#robert gray x reader

[thesightstoshowyou]

All Better

Bob Gray x F Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Noncon, daddy kink, breeding kink, medical terminology, clinic setting, blood, degradation, threats, creampie, stupid medical jokes

~~

Each day he’s in clinic, you print out the schedule for your physician. The schedule displays each patient he will see for the day, along with the type of appointment and duration.

Usually on the evening prior, you look ahead at the charts to see what the next day will bring, but yesterday’s shift had been hectic; last minute calls to schedule a blood transfusion, a STAT CT, coordinate a hospital admission. You hadn’t been given a chance to peek at the list until this morning.

A mistake.

The schedule sits innocuously on the counter, waiting for the physician, as always. You’re a competent nurse, after all.

Heart hammering in your chest, you stare at the last name on the list. God, of course, the one day you didn’t check ahead he had to show up....

Robert Gray - Physical - 60min

You’re not sure what it is about him. You can never put a finger on it, but there is something so incredibly wrong about Bob. His eyes, his grin, his speech, the way he walks.... Everything about him is wrong, rotten, vile.

You hear the heavy boot falls of Dr. Thompson as he stomps down the hall. Forcing a smile to your face, you stand, listening for any requests or orders he might have before you retrieve the first patient of the day. He scans the list, pausing at Bob’s name.

“What a way to end the day, huh?” he asks with a chuckle. You force a breathy laugh as Dr. Thompson moves away to his office. Swallowing thickly, your eyes close despairingly. Maybe you could go home sick....

It’s a whirlwind day. The third patient had required an ambulance to the hospital. The fifth needed several moles removed, all of which required sutures. An immediate MRI of the head and neck was needed for the sixth patient, a procedure which their insurance did not want to approve. DFA, nurse visit, pap smear, vaccinations, vaccinations, vaccinations. By the time 3:30 PM rolled around, you’d completely forgotten about Bob.

That is, until his name lit up in yellow on your computer screen, indicating he had checked in for his appointment.

Shit.

You glance around you, hoping to pass him off on someone else, but all your coworkers are with their own patients. You’ll have to be the one to room him.

Slowly, you stand and make your way out into the lobby. With each step, apprehension grows. Calm down, it’s just one weird guy, you can handle it.

“Bob?” you call. Immediately, you spot him across the room. His sky blue eyes are already trained on you, full lips curled up in a mischievous grin. They glisten under the fluorescents, like he’s been wetting them over and over.

Leisurely, he unfurls from his chair, standing to his impressive height and strolling across the lobby toward you. He walks with a limp...but maybe not. It’s so hard to tell with this way his gangly legs swing as he steps. Once again, he’s dressed like a man from another century; tweed slacks, suspenders, yellowing button down rolled up at the forearms, muddy dress shoes, hat clutched between spidery fingers.

The hair on the back of your neck stands on end the closer he gets, his eyes never leaving yours. You plaster a strained smile across your face as you greet him.

“How are you, Bob?” you ask, as pleasantly as you can manage, the cracking of your voice giving you away. Hastily, you lead him to the exam room. You hope to get this over with as quickly as you can.

“Well, well, old Mr. Gray has his favorite little nurse here to take care of him, so he’s good as new,” he replies in that strange, lilting voice. You see him leering out of the corner of your eye as you pull up his chart. Politely, you smile back, skin crawling frantically across your body.

“Anything in particular you want to talk to Dr. Thompson about?” you ask as you fill in your preliminary assessment. Bob tilts his head to the side as if he’s thinking.

“You know, there is something, just a little something....” he replies cryptically, his voice a sing song. You frown, look up to meet his baby blues—

Gold?

Heart stuttering in your chest, you blink several times in an effort to clear your vision. Blue, his eyes are blue. You could have sworn they’d been gold a second ago—

“Little girl’s seeing things, wonderin’ if her minds playing tricks, tricks, tricks...” Bob murmurs, his long fingers twitching in his lap. A glob of drool spills past his bottom lip, dribbling down his chin to patter onto tweed.

“W-What...?” you stammer, your breath coming in quick, little gasps, the noisy whoosh of your blood rushing in your ears. You scoot back on your stool, intending to flee the room, maybe even call security, but Bob is faster.

Spidery fingers wrap around your face, covering your mouth and nose and muffling your panicked shriek. You hadn’t even seen him move. Your own hands fly to his wrist, desperately tugging and clawing to get away, but Bob doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even flinch when your nails carve bleeding lines down his forearm.

Your eyes grow wide and horrified when he laughs, his face splitting into a manic grin filled to the brim with too many dripping needle-teeth. Animal panic surges through your veins, dosing your quivering muscles with strength.

You push to your feet, twist, rip your face out of Bob’s iron grip and let loose a piercing scream. That’s it, someone will have heard, they’ll send help—

Bob stands with you, free hand gripping the back of your head. He shoves hard, bending you at the waist and smashing your face onto the exam table. The impact knocks the air from your lungs and you’re left stunned, jarred, mouth gaping uselessly.

Just as your chest expands, function returning to shocked muscles, air mercifully flowing to straining lungs, Bob slams a hand down next to your face. You startle, a pathetic half-cry leaving your lips as exam table paper crinkles and tears.

His hand…. His hand…!

Bob’s hand and fingers have changed, morphed. His skin has darkened, digits elongated, terrible black claws now where fingertips should be. Deep grooves in plastic follow the path of the talons until they’re ripped away, shredded table fabric left in their wake.

There’s pressure against your rear and back as Bob leans over you, slick lips finding your ear, hot breath ruffling your hair. You cough, gag at the scent; rotting meat and melting ice cream all at once.

You whimper, wriggle, thrash, but he has you pinned to the table with his body weight. Teary eyes raise to the exam room door. Any second someone will throw it open and save you….

Noisy cackling in your ear jars you, makes your ears ring. Against your cheek, you feel Bob’s head shake slowly side to side in a ‘No,’ like he can hear what you’re thinking.

“Just you and Bob now, sweet pet. You and Bob Gray. Look!” As he speaks, the door swings open seemingly on its own. Your eyes widen, terror and disbelief turning your blood to ice when all you find is darkness, a void beyond the doorway. There’s no sound, no keyboard taps or phones ringing or vitals machines beeping.

Nothing. No one.

The ‘whowhatwhenwherewhy,’ the impossibility, the utter terror of such an unbelievable situation all muddle together in your racing mind until there’s nothing but buzzing. Your fear-addled synapses can only comprehend one thing: You’re alone. There’s no one coming to help.

There’s no one but you and this Thing behind you.

A gleeful giggle, a tremulous, “Now you see!” renews your panic. But there’s no where to go, no budging under Bob’s unyielding grip on your hair.

He snuffles near your ear, through your sweaty locks, sticky drool smearing across your skin as he sucks in your scent. “Pretty girl, pretty fear. So tasty. And. Wet.” That final consonant is so sharp as it pops off his tongue you wince, feeling it deep in your gut. A short, deep rumble follows his words—a chuckle—and then he’s singing, “Time for your check up, little girl.”

You squeak when that clawed hand brushes your hip, slides down the front of your scrub pants. Feather light, Bob strokes the apex of your thighs, tips of sharpened digits catching on your underwear until you’re shuddering.

Thighs shaking, it takes tremendous willpower not to buck and twist away. You’re terrified he will dig into your most sensitive flesh should you move, so instead you still, fighting the gathering wetness and tempting heat.

Shaky breaths leave your parted lips. One such breath takes the form of a mewl, your stomach dropping in shame at the sound. You grit your teeth, your traitorous tongue determined to loose more with every stroke of clawed fingers.

Bob titters; it’s a pleased, teasing sound. “Shy toy, but Daddy knows, he knows….” As he speaks, his dress shoes wedge themselves between your ankles and push, shoving your legs farther apart.

A squeal tears from your throat when claws twist, grab hold of your clothing, rip and tear until you’re bare from the waist down, tattered scrubs pooling at your feet. Tears welling in your eyes you plead, “No, no, please, don’t—

“Scared of the doctor, little treat? Nooo, noo, gonna make you feel all better. I smell something, something, something that needs examined, hmm?” He ruts his hips against your ass and it is then—face paling, terror suffocating—you notice the hardened length in his trousers.

Bob presses his mouth to your cheek so hard you feel the sharp sting of shark teeth when they dig into your flesh. Voice biting, he asks, “Think it’s that filthy cunt between your legs?” Sobbing, you shake your head, stammered pleas and garbled nonsense spilling from your mouth. All your words are drowned out by Its deafening, maniacal laughter.

Suddenly, your head is released and you hastily shove away from the exam table, only for claws to dig sharply into your back to shove you down again. You cry out, arch away, little pinpoints of blood welling up under each digit and soaking into your scrub top. Behind you, Bob ‘tsks.’

“The snack will stay still unless it wants to see its spine.” Tearfully, you nod, stabbing agony in your back holding you in place.

A snap meets your ears, then another. Bob undoing his suspenders, you realize. Twisting your head, you watch as he rips open the button of his slacks, only to quickly look away again when his thick, pallid cock springs free.

“B-Bob—

You pleadingly choke on his name, but the talons rip free from your back to wrap around your throat. Hard flesh slides between your folds when Bob leans down over you again, chilly spit trickling down your neck as he murmurs, “Daddy. Say it.”

“I-I c-can’t—

“NOW.” Claws tighten, pricking the skin of your throat, more stinging pain.

“D-Daddy!”

“Good girllll.” Bob’s hips surge forward, a strangled scream ripping from your throat as he buries every inch of his girth in your cunt. Bob hums appreciatively when your muscles spasm. They squeeze on nothing as he leisurely pulls back out, only to slam home again.

Every thrust jars you, rocks the exam table under your white-knuckled fists until it squeaks. The claw around your neck keeps your bleeding back arched and pulls you into Bob’s hips as he pops his cock in and out of your leaking hole.

Leaking…. You shouldn’t be, but you are, juices spilling down your thighs and cunt squelching loudly with each vicious thrust. Your mouth betrays you too, each snap of hips met with high-pitched keens that force their way out of your constricted throat.

Bob grunts, pants, mutters directly in your ear, “Sick little meal, needed Daddy’s help, needed treatment, hm? Its meat is flavored now, succulent,” he inhales noisily, drags his tongue through the tears streaming down your cheek, “Ripe with fear. Should Daddy take a bite? Sink his teeth in deep? Sup on the little treat’s horror?” You sob and tremble, head shaking hastily from side to side.

“No? ‘No,’ it says? This filthy little slut wants Daddy to keep fucking it instead! To fill it with seed and breed it until all it knows is how to beg and cum and float, float, float!”

The last word like a trigger, you tense, eyes crossing, world whiting out. Slick insides clench and flutter around hard, heated flesh, desperate to milk every drop of the promised seed. The unbidden orgasm is made even worse when a whimpered, “Daddy…” leaves your tongue.

A patronizing chuckle sounds in your ear, followed by a low, inhuman rumble that sends your heart into a frenzy. Bob’s hips stutter and he snarls, “Take your medicine.” Warmth fills your guts, overflows, spills down your legs and drips onto linoleum.

Gasping, quivering, dazed, you flinch when the clawed hand on your throat moves to your jaw. Thumb stroking your cheek, Bob nudges your temple with his nose. “Perfect toy,” he notes.

Without warning, he stands up straight and pulls away. No body weight to hold you to the table, your knees buckle and you crash to the floor in a puddle of spend and torn clothing.

Bob’s own clothes are righted, pants buttoned, suspenders back in place, scratches healed, hat clutched in two normal hands. No blackened digits, no claws. It’s as though nothing had changed at all.

Had it?

He crouches down before you and, fearfully, you meet his gaze. Blue eyes sparkling, buck-toothed grin stretching across his face, he holds out his hat. Bob’s movements are exaggerated as he reaches dramatically inside, like he’s performing a magic trick.

Slowly, he withdraws his hand. The stick of a lollipop is pinched between a long thumb and forefinger. Cherry flavored. You stare dumbly.

The wrapping crinkles, flutters to the floor as Bob peels it away. “Treat for a treat,” he states and pops it into your mouth.

#bob gray #bob gray x reader #robert gray #robert gray x reader #pennywise #pennywise x reader #pennywise x you #it movie #it 2019 #it 2017 #pennywise the dancing clown #thesightstoshowyou

[rosyrosie-e]

Chris Evans and his "Party Tricks" 🥳

I was definitely not expecting THAT as your first party trick Christopher 🤣🤣

"I went to a public high school, we do a lot of dumb shit."

😂😂😂

#chris evans #christopher robert evans #the gray man #chrisevans #ghosted #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader

[chrisevansonly]

Chris Evans at the Q&A for The Gray Man in LA tonight <3

#the crumbs are giving #his forearm is INSANE #chrisevans #christopher robert evans #chrisevansxreader #chris evans x reader #chris evans #chris x reader #the gray man

[into-crazy]

Bob Gray nsfw thoughts

Bob Gray x Female Reader drabble

It's freaky fridayy and I've really been into Bob Gray lately. There's just something I love about that nasty old man, idk. Anyways, I had to get this off my mind. This is short and a tiny bit filthy.

Warnings- mature language, NSFW, SMUT, dry humping, choking, dirty talk, degradation, ages 18+

It had caught you off guard when Bob suddenly threw the door open and rushed at you with that angry look in his eyes. Good thing you weren't holding anything fragile, because it definitely would have slipped from your grasp. He grabbed you but you didn't know whether you should be aroused or afraid. Still completely unaware of the situation, you weren't prepared for what was going to come. You had no time to think, let alone react.

Next thing you know, you're on your back. Bob has you pinned to the ground as he hovers above you, pressing his pelvis against your own. The floor is a little dirty and dusty, you knew you should have cleaned it earlier. Guess it's too late for that now. It's all happening fast, in a hurry. Bob's restraining both of your hands with just one of his large ones. His grip is strong, you wouldn't be able to free your hands if you'd wanted to. Thrusting his hips forward, you feel how hard he is. He wasted no time in removing any clothing, from him or you. You're in your undergarments while he's still fully clothed. With his shoes on and all, he hasn't even bothered to kick them off.

You squirm around as he dry humps you roughly. His clothed, hard cock rubs against your heat, granting your clit some friction. Not enough to cum, but enough to make you moan and whimper. Quickly turning into a writhing, horny mess. Begging him to take you. To give you more. Something, anything more.

Though it's quickly become evident that Bob's focus is on his own pleasure at the moment. He is harsh and relentless as you uses you to take it. Rutting into you like an animal in heat. Breathing heavily against your slick skin, saliva dripping from his open mouth onto you. His other hand greedily gropes your body. Shifting between rubbing your breasts and squeezing your ass. His touches aren't gentle in the slightest.

Hot tears stream down your cheeks. It's torture. Your pussy clenches around nothing as you wish desperately for his fingers, his tongue, or his cock. The emptiness is becoming unbearable, you need to be filled.

"Bob- please, I can't take it! I n-need you!"

Your pitiful cries only spur him on more. His thrusts become harder and faster. Almost angry. His erection ramming repeatedly against your aching cunt. That's how he would be fucking you if there weren't any clothes in the way.

You continue begging him. "Fuck me. Please Bob, it hurts. Fuck me, fuck me!"

Bob's hand immediately wraps around your throat. Squeezing to shut you up because he's had enough of your mouth. Of your whiney complaints. "You're going to lay there and take it. Like the good, obedient whore you are. Hm, you got that?"

A pathetic squeak manages to escape your lips as you nod your head in compliance. Submitting to him without further words of protest.

He lets go of your throat to pat you on the cheek, a cruel smile creeps up his face. "Good, that's a good girl." He pants approvingly. His fingers brush away your tears and his drool. You look an absolute mess and he loves it. His eyes peer down your body. They land on your soaked underwear, his cock twitch at the sight of it. "Look at that, ha- oh you're dripping right through the fabric. Fuuck.."

His index and middle finger glide directly over that spot. Your body writhes in response to his touch. He grabs on to you and pulls you closer, holding you tightly against him. With a final thrust, his hips jerk and he cums hard. His hot, sticky seed making a mess in his trousers. Upon recollecting himself, he decides he wants to punish you because he made a mess of himself. It's your fault that he came all over himself, you are to blame for it.

He stands on his feet while you sit up on your knees. He stretches out the front of his pants to examine the wet spot on the crotch. Now you and him match. It irritates him.

"Oh ho ho, look what you did," he tsks. Grabbing you by the hair and pushing your face into his crotch. "You had me make a mess of myself. Better get to work cleaning me off."

You whine pitifully, rubbing your thighs together. "But I-I, I still need to-"

He cuts you off mid sentence. "Go on now. And if you do a good enough job, maybe I'll consider taking care of that needy cunt of yours."

