Tara laughed as she felt Sam’s hands check out of her body.

Sam stopped her movements and looked Tara in the eyes, “And how do you know that?”

Tara huffed at Sam’s question and turned to face you, “You aren’t going to murder me, Y/N, are you?”

“Yes, I am,” you joked with a playful smile, but Sam didn’t find it funny.

“Well, at least I get a heads up this time,” Tara chuckled, completely ignoring Sam’s bewildering expression.

Sam took in her sister’s words before shaking her head, shocked, “No, absolutely not. Come on, Tara, we are leaving,” Sam said as she walked to the driver’s side.

“Can Y/N come over at least?” Tara asked with puppy dog eyes and a small frown. Sam hated it when Tara did this, and her younger sister knew it always worked. Of course, Sam knew that Tara was only doing this to get her way, and Sam never denied her sister.

With a quiet ‘goddamnit,’ Sam allowed you to come with them.

“Thank you,” you said once you got into the back of the car and buckled up. You only got a small grunt in response, but you took it as a win.

The car ride was filled with low music and the occasional conversation between the sisters as you admired Sam. You were sitting behind the passenger seat, allowing you the perfect side view to look at Sam. Unbeknownst to you, Sam had caught you staring at her in the rearview mirror but made no verbal comment. ‘Fucking weirdo,’ she thought to herself as she quickly glanced at your love-sick eyes in the mirror.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arriving at the Carpenters' apartment, Tara gave you a quick tour of the place and introduced you to their roommate Quinn, who naturally took a liking to you.

While you were on the couch talking with Tara, Quinn walked into the kitchen and found Sam glaring at you.

“She’s certainly something, isn’t she?” Quinn questioned while twirling her hair around her finger. You had taken off the fake beard, wig, and sunglasses and left your baby and baby carrier next to the door, and Sam had to admit, now that she saw your entire face, you were undeniably attractive.

Sam side-eyes Quinn before looking back at you and then back to the redhead. “I thought you were strictly men?”

Quinn chuckled at Sam’s response, “How can I thoroughly enjoy sex if I’ve never been with a woman? They know the female body better than anyone else.”

Not being able to form an argument against Quinn’s words, Sam nodded her head in agreement.

“Wish me luck,” Quinn said as she gently slapped Sam’s back before entering the living room, sitting right next to you.

And for some unknown reason, Sam felt a tinge of jealousy shoot throughout her body, making her hate you all the more.

You and Tara stayed up watching movies while Quinn occasionally hit on you. And when it came time for people to start turning in, Quinn gave it one last shot.

“Well, I’m going to bed,” Quinn said as she rubbed her hands on her thighs before standing up, “you can always come sleep with me, Y/N,” she finished with a wink before walking into her room.

Once she was gone, Tara apologized, “I’m sorry about her. She’s like that with everyone.”

“Eh, I don’t mind the boost of confidence,” you replied with a smirk. Tara laughed at your words, and her eyes darted to Sam’s door as it opened.

Sam walked into the living room and glared at you before looking at Tara. “Alright, Tara, I think it’s time for Y/N to go home,” Sam stated as she crossed her arms.

Tara let out a small groan as she threw her head back before standing up. “Alright, Alan, let’s go,” Tara replied as she pulled you off the couch and walked toward the door with you.

“What are you doing?” Sam questioned while watching you, and Tara put on your shoes. “I’m taking Y/N home?” Tara replied with a puzzled look.

“Nuh-uh, nope,” Sam responded as she walked over to the door and stood before it, “you are not leaving here this late at night with her.”

With a scoff, Tara looked between you and her sister, “Well, what do you want her to do then? Walk home?”

“Yes,” Sam immediately replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“So it’s not safe enough for me to walk with her, but she can go alone?”

Sam took a few seconds to think about it before responding, “That is correct.”

Tara sighed; she knew there was no point in arguing with Sam, but she got a bright idea. “Well, since you won’t let me take her home, you can,” Tara suggested as she removed her shoes.

“No!” You and Sam exclaimed at the same time but for different reasons. Sam didn’t want to take you home because she did not like you at all. While you, on the other hand, didn’t want to be left alone with the woman because you knew for a fact you would be a blushing mess and wouldn’t be able to form a sentence.

“I’ll take her home,” a voice called from behind you, and you turned to see Quinn leaning against her door frame. The redhead wore a sheer white blouse, and you could see her red lingerie bra.

“I’m fine with that,” you replied too quickly with a smile on your face.