#bob gray #robert gray #bob gray x reader #pennywise #pennywise x reader #it 2017 #penny posted

[a-moment-captured]

The voice, the mustache, the facial expressions, the dominating presence, the arrogance, the clothes, the condescending tone, the acting…

#christopher robert evans #chris evans #the gray man #ana de armas #ryan gosling #russo brothers #love #Netflix #villain #chris evans x reader #lloyd hansen #cevanslove #cevans #cevans love #steve rogers #marvel #andy barber #ransom drysdale

[anitalenia]

↼𓍢ִ໋♥︎ my private collection ㅤ𓏲⇀

𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗳𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗼𝗺𝘀 𝗶 𝗹��𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿, 𝗮𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗮𝘀 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗳𝗮𝘃𝗼𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗲. 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆 ! * ੈ✩‧₊ ⟡ 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑢𝑝𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 ⟡

IMPORTANT INCOMING MAIL ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ due to the fact I’m only allowed 50 @‘s per post, I will be unable to @ any more authors. but will write their names next to the FIC title like i usually do. i hate tumblr rules ☹️

✧･ﾟ: * FANDOMS I’M CURRENTLY WRITING FOR ★ The Gray Man | Avatar | miscellaneous

✧･ﾟ: * ANIME WATCHLIST ★ Kill La Kill | Gangsta | Jujutsu Kaisen | Michiko & Hatchin | Parasyte | One Punch Man | Samurai Champloo | Scissor Seven | Castlevania | Avatar the Last Airbender | Legend of Korra | The Devil Is a Part-Timer!

✧･ﾟ: * SOME OF MY FAV. FANDOMS ★ Tokyo Revengers | Obey Me! | Genshin Impact | Jujutsu Kaisen | Haikyuu | Triple Frontier | Marvel | DC | Sons of Anarchy | My Hero Academia | Kill La Kill | The Gray Man |

☆。* THE GRAY MAN 。☆。

𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙮, 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙨𝙨 | 𝙙𝙖𝙙𝙙𝙮!𝙨𝙞𝙚𝙧𝙧𝙖 𝙨𝙞𝙭 𝙭 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @valleyfae

𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙬 | 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙮 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @theonetrueneohero p.s. I don’t like pregnancy fics, like at all, but this is literally the only exception

𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙙𝙖𝙮 | 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙮 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @classickook

𝙮𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚 | 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠!𝙖𝙡𝙥𝙝𝙖!𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙮𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙣 𝙭 𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙜𝙖!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @buckyknits

☆。* TOKYO REVENGERS 。☆。

𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧 | 𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙖𝙣!𝙧𝙖𝙣 𝙝𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙞 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @manjiroscum

𝙖𝙢𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙞𝙖𝙡 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨 | 𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙩!𝙢𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙮 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙗𝙪𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙧!𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙯𝙪 author: @manjiroscum

𝙢𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙮’𝙨 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 | 𝙗𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣!𝙢𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙮 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: mikeysbabygirl

☆。* OBEY ME! 。☆。

𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙯𝙚𝙗𝙪𝙗 𝙭 𝙘𝙝𝙪𝙗𝙗𝙮!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @bunnigrrrl

𝙡𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙭 𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙣𝙮!𝙫𝙞𝙧𝙜𝙞𝙣!𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @milqilin

𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣 𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙨 author: @ange1princess

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙪𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙡𝙮 𝙚𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙘𝙩 | 𝙢𝙖𝙢𝙢𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @poohbea

𝙗𝙪𝙡𝙡 𝙝𝙮𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙙!𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @tsumutiny

☆。* MARVEL 。☆。

𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 | 𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙯𝙖𝙣!𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙫𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙭 𝙙𝙤𝙘𝙩𝙤𝙧!𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: onsunnyside

☆。* GENSHIN IMPACT 。☆。

𝙘𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙚𝙣 author: @t4rt4gl14

𝙚𝙭����𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙡 | 𝙙𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: divilyn

☆。* JUJUTSU KAISEN 。☆。

𝙟𝙟𝙠 𝙢𝙚𝙣 𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙤𝙪𝙩 author: @sukunababy

𝙙𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣!𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡!𝙮𝙪𝙪𝙟𝙞 author: @yuujispinkhair

𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚 | 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙩 𝙣𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙗𝙤𝙧!𝙜𝙤𝙟𝙤 𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @chrissshub

𝙜𝙤𝙟𝙤 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 author: @satorhime

𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙣 | 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙬𝙤𝙡𝙛!𝙩𝙤𝙟𝙞 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @suget

𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙧𝙙 𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙪𝙚 | 𝙜𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚!𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙤 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @suget

𝙨𝙞𝙭 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙢𝙚 | 𝙙𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣!𝙜𝙤𝙟𝙤 𝙭 𝙙𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @leechlips

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙛𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙝 | 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @prettyboykatsuki

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙟𝙤𝙘𝙠 | 𝙟𝙤𝙘𝙠!𝙮𝙪𝙪𝙟𝙞 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @garoujo

𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 1-800-𝙗𝙤𝙮𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙2 | 𝙢𝙪𝙡𝙩𝙞𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @satorhime

𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙙𝙚𝙧 | 𝙩𝙤𝙟𝙞 𝙛𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙪𝙧𝙤 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @venioa

𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙪𝙣𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙙, 𝙙𝙤 𝙞𝙩 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣 | 𝙜𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚!𝙩𝙤𝙟𝙞 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @sugar—baby p.s. the authors username won’t let me put it up, but the name is right. idk, just look them up ig.

𝙙𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮 | 𝙨𝙪𝙜𝙪𝙧𝙪 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙤 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙪𝙗𝙪𝙨!𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙜𝙤𝙟𝙤 author: nightparades

☆。* MY HERO ACADEMIA 。☆。

𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 | 𝙫𝙞𝙧𝙜𝙞𝙣!𝙗𝙖𝙠𝙪𝙜𝙤𝙪 𝙭 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙙!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @leechlips

𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙢𝙚 | 𝙙𝙖𝙗𝙞 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @leechlips

☆。* HAIKYUU 。☆。

𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙨 | 𝙨.𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙤𝙪 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @satorins

☆。* TRIPLE FRONTIER 。☆。

𝙗𝙪𝙣𝙣𝙮 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 | 𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙖𝙜𝙤 ,𝙥𝙤𝙥𝙚, 𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙘𝙞𝙖 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @laters-gators

☆。* DC 。☆。

𝙜𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙣 | 𝙟𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙤𝙙𝙙 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @angelltheninth

𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙮𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙥𝙪𝙨𝙨𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙 | 𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙮𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @dxckgrxsonx

𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙮𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙞𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙗𝙚𝙙 | 𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙮𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @agentofkrypton

𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙟𝙚𝙨𝙪𝙨 (𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙚) | 𝙗𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: greenorangevioletgrass

𝙞𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙚 | 𝙗𝙖𝙡𝙚!𝙗𝙖𝙩𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙭 𝙗𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙤𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @reveluving

𝙙𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙙𝙚𝙫𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 | 𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙮𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: thewritingdoll

𝙨𝙡𝙪𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙮 | 𝙫𝙖𝙢𝙥𝙞𝙧𝙚!𝙟𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙤𝙙𝙙 𝙭 𝙝𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙣!𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙫𝙖𝙢𝙥𝙞𝙧𝙚!𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙮𝙨𝙤𝙣 author: thewritingdoll

☆。* ATTACK ON TITAN 。☆。

☆。* MISCELLANEOUS 。☆。

𝙙𝙖𝙙𝙙𝙮’𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙨𝙨 | 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙥𝙙𝙖𝙙!𝙖𝙧𝙞 𝙡𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙮!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @evansbby

𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙨 | 𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙝 𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙤𝙧!𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙣 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @widowsblake

𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙫𝙖𝙡 𝙗𝙪𝙣𝙣𝙮 | 𝙧𝙤𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙝𝙚𝙛𝙛𝙡𝙚𝙮 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 author: @henqtic

𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙭 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙟𝙖 / 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧 author: @charnelhouse

☆。* HONORABLE MENTIONS 。☆。

@devoti @kristvns @manjiroscum @ickyism @svgarslut @prettyboykatsuki @sanzucide @p-antomime @kilstrife @hanmas @kaeyatic @basssluut @tteokdoroki @chrissshub

#the gray man #lloyd hansen imagine #lloyd hansen x reader #pink themes #aesthetic #pink #pinkcore #sparkles #stars #anime #tokyo revengers #mikey x reader #bonten #attack on titan #dc #batman #battinson #robert pattinson #obey me #obey me shall we date #Lucifer #asmodeus x mc #satan x reader #satan obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me beelzebub #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me belphegor #genshin x reader

[celiastjamesoscar]

Night Shift

Pairings: Sam Carpenter x fem!reader. Sam x reporter!reader

Summary: Sam blamed you for the 2022 attacks, she blamed you for everything. But guilt drives people into blindness, and Sam eventually finds herself seeking your comfort.

AN: this is the longest fic I’ve ever written, so I apologize if at times it seems redundant. Based off of this request!

Warnings: angst, slight cursing, mentions of past drug addiction, small part of canon typical Scream violence, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of alcoholism, Tara is a little shit. Let me know if I missed anything!

My Masterlist

Word Count: 18.0K

Nothing. That’s all you could think about as you listened to the sound of Tara’s heartbeat monitor. This was your fault. You were the reason Tara was now in the hospital with multiple stab wounds and a broken leg. If only you had gotten to her house sooner, she wouldn’t be in this position. All your friends tried to tell you it wasn’t your fault, that you had no idea some dipshit in a mask was going to attack her, but you knew better.

You were only nine when it happened, but you could still feel the sharp pain of Jill Roberts’ knife plunging deep inside of your abdomen. Sometimes, you swore you could still hear her black combat boots sneaking around on the wooden floor, and the only thing that would play throughout your mind was the sweet release of not having to look over your shoulder at every sound.

The sound of Tara’s heartbeat motioning increasing in speed pulled you out of your thoughts. “Hey, Tara. It’s alright,” you whispered to the sleeping girl, but you got no response. Her heartbeat motioning began peeping so rapidly, that your own heartbeat began thumping in your ears, and it eventually blocked out Tara’s.

Your heartbeat echoed throughout your ears as it continued its rapid pace of 150 beats per minute. You had no idea why you were anxious, but then your surroundings suddenly changed. You were no longer in the monotone gray walls of a hospital, but you now found yourself in Tara’s kitchen. The smaller girl was no longer in her hospital gown; she now wore a pink long sleeve shirt and jeans, and you instantly knew where this was going.

You tried to scream, but no sound left your throat as you watched Tara answer that dreaded phone call. The pounding in your ears continued as you began to sweat and frantically tried to move, but your feet were glued to the floor; no matter how hard you tried to move, you simply could not compel your body to move. You watched as Tara fought against Ghostface, and just like every night, you watched as Ghostface plunged his knife deep into Tara’s stomach. Over and over again.

But unlike the real events that conspired, you couldn’t save Tara. In this version, you watched as Tara bled out onto the floor, her crimson red blood staining the nicely wooded flooring. Her screams were the only thing that drowned out your heartbeat, and you begged it to stop.

“Y/N! Y/N, help me!” Tara cried out in a broken voice as blood now began to seep from her mouth as she tried to crawl toward you, but Ghostface stopped her. In a single motion, he leaned down to Tara and pulled her up by her hair, and slit her throat. When he stood up, you were met with those haunting hollowed out eyes, and when you blinked, the mask was gone.

Jill Roberts stood before you with murderous eyes as she slowly started to advance toward you. You tried to walk backward, but your feet wouldn’t move. Jill was not an arms length away, and you noticed the beautiful glint of light that reflected off the blood as she brought it down in a single motion.

Before the knife could sink into your chest, you were being shaken away. “Y/N. Get up; you’re having a nightmare,” the rough voice of Sam Carpenter stated as she awoke you from your nightmare.

Your eyes instantly shot up as you leaned up from the couch, checking your surroundings. “Oh, thank you,” you weakly replied as Sam let go of your shoulders and walked away from you, not giving you a response. Sam noticed the sweat that lined your forehead and caused some of your hair to stick to her face, but she didn’t care. Why would she care about someone that ruined her life?

Technically, it wasn’t your fault, but it was easier for Sam to blame you for what happened and she liked having it that way. It was her own fucked up way of keeping you at arms length while also always keeping an eye on you.

You checked your surroundings again and you were grateful that you were in your home and not that dreaded house that Tara used to live in. You had fallen asleep at some point on the couch and you left the TV running while your homework was spread out on the coffee table in front of you. You had gained a terrible habit of staying up until ungodly hours while trying to cram in information for your exams.

You groaned while standing up from the couch and you checked the time, 11:30 pm. If Sam was still here, that meant the rest of the girls were here as well, and you dreaded the thought of being around them. That was the worst part about living with Anika; you were constantly around the people that despised you. ‘People’ as in just Sam, but you liked to make it plural for the dramatic effect.

With a sigh, you grudgingly left the living room and went into the backyard, where a fire was going with the group huddled around it while sitting on hay bales. “Good morning, Y/N,” Tara teased with a gentle smile while scooting over on her hay bale, inviting you to sit next to her. “Yeah right,” you mumbled as you sat down next to the girl, ignoring the glance Sam threw at you, “What are you guys doing out here? It’s starting to get cold.”

“We were talking shit about you, but now we can’t do that with you out here,” Mindy joked as she rested her head on Anika’s shoulder. You and Mindy had a special ‘situationship’ going on for a while, but you two ended on good terms and occasionally picked on each other. “I hope it was good then,” you replied with a smile and Mindy nodded her head.

The conversation around the fire was an ideal one as you caught up with the group about any gossip you might have missed while you were asleep. Nothing sparked your interest too much, not until Tara mentioned Sam having a boyfriend.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Sam dryly stated as she stared down her younger sister, “We’re just friends, that’s all.”

“You have been saying that for months, Sam! All you two do is check each other out but you never talk! You have to give this guy a chance!” Tara exclaimed and you felt an unwarranted feeling of jealousy shoot throughout your chest. “What guy are you guys talking about?” You asked, starting to get more involved with the current conversion.

“This guy that has been after Sam’s heart ever since we moved here,” Tara casually remarked as she grabbed a stick and poked around the fire; the little shit had a thing for a fire.

You could feel Sam’s eyes burning into the side of your head as you racked Tara’s words around in your head. Sure, Sam was old enough to make decisions for herself, but the thought of her actually being with someone other than you makes you sick to your stomach. And just like the masochist you were, you had to ask Sam about it. “So why don’t you talk to him?”

Sam huffed, clearly annoyed by the fact that you, of all people, would ask her about her love life. “Why? So you can go and tell Gale about it? No thanks,” she dryly stated with a roll of her eyes.

“Hey, you little shit, that wasn’t Y/N! I’ve told you that before,” Tara defended as she comfortably put a hand on your knee, “And even if she did, I support her wrongs.”

“Tara, you’re not helping,” you whispered with a small, awkward laugh. A small groan left Sam’s lips as she stood up from the fire, “I’m going inside,” she said while walking toward the door to the house.

Once she was inside, Tara broke the tension, “I’m sorry she’s like that, Y/N. She doesn’t want to accept the truth.” The comfort from Tara was nice, it actually made you feel like someone at least cared for you that had the last name of Carpenter.

“It’s okay, no need to apologize on her behalf. I get it,” you said with a weak smile as you hid your pain. It was a stupid feeling: pain. You owed San nothing, but you still couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt run through your body every time you saw the woman.

“So, Y/N, what’s it like fumbling an amazing woman like me?” Mindy playfully asked, her own way of trying to lighten the tense mood that had settled around the fire, “I need Anika to know how special I am.”

It was a shitty attempt, but it still put a smile on your face. “Mindy once got in a revolving door,” you said with a laugh, “she was in it for a solid 5 minutes.”

“Blasphemy!” Mindy shouted as she quickly stood up from her hay bale, “It was a one minute and you didn’t help at all! And you let Tara record it!”

“Oh my god, I need to find that video,” Tara butted in as she pulled out her phone, quickly trying to find the video while Mindy tried to steal the phone from her.

It was small moments like these that you enjoyed with the group; moments were everyone was happy and they could forgot about their fucked up pasts. Those moments were rare, but you cherished them like they were your life support.

As time dragged on and the night got colder, everyone outside called it quits. Well, at least on being outside.

“Hurry up, Gizmo, I’m freezing,” Mindy joked as she walked behind Tara, almost stepping on the girl’s shoes. “Don’t call me a gremlin,” the shorter girl shot back with a glare as she approached the back door to your house, “apologize and I’ll open it.”

“Fuck you,” Mindy retorted as she made a move for the door, bud Tara was quick to react as she kicked one of Mindy’s shins.

“Apologize.”

“No.”

Several beats of silence pass by as you and Anika watch a stare down between the two friends before Mindy inevitably sighs with defeat. “Alright fine, I’m sorry I called Gizmo. You aren’t a gremlin, more like a fun sized Lord Farquaad,” Mindy said, trailing off toward the end of her sentence.

“Hey, hey! Stop it!” You exclaimed, quickly catching Tara’s fist that was inches away from connecting Mindy’s face.

You were too busy trying to keep Tara from ripping into Mindy that you didn’t notice Sam opening up the door until she spoke. “What the hell are you doing to my sister?”

The position you found yourself in was an uncomfortable one, to say the least. You were holding Tara from behind, with your arms holding the smaller girl’s ones back.

“Mind your business, Sam,” Tara stated in a strained voice, trying to get hold out of your tight hold, “this is between me and Mindy.”

Her sister’s words didn’t seem to phase Sam at all, as the older sister couldn’t seem to take her eyes off of you. The way you had your hands on her sister made her blood boil. Deep down she knew that you would never hurt Tara, but that didn’t stop the over growing feeling of protectiveness come through.

In a single motion, Sam stopped out of the house and gripped your bicep with her right left hand. When you looked down, you could see her veins in her hands as her grip tightened, and if you didn’t know any better, you would say that was trying to flex as well.

“Let her go,” Sam demanded, leaving zero room for arguing. So, you shrugged your shoulders and let go, not caring to warn Sam about the can of whoopass her sister was about to unleash on Mindy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“She was like a tiger! A short-legged one with asthma, but a Tiger!” Mindy cried into her phone, telling her brother about her vicious fight with Tara. Honestly, it was impressive how quickly Tara moved to latch onto Mindy, but even more impressive how surprisingly strong she was. The wounds that Mindy sustained weren’t anything terrible; a small cut on her cheek and a busted lip, but nothing was hurt more than her ego.

“You asked for it,” Anika commented, but then gave Mindy a quick kiss for the look she received. You chuckled at the small encounter as you excused yourself from Tara, who had a smug smile on her lips. She knew where you were going, and she didn’t think about warning you that Sam was also there; it was like her own way of playing matchmaker—a shitty matchmaker, but still one nonetheless.

The kitchen was a weird place you found solace in; nothing was special about it. It was where you went when you needed a step back from reality. Another odd thing: Sam also found the same comfort in the kitchen. Maybe it was the quiet nature, or the dim lights that brought comfort, or even perhaps the shitty decorations that littered the walls, but whatever it was, there was a soft comfort.

“Hey,” you said upon entering the kitchen. Sam was leaning against the countertop, arms crossed over her chest as her eyes refused to leave the floor. To anyone else, it would have gone unnoticed, but not with you, not with it involved Sam. You noticed her slightly heavy breathing and the barely visible sweat that glistened her forehead. And when her eyes finally left the floor, you could see nothing but black in her irises.

It took not even a second before Sam finally snapped out of whatever trance she had found herself in and returned to her usual self. Well, about as normal as Sam could be. She quickly wiped the sweat off her forehead and recrossed her arms as she looked at you. “What are you doing in here?” She all but demanded; her eyes seemed never to leave you as she stared you down.

The question was a weird one, as this was your home, but you just chalked it up to Sam's bizarre way of asking, ‘Why are you here with me and not my sister?’

“Hanging out in the kitchen; it’s where I belong,” you said with a smile, and to your surprise, you managed to pull a chuckle from the Latina. It was a quick laugh, but it sounded like angels were singing in your ears, and you would go through hell and back with nothing but the Hamilton soundtrack to keep you busy if it meant hearing that laugh again.

Sam smiled faintly as she spoke, “Yeah, well, I’ve tried your spaghetti before; you don’t belong anywhere near the kitchen. I’m sure they would have sent you into the army and made your husband stay at home.”

“Okay, wow, that one hurt!” You exclaimed with a joking smile as you placed a hand over your heart, pretending to be hurt, “That one dug deep, but bold of you to assume I would have a husband.”

“Bold of you to assume I would care.”

A tense silence filled the air after Sam spoke, but it was a silence you were starting to grow comfortable with. And for the first time in her life, Sam felt terrible for what she said to you. She wanted to apologize for saying she didn’t care about you, but she couldn’t muster up the pride to admit she was wrong. So all she did was look at you sadly and hope you would pick up on it.

“You know, I seriously thought we were having a moment,” you halfheartedly joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

It took several seconds before Sam replied, just as you walked out of the kitchen, “Yeah…I don’t really think the whole ‘husband’ thing would work out for me either.”

This comment certainly caught you off guard. “Why is that?” You asked while returning back to the kitchen, clearly interested in what Sam had to say, “Not much of a marriage person?”

Sam shuffled awkwardly on her feet as she uncrossed her arms, gripped the counter behind her, and looked down at the floor. “No, it’s not the marriage part. It’s the man part,” she admitted while slowly looking up at you with the most vulnerable eyes ever. The look she gave you said a thousand words: this was something not even Tara knew about.

Sure, the Carpenter sisters shared everything, but Sam wouldn’t share this. Her attraction toward women was something that further ruined the bond between her and her mother, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let it ruin her relationship with her only family left. Of course, Sam knew about Tara’s relationship with women, especially once she found out about Tara and Amber, but she still couldn’t help the feeling of being afraid to disappoint Tara.

But before you could comfort Sam, before you could tell her that her fears meant nothing and that Tara would still love her, you got interrupted. “Sam! Y/N! Get your asses in here!” Mindy yelled from the living room, “We want to watch this movie with you two!”

Sam quickly got rid of the vulnerability on her face when she heard Mindy’s voice, not wanting to show that kind of weakness to anyone.

“Sam-” you started, but the woman quickly brushed past you, subtly wiping a tear from her eye as she walked into the living room.

Following behind her, you entered the living room and sat at the only open spot on the couch, which was conveniently next to Tara, who had Sam on her other side. “Thank god, I was starting to think you two were fucking in there or something,” Mindy remarked as she grabbed the tv remote, “Let me introduce you guys to the scariest movie on the planet: The Cat in The Hat Live Action!”

The rest of the night was filled with laughter and playful teasing as the hours slowly seeped into the early morning hours. The small banter between Mindy and Tara kept things interesting; Mindy compared Tara to the Things, as Anika tried to keep it peaceful. The stolen glances you shared with Sam had their conversations, and when you went to bed that night, you would consider this night a step in the right direction at changing your relationship with Sam.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One thing Sam hated about working a 9-5 was how inconsiderate most of society can be. It was already a busy day at the cafe, more alive than average, and her nerves were already shot for the next and a half. From people complaining about not getting orders in a short time to people demanding to have their drinks remade, it was a rough day for the older Carpenter.

She had half a mind to tell the next person who complained about their coffee not being proper that it was just coffee; if they wanted it right, they should buy a Keurig and make it themselves. Although that would be funny, it would also end in Sam getting fired, so she just bit her tongue and continued working.

As if her day couldn’t get any worse, you always had a habit of catching Sam at her worst. “Are you stalking me now?” Sam questioned once she saw you approach the front counter.

“Oh yeah. You know me, I can’t get enough of the Carpenter girls,” you said with a smirk as you quickly checked San up and down, frowning when you saw a faded coffee stain on her apron. It wasn’t hard to notice the looks Sam got in public, so you could imagine how customers would treat her. If the universe would allow it, you would put Sam in your back pocket and protect her from the rest of the world; God knows that the woman deserves some peace in her life for once.

“For whatever reason, Tara can’t seem to leave you alone,” Sam mumbled as she pulled out a pen and notepad, “What can I get you?”

“Just a small cappuccino, please,” you replied as Sam wrote down your order and took your payment. She liked writing things down, which helped her remember the important stuff. And maybe, in the distant future, she might want to buy you a coffee sometime.

Once you ordered, you went and sat down at a booth by yourself and took in the place: it had indeed calmed down from earlier; only a couple of people remained from the rush hour. You enjoyed the calmness, as it gave you time to observe people. Not in a weird or stalkerish way, but in a way to think about other people’s lives, how these weren’t just random people who had no life. These were people who had dreams, who had family and friends; you enjoyed watching the way the world works around you.

You watched as a man wore stress lines on his forehead as he eagerly typed away on his laptop, mouthing every word he typed. How sweat lined his hairline, you could have had a deadline for work that he pushed off until the last minute. You then turned your attention to the girl at the opposite end of the cafe, a book in hand as she wore black headphones over her ears, entranced into the world of fantasy without a care in the world while sporting a soft smile. The world amazed you in ways like that: two completely different people who somehow ended up at the same place at the same time, with different things going on in their lives. Maybe it was fate that brought these two strangers together, and you smiled when you saw them bump into each other before leaving, both wearing a smile and talking about the book she was reading. Maybe that’s what you wished had happened between you and Sam: an accidental meeting somewhere where a good relationship was possible and not this borderline hostile friendship.

A couple of minutes passed before Sam brought over your drink to you. “How late are you working?” You asked once she handed you your drink. The questioning look she gave you was a funny one, but not that it mattered.

“I’m here till 5. Why?”

“Damn, you got a 9 to 5? It looks like I’ll take the night shift,” you joked, but Sam didn’t laugh, only giving you a questioning glare, “Lucy Dacus? No? You’re boring.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not obsessed with three grown women who refer to themselves as ‘boys,’” Sam remarked. She had no desire to learn anything about Boygenius, especially after listening to her sister talk for an hour about all of the unholy things she would let Julien Baker do to her. If Sam was being honest, half of the stuff Tara said deserved at least a ten-year prison sentence.

“But you know who they are,” you said teasingly as you stood up from the booth, “Don’t worry, Sam. You’ll soon grow to appreciate Boygenius. I’ll have Tara fix that.”

“Mhmmm, I’m sure about that,” she mumbled as she returned to the counter, bidding you farewell with a slight nod, not caring to return your toothy smile or wave.

If Sam drove home after her long shift listening to Julien Baker, that was no one’s business but hers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Sam got home, she only wanted a nice, hot shower and go to bed. She didn’t even bother to eat dinner, as she didn’t have the energy or care to do so. As she opened the door to her apartment, which seemed heavier than usual, she kicked off her shoes with a sigh as she made her way into her bedroom, utterly oblivious to the voices in the living room.

“What’s wrong with her?” You asked Tara once the taller Carpenter had shut her bedroom door. “I don’t know; probably work stuff. Do you have five of spade?” Tara asked, more intrigued with the game she was playing than her sister.

“No, go fish,” you replied while looking at Sam’s door; something was telling you to go check on the girl to make sure she was alright, but you didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.

“Ohhhh my god, you hate me,” the younger Carpenter dramatically stated, dragging out the words as she threw herself backward onto the couch.

“If I hated you, I wouldn’t have done your entire English paper, would I?” You questioned while shooting a glance at the pouting girl, but when your comment earned you a middle finger, you placed your cards down as you stood up from the couch, “I'll be right back.”

Tara scoffed at you as she leaned up on her elbows. “Have you learned nothing from the Meeks family? I hope you don’t come back,” she mouthed off as she started looking at your cards, “you fucking asshole! You did have that card!”

“I never said I didn’t,” you replied with a smirk as you walked toward Sam’s door, ducking out of the way of a flying shoe courtesy of your best friend Tara.

A soft rasping of knuckles pulled Sam away from her almost meltdown. She had felt a constant pressure on her all day, and it started to lift briefly, but it suddenly came back by the end of her shift. Sam was used to the constant pressure and needed to be the best version of herself now that she was providing for her sister, but it all started to get too much for her.

“Sam, you okay?” Great, not only did she have this overwhelming feeling about to take over, but she was also about to have a high speed come apart in front of the person she didn’t want to see her weak.

“I’m good, Y/N. Go back to Tara,” she called out as she backed herself against a wall, slowly sliding down to sit on the floor.

“Are you sure? You didn’t seem too happy when you got home,” you replied, hoping to get somewhere with the older woman. “I’m fine. Please, leave me alone,” Sam pleaded, but the way her voice broke off toward the end of her sentence told you that she didn’t need to be left alone right now.

Several seconds passed, the sound of Sam’s bedroom clock ticking away, slowly counting down the seconds until Sam couldn’t bear the deafening silence. She felt like she had somehow found herself in her version of ‘The Tell-Tale Heart,’ at any moment, she would succumb to the voices that were guilting her. For what guilt, she did not know; guilty of her origins, guilty of neglecting her baby sister for five years, guilty of torturing her body for years on end, putting any substance into her body to help calm her mind? Sam didn’t know what was causing this constant guilt that followed her anxiety and pressure, but she would do anything to make it stop. And she did make it stop.

“Fuck it,” she mumbled as she pushed herself up from the floor and walked to her door, grabbing the handle but making no motion to open the door. If she opened that door, it would be an invitation to open herself up to you; she only opened up to one person in her life, and look what he did to her. This constant fear of having to look over her shoulder, as if the shadows were going to transform into physical beings and take her life, or even worse, take Tara’s life. Sam wears scars, both physical and mental, from him, and she would lay down her own life if it meant protecting her sister. But when she looked at you, with your innocent eyes that beamed when you looked at her, Sam knew you could never hurt anyone. But Sam was never one to make accurate judgments.

The creaking sound of Sam opening up her door pulled you from your thoughts. Thoughts that weren’t any special; who you would have in your ideal Hunger Games lineup. You knew for a fact that the president would be Cersei Lannister and the game maker would be Jigsaw. However, you still have yet to determine who the twenty-four tributes would be: the only tributes you had so far were Santa Barbara Ellie, Pioneer Kim Kardashian, Regina George, and Chanel Oberlin. It's not the best list, but it's a solid start.

“Hey,” you said quietly, eyes darting over Sam’s bloodshot eyes with dark bags underneath. Even at her worst, she always somehow managed to captivate you like she was a siren, slowly bringing you into your inevitable demise. Still, you could never seem to pull yourself away from the beauty that was Sam Carpenter.

Sam scoffed at your weak greeting while ignoring the feeling of her stomach turning at how you looked at her. She knew she looked like a hot mess, and she believed it was your way of silently making fun of her. But the way your lips were slightly parted and your eyes seemed a bit too dilated, refused to leave her own, told her that you weren’t judging or making fun of her. No, you were admiring her, which sent a slight shock of guilt throughout her; Guilt, that was Samantha Carpenter’s best friend.

Sam’s eyes drifted down to the floor, as she couldn’t handle the feeling of your eyes burning into her skull. “Who’s shoe is that?” She asked, motioning down to the floor, where Tara’s shoe landed.

“Well, if you look closely, you can see that it’s a size three for babies,” you remarked teasingly.

“Kill yourself!” Tara shouted from the living room, not caring enough to storm out into the hallway and show you how vicious she can be.

“Charming, isn’t she?” You stated as Sam looked back up and made eye contact with you. Her face told you that she didn’t want to talk, but her eyes were silently begging you to stay. It was a dilemma that you stumbled upon, but you were always someone who loved conflicts. “Is everything alright?”

Sam sighed as she leaned against her doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is that what you wanted? To ask me if things are okay?”

“Um, yes and no?” You trailed off, not wanting to make things more awkward than they were, “Hold on.” You quickly moved from Sam’s door into the living room, and Sam ignored the hushed threats being spoken; her sister was an angel, after all.

“Here ya go,” you said with an embarrassingly large smile once you returned to Sam’s door. In your hand, you held a small brown lunch bag. Sam had to fight off any instincts to punch you in the throat.

“I don’t like gifts,” she said instead of resorting to violence. Truth be told, Sam loved gifts; she just hated receiving them, as it made her feel like she was in someone’s debt.

“Well, good thing it’s not a gift,” you replied, smiling, pushing the gift bag toward Sam, who gave you a questioning look before accepting it. The bag itself was featherlight, almost as if nothing was in there. Sam gave you one last questioning look before opening the bag and looking inside.

In the bag were several containers, all hosting different kinds of cookies and brownies, and to Sam’s surprise, they were all her favorites. There was something much more prominent at the bottom, but she couldn’t tell what it was as the rest of the cookies sat atop. Sam gave you a small smile as she walked over to her chest of drawers and began taking out the items, ignoring how you were now peering into her room as you leaned against the door frame.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Sam genuinely said in a weak, almost fragile voice as she slowly got to the bottom of the bag, “I appreciate this. it has been-” The rest of her words died on the tip of her tongue as she stared into the bag, as silence filled the room. Those silent seconds dragged on into a quiet minute, neither of you saying anything. You knew it might have been too bold or maybe even wrong, but you wanted to let Sam know that you were proud of her.

“Goodnight, Sam,” you quietly whispered, gaining Sam’s attention. Your heart broke once her eyes met yours, tears glossing in her doe eyes as her lip quivered. She gave you a slight nod of recognition before turning her attention back to the bag as a single tear ran down her cheek, grateful that you had already left by the time it broke from her eye.

With a dry chuckle, Sam reached into the bag, pulled out a 10-inch cookie, and sat it down on her chest of drawers. She stared at it for several moments before her lips pulled into a smile as a new feeling shot throughout her heart, one that she hadn’t felt in a long time: hope. But that feeling of hope wasn’t for her; no, it was a hopeful feeling about you.

Sam smiled down at the cookie one last time before she went into the kitchen and grabbed a knife and plate, thankful that Tara had gone off to her room so she could enjoy her treat by herself.

Once she returned to her room, she pulled the lid off the container and cut a small piece out of the cookie. Making sure not to ruin the words that said, “Happy three years of sobriety.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The minutes seemed endless as you stared up at the ceiling of your bedroom. You didn’t know why you were waiting, but you just were. Your mind was telling you to get up, to do something productive, but your heart and soul were seemingly forcing you to stay put, like something important was going to happen anytime, and if you were just a fraction of a second too late, you would miss it.

It was a stupid feeling, but you couldn’t compel yourself to move; it was as if your mind was in a trance, stuck in some faraway land, and you could do nothing to pull yourself back into your body. You were on the verge of losing your mind when you knew exactly what you were waiting for, and when you finally accepted why, it happened.

Your phone dinged on your nightstand, and you immediately smiled; you didn’t have to look at it to know who it was. In a swift motion, you quickly got up from your bed and grabbed your phone as you read the text message. It wasn’t a long one, or even a special one, to be honest, but the smile on your face was almost comical, and your heart soared. The text read, “I don’t know how you found out about the date, nor do I even want to. But thank you, Y/N, I needed that today.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I will never understand the hype for ‘Hamilton,’” Mindy stated with a look of distaste as she flopped down onto the Carpenter’s couch. It wasn’t movie night but more of a girl’s night. Since it was Tara’s idea to have a girl’s night, she got to pick the movie. But it wasn’t for her, no, it was for Sam.