But Sam scoffed at your words before moving to grab her keys. “Absolutely not. Come on, Y/N. I’ll take you,” Sam stated as she pushed past you to open the door. You gave Quinn a small wave and told Tara you would text her as you gathered up Carlos, your fake beard and wig, along with your sunglasses, before following Sam out to her car.

“Thank you for taking me home. I appreciate it, Sam,” you commented as you buckled up. Sam huffed in response as she started her car.

“How do I get to your house?” Sam asked after a few moments of driving down a random street. You told the woman your address, and Sam wanted to scream when she realized it would take almost thirty minutes to get to your house due to traffic.

The car was filled with the heavenly voice of Lana Del Rey as you leaned your head back against the headrest and looked over at Sam. You couldn’t explain it, but Sam was exactly what you would imagine a Lana Del Rey song would look like.

“Stop staring at me; you’re creepy as shit,” Sam said once she felt your eyes on her.

You awkwardly cleared your throat as you uncomfortably shifted in your seat while staring at the floor. “So, Tara told me your favorite movie is The Hangover?” You questioned while fidgeting with your fingers.

A few seconds passed before dryly said, “Yes.” And even more, seconds passed before she added, “I hope Carlos had a fun night.”

You lightly chuckled at the woman’s words as you messed with Carlos’ plastic hands, “Yeah, he had a blast tonight.”

Sam responded with a small ‘mhm’ as she continued driving, enjoying the awkward silence that filled the air.

When Sam arrived at your apartment, she realized that you lived in the nicer part of New York, and she loathed you for it. Not only were you a nuisance, you were more than likely a spoiled rich brat, and Sam could not wait to get rid of you.

“This is me,” you quietly mumbled while getting out of the vehicle with your items in hand as Sam rolled down the window to talk to you, “Thank you for the ride, Sam. I appreciate it,” you said as you pulled out your wallet and handed the woman a ten dollar through the window.

She looked between you and the money before staring into your eyes, “I’m not having sex with you for money.”

You furrowed your eyebrows and shook your head. “What? No. No! That’s not what I was implying,” you quickly defended before looking at Sam, “Why would you think?”

The woman shrugged her shoulders before speaking, “Because all you’ve done tonight is stare at me, so you either want sex or want to kill me,” Sam suggested.

“Why would I want to kill you?”

“Because you’re being creepy as shit! And you told Tara you were going to murder her.”

“Okay, fair enough. But I was completely joking about the whole murder thing,” you replied with a small laugh that Sam clearly didn’t find funny. You didn’t know about the past traumas the sisters have gone through together, and Sam knew that you didn’t know, but it didn’t make her feel any better toward you.

“Whatever,” Sam replied as she took your money before driving off.

“Goodnight, Sam!” You exclaimed while the car pulled away, and you sighed before heading to your apartment. Sam might not be the biggest fan of you right now, but you vowed you would win over the woman’s heart, no matter what it took.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winning over Sam was much more challenging than you initially thought it would be. Every time you visited Tara at her place, Sam wouldn’t even acknowledge you, and anytime you would try to talk to her, she would quickly dismiss you. But you were ever the persistent type, and you knew you would eventually wiggle your way into her heart.

It had been exactly four months since you met Tara, and the girl was planning a memorable evening for you two to celebrate the milestone in your friendship.

You approached her apartment door and knocked thrice. Within a few seconds, the door slowly opened and revealed a grumpy Sam. “What do you want?” The woman questioned while looking up and down, her eyes moving to your right hand, “Why do you have flowers?”

“These are for you, actually,” you replied with a smile as you handed Sam her flowers. Sam studied you before reaching out and accepting the flowers, “Thanks, I guess.”

Now, Sam would never admit this even if someone held a gun to her head, but the way she felt knowing that you had gotten her real flowers and not some cheap fake ones from the Dollar Store, it was different. No one had ever brought her flowers before, and especially not in a romantic way, if that’s the game you were playing at.

The Latina studied the flowers and couldn’t help but chuckle at them: lavenders and violets; how subtle you were.

“So,” you said with a cheesy smile, “I’m here to hang out with Tara.”

“Tara! Your weird friend is here!” Sam shouted into the apartment before walking into the living room, with you a few steps behind her.

‘Sweet, that’s exactly how I like to be announced,’ you thought while moving to sit on the couch. You silently watched as Sam walked into the kitchen and threw away the flowers, and it pained you to see the beautiful blooms go to waste.

A few seconds passed when an overly excited Tara came into the living room and jumped onto the couch right next to you.