The older Carpenter sister would never admit to liking such things, but she did have a soft spot for musicals. She didn’t know where this love for them came from, but ever since she was young, she had loved the idea of singing.

Before Sam had discovered her mother’s journal, which had ultimately led to the destruction of her family, she used to sing in her church’s choir. It was the first thing her mother didn’t force her into doing, and she loved singing in front of people; it made her feel like nothing in the world could touch her.

Singing was the only thing Christina Carpenter told Sam she was good at and the last thing she ever took away from Sam.

Once Mr. Carpenter left, Christina stopped taking the kids to church, which caused Sam to be pulled from the choir. It still didn’t stop Sam; she saved up enough money to buy a guitar and write songs while practicing the guitar in her room. When Sam started to dabble around in drugs and alcohol, she slowly started to lose herself. She lost who she really was, but she never lost her voice.

Only when it was the day of Sam’s 18th birthday did Christina finally ruin the last good thing Sam liked about herself, “Your real father had the voice of an angel.”

Sam left that night, and she hadn’t sung since.

But now, five years later, Sam still loves everything to do with music. She was glad that Tara had taken one for the team and turned on Hamilton because Mindy would never let Sam hear the end of it.

“‘Hamilton’ is okay, but not Lin-Manuel Miranda’s best work,” you stated as you stood in the kitchen, making a bag of popcorn for yourself. Sam was also in the kitchen with you, which has become a common meeting place. She was making herself a sandwich as she quietly listened to the banter between you and Mindy.

“I don’t believe you. What is his best work?” Tara challenged as she shifted on the couch, throwing an arm over the side as she looked into the kitchen to glare at you.

“His best work is easily ‘In the Heights,’” you declared with too much emphasis on the movie title.

“No!” Tara yelled, “You only say that because the lead actress looks like Sam, and you said she was hot!”

“I did not say that!” You lied as heat rushed up your neck and flooded your cheeks. It wasn’t embarrassing because Tara called you out; you were embarrassed because you were in the kitchen with Sam. It didn’t help that you could hear Sam snickering as you were defending yourself.

“Yes, you did. Do you want me to pull up the screenshots from the long chain of text messages you sent me?” Tara asked, even though it wasn’t a question, as she pulled out her phone. “Example one: ‘Oh my god, Tara. I’m watching this movie, and this woman looks just like Sam.’”

You quickly threw your bag of popcorn down onto the counter as you sprinted into the living room. You simply couldn’t live with the idea that Sam knows just how you yearned for her.

“Example two: ‘This is Sam, just in another universe.’ Example three, in all caps: ‘Oh my god, Tara! I am not joking when I say that-’” You quickly snatched the phone from the younger Carpenter sister before she could say possibly the horniest text message you had ever sent.

“You are no fun,” Tara whined as you deleted the messages from her phone. “You’re evil,” you retorted before handing Tara back her phone, who was quick to grab it. You walked back into the kitchen to grab your popcorn and became embarrassed when you saw Sam.

She was wearing one of her light-colored long-sleeve muscle shirts again with a pair of gray sweatpants. In simple words, she looked amazing. Usually, when Sam wore some variation of the muscle shirt combo, you could act ‘normal.’ But now that Tara had practically outed your attraction to Sam, you just wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

Thankfully, she just gave you a small smile as she watched you grab your bag before heading back into the living room, no doubt about to be the subject of constant teasing from Tara and Mindy.

“So,” Mindy started once you sat down on the couch next to her, “Are we going to talk about those thirst messages-” “Start the damn movie, Tara.”

By the time the movie started, Sam had entered the living room, but not without earning a cat call whistle from Mindy, no doubt a jab at you. She opted to sit by herself in the loveseat as she kicked her feet up on the opposite end. She sent you a smile when no one was looking, and you could have sworn both hearts started beating as one.

Throughout the movie, you had to deal with Tara rapping and Mindy ranting about the musical, but overall, it was a fun night. Sam was slowly starting to warm up to the idea of having you around more often, and you slowly felt yourself catching feelings for her.

Of course, there was this natural attraction to Sam, she was simply beautiful, but her protective personality mixed with her stand-off, almost bitchy, personality was merely perfect. But with her bitchiness, she was the sweetest, most caring person you had ever met. Her laugh was so angelic, and the way her eyes crinkled when she did laugh was so heartwarming. Sam Carpenter was perfect in your eyes.

To say that this attraction was one-sided wouldn’t be fair. After you had dropped off her cookie, Sam started to act differently around you. She would smile more, and only at you most of the time. It seemed like she had begun to reserve that confident smile just for you. She started to see you more as an individual with feelings and plans for the future rather than a simple 2-dimensional person who was only in her life to make it hell. Sam had actually started to care for you even though she still tried her best to despise you.

So when the movie finished and Mindy went home, you grabbed your coat to follow suit soon.

“Thank you for coming, Y/N,” Tara said as she hugged you while you were standing next to the front door, “You know I love you, right?”

You quickly reciprocated the hug, pulling the girl into a warm, soft embrace. “I know you do, and I also love you too. Even though you can be a shit sometimes.”

“Yeah, but you love it!” She happily exclaimed while pulling back from the hug to pinch your left cheek, “Drive safe, okay?”

“I will, Ms. Carpenter, I will,” you replied, smiling as you opened the door, and Tara disappeared into her room. You had gone halfway out of the door when someone spoke.

“You’re just going to leave without saying goodbye?” You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was; you could pick that soft voice from anywhere. Granted, she was the only one left in the apartment, but you still have yourself the credit for knowing it was her.

“I didn’t think you would want to say goodbye,” you replied as you entered the apartment and shut the door, “I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries with you.”

That was the thing about you: you were so damn respectful. Sometimes, Sam wanted to slam you against a wall to beat the hell out of you. Other times, she wanted to slam you against a wall with her tongue down your throat. Sam had a weird way of showing her attraction to you.

“You didn’t think you were overstepping boundaries when you brought me that cookie?” Sam questioned with a faint smile on her lips. She would never tell you this, but she loved teasing you, as it was the only way she could see the more embarrassed side of you.

“I figured I was, but I thought the gesture of it would be nice enough,” you replied in a weak voice as you rubbed the back of your neck with your hand and shuffled from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry if it was rude of me to do that without asking first. I just wanted it to be a surprise.”

The older woman laughed a bit as she walked closer to you and opened the door, “At least let me walk you out,” she offered. You gave her a smile with a nod as you followed her out of the apartment, making sure to close the door behind you.

“So, what do you think of musicals?” You asked as you walked down the stairs with her. “Why? You wanna ask me out on a date?” Sam joked with the slightest hint of flirtation in her voice, and you almost felt your knees give out.

“Ha, you wish,” you replied as you matched her tone of voice, which earned you a playful smirk to get sent your way. If you figured your one way to win Sam’s trust was to flirt with her occasionally, you would go out giving it your all.

You two reached the floor level of the apartment building, and you held the door open for Sam as you walked outside. “But seriously, though, what do you think of them?” You asked as Sam followed you to your car.

“I enjoy them well enough. Why?” Sam responded as she eyed you suspiciously.

“Because the ‘Aladdin’ musical is going to be here soon,” you stated before you continued with your proposal, “And I was wondering if you would want to go with me?”

The offer was a genuine one from you; you wanted to spend more quality time with Sam, but you also have been dying to see the musical. It was a win-win situation all around.

“Y/n,” Sam started with a beaming smile that matched her chocolate eyes, “I would love to go with you. When and how much do I owe you?”

You quickly picked up Sam’s hand and held it between yours, “You don’t owe me anything. Consider it payment for letting me terrorize your sister.”

Sam glanced down at your hands before looking back up at you. Her beautiful eyes held so much darkness in them that they couldn’t help but draw you in. When you looked into Sam’s eyes at just the right moments, you didn’t see the gorgeous woman; no, you would see her father. And it made you yearn for her even more. Sam had never experienced actual love, but when you looked into her eyes, it made you wonder why thieves bothered to steal pieces of art; you knew you were in love with her.

In a swift moment, before Sam had time to think about her actions, she leaned in. She had meant to kiss your cheek, but in a sudden and indescribable moment, Sam slightly turned her head to kiss the corner of your lips, millimeters away from your lips.

“Thank you, Y/N,” she whispered with a small smile as she said goodbye. You were too busy hoping she left a lipstick mark to respond.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The seconds seemed to drag on endlessly as you tapped your foot against the floor. Your stomach was wrapped up in knots you could barely remember to breathe; the only thing you could think about was the constant nervousness that was rattling you to your core. You were early, half an hour earlier, to be exact, but you would rather be early and have to wait rather than be late.

You were sitting on the bottom stairs of Sam’s apartment building, impatiently waiting until it would be an acceptable time to go to the Carpenter’s apartment. It was the night of the musical, and you were wearing a simple yet elegant suit as you pulled at the collar of your shirt as if it was slightly choking you.

‘Nervous’ wasn’t the correct word to describe your feelings. Petrified would be a better word for it. You were terrified that you would somehow mess up this night, had somehow overdone it, or that Sam wouldn’t have fun. Self-doubt was your greatest friend, after all.

You picked up the bouquet of roses from beside you and stared at them. “Maybe it's too much,” you thought out loud as you turned them over in your hand. Neither of you had explicitly said it was a date, but the way Sam kissed your cheek was something you would never forget. Even though you wanted to consider an actual kiss, since it was so close to your lips, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Samatha Carpenter is a strong woman who takes what she wants in this world, and if she wanted to kiss your lips, she would have done so.

Your phone vibrated with a text message, pulling you away from self-doubt. It was from Sam, telling you that you can come up whenever you would like.

Like an idiot, you wanted to run up the stairs as fast as you could to get to Sam quicker, but you forced yourself to play it cool, to not look like a loser. So, ever so slowly, you began your journey up the six flights of stairs.

Within a few minutes, you were standing outside Sam’s door. You had arrived quicker than you wanted, but the excitement was too much. Then, your mind slowly started to get the better of you as you stared down at your fancy dress-up shoes. You hoped you weren’t overdressed, but if you were, you could easily change into the clothes you kept in Tara’s room. But then what if you were underdressed? How would you fix that? You wouldn’t have enough time to go home and change into something more congenial, and you certainly weren’t going to make Sam change. What if Sam wasn’t even dressing up at all? What if this was just a friendly outing, and you completely fucked it up? What if-

Before you dive further into the scenarios that could play out, the door opened, and all of the air within your lungs left.

“What the fuck are wearing?” You asked with slight irritation in your voice, bewilderment written all over your face.

“What? You don’t like it?” Tara questioned as she spun around in a circle for you. The younger Carpenter sister was wearing a yellow shirt with a pineapple that had on a thong; underneath the fruit was the word ‘slut.’ She was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants, and when she turned around for you, you saw ‘baby girl’ embroidered on the butt.

“Clearly It’s referring to the pineapple, not you,” you said with a smile before it fully registered what was on the girl’s pants, “Hey, turn back around!” Tara did as you demanded, “If I would have known you were wanting to check on my ass, I would have done some squats first,” she teased with a smirk.

When you reread the word ‘baby girl,’ you scoffed at the more petite girl, “Why are you wearing those?”

“Because it's funny! It’s called having a sense of humor!” Tara shot back before an evil smirk appeared, “Why? Do you want me to take them off? I don’t think Sam would like that too much; she gets territorial over you.”

The comment certainly surprised you, and Tara quickly noticed her mistake. “I didn’t mean that,” she tried to explain, but it was too late.

“What do you mean she ‘gets territorial’ over me?” You questioned, completely forgetting about why you were talking to Tara in the first place as the thought of Sam ran rapidly throughout your mind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tara replied with a nervous laugh as her eyes darted around the room. She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone this, and Sam made her swear not to tell anyone. Now, she has broken that promise to the one person who wasn’t supposed to know.

Now, it was a simple mistake that led to Tara finding out about the flirtatious relationship between you and Sam. It was the night Sam kissed your cheek; Tara saw that bright smile on Sam’s lips and how her eyes held so much admiration. She had never seen that look on her sister’s face, and she knew something had happened.

So, like any good sister, she interrogated and terrorized Sam until she finally caved.

Sam only told Tara the bare minimum; you two were going out later in the week to watch a musical together and that you had gotten her a gift a week ago. She didn’t plan on telling Tara that the gift in question was her sobriety treat basket, but when Tara went to grab a water bottle from Sam’s mini fridge, she saw a small box of brownies with your handwriting on a sticky note. “I believe in you :)” was written on it, so Tara asked Sam about it.

Sam told her sister about the gift, but Tara didn’t seem bothered by it. “Oh, yeah. I figured something fruity was going on between you and the biggest homo of the century. But why the fuck did you keep this from me?!” Tara shouted, moving the box around in the air.

“I didn’t think you would want any,” Sam defended with a weak sigh, but she knew it wouldn’t help.

“I would give a strip show to the old people’s home just for a brownie from this place, and you didn’t think I would want any?” She questioned in a slightly more demanding voice before huffing and leaving Sam’s room with the box in hand.

But now, in the current moment, Tara wished she hadn’t opened Sam’s fridge. That annoyingly hopeful smile on your lips drove her insane, not to mention that lovesick look in your eye.

“Stop it, you’re freaking me out,” Tara stated as she made a disgusted face at you. “No. Tell me why you said that,” you pressed on, hoping to get an answer from the younger sister.

“Y/N, what are you hounding her about?” A soft, angelic voice questioned, and your attention immediately shot to Sam. She was wearing a black dress that clutched her curves and somehow made her look even more beautiful if that was even possible. The dress had a plunging neckline, and you had to force your eyes away from her cleavage, earning you a smile of approval from Sam, but an elbow followed by a look of distaste from Tara.

“You look amazing,” you stated breathlessly as your eyes wandered down Sam’s body, admiring the leg slit that showed off her left leg. You prayed for nights when that leg would be wrapped around your head.

“Thank you. You look not so bad either,” Sam replied with a soft smile as she picked up her black clutch bag and walked toward you.

“Have fun on your date,” Tara sneered as she entered her room. Truth be told, she couldn’t have been happier for her sister, but she would rather die than let you know that.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumbled under your breath as your eyes followed Tara before they shot back to the goddess before you. “Are you ready?” You asked, and she gave a curt nod before walking to the door. When you got to the car, you opened the passenger door for Sam, and she thanked you with a soft smile that made your heart explode and your knees weak.

The car ride to the theater was a peaceful one filled with pleasant conversation as you asked Sam about her day and her about yours. Sometimes, you would catch her looking over her shoulder with those soft doe eyes, and you had to fight off any urges to kiss her soft lips.

“Here we are,” you stated as you pulled into the back parking lot of the theater. As you parked the car, Sam observed people leaving their cars, dressed in all kinds of formal clothing, as they made their way into the theater. It took several seconds for it to click in her mind; this was a date.

Of course, she had assumed it might be considered one whenever you asked her, but as she watched the couples get out of their cars and link hands while they all wore fancy clothing, she knew that this was a date. Sam also knew that if she asked you if this was officially a date, she knew that you would deny it. So when you both stepped out of the car and started walking toward the entrance together, she reached out to interlace your fingers with hers.

It was a simple gesture, but the warmth of her hand in yours was enough to warm your cheeks and set your heart afire. You looked at her, only to find that Sam had already been staring at you.

“What?” You asked with a slight smile and a hint of nervousness in your voice. Sam bumped her shoulder into yours, “Nothing, it's just you look beautiful tonight.”

As if your face couldn’t get any redder, you laughed nervously as you looked down at the ground. The compliment threw you off, but you still accepted it nonetheless. “Thank you. And you look beautiful as well, Sam,” you stated.

“I know; you said that earlier,” she teased as she squeezed your hand, “Come on,” she continued as you two walked into the building.

You held open the door for her as you two entered, and then she patiently waited while you got the tickets.

“My lady,” you said as you returned to Sam, sticking out your elbow. “You are such a dork,” she replied, smiling as she locked her elbow around yours and followed your lead. Sam kept quiet as you led her past row after row, but her surprise never stopped until you led her to the third row up front. “Come on,” you stated as you led her down the row toward the middle, “these are our seats.”

“Y/N. How much did these cost?’ Sam questioned as she hesitatingly sat down next to you. “Don’t worry about the price. Money doesn’t mean anything when it comes to memories,” you eagerly replied, which was the truth. You didn’t care about the ticket price; the only thing you cared about was making Sam happy. Sam was someone who found happiness hard to come by, so you devoted your time to try and make her life better, even if that meant putting a massive dent in your credit score.

“I will stab you in the neck with a knife if you don’t tell me how much you spent on these seats,” Sam demanded with a soulless look in her eyes. It was meant to be threatening, maybe it was, but the only thing you could feel toward those dark eyes was a sense of attraction.

“Shhh, it's getting ready to start,” you silenced her, and soon enough, the lights began to dim as the crowd quickly stopped their chatter and turned their focus to the stage. Sam scoffed at you and turned her attention away from you. She wanted to be angry with you for not telling her how much you spent, but she knew that doing that would only ruin this night, which was something she knew you had been looking forward to for longer than you had been leading on.

So, when the curtains opened, she quickly glanced at you. She noticed how your eyes seemed entirely dedicated to the actors on stage and how your lips were curved up in the slightest of a smile. Sam thought you looked the most beautiful woman in the entire world.

Sam moved her hand from her lap to place it in your lap. She turned her hand so that her palm was facing up, and you didn’t have to ask what she wanted; you interlaced your fingers with hers and pulled them further into your lap.

If Sam noticed the way your hands started to sweat, she didn’t say anything. She was too busy focusing on how your thumb was featherlight stroking her hand to concentrate on anything. No one had ever touched her with such softness; she wanted to cry.

When the play finished, and you took her back to her apartment, she couldn’t help but give you a goodnight kiss as a thank you.

Maybe one day you could bask in the sweet taste of her lips on yours. But for now, you would live with her lipstick stain on your cheek, and you would wear it with honor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things had changed between the two of you. They were highly subtle at first: Sam’s eyes looking for you in a crowded room, her fingertips lingering on your hand whenever she handed you your coffee, and she even gave you another rare kiss on the cheek when you brought a very drunk Tara home late one night. Then things started to pick up; she would text you and ask you to pick something up for her and Tara, and when you would drop them off, Sam would ask you to stay for a while. She would always say Tara asked you to stay, but you knew better, even though you never questioned her.

It was one of those nights at the Carpenter’s apartment, movie night with just the three of you. Of course, typical movie nights with the core four plus Anika and you were on Fridays, but the sisters liked having you over just by yourself, as you weren’t nearly as much trouble as the twins. Tara wanted to refer to you as a plant; check in occasionally to make sure you weren’t dead and give you some stuff to keep you from dying.

“Tara, I am not watching ‘The Babadook,’” you stated as you sat on the couch alone. Tara was doing her dad's stance while flipping through movies to watch while Sam was in the kitchen making popcorn.

“Who?” She asked, not even caring to look back at you. “What-” you started to say before the shorter Carpenter cut you off, “Asked?”

“Why do I even hang out with you? All you do is insult me,” you joked as Tara moved to sit beside you. Well, on you. She threw an arm around your shoulder as she got comfortable on your lap. “Because you love me, obviously,” she remarked, still looking for the perfect movie.

Sam knew it was spiritual love, but she couldn’t help the feeling of jealousy grow throughout her chest. Especially over her sister! With a slight shake, Sam tried to fight off that feeling as she grabbed the popcorn bags, along with some bowls, and made her way into the living room.

“Just two bags?” Tara questioned once Sam entered the living room. “Yeah, I figured you and Y/n would share. Why; is there a problem?” The older sister questioned with a raised eyebrow as she set the bowls on the coffee table.

“No, it's fine. But I am getting an entire bag for myself,” Tara stated as she left your lap to grab a bag from Sam before moving to the opposite end of the couch. “Looks like you two will have to share,” she added with a sly smile.

You shared a look with Sam, who had slight irritation on her face. She handed you the bag as she spoke, “I’ll go make more.” When Sam moved to head into the kitchen, you quickly grabbed her wrist, stopping her from getting further.

“No, I’m alright with sharing. Only if you are, though,” you said quietly, ignoring the snickering coming from the end of the couch. Sam gave you a small smile as she nodded, sitting beside you on the sofa.

A small laugh left your lips as you looked at Sam’s outfit. “What?” She questioned.

“We are matching,” you responded with a smile as you looked up at Sam, who was already looking at you before she looked at your outfit. It was true; both of you were accidentally wearing practically the same outfit: blue plaid pajama pants with solid black shirts.

“Yeah, I guess we are,” Sam said with a smile as her eyes met yours. It was a small moment between the two of you, but it was quickly ruined when the sound of gagging pulled you two from it.

“Please, no homosexual activities in front of my popcorn. I don’t want it forced down my throat,” Tara complained as if she wasn’t someone who also suffered from those homosexual tendencies as well.

Sam cleared her throat as she grabbed one of the bowls and opened the bag of popcorn, pulling all of it into the bowl. “What movie did you pick?” You asked as you kicked your feet onto the coffee table, earning yourself a slight glare from Sam. She wouldn’t classify herself as a neat freak, but she hated it when people put their feet on furniture not used for sitting.

“‘It puts the lotion on its skin, or it gets the hose again,’” Tara quoted while throwing a piece of popcorn into the air and catching it with her mouth.

“I love that movie so much,” you commented while grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch, covering up your legs as you got comfortable.

“What movie?” Sam questioned as Tara hit play. “‘The Silence of the Lambs.’ It's one of my favorite movies,” you replied with a smile, leaning over to give Tara a quick fist bump for the choice.

“Is this the one with Jodie Foster?”

“Yep,” you and Tara replied simultaneously, earning a small groan from Sam, but she didn’t protest.

Once the movie began, Sam pulled at your blanket and placed some over her lap. You thought nothing of it until you felt Sam’s thigh brush against yours. You guessed it was an accident, but she didn’t move her leg; you relaxed your body and pushed your thigh against hers. You felt your chest flutter at the slight smile on Sam’s face at the contact.

As the movie progressed, the distance between you and Sam slowly became nonexistent. Your shoulders were now touching each other as you shared one blanket. In a moment of braveness, with a little bit of stupidity, you moved your hand underneath the blanket, which was where Sam had been keeping her own. Slowly, your hand inched toward Sam’s, hoping to reach the desired location without Sam pulling her hand away.

When your hand gently grazed Sam’s, the Latina made no effort to pull away, so you took it as a sign to continue. You linked your pinkie with hers and waited. I waited for her to finally realize what you were doing and pull away or glare at you and then ridicule you for such actions. So when Sam did pull her pinkie out of the lock with yours, you tried not to show your disappointment on your face.

But before you could get too comfortable with your sadness, Sam interlaced her fingers with yours, giving your hand a gentle yet firm squeeze. It was a small gesture. Some people might even call it friendly, but how your heartbeat quickened at the contact was embarrassing. You only hoped that your fast heart rate and nervousness would cause your palms to sweat. If they did sweat, though, Sam didn’t say anything about it, which you were grateful for.

As the end credits rolled, you let go of Sam’s hand, much to the older woman’s disappointment. You helped Sam clean up the mess made during the movie while you two let Tara sleep peacefully on the couch.

“I can clean those,” you said while walking into the kitchen. Sam was at the sink washing the bowl that you two had used.

“No, it’s okay. I got it,” she replied as she looked over her shoulder at you. “Thank you for staying tonight. I know Tara can be a little shit sometimes.”

You laughed at Sam’s words as you walked over to her, leaning against the counter. “It’s no problem; I love hanging out with you guys,” you genuinely replied, smiling, “Thank you for letting me stay over. I know we haven’t always had the best past.”

At the mention of the one-sided distaste that was formerly between you two, Sam stopped cleaning the bowl. A frown appeared on her lips as she looked down, refusing to meet your piercing gaze.

She took a deep breath before she spoke, “I’ve been an asshole to you, I know. I thought you were only getting close to us so you could tell Gale, but I know better than that now. I’ve been so…closed off to people that my judgment blinded me. I’m sorry, is what I’m trying to say.”

To say that Sam’s apology took you aback would be an understatement. You had just assumed that Sam would never own up to how she treated you in the past, opting just to pretend nothing ever happened. But you could tell that she had been working on this apology for a long time, so you appreciated it while you could.

“Thank you, Sam, for apologizing. I won't try to play it down, but it does mean a lot to me,” you said with a soft smile as you looked at the vulnerable woman before you, “but I have to ask. What changed?”

A sigh left Sam’s lips as she turned on the sink, washing out all the soap. She then began drying it off to think about her response. It wasn’t a difficult thing to explain. Well, the logical reasoning for her change of mind about you. But what she was trying to avoid was telling you that she also had a change of heart. Sam had started to enjoy your presence and hated being without you; she yearned for your soft, gentle touches that followed your caring words. She wanted to tell you that she still hates you but cares deeply for you.

Sam dried her hands off as she leaned against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “I honestly don’t know entirely,” she began, “I know my opinion started to change after you brought me that cookie. But I feel like things changed before that, you know?”

“No, I don’t,” you said with a soft laugh, “I think I’ve just gotten so used to you being a dickhead to me that I kind of don’t associate anything else with the way you treat me.”

Sam had to pretend your words didn’t split her heart down the middle; she had to pretend your words didn’t pierce her heart like an ice-cold dagger. She knew she had no business to be hurt by your honesty, but still, she hated being reminded of how things were.

“I am sorry about that. You were there to protect Tara when I wasn’t, and for that, you will always have my gratitude,” Sam stated as she took several moments to decide on what to say next, “Tara told me that while I was gone for those five years, that you took care of her. Is that true?”

“Yeah,” was all you said in a quiet voice, almost as if you were preparing yourself for when Sam started to ask more questions but silently prayed she wouldn’t.

“How bad was it?” The older Carpenter asked with a voice filled with regret. You didn’t have to ask to clarify what she was asking about; you could tell by how her left fist started to clench as she brought her right arm to rub over the median cubital vein in her left arm. She wasn’t asking about how bad the attack was. No, she was asking about how bad Tara’s home life was when she was too high to do anything about it.

“I made sure she wasn’t left home alone,” you admitted. It was the half-truth, and you hoped Sam would accept it, but you knew better. “What was it like when Christina was there?” Sam pressed on.

“Things were okay; nothing was too bad,” you replied, trying your best to sugarcoat the truth.

An awkward, dry chuckle came from Sam as she shook her head, “Don’t lie to me; tell me the truth.”

You debated whether you should spare Sam the details or try to lie to her about how ugly it got sometimes. But fuck it, Sam had been making your life hell for almost a year now, so it's time she found out what you dealt with for five years.

“Christina’s a drunk; everyone knows that. But it got ugly once you left, especially once you left. It was like, maybe three weeks since you had left, and Christina had drank herself into a coma. The only problem was that it was in some European country, and no one back home knew about it. Christina was only supposed to be gone for the weekend and return home by late Sunday. Only, that weekend turned into a week, which then turned into a month.”

You gave Sam several moments to digest everything you told her, waiting for her to object. But when all she did was nod, you continued. “Tara didn’t tell anyone about her mom not coming back, and she only just told me why she didn’t tell anyone about it: she didn’t want people to view her as some monster because her entire family had left her.”

A soft sob came from Sam, and that was when you noticed she had been silently crying. When you moved to comfort her, Sam smacked your hand away from her body. “Keep talking,” she demanded. And you followed your orders.

“I didn’t notice anything different until I heard her stomach growl during lunch. She had been rationing her lunch for weeks, trying to make every piece last as long as possible. School food isn’t the best, but you would have thought Gordon Ramsey had made it how she cherished every bite. By the end of the school day, I finally got Tara to tell me what had happened, and I forced her to stay at my house. I told my mom that she would stay with us for a while, and she didn’t bat an eye; it was like she already knew what had happened but didn’t want to find out. That night, my mom had cooked lasagna; Tara had three full plates of it.”

“She hates lasagna,” Sam said in a choked-up voice. “I know,” you responded with a small laugh, “After that night, I made sure Tara always had something to eat and that she was never alone. But the one time I wasn’t there,” you had trailed off, not being able to finish your sentence without a tear forming in your eye.

Sam knew what you were talking about: the first Ghostface attack. Instead of pushing you away, she reached her arms and grabbed you, pulling you into a hug. It was the first hug you two had ever shared, but it was still the best. The grief you two shared could be felt by each other in that warm embrace, and you both found comfort in each other’s arms, which was something no one had ever made Sam feel.

You two hold on to one another as you both quietly cry over the past, hoping to be free of it with every tear that falls down your face. It was a bonding moment, but it was something you both needed; you two needed to be vulnerable together and for the other one to pick the other up.

After a few minutes, Sam pulled back from. She wiped the remaining tears off your face as she tucked your hair behind your ear and did something unexpected but not unwelcome. Sam leaned forward and placed a small, lingering kiss on your forehead as she quietly muttered, “Thank you.”

Once Sam pulled back, she gently squeezed your shoulders as she left the kitchen. You followed after her, only stopping to watch as Sam picked up a still-sleeping Tara from the couch and returned the gremlin to her bed. While Sam dealt with Tara, you grabbed the blanket you shared with Sam and some pillows to make your ‘bed’ for the night. The couch was comfortable, and you preferred it over sleeping with Tara. As small as she was, she always took up the entire bed.

After you deemed your sleeping quarters right, you went into the bathroom to brush your teeth. Props to being over so much; you had your toothbrush. It was a small gesture from Tara, but it gave you unlimited bragging rights. As you brushed your teeth, you could hear Sam talking to someone. With your curiosity getting the better of you, you peeked into the hallway to see the woman talking to someone on the phone.

“Thank you for inviting me. I had fun going out with you, but I don’t want this to go any further than friendship,” she quietly said into the phone as she paced back and forth. Deciding to give her some space, you stepped back into the bathroom and closed the door before spitting out the toothpaste and then rinsing your mouth with water. You wiped your mouth off with a towel before opening the door and leaving, finding Sam still talking on the phone with a mysterious love interest.

As she continued to talk to the person, you got situated on the couch, but before you could get too comfortable, Sam started to snap her fingers at you.

“What?” You hissed out, staring at the woman growing slightly more agitated as her phone call continued. You noted that Sam had already changed into her pajamas for the night: a loose band t-shirt with a pair of shorts.

“Have a good night; I'll talk to you later,” she abruptly said as she ended the phone call, “Are you seriously sleeping on the couch?”

“Um, yeah? Where else would I sleep? And besides, the couch is comfortable,” you replied as you gave Sam a questioning look. If she was insinuating that you sleep with her in her bed, well, that warranted some questions. But not that you would reject her offer.

“Are you alright with that? I know you usually sleep with Tara, but she might try to fight you if you go in there while she’s already asleep,” Sam said, trying to hide that she wanted to ask you to sleep with her. She found comfort in holding your hand earlier, and she surprisingly enjoyed the depressing conversation you two shared in the kitchen. Sam hated to admit it, but she found herself seeking you out for comfort. Not only the comfort but the fact that you warmed her heart as well; she had started to fall for you most unexpectedly.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. And besides, she usually ends up taking up the whole bed anyway. I’ll have more space out here than I will with her,” you responded, and Sam couldn’t help but nod at your words. “Yeah, she’s small, but don’t doubt how much space she can take up,” she said in agreement, “But would you like my bed?”

Now, that offer caught you off guard. You hadn’t even considered that Sam might provide you with her entire bed so she could sleep on the couch. As considerate as it might be, you were either sleeping on the sofa or in Sam’s bed with her, no in-betweens.

“No, I can’t take that from you and leave you on the couch. I’m honestly fine on it; don’t even worry about it,” you stated honestly, but Sam only shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t be a good host if I let you sleep out here.”

Neither of you wanted to be the one to offer it up, but you refused even to suggest the idea of sharing a bed. Nope, that was going to have to be something that Sam does, and you would happily wallow around in her swollen pride.

Just as you predicted, Sam swallowed her pride and offered the best solution if it did come with a backhanded offer. “Since you enjoy being difficult and making me feel like a horrible person, would you want to share my bed with me? Just this once?”

When she said the sentence, it didn’t sound as rude as the first one; it sounded a lot nicer, like she was hopeful that it wouldn’t be just this once, that this night would turn into another night, and maybe even the rest of the nights you could share.

“Only if that’s alright with you,” you said in a calm, normal tone as you tried to convince Sam that you weren’t mentally bouncing off the walls. “Sounds good to me. Come on,” she replied as she pulled you up from the couch and led you to her room. Sam dared not let go of your arm the entire walk there.

Once you entered her room, she only dropped your hand as she walked over to her side of the bed. She pulled back the covers as she got in bed, stopping to stare at you. You stood uncomfortably in the middle of the doorway as you looked around Sam’s room.

You felt like you saw a new side of Sam as you admired her room; the walls had old types of vinyl, and a single guitar was hanging from the wall. Along with the guitar, there were some framed movie posters, one being ‘Kill Bill’ that was signed. There was a singular bookshelf that didn’t have a single open spot. A record player was also sitting atop her desk in the corner of her room. How you missed all of these small details when you dropped off the cookies, you had no idea.

“What are you doing?” Sam questioned, pulling you out of your mind. “Sorry; I was just looking at your stuff,” you admitted with embarrassment as you walked over to the bed. You halted before getting in as if you were waiting for Sam to change her mind and kick you out suddenly.

“Is something wrong?” Sam asks as she leans up in bed, her doe eyes shimmering under the dimly lit light. “No, no. It’s just…,” you faltered on an excuse. You didn’t want to admit that you were nervous about sharing a bed with that goddess of a woman, but you also didn’t want her to think you were disgusted by the thought of sharing a bed with her. “Do you want me to sleep in my street clothes? I have New York on me, and I doubt you want that in your bed.”

With a sigh, Sam exits her warm, comfortable bed to grab you a pair of fresh clothes. She didn’t even bother to ask if you happened to have a spare set here-which you did; she started rifling through her closet.

“Here,” she stated as she handed you a faded shirt before walking to her chest of drawers. Sam opened her top drawer and grabbed a pair of shorts for you.

“Thank you,” you said softly while grabbing the shorts from her, “I’ll change in your bathroom real quick.”

Sam hummed in response as she quickly got back into bed, missing the warmth of it.

After you had changed out of your dirty clothes, you decided to put them in Sam’s hamper—a subtle move at her being able to keep your clothes without offering them.

As you left the bathroom, you were still slightly pulling down your shirt, only showing off the lower portion of your stomach. The skin was only visible briefly, but it caught Sam’s full attention.