“Alright, here’s the plan: we order pizza, watch a movie and make some cookies, and then drink wine and paint. Deal?” Tara asked with eagerness and a giant smile on her face. “Sounds like a deal,” you replied while matching her grin. “Good,” Tara exclaimed while jumping off the couch and hunting for her phone to call in the pizza.

When the pizza arrived, you and Tara ate at the kitchen table along with Sam and Quinn. Naturally, the dinner was a bit awkward, as Quinn kept on hitting on you, and Sam would glare at you. You weren’t going to lie; you enjoyed the redhead's attention and were more than eager to answer her questions about your hometown and what you were majoring in.

Once you four had finished the pizza off, Tara set up a movie in the living room while Quinn left to go meet up with one of her many gentlemen callers, leaving just you and Sam in the kitchen.

The Latina watched as you pulled out some cookie dough and began preparing. “You know, you could always help,” you said while turning on the oven and pulling out a baking pan, and cleaning it off.

“I’m good,” Sam dryly replied as she crossed her arms and continued watching you work. You felt uncomfortable with her eyes burning into the back of your skull, “Stop staring; you’re creepy as shit.”

Sam huffed at your words before letting out a sound that sounded like a slight chuckle. “You’re one to talk,” the woman retorted while watching you eat a raw cookie dough bite, “you know you can get salmonella and die from that, right?”

You lightly chuckled at Sam’s as you finished eating the cookie dough, “Then I will be the first person in the history of the world to die from salmonella.”

You ignored the quiet ‘thank god,’ Sam muttered under her breath as Tara entered the room. “How are the cookies coming?” The girl questioned while eating a raw piece of cookie dough as well. “There wouldn't be any if you two keep on eating them,” Sam stated as she pushed you away from the pan and set the pieces of cookie dough on it.

“Why did you do that? I am perfectly capable of setting them out myself,” you said while watching Sam finish placing the cookie dough on the pan. “Because you and Tara would just eat it all,” the older woman replied as she put the pan in the oven and closed the door.

“If you say so,” you retorted as you entered the living room with Tara. You sat on the couch first and allowed Tara to cuddle up next to you as she pressed play on the movie.

You two enjoyed the peaceful comfort that had fallen over you when Sam called out, “Cookies are done,” while walking into the living room. “Seriously, you two? Shrek?” Sam asked while she watched the screen. “Yes, Sam. Shrek is amazing,” Tara retorted as she pushed off you and practically flew into the kitchen.

You gave Sam a tight-lipped smile as you walked past her and ate some cookies with Tara. And soon enough, Sam joined you two in the kitchen.

The woman stared at you as you finished your cookie and walked toward you. “You have something on your lip,” Sam said as she reached out and gently wiped away a piece of chocolate from the corner of your lips. You felt your heart explode at the contact and your knees weaken; you thought you would surely die if Sam kept this up.

She let her thumb linger on your lips before gently swiping it across your bottom lip with a smirk on her own lips before walking off to her room. She didn’t know why she did it, but it stirred something in her as she watched your shocked expression and lustful eyes dance across her face.

“What the fuck was that?” Tara asked as she shoved you once Sam was out of earshot.

“Huh uh,” you replied with a love sock grin as you stared at the hallway Sam disappeared into. The more petite girl gave you a look of disgust before pulling you into the living room to drink and paint, but your mind kept on drifting back to the beautiful woman who hated you as you worked. And before you knew it, you had accidentally painted a picture of Sam. In the painting, she was leaning against a doorframe wearing a skin-tight gray long-sleeve shirt that highlighted her muscles with jeans. A casual outfit you had seen Sam wear numerous times, but she still looked breathtaking.

Her eyes amused you the most in the picture; even though it wasn’t a close-up painting, her dark eyes still seemed to pull you in, and you could faintly see the monster she hid behind them.

You fell head over heels for Sam Carpenter that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once every month, you would go over to Tara’s apartment for wine and painting, and it was probably the one night you looked forward to every month.

Not because you got an excuse to drink and stare lustfully at Tara’s controversial hot sister, but because you enjoyed creating the most horrific art pieces with the girl that no one should ever see.

“What the hell is that?” Tara drunkenly laughed one night after a few too many glasses of wine.

“I don’t know!” You said while watching Tara’s tone. You had created what was supposed to be your version of Sully from Monsters Inc but had made a giant blurb of blue and purple with the slightest resemblance to Ed Sheeran.

“Will you two keep it down?” Sam asked as she walked into the living room, wearing nothing but a bra and shorts.

You choked on your spit when you saw the woman and nearly fainted when a single drop of water ran down her defined abs.

“Sorry about that, Sam,” Tara replied with a drunken smile before returning to her painting, entirely ignorant of your lustful state.