The scars that littered your abdomen were scattered, but she could recognize a stab wound from anywhere. The story about Jill Roberts haunted you night and day, so you never told Sam about that nightmare. The only one who had some faint idea about it was Mindy, as she had seen you naked on a few occasions. She never asked about the scars; she felt that asking would have been more intimate and personal than the sex was.

But things were different with Sam; you wanted that intimacy with her. And she liked that intimacy with you. Sam wanted to be able to share every nasty, dark part of her past with you, just as much as she wanted you to tell her your dark past. It was opening up with your pasts that allowed you two to share a possible bright future.

So, she asked you about it. “What happened?”

It was a stupid question, but Sam wanted to know your side. Of course, she was aware of the fact you were involved with the 2011 Ghostface killings, but she wanted to know why you were targeted.

You softly sighed as you climbed into bed next to Sam, who was fully sitting up with her legs crossed as she stared at you, silently encouraging you to trust her. If there was going to be anyone to judge you for your past, it certainly wasn’t going to be Samantha Carpenter.

“Well, I was nine when it happened,” you began, “and I suppose it all boils down to being at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

You waited several seconds, debating whether you wanted to share this information. It wasn’t a secret; it was out there for the entire world to read about, courtesy of Gale Weathers, an author who turned a tragic story into a multi-million dollar yearly profit.

“Jill was my babysitter. It was after the first few attacks, and she was still babysitting me. She was always nice to me, well, about as nice as she could be. I had been messing around in her room, and I found this camera, so of course, I started to watch what was on it. On it were videos of all of the recent attacks, ruthless shit. Instead of telling her I found it, I hid it in my backpack, and I had planned to bring it to Judy Hicks. Well, Jill finds out that it’s missing and goes ape shit.”

You shifted around in bed as you got more comfortable, opting to fully lay down on your back as Sam propped herself up onto her elbow to engage herself in your traumatizing story fully.

“Anyways, she starts ripping the house apart, turning it inside out and upside down. Of course, she eventually finds it in my backpack, and I don’t even defend myself. I just stood there like a deer caught in headlights. The scariest part about it was that she didn’t even hesitate. One moment, she had my backpack in hand, then the next, she had a knife,” you finished, not wanting to recall the gruesome experience.

Sam was silent momentarily as she thought over what to say to you. She wanted to comfort you, but she didn’t know how. In a way, she felt like your attack had been her fault. Logically, it couldn’t have been, but she felt guilty about it, guilty about her father.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that, especially at such a young age,” Sam stated. She truly did feel heartbroken for you, but she couldn’t seem to express her sorrow adequately. The only emotion she was good at convening was her anger, a trait she inherited from both her mother and father.

“It is what it is,” you replied with a soft sigh, “Who were you talking to earlier?”

The older Carpenter sister let out a small groan as she fell onto her back, running her hands down her face to add dramatic effect. “It was Danny,” she replied as she interlaced her fingers and placed them on her stomach.

“Oh yeah?” You asked with a teasing tone. Now it was your turn to prop up onto your elbow. “What did he want?”

“He just wanted to go on another date,” Sam responded, to which you huffed. This slight noise got her attention; she turned her head to the side to look at you as if she were studying your facial expressions to try and guess what you were thinking. “Why do you ask?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “Just curious. You seemed annoyed, and you hung up pretty quickly. Just thought you were having a sneaky link I didn’t know about.”

“Oh, please. If I wanted a sneaky link, I certainly wouldn’t let my family know about it,” she joked softly, and your heart erupted. Sam’s smile was rare, even more rare around you. It was as if the angles had parted the sky, and you could catch a glimpse into heaven. It was the most beautiful sight you had ever seen, but the most teasing one.

“Okay, but be honest: what happened?” You pressed on while clarifying that you respected Sam’s boundaries if she didn’t want to tell you.

“We went on a date. Danny kissed me because he felt something; I didn’t feel anything. He called to ask me on another date; I said no. Simple as that,” she replied with a monotone voice, but you knew there was more to the story.

“Sam,” you said with a soft voice.

“Mhm?”

“I will throw myself out of your window if you don’t tell me the truth.”

“Oh my god, what the hell is wrong with you?” Sam questioned with a voice full of laughter as she smiled from ear to ear.

“Tell me, or I’ll paint the sidewalk red,” you joked with a smile that matched hers.

“I told him no because I don’t want to be with him,” she replied honestly as she stared at you with those dark, doe eyes. You swore you could get lost in that void. “Now, will you leave me alone so I can sleep?”

You scoffed at her but entirely laid down nonetheless. “I guess so,” you grumbled as you rolled onto your side, facing away from Sam.

Sam only laughed at your shitty attempt to pout as she got out of bed to turn off the overhead light. Once she was back in bed, she rolled onto her side to face your back.

Slowly and very hesitantly, she wiggled closer to you, wrapping a loving arm around your waist. Sam didn’t have to wait long before she felt your hand atop hers, pulling her closer to you. Soon enough, her entire front was pressed against your back, and you couldn’t have been happy. Your heart seemed to only beat for Sam, as your entire body started to feel like it was catching on fire.

“You know,” Sam whispered into the dark room, “I listened to Julien Baker the other day.”

“That’s not the one I was talking about,” you responded, not missing a beat.

She scoffed at your weak response, “There’s too many.”

“Girl, there are only three!”

“Whatever,” she mumbled while she pulled you closer into her body as if she couldn’t get enough of you. Sam placed a chaste kiss on your head before slowly drifting off to sleep, with you in her arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The picture frames hung on the walls rattled as the loud, booming sound of music filled the air. Against your will, the twins plus Tara dragged you to a frat party. Drunken college students mixed with obnoxious music was not your cup of tea, but you did enjoy the theme: early 2000s club. From Lady Gaga to Timbaland, even to Beyoncé, it was the first time a party had gotten the music right! There’s nothing wrong with today’s music; they don’t make them like they used to.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Tara offered. Even though she forced you to go out tonight, she still wanted you to have fun without pressuring you to do too much. She could be a little asshole sometimes, but she had her soft moments.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” you replied softly. The two of you were sitting together on the only couch that didn't have people either passed out or making out, even though Tara suggested doing either with you.

“Tara, I think you are wonderful and completely captivating, but I do not want your tongue down my throat,” you joked with a soft laugh. The younger Carpenter whined in response as she kicked her feet up into your lap.

“Oh yeah, I forgot. It’s the other Carpenter’s tongue you want,” she teased with a wink as she made a V with her middle and pointer finger, bringing it to her lips while sticking out her tongue.

“What is wrong with you?” You questioned while politely shoving the more petite girl, forcing her to stop. “Oh yeah, how come I found you two wrapped up in each other’s arms then? Mmm?” She pressed.

It was a simple question but an entirely challenging one as well. You needed a place to sleep, so Sam offered to share her bed with you, as it was better than the couch. That part you could explain, but you couldn’t explain why or how you woke to Sam’s face pressed against your chest. It was the first time you had ever felt so loved, so seen. It wasn’t just you who had found so much comfort that night. Sam loved falling asleep to your heartbeat; the drumming sound soon became a lullaby.

“She tried to kill me and forced me to share her bed for warmth,” you stated, but Tara didn’t believe you for a second. “You know, if you would have told me that four months ago, I would have believed you. But now that you have stolen my sister from me and somehow tricked her into falling for you, I don’t believe you.”

Your ears perked up at the mention of Sam falling for you, and your cheeks started to get warm at the thought of Sam recouping your feelings. “She likes me?” You asked with a love-sick smile on your lips.

Tara rolled her eyes at your question and pushed herself off your lap. “I don’t know how you did it, but Sam cares about you. I think she started to go soft on you when you took her to that musical,” she stated as she stuck out her right arm to you. You grabbed onto her hand and allowed the more petite girl to pull you off of the couch, then you followed her into the kitchen.

“I didn’t even know that Sam likes musicals,” you commented as you grabbed a Seagram from the bucket full of ice on the kitchen island. “She loves them more than me. I fully believe Sam would sell me for some ‘Six’ tickets,” Tara remarked as she grabbed a beer.

You laughed at the younger Carpenter comment. Sadly, she wasn’t being dramatic; you now knew the extent of Sam’s love for musicals, and you hated that you agreed with Tara.

“Yeah, I hate that you believe you on that one,” you replied as you followed Tara into the backyard. The two of you sat down together on a swing, drinking in silence as you two silently judged the drunks amongst you.

All in all, it was a nice night to socialize; exams were finished up for the week, and you two needed a break from all of it. It was nice to get out occasionally with friends, even though you preferred drinking the safety net of your own home. It wasn’t because you didn’t trust people. It was that you hated being around drunk people, and you were a homebody. But just when you started relaxing at the party, the universe had to ruin it for you.

It wasn’t anything terrible at first; Tara had left to grab some more beers for the two of you. She was back within a minute, and as she walked toward you, a man grabbed her arm and pulled her into him.

You couldn’t hear what was being said, but you could tell from the anger in Tara’s eyes that it wasn’t anything good. Sometimes, you wondered if the Loomis genes were airborne, due to how quickly Tara got angry and violent.

Before you had any time to react, Tara had taken the beer bottle in her right hand and smashed it against the man’s head, causing him to fall to the ground. You quickly sprang up from your comfortable seat as you rushed over to Tara, now held back by two of your friends from college. You checked over her hands to ensure no glass had gotten in them, and when you deemed her safe, you took her from friends, who then went to check on the man, who was still on the ground.

“Come on,” you mumbled as you dragged Tara from the backyard and into the front yard.

When you two entered the front yard, she shook herself from your grasp and dramatically flung herself onto the ground, sighing in defeat. The air was full of tension as you stared down at the more petite girl, who held her head in shame.

“What happened?” You questioned as you sat down next to her. With a sigh, she wrapped her arm around yours and rested her head on your shoulder. “He’s from my theoretical film studies class. The other day, we had argued about the Harry Potter movies. And-do not fucking laugh at that!” She exclaimed as she playfully smacked your arm once you started to laugh at her.

“I’m sorry, but you two argued over Harry Potter?” You asked with laughter in your voice, “That’s insane!”

“Shut up, no, it's not. Anyways, before I was so rudely interrupted,” she replied with attitude, “the argument was over who was the real bad guy: Dumbledore or Snape. We disagreed, but we didn’t have enough time to discuss it before class ended. Tonight, he stopped me to tell me I was wrong and that he was right, and I kinda got a little angry.”

“‘A little angry?’ You smashed a bottle against his head,” you exclaimed with a look of bewilderment.

“I’m little; my anger fills up my entire body, and sometimes it gets the best of me,” she shrugged as she stood up and held out a hand, “Come on, let's go home.”

You accepted her hand as you followed her home. You didn’t need to ask what she meant by home; you both knew it was the Carpenter’s apartment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You did what?!” Sam shouted as she stared down you and Tara. The two of you were sitting down on the couch together, sharing shame as you listened to Sam ridicule you. “I let you go out for one night and I promised not to text you the entire time, and you do this? And you,” she then turned her attention toward you, “I can’t believe you let this happen.”

“Sam, I'm so sorry. It happened so quick and I-” you tried to defend but she interrupted you. “You had one job, Y/n. One!”

Sam paced back and forth as she rubbed her temples. This was supposed to be a night of relaxing; she had already had two glasses of wine and ate a little bit too much pasta that was acceptable. Sam even had plans to ask you to stay the night again, that’s why she had the wine; she needed that liquid courage to taste your lips for the first time.

But now, as she went over the possible outcomes of her sister assaulting one of her classmates, all she wanted to do was go to sleep. With a sigh, she dropped her hands and stopped pacing. “Alright,” Sam said in a defeated voice, “I will let it slide, but just this once. Go take your shower, but then you are going to bed.”

Tara was out of the room as soon as Sam said it was okay, not wanting to waste a second as she feared that her sister might change her mind. Tara also wanted to give her sister some alone time with you; she noticed the wine glass on the living room table and she was praying that tonight would be the night the two of you stopped pussyfooting around.

“Sam?” Your voice pulled her out of her thoughts and her eyes automatically snapped to you. “What’s up?” She asked.

You stood up from the couch as you approached her. “I’m sorry about tonight. If I would have known that was going to happen, I would have stopped her,” you apologized but Sam was already shaking her head.

“No, it's okay,” she replied as she grabbed her wine glass and finished it off as she walked into the kitchen, with you a few paces behind her.

“Are you sure?” You quietly asked as you awkwardly looked around. “Yeah. Why do you ask?” She questioned as she placed her glass on the counter and looked at you. You could feel her eyes burning into your skin, and you couldn’t help the words that soon poured out of your mouth.

“I don’t know, I’m just worried that you are actually really upset with me but you don’t want to tell me that because you don’t want to upset me. I’m worried that things are different between us now, and I don’t know why I feel that. I’m just terrified I fucked up somehow, and I really really like you, Sam. I’ve worked so hard to gain your trust and now I’m scared I lost it. So, I am so sorry-” she cut off your rambling by cupping your cheeks and pressing her lips against yours.

Your heart automatically started beating quicker as your hands found home on her hips, pulling her closer into you. When you kissed her back, you could have sworn she let out the slightest moan, and it drove your mind insane.

You couldn’t recall her walking toward you, but the only thing that was running through your mind was how soft her lips were; how sweet they tasted mixed with the wine.

The wine.

You quickly pulled away from Sam’s lips. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to do anything while you’ve been drinking,” you apologized, but your eyes darted between Sam’s own eyes and her lips.

With a soft laugh, Sam leaned forward and kissed your cheek, something she had found out she loved doing. “It’s okay, Y/N. I really really like you too, and I hope that we could possibly go on another date again soon?” Sam asked with a look of hopefulness, and you had to fight the urge to lean back in.

“You’re also considering the musical a date too?” You questioned with red cheeks. Sam nodded her head with a smile that matched hers, and oh how your heart beat for the woman in front of you. You swore you were love drunk off those lips that you’ve only tasted once, but now that you’ve tasted them, you’re sure that nothing was as sweet.

“Y/N, would you like to stay the night?” Sam asked, “With me?”

“Are you trying to get in my pants?” You teased as you playfully pushed her shoulders, to which she grabbed your hand and pulled you into her.

Sam reached up with her right hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, then ran her fingers down the side of your jaw as she admired your features. “I’ve been an asshole to you, I know that,” she admitted as her thumb stroked your jawline, “But I hope over time I can make it up to you fully. I’ve blamed you for things that weren’t your fault and I’m sorry I was that dense. I know you are just following Gale’s writing as a way to forge your own career, and I shouldn’t have blamed you for the book she wrote.”

Sam took a deep breath as she tried to collect her thoughts. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry for how much of a dick I’ve been to you, and I would like to make it up to you,” her voice got quieter as her eyes refused to meet yours, “By hopefully being your girlfriend?”

Your heart skipped a beat as you tried to wrap your mind around what Sam just asked. When her eyes did meet yours, they were holding so much love and hope that you felt your heart explode. Tears welded in your eyes as you cupped her cheeks and pulled her into a loving kiss, forgetting about the alcohol in her system.

“I would love to be your girlfriend,” you mumbled against her lips as you quickly pecked them, “But how much have you had to drink tonight?”

The older Carpenter sister laughed at your comment as she grabbed your hand, pulling you toward her room. “I’m fine, Y/N. I’m sure you and the demon child have had more than me. Besides, I only needed a few drinks to actually make a move on you,” Sam admitted as she opened her bedroom door and dropped your hand, to your disappointment, “But how much have you had?”

You shrugged your shoulders as you walked over to the vinyl set in Sam’s room and began flipping through them. “I’m fine; a little buzzed but nothing too bad,” you replied.

“Mhm, yeah, you’re not as awkward as you usually are. I don’t like it,” Sam stated as she handed you a clean pair of clothes to change into you. You noticed they were her clothes, and an embarrassing large smile over took your lips as you finally realized that Sam Carpenter was your girlfriend.

You leaned to kiss her, but Sam placed her hands on your shoulders, preventing you from doing so. You gave her a little pout, so to make you feel just a little bit better, she sighed and gave your cheek a kiss. “Go change and get ready for bed,” she quietly commanded you and you did as told.

The clothes fit you perfectly, as if Sam had bought them just for you. There was a toothbrush laying on the sink, still in its packaging, and you knew that Sam had gone out shopping for you tonight.

Walking into the bedroom, you climbed into bed with the older Carpenter, who was sitting upright with her back against the headboard of her bed, reading a book. “Did you buy me a toothbrush today?” You asked as you laid down and scooted closer to Sam, wrapping your arm around her waist.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied as placed her bookmark in the book and set it down on the nightstand, “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because there was a toothbrush that hadn’t been opened yet, and these clothes fit a little bit too nice,” you commented as you watched Sam turn off the bedside lamp and lay down next to you.

“Yeah, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she denied as she pulled you into her body. Sam brought her hand up to the back of your neck and brought your head close to her chest. You sighed in comfort as you nozzled your head, hoping to get as close as you can to her breasts without making Sam uncomfortable.

Sam placed a kiss on your head as she tightly hugged you, “Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight, my lovely girlfriend who used to hate me,” you cheekily replied, earning a laugh from Sam.

“When will you ever let that go?” Sam asked with a slight annoyance in her voice, but you knew she was joking.

“I don’t know, until I’ve deemed that enough time has passed for me to be able to move on,” you replied, “But a goodnight kiss would help.”

The Latina chuckled at your words as the hand that was your head was now cupping your cheeks, pulling you into a loving kiss. Her lips were soft and warm, and you knew that you could never leave them. So when Sam pulled away, you chased after her lips, hoping to taste them for just a second longer.

But she stopped you, much to your disappointment. “In the morning you will give you all of the special treatment you want. But for now, let’s go to bed,” Sam stated in a loving voice, and all you did was nod your agreement. You placed your head back on your chest as you two allowed sleep to overtake you.

When the morning came, you awoke before Sam, greeting her with kisses all over her face and sweet nothings about how much you cherished her as your girlfriend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @elduster @silentwolfsstuff @maskthedwarf @canvascoloredin

#sam carpenter #scream #melissa barrera #sam carpenter x y/n #sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter x female reader #sam carpenter x fem reader #sam carpenter x reader #Tara carpenter #wlw

[chibsandchill]

See me

Fandom: Saltburn 

Pairing: Felix x AFAB!Reader 

Summary: Each room in Saltburn is bursting at the seam with memories with you, and Felix remembers some of his favorite moments as he makes his way to his prize. 

Warnings: Felix, Mentions and descriptions of acts of violence and murder, NSFW content, MDNI, 18+, unreliable narrator (Felix), toxic relationship, obsessive tendencies, grammatical and spelling errors, p in v sex, oral sex (m receiving), Felix is a creep, themes of violence - self-harm and equivalent themes are prevalent through the imagine, some parts of their dynamic takes inspiration from Hannigram but with my spin on obsession

I am not responsible for your media consumption. Read the tags. 

MDNI

Masterlist

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

It’s a cloudy day when Felix first saw you,

but with you came the sun, 

warmth, empathy, love. 

Oh, how he loved your heart. But, oh, how careless you were with it. It was a gift, 

one meant for him, 

from you. 

Then why did you waste it on those beneath you? You chipped away at it to mend sobbing students, tore at it until it bled and thick scars rose like mountains. You took on their pain with a blindingly bright smile, 

only Felix saw how their burdens weighed you down. 

The sun was meant to warm, to burn from far away, 

but they tore you down from your place in the sky so that they might leech your warmth until you are left barren. Their sorrows were cold as ice against you. 

They stole you from him. Piece by piece they ripped at you with filthy nails. You became known on campus as someone who’d listen. Who wouldn’t judge. How could you when you felt their problems as if they were your own? The more they spoke those words dripping with poison, the more they tainted the very blood in your veins with their darkness. 

‘Walk in their shoes’. 

You didn’t need to. You could walk in their skin, feel their emotions as if they were yours. Heartbreak plagued you, sorrow fell on you like an ever present shadow. The death of a family not yours turned your face gray and your eyes misty.

Until Felix put a stop to it all. How could he stand by and watch it happen? The slow destruction of a bright star, who burned so bright that all envied it. 

Jenny from history of art, Carl from math, Robert from physics, Matilda from psychology, Caroline, Jeremy, Han, Thomas, Harry, Derek, Henry, Linda, Nico, Mark, John, Hans, William, Frederic. All turned away at your door. 

“Yes, I’ll tell her.”

“I’ll let her know.”

“Sure thing, buddy.”

Oh, how they believed his lies. Sweet, sweet, Felix Catton wouldn’t lie to them. Surely not. 

But lie, he did. It spewed from his lips like honey. All to have his sun beam at him again. To wash away the taint of the others from your skin, your heart, your eyes. He would have you look at him with soft, relaxed eyes. 

Him. Him. Him. Him.

Your protector. Even if you didn’t know it yet. 

“Felix.” 

He hummed. 

Your eyes are heavy with sleep when you look up at him, but the affection is hard to miss. It makes you glow. Felix curled his arm further around you, bringing you closer to him. But even then it is not close enough. He aches. It’s a want deeper than skin, deeper than bones or even his soul. It was as if his very being was made of want, of longing so intense he was blinded by it. If God was indeed real then he had created Felix with a thread laced with obsession, with love transcending all else. 

Even thinking about you made his heart race, pound. 

“Can I braid your hair?” 

“‘Course.” He said against your skin. 

As if you needed to ask. All of him was yours. 

You try to sit up but Felix isn’t ready to break the contact yet. He feels like a battery, no matter how bizarre a comparison it is, constantly needing to be recharged so that he might survive when you part. He’s constantly cold without you, he feels empty; hollow. His hands are too light with the lack of you, he breathes too easy without the weight of you on his chest. If he could he’d carve his heart out so that you could carry it with you, for that was how he felt anyway. He’d gouge himself hollow so that he could fit you inside. Never to be parted again, joined together by shared blood, flesh and bone. 

It’s not easy with his hold on you, but you manage to shift so that you sit in his lap instead. It’s not ideal if you mean to truly braid his hair but Felix won’t complain. He pushed his head into your touch when your fingers hover over him. 

“Patience.” You half-heartedly scold him. 

Your fingers weave through his hair, nails scratching just right against his scalp. With deft hands you untangle the mess you’d created during the night. There’s not much to braid but more than enough for you to wrap around your fingers and tug. The action pulls a low groan from his throat. 

He grabs your hips. Felix wonders if you’ve noticed how he’s caged you in. You probably don’t, as sweet and trusting a being as you surely wouldn’t peel back his layers to gasp at the thriving darkness beneath. With you he was his truest self. Could you see him? Would you run if he were to cast off the layers? Let you see him? 

Maybe you already could. You had seen the others. Even the empty ones, the ones who had gouged themselves hollow and shoved the essence of what they thought he wanted until it spilled from every hole in their body. 

Felix wasn’t hollow. He was bursting at the seams with life, same as you. And yet you stayed. Surely you knew. You had to. You and he were one. Two pieces of a whole finally reunited. 

He breaths in your scent, noses along your throat before allowing his head to rest in the crook of your neck. There’s a bruise there hidden on your shoulder blade. Late one night when you’d already fallen asleep he mouthed it into your skin with the moon as his witness, 

only, 

it had started to fade. 

He’d have to do it again. Closer. Marking you under the cover of darkness wasn’t enough anymore. An unspoken claim didn’t satisfy him anymore. It wasn’t enough. He was beginning to think it never would be. He could bruise every inch of your skin with his love and his skin would still itch to do more – to prove himself more to you.  

Just as his hands slide down to rest on the curve of your ass the scene slips through his fingers like sand. 

He blinks it away. He’s standing in the driveway of Saltburn. Your favorite statue is left in shambles on the gravel with his blood splattered across the white marble. 

“What the fuck.” Felix’s hand shakes and burns with pain. His knuckles are split open. 

It had been a slip of a thought he had once when you first came to Saltburn and you’d taken to leaning on the statues, the furniture, walls, pillars. He’d wanted them all gone. He’d be your pillar. He wouldn’t crumble with age, would never make you think they stood strong only for the core to be riddled with holes from pests.

Felix was whole and strong, had made himself such, 

for you. 

He’d burnt the tendrils of influence his mother had dug into him since childhood. Torn the threads of her darkness right out of the tapestry. Oh, how she cried when she noticed. ‘Felix,’ she’d whispered, a rare show of emotion plastered across her face, ‘what have you done?’. 

She shouldn’t have worried about what he had done. No, she should’ve worried about what he was going to do. 

He watched you for weeks before approaching you. He noticed what made you laugh, what made you smile, frown, scowl. And so he took that too. Cut out the parts of himself that would drop the smile from your face and sewed on the parts that he lacked until he was left a patch-work version of perfecting befitting a Mary Shelley novel. Pus and blood seeped from the stitches. The sight was unseemly. So he waited until he’d perfected himself, until the stolen was assimilated, until it was like another Felix had never existed. 

Felix throws the heavy doors open and the maids scurry away from his sight. 

Duncan emerges from the pack. Even after all he’d seen, his adoration for Felix remained. “Welcome back, Felix.” 

He nods. 

And then he’s off. 

The route he takes is reminiscent of your first tour of the mansion. He’s even nodding along as if hearing himself introduce it all. The staircase where he “fingered” his cousin. As if. Your face had reddened with equal parts jealousy and sheer disbelief of ‘what the fuck’. 

One of the smaller sitting rooms. The green one. He fucking hates that room. But you love it. He went down on you for the first time there. Right on the couch with his granny’s ghost knocking down a shelf of antique plates over his head. The blood had driven you crazy. 

The thought alone made him hard. 

But this was also the first room you’d held him properly in. He’d been crying. 

“What's wrong?” You ask when he threw the door open. 

You’d been doing some summer reading for uni, but your fingers clutched the opening pages with strength that betrayed your pounding headache. 

“Fucking Ollie.” 

Your brows furrow “Oliver?”

Felix lay down on the couch with his head in your lap. You smell good. And you’re soft. 

“Yeah.” He sigh. “He was lying to us this whole time. Turns out poor Oliver Quick has both a dad and mum who loves him. Even siblings! They live in a lovely house in a picture perfect neighborhood.”

‘I just need you to understand how much I fucking love you!’

As if there was even a sliver of Felix that didn’t belong to you, that didn’t scream out for you every second you were apart. Had Oliver not been paying attention? Could he not see the need that permated him? It ran so deep, was so all-consuming that he couldn’t contain it all. He breathed desire, cried longing, even fucking pissed envy. Envy even over the very air you breathed, the clothing that hugged you, the sheets for the audacity to imply he wasn’t enough to keep you warm. 

You hum as your fingers drift down to cup his face. 

“He was in love with me.” 

“Isn’t everyone?” You joke. 

Felix’s eyes opened (he hadn’t realized he closed them). “You love me?”

“Of course.” You trace a scar on his cheekbone. 

“Say it.” 

“I love you, Felix.”

Even that memory fades, but your words linger. 

I love you, Felix. 

You always linger. Your kisses burn his skin and he wishes it left a scar so that he could look upon it and relive it all. 

The green room is abandoned quickly, and he’s off. 

“A blue room!” You exclaim, and to Felix’s displeasure you let go of him to take it all in. 

“Yeah. It’s… blue.” 

“What? No ghosts? No artifacts?”

Felix shakes his head. “Nope. Just blue.”

Felix sees himself leaning against the door while you spin around the room. It’s like a movie, almost. Only it’s his memories and he can remember every second he’s ever spent in your presence. Including this one. And the next one. 

The one where you’re on your knees.

You’re pressing soft kisses to the tip of his cock, pressing your love into every inch of skin you can find as if you wanted to stay there, to have your love replace the tar that ran through his veins. 

It’s odd. He can almost feel the tingles left by your touch, but he’s untouched. Felix’s hands form fists at the sight. Was it possible to be jealous even of himself? The envy boiling in his stomach certainly said so. He would not share you even with himself. 

Felix strides forward and sinks into the place his past self sits. He unbuckles his jeans and frees his cock from his underwear. If he were not so deep in madness he might’ve felt the cold of the room, but he was, and so he felt the warmth of your hands, the wetness of your mouth as you wrap your lips around his tip. 

He moans. He didn’t know what he liked the most about it. The vulnerability, the act itself, your presence, or that it left you with a part of him inside you. You’d kneel in front of him for as long as it took, but Felix would not have you be uncomfortable and so he slid a pillow under your knees. 

Your hands cup his balls. He twitches. You take more of him into you. It feels like heaven to have you wrap yourself around him. Wet, warm, silky heaven. All for him. 

Him. Him. Him. Him. His. 

You moan around him. It sends vibrations straight through him. It pulls a low groan straight from his chest, one that makes you moan. His pleasure is your pleasure, and your pleasure is his, and so the circle begins. 

His eyes roll into the back of his head when you begin bobbing your head up and down. You slurp. Electricity runs down his spine. It’s wet. Sloppy. Saliva drips down your mouth as you press your nose into his abdomen. 

Someone drops a plate somewhere in the house and the spell is broken. Not unlike a reflection in a lake is the memory distorted, wrong. You’re on your knees without the pillow. He’s standing above you, not sitting. Your knees are bruised and bleeding. You’re crying. 

Some small part of him, one that he’d allowed to fester for far too long, enjoys the scene. Enjoys the submission, thrives in the knowledge that it is not only he that longs and wants and would press and press until nothing remains if only to bring you a sliver of happiness. You smile around his cock. It’s not the pain that brings you to tears. 

This isn’t right. This isn’t him. It’s Elspeth messing with his head. It’s Oliver whispering his lies in his ear. 

He wants to vomit. Why would they punish him so? To make him see you hurt, 

to force him to see himself hurt you, brutalize you, 

humiliate you. 

Why, when he adored you, worshiped you. If there was a puddle he’d lay himself down to let you walk over him. He’d drown himself so that you would not have to dirty yourself. Like a tumor he’d performed surgery after surgery to remove what you didn’t like. 

And you did the same. 

The image is restored, but he’s already on his feet. 

He would wait no longer. 

Felix runs up the stairs but is forced to a halt by the moans coming from the king’s bedroom. Another memory? The door is already open. 

“Tell me your vows again.” 

You’ve got your legs up in the air behind you, head resting in your hands as you stare at him. 

“Dear,” Felix turns around from where he stood by the window. Your name sounds like prayer on his lips. “I’ve never been alone. People have flocked to me since before I can remember. But they didn’t see me. But you… you, I let you see me. It’s a rare gift. And it’s one that I’ve never regretted giving you. I’ve never felt more loved than in your arms. Do I need to continue, Mrs Catton?” 

You laugh. 

“Come to bed, Felix.”

The memory changes before he can enjoy the sight of you in your wedding dress. The happiest day of his life. Gone in a blink. 

You’re no longer on the bed. You’re in his arms, crying yet again. There’s blood on his shirt. No finger graces your finger. Felix closes his eyes. He knows this memory. KNows very well what he’d have to endure to get back to you. 

“Y-you killed him!” You shudder. 

Felix shushes you. “There was no other way.”

“There’s always another way.”

“Not this time." 

Truly, there wasn’t. You saw much, but Oliver was so good at pretending to be someone else that he even fooled himself into believing his own lies. And so, you thought nothing of it when Oliver offered you his bottle of wine. Had no idea of the drugs that he’d shoved in there. 

“Are you scared of me?” Felix asks you. His voice shakes. He remembers his own fear, how his stomach churned. He could write a thousand words and not even chip at the surface of the emotions he felt. A thrill at the thought of you finally seeing the deepest deepest parts of him? Disgust that he’d slipped and revealed a crack in his mask? Such fear that it clung to his very bones, stopped his lungs from working and had his own eyes water with tears? All true. And yet all of them are false. There wasn’t a single emotion he could place, they all blended together to form a concoction of heart-wrenching pain and fear. 

The memory fades away. He doesn’t remember the rest. All he remembers is how it ended. 

The headboard bangs against the wall with the force of his thrusts. His hands are cradling your face, kissing away the tears of pleasure. You push your legs up higher on his back where you’ve hitched them, your own hands pressing against his own face to bring him closer. He’s inside you but he’s not close enough. 

Felix leans down to cover your whole body with his. You squeak at the change. 

“Oh god,” you throw your head back with a moan. 

He moves a deft finger down to press down on your clit. He experimented with pressure, directions, even spelled out his own name with your pleasure. Felix feels as though he’s on fire, but still he wants more. He wants to be closer. Closer. Closer. Closer. 

You clench around his cock, and he stutters. 

The love in your eyes makes him falter, before he drives into you faster than before. The bed squeaks, one hard thrust away from breaking. Fitting. So is he. Your right hand moved up his cheekbone, past his ear and to the back of his head. Your touch is gentle, barely-there pressure as you guide him down to slant your mouth over his. His heart aches with love, adoration, you. You’ve made it your home. 

Yet again he is denied release as the memory is gone. The room is empty. 

“Fuck.”

It’s not graceful the way he stalks out of the room. No more interruptions, he thinks. 

The last door in the corridor. Yours. And his. Your marital chambers, as Duncan would call it. Old fashioned bastard. 

He pushes it open without as much as a knock. And there you are. 

“Felix!” You cross the room in seconds and then you’ve thrown yourself in his arms. “We missed you!”

Your rounded stomach presses into him. He rests his forehead on yours, pressing long, soft kisses against your lips, even as you giggle and try to move away. When you do, he chases after you. He’s not done. Never done. 

His legs feel like jelly, his soul is on fire, 

but he finally found you.

In a house full of memories and vengeful ghosts he found you. 

And you saw him, as you always do, and he’s tugged back into bed with the comforting weight of you pressing him down into the mattress. 

And he’s almost content. 

Almost. 

Taglist:

@fedyascoffin

#felix catton x reader #felix catton #felix catton x you #saltburn imagine #saltburn smut #saltburn x reader #saltburn #felix catton smut #felix catton imagine

[multific]

Memories of A Past

Pennywise x Reader

Summary: Before Pennywise became the killing clown of Derry, he used to be a simple man, your man.

Before a meteor hit, before all the blood and children cries, he used to be a simple man.

A simple man who worked at the circus. A simple man who was in desperate love with you.

He was your man.

And you were his woman.

His name was Robert Gray, better known as Bob Gray, better known as Pennywise the Dancing Clown.

Bob was the love of your life. He could make you smile all the time. He always had something up his sleeve and he loved your laugh.

Your father was against Robert. He often said you deserved better than a clown.