One moment you were sitting next to Tara, and the next, you were in the kitchen next to Sam.

“Hey,” you husked out with a flirtatious smile and a nod as you leaned against the doorframe, trying your best to act sober and calm simultaneously.

“Hi,” Sam suspiciously replied as her eyes racked over your body and took in your drunken state.

“How you doin’?” You asked, and Sam couldn’t help but laugh at your shitty attempt to flirt with her.

“What do you want, Y/N?” Sam asked while getting out a bottle of water and facing you. You shrugged your shoulders as you pushed off the doorframe, “Would you like to come paint with us?”

At the mention of her sister joining in on the activity, Tara yelled from the living room, “Sam! Sammy! You have to come and paint with us!”

Sam sighed at her sister’s words before walking into her room, throwing on a random shirt and grudgingly sauntering into the living room and picking up a blank canvas as she sat beside you.

You three worked in silence as the soft sounds of Hozier filled the air. Sam would occasionally sneak a peek at your work, but you would always hide it. And when she finally got a good look at it, she wished she hadn’t seen it.

“Y/N. Why the fuck did you paint a naked lady?” Sam demanded as she stared at your artwork.

It was a sloppy picture of a woman wearing a white dress with one boob hanging out, and Sam had to admit, those had to be the biggest boobs she’s ever seen. The lady in the painting wore a faint black hat, and somehow, she looked familiar to Sam.

“Do not hate on my lovely wife, Samantha Carpenter. I shall have you know that Lady Dimitrescu is one of the finest women I have ever seen!” You defended while looking over at Sam’s artwork, “And what did you come up with?”

When you leaned over and saw what Sam had made, you couldn’t hide your disappointment. A frown pulled at your lips as you looked at a shitty painting of Sam stabbing you with a knife.

“It was a joke,” Sam whispered as her heart broke at your saddened expression. When she first started it, she felt good about it, and it made her happy. But now that she looked at your hallowed eyes and frowning lips, she wished she hadn't made it.

“No, it’s okay,” you replied as you cleared your throat and stood up, “Well, this has been fun, but I’m going to bed,” you finished as you walked off to Tara’s room and shut the door. You ignored the feeling of Sam’s eyes burning into your back.

“Way to go, Sam,” Tara scoffed as she stood up from the couch and went to her room to check on you. She knew of your feelings for Sam, and Tara tried her best to get her sister to warm up to you, but no matter how hard she worked, Sam refused to bridge.

But Tara didn’t know that Sam went to bed that night with regret plaguing her heart and mind as she went to sleep with the thought of you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After that awkward night, you stopped coming to the Carpenter’s apartment as much. At first, you would say that you would have homework to catch up on, which was true, but then after a while, you completely stopped coming over at all.

Of course, you would talk to Tara every day, but when she invited you over, you would miraculously have something else to do that prevented you from coming.

“It’s because of Sam, isn’t it?” Tara asked you. The two of you were back at another frat party for Miles, and you were enjoying a peaceful conversation outside when Tara finally asked the question that had been plaguing her mind for weeks. “Pshh, no,” you replied with a shrug.

“Y/N, stop lying to me; I know it’s because of that picture she made,” Tara stated as she stared up at you, “Sam didn’t mean it.”

You scoffed at your best friend’s words while rolling your eyes. “The fuck do you mean she didn’t mean it, Tara!” You exclaimed.

“I mean, she felt bad afterward.”

“Yeah, right. You’re just lying because you want me to come back over.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Tara replied with a smile.

You two continued your conversation while occasionally people-watching until it was time to leave. Sam had slowly started to loosen up with Tara, so she was letting her sister go out more as long as she was there to pick up the girl. “Alright, Sam is on her way,” Tara commented when she read a text. You nodded at the girl’s words and tried to hide that you didn’t want to see Sam.

You hadn’t talked to the woman since that night, and you didn’t want to. Even though you were hopelessly devoted to Sam, you were hurt by how she treated you. You had been nice to her, and she would reject all of it, and weirdly, it hurt you to see Sam push you away.

Tara picked up on your pondering thoughts and reached a hand out, and rubbed it up and down your bicep. “Y/N, Sam is a grumpy asshole who is overprotective; don’t take it personally,” Tara said while reaching up to pinch your cheek with a smile.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Sam said as she approached you two. You quickly slapped Tara’s hand away from your face before looking at Sam. You had missed the dark-eyed woman and were glad to see her again, but you were still upset with the woman.

“No, you’re good,” Tara replied as she started following Sam to her car with you beside her.

The walk back to the vehicle was peaceful and filled with small banter between you and Tara, while Sam kept quiet until you ran into a group of drunken girls.

You could tell that they meant trouble before you were anywhere near them. The group was small, only consisting of three girls, but you could tell they were trouble as they stared down Sam when they walked past.

Sam pulled Tara into her side as the group walked by, and the woman said nothing when one of the girls shoulder-checked her.

“Come on,” Sam whispered while pulling Tara closer to her. You sent the group of girls a glance while walking, and you noticed how they stopped and turned around, and began walking behind you and the sisters.

“Hey!” One of the girls called, and Sam didn’t have time to react when she turned to face the girl and had a red slushie thrown on her.

The girls called Sam anything from a murderer to a liar, even to a whore, but Sam continued walking with tears in her eyes. She could handle all of the conspiracy theorist nuts, but she couldn’t handle having Tara see how she was treated.

So, when one girl called Sam a murderer again, you turned around and threw a punch. The sound of bone crunching rang throughout the air when your fist made contact with the girl's nose and was followed up by the girl's cries.

“You need to get your psycho girlfriend in check, you fucking murderer,” another girl cried out as she checked on her friend. You chuckled at the girl’s words and were getting ready to retort when you received a punch from the third girl.

You stumbled backward into Sam, and to your surprise, she caught you and whispered a quiet “I got you,” while you steadied your feet. “Come on,” Tara said as she dragged you and Sam away from the group.

The three of you walked briskly to Sam’s car as blood poured from your nose. When you reached the car, Sam opened her glove box and handed you some tissues, which you graciously accepted. You sat in the back seat while Sam drove, and Tara tried to talk to you.

“Tara, I love you so much, but I am in so much pain right now,” you choked out as you pressed the tissues to your bloody nose. Tara didn’t want to be the one to tell you this, but your nose was definitely broken, and she was not going to be the one to put it back in place.

“How are you doing back there?” Sam asked while quickly glancing back at you. “My nose is in my brain!” You exaggerated while holding your nose, and Sam chuckled at your response as she continued driving.

When you got to the Carpenter apartment, the blood had stopped pouring out, and you were thanking the gods as it had completely covered the tissues in crimson blood along with your chin. “Sit on the couch; I’ll be right back,” Tara said as she pushed you and Sam onto the couch.

Tara disappeared into the bathroom and grabbed a first-aid kit before returning to the living room, and she laughed at the sight of you and her sister. The slushie on Sam’s shirt matched the blood that had dried on the tissues and stained your chin, and you both looked like you had gone through hell.

Tara moved the coffee table closer to you and started to work on cleaning it up when Sam stopped her. “I got her, Tara. Go to bed,” Sam softly spoke as she moved the first-aid kit closer to her. Tara gave her sister a questionable look before muttering, “Okay,” and walking off to her room.

You watched as Sam pulled out some alcohol wipes and gently cleaned up your nose, and you let out a slight hiss as the alcohol seeped into a cut on the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry,” Sam apologized as she finished cleaning your nose, “It’s broken.”

“I know,” you groaned, and Sam lightly laughed at your response. “I can pop it back into place for you,” Sam offered.

“Hell no,” you replied, laughing, “I would need lidocaine with epinephrine injected into my nose and then lidocaine sprayed into my nose! Then you would need a device to basically reach my brain and put a shit ton of pressure on my nose with it and your fingers to fix it!”

“Well, I’ll take you to the ER tomorrow so we can get it fixed,” Sam asked as she got up from the couch and saw the backpack you had left over before you went to the frat party with Tara.

“Y/N, what’s this?” Sam asked as she moved your bag and pulled out a painting. You whipped your head around at the woman’s words and instantly stood up from the couch and moved to her side. “That’s nothing,” you quickly said as you tried to prevent Sam from looking at it, but it was too late.

When Sam picked up the painting, she felt her stomach do involuntary flips, and her breath hitched in her throat; it was a painting of her and not just a normal one. She noticed imperfections about her that you saw as perfect through the gentle brush strokes, and she felt herself fall for you.

“I’m not one of your French girls,” Sam joked as she set the painting back down, but you noticed the smile that threatened to appear and how her eyes bravely traveled to your lips before returning to your eyes. “Goodnight, Y/N,” Sam added as she gently placed a small kiss on your cheek before going to her room.

You had no idea how you did it, but you somehow managed to make Sam Carpenter fall for you and you could not wait to see where it would take you.

#sam carpenter #scream #sam carpenter x reader #melissa barrera #sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter x female reader #sam carpenter x y/n #Spotify

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