But you didn't care.

You married him and joined the circus. 

It was a simple life, but it was your life. Yours and your Bobby's. 

And soon, you were blessed with a child. A beautiful daughter who was loved by you and Robert.

"She has your eyes." he said as he smiled at you, tears in your eyes as you watched him with your daughter.

You had a lovely life. Robert made everyone smile with his dancing clown persona and your daughter was growing fast.

But then, something changed. One day, you could have sworn the man in front of you wasn't your husband anymore.

The man holding you during nights, the man who kissed you good morning, wasn't your Bobby.

And it scared you.

He scared you.

"You are the most precious." he often told you, whispered into your ear.

Everywhere you went, death followed. Children were dying left and right and you were extremely concerned. 

Then during the Easter Egg Hunt you had a feeling your husband had something to do with it, you couldn't confirm it though.

That evening, when you arrived home to your trailer, you noticed your husband still wearing his clown costume, he turned to look at you and you wanted to ask him. 

You needed to confront him, you needed answers. But your voice never came.

You weren't too sure what happened after. All you could recall were three bright dots, shining bright as you fell asleep.

Pennywise woke every 27 years. He woke to incredible hunger which he needed to fulfil.

He had you down in the debts. Keeping you there for centuries now, asleep, dreaming away.

Pennywise had an attachment to you. He wondered if it was because of the host he took. Taking Robert, he took his memories, and Robert's memories were filled with you. At first, Pennywise wanted to kill you, he saw you as a weakness, but he couldn't. 

And even after so so many years, he still couldn't let go of you. He kept you in your dream, so he would have you, floating.

Every time he woke up, he went to see you. His sick and twisted mind saw the beauty that you were. He placed a gentle hand on your cheek.

"You are the most precious," he whispered.

And while he was out there eating and scaring children, you and your Bob were trapped in a dream along with your little girl.

Taglist: @fleursirvart​ @greenarrowhead​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @sincerelyfan​ @theoneanna​ @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06​ @castellandiangelo​ @destynelseclipsa​ @spilledinkindumpster​ @capsiclesdoll​ @puknow​ @alwayshave-faith​ @alex12948 @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek​ @praline357​ @trshngyn​ @avengers-r-us​ @violet-19999​ @top1bbgloak​   @manduse​   @jacalineiscomingforyou​  

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, PLAGIARISE, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

#Pennywise #Pennywise x reader #Pennywise x you #Pennywise imagine #Pennywise imagines #bill skarsgard imagine #it imagine #it imagines #it x reader #horror #horror x reader #slasher #slasher short #slasher x reader #slasher imagine #slasher imagines

[rosyrosie-e]

I mean, as funny as this was.. also 🥴🥴

I know where we can use that little neat trick of yours to good use, Christopher ❤️‍🔥

God, I wanna ride that handsome face. 🤤

#chris evans #christopher robert evans #chrisevans #the gray man #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans smut #chris evans fluff

[chrisevansonly]

LOOK AT HIM?! LOOOOOK AT HIM!!!!

#chrisevans #christopher robert evans #chrisevansxreader #chris evans x reader #chris evans #chris x reader #the gray man

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

The Only One Worth Posing For

Pairing: Matthew Gray Gubler x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: You're a famous photographer so you often get invited to red carpet events. Your best friend is an actor, and you've taken tons of pictures of him. The only problem is that he only poses for your camera.

Square Filled: ​“yeah, you’re cold. I’m giving you my jacket” for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Camera? Check. Extra lenses? Check. Press pass? Check. Supply bag? Check. Gorgeous pink dress you got just for this event? Check. You check the time on your phone to make sure you’re not running late, which you’re not. Your best friend should already be at the movie premier for his new movie, and you’re one of the photographers on the red carpet.

You’re a famous photographer that takes pictures of celebrities for events like movie premiers, the Met Gala, award shows, etc. Your career started in high school when you took almost all of the pictures for the yearbooks. Then, you took pictures of your friend’s graduation pictures and got paid less than one hundred dollars for it. Once in college, you took a lot of photography classes that allowed you to hone your skills and become better.

Someone saw your pictures on your college website and loved them so they got in contact with you, and that’s how you got your first job at a magazine. It took about a decade to get to where you are now and you couldn’t be happier. Along the way, you’ve met and hung out with a ton of celebrities including your best friend. You two met back when you were the photographer for the magazine, and you’ve been inseparable ever since.

Speaking of the devil, he texts you just as you are leaving the apartment.

Are you on your way?

just leaving now! be there soon xx

I can’t wait to see you :)

The message brings a smile to your face. He never fails to lift your spirits no matter how you’re feeling. He sent for a car to take you to the movie premier instead of you taking your own. When you get there, the place is packed with press, fans, and cars carrying celebrities. 

“Thank you,” you smile at the driver and get out.

You head to the booth to check in and present your press pass to her. She confirms you’re on the list before letting you inside the area where the press is located. You set your bag on the ground and take out your favorite lens to use in times like these, the kind of lens that allows you to zoom in clearly even from where you are. The more popular you got, the more expensive equipment you bought.

You got here at the right time because celebrities show up not long after you get set up. Much like everyone here, you call their names in hopes they pose for your camera. You get a lot of good shots of very iconic celebrities like Johnny Depp, Jennifer Lopez, Morgan Freeman, Julia Roberts, and Sandra Bullock. The movie did so much press to make sure it is the most popular movie which is why so many celebrities are here.

You look to the left and see your best friend walk down the red carpet with a huge smile on his face. Matthew Gray Gubler. A man of many tricks. A man who never fails to make you smile. He looks past every person who calls out his name until he finds your camera. His eyes light up and begins posing for your camera and your camera only.

“Matthew! Look over here!” one of them says but he ignores them,

‘Stop it’, you mouth to him and his smile only gets bigger. What did you expect? He always does this whenever you’re in the crowd with a camera. He only cares about you and your career. If you can get good pictures of him, then you can sell them for a lot of money. People around you are frustrated with you and him but you don’t care about them.

Matthew leaves the red carpet and joins the group of celebrities who are hanging outside before they can go inside the theater. There are only a few more celebrities to capture, then you’re packing up your things. Apart from being part of the press, Matthew invited you as his plus one.

“Are you serious with Matthew?” one of the other photographers says.

“Sorry. Maybe next time,” you shrug.

You bring your case back to the town car that is still waiting for you, and you toss your press pass into the backseat. There is no reason for you to have two outfits when you can wear your red carpet outside as one of the press. You walk back over to the same booth and check in as a guest. She gives you your guest pass and you make your way into the area where all the celebrities are.

“I’m gonna slap that motherfucker when I see him,” you joke to yourself.

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you!” Shemar Moore smiles when he sees you.

“Shemar! I thought you were still filming S.W.A.T.,” you grin and hug him.

“I couldn’t miss this premier.”

“Where is Matthew?”

“Last I saw him was by the entrance to the theater.”

“Great. I’ll see you inside.” You leave his side and go find your best friend. He’s talking to one of the younger and newer kid stars, and you slink up to his side. “Excuse me. Mind if I borrow him for a second?”

“Sure. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

You pull him to the side and away from everyone for some semi-privacy.

“What the hell was that back there?”

“What?” he laughs.

“You can’t keep posing for my camera only.”

“You tell me this every time, and what do I keep telling you?” 

“Mine is the only one worth posing for.”

“See? It’s law at this point.”

He leans in and kisses you quickly. You two have been testing the waters for a romantic relationship for the last couple of weeks. It’s been going well because you’re taking it at your own speed without the public knowing. 

“You’re gonna piss off the other photographers.”

“I don’t care.”

He pulls you in and kisses you much deeper this time. You only allow two minutes to yourselves before you pull away from him. Goosebumps litter your arms and you shiver slightly under his gaze.

“You’re shivering. Are you cold?”

“That’s not why I’m shivering,” you say and shiver again.

“Yeah, you’re cold. I’m giving you my jacket.”

He sheds his jacket and slings it over your shoulder to provide you with warmth. He slides his hand into yours and pulls you toward the entrance to the theater.

“Let’s go watch this movie. Afterward, you’re gonna let me take you home.”

“We live together,” you giggle.

“Even better.”

“You’re a dork.”

“Only for you,” he winks and kisses your cheek.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler fic #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #matthew gray gubler fanfic #matthew gray gubler fan fiction #matthew gray gubler fan fic #matthew gray gubler fiction #matthew gray gubler fluff #mgg #mgg x reader #mgg fanfiction #mgg fic #mgg fan fiction #mgg fanfic #mgg fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #cm #cm fanfic #cm fanfiction #cm fluff

[a-moment-captured]

His eyes + his hair + his outfit + grey in his beard = sex on two legs or better known as Chris Evans

#Chris evans #lloyd hansen #the gray man #christopher robert evans #cevans #chris evans blurb #chris evans fanfiction #Chris evans premiere #chris evans x reader

[spikezonebby]

hi !! saw requests for song fics are open, may I request something angsty with fem!human!reader x megatron (idw) to ‘young and beautiful’ by lana del rey ? 🥹 <3 thank you in advancee

Young and Beautiful (IDW Megatron x Fem!Human!reader)

Word count: 1,070

Eighty years. Humans lived for a measly eighty years.

You change right before Megatron’s optics. Your hair grays, your skin sags, your bones grow thinner. Like the very universe was sapping you away from him. Vector Prime alone could grant him all the time he needed to write a poem about all of the moments he lived with you.

But how could he begin to write when every time he picked up his stylus, you were that much further from him? He longed to capture the feeling of you and immortalize it in a data pad, but then you’d touch your tiny, soft servo along his gray bottom lip plate and take him away. Remind him that you were his moment. Here for a second, gone in a blink.

You flare, you flicker, you fade.

You asked him once, if he’d love you even after you weren’t so soft. You weren’t so pretty. And your mind wasn’t as intact as it once was.

Megatron’s answer was immediate.

“Even once the spark of your life extinguishes, and I won’t stop even for a klik after.”

You may have lamented the way time and age changed you, but Megatron learns to see unique beauty in it. There was something beautiful in a life lived so long that you COULD age, it was a promise of peace and resilience. You lived, you fought, you came back again and again. A force so strong that it took time itself to put you down.

Megatron thought that was romantic. Not in the way of kisses in summer or dancing in the moonlight, but the cosmic way. In the way that atoms and space dust collect together and become new stars, or how he realizes, in the grand scheme of things, so, so many tiny and nearly impossible things had to happen for you to be his.

As you grew older, you grew more rapt by his poetry. You blamed it on growing old and sentimental, he argued you were always sentimental. You had always found it fascinating, but Megatron believed that perhaps you took some comfort in it.

“Do you think, because I love you… I’ll be there in the Afterspark waiting for you?”

You were resting against his neck cables, curled up between his shoulder armor and helm vents like a tiny glitch mouse. The ardent heat of energon pulsing up the lines of his throat felt good and helped soothe some of the arthritis in your hands. He had to rest his chin on his servo, propping his helm up at an angle to keep from squishing you, but he hadn’t the spark to stop you.

It’s a question that he’d pondered many times. For he who often pondered the nature of all things grand, the question of life after death was a philosophist’s energon and mineral tablets. 

“You do not have a spark,” He points out, shifting his helm minutely to a position slightly more comfortable for you to tuck yourself under, “So I would not expect you to be held to the same rules and expectations of Primus.”

“But, your God is real.” You raise as a counterpoint, “Any proof that various human gods are real could be considered dubious at best.”

“That is a point for the high queries of gods, but what of your lack-there-of spark?”

“What is a spark but life?” You offer, gesturing with your hands and making the round shape of a spark before your breast. Megatron loathed to move you from your warm perch, so instead he tips the data pad in his servo so he can see your tiny reflection. You look comfortable, hidden securely in his collar fairings. “Perhaps I DO have a spark, but it’s simply just a different form. After all, energy cannot be destroyed. It merely changes form.”

You chuckle, knocking your knuckles against his neck cables. “Julius Robert Mayer.”

“A human philosopher?” Megatron asks, setting his datapad aside to instead settle for reaching up and touching his digit to your lap. You take the hint immediately, and hold his huge digit between your two itty bitty hands. 

“Founder of the laws of energy conservation. Suppose most of us are philosophers in some way, though.”

You have to be, with lives so short and bright. Megatron keeps that thought private to himself, gently rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand. You were feeling thinner and thinner these days. He hoped you ate well enough.

“So, what have we come to the conclusion of in this conversation?” You prompt, bringing back your point, “That there is no true way to say I do not have a spark, and that it’s ultimately far more likely that Primus and his Afterspark wait for me than say… The Christian or Hebrew concept of God.”

“For there are too many to count.”

“For there are too many to count.” You agree, “But it is the most commonly applicable and the most similar to Primus.”

“But,” Megatron clicks his glossa, a smile coming to his face. He loved it so  when he could have these in-depth conversations with you. “That is also dismissing that humanity is a much younger culture than Cybertron was. Perhaps you will find proof that these things are indeed true, or perhaps something you had not even considered. Perhaps in the afterlife, you will have a veritable plethora of ‘heavens’ to choose from.”

“Then I’d choose to wait for you.” You say, “Or I’d choose some religion where I’d be reborn and I could fall in love with you again.”

“You could live again, redo all of the things you had missed. Unmake all of your mistakes.”

“You talk as if I considered you a mistake.”

He feels your tiny, cool lips press to the pulsing line of energon that is connected directly to his spark chamber. You laugh, giddy and sounding just as young as you were when he first met you. There’s a well of emotion there in his chest and, if not for millions of years of carefully cultivated control, he might have sobbed.

Instead, he settles for curling the whole of his huge, warm servo against your body, and recording this moment for all of time. The moment he writes on his spark that you wanted to be his in any life.

“I suppose it is not a mistake then, if you do not regret it.”

#transformers #mtmte transformers #idw transformers #idw megatron #reader insert #megatron x reader #request fill #song fic #Thank you for requesting!! #this got a lot more philosophical than i expected tbh

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Got Ink? 💉 | Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd Imagine

Takes place before, during, and after the events of TGM

TGM masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x tattooed model!reader (romantic), dagger squad (platonic)

Content Warnings: fluff, profanity, mentions of pain as a result of tattoos. Slight suggestive content if you blink | Female!reader (she/her) | wc: 6k

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

Premise: Art comes in many different forms. And when you technically think about it, your body is a canvas that can be become a mural if you find yourself drawn to the beauty that tattoos bring. For WSO Bob Floyd, he appreciated art in every form and loved how patterns and colors could create something beautiful. When his sister invites him to a party for her job shortly after returning from a special mission with the Navy, Bob meets a woman who was the perfect canvas he’d ever seen.

Note: I cannot tell you how much I loved doing this request. As soon as I got it I was like, ‘I’m gonna love this,’ especially as someone who has tattoos and wants to have a lot (I have at least twenty planned) this was feeding my love for tattoos. To the anon who sent this request I hope you like it, I really enjoyed writing this for you and I hope you’re okay with me choosing Bob since you said you wouldn’t mind if it was him or Jake—since I just did a Jake imagine I wanted to give Bob some love 🥹 Also I made it where reader was born in 1989 so if we were to go by Bob being born in 1993 like Lewis then she’d be about four years older since the events of TGM take place in 2019.

——————————

They often say that when you get your first tattoo it will either be the one and only time you subject yourself to the temporary pain of permanent ink…or it becomes one of many.

“It’s an addiction”, people defend, though they should probably look up the term addiction before using it in such context.

For many it’s the appreciation of art. Whether expressing it by becoming a tattoo artist or wanting to capture the beauty by etching it onto their skin like they are its own personal canvas.

Tattoos come in many different forms. There’s the traditional/old school style that is very recognizable with its bold black lines outlining bright colors. People in their old age, having grown up in the 60s and 70s, are the ones usually seen with these types of tattoos. Neo-traditional is not that far off from traditional, just the lines are not as bold. Delicateness is seen with fine line tattoos. In recent years it’s become popular amongst the younger generation—not just because they are pretty to look at but if one has a job that’s strict on policy then they can hide them better.

The oldest style would be the tribal tattoos. Beautiful elaborate patterns in various sizes, they represent the culture one comes from. Like fine line, watercolor tattoos have become a popular style—taking away the traditional black ink used as an outline so the colors have the spotlight. No color in a piece is blackwork and then there’s realism where it’s pretty much a picture that was printed onto the skin. Go on Pinterest and you’ll find multiple images of patchwork style where a collection of pieces put together can be any style already mentioned.

Japanese style, patch, geometric, black & gray, anime, portrait, the list goes on and on. So many ways to put a design on one’s body where it will remain until they go to the next life. Some people stick to pieces that represent sentimental value, like family or childhood nostalgia, others will simply see something they like and go, “I think it looks cool.”

When looking at Y/n’s tattoos, both aspects were seen in the array of artwork coating her body. After getting all the pieces that represented a person, place, or thing that impacted her life, Y/n started to get whatever the hell she wanted—not having an explanation for anything other than, “it looked badass so I got it. No value behind it, I just wanted it.”

Like many newly turned teenagers itching to get their first tattoo, Y/n was bold and got an intricate design on one of the most painful spots. Her reasoning was if she did it, then any other place in the future wouldn’t be as bad. All through college whenever asked what she wanted for her birthday or holidays the answer was always money to get a tattoo. An artist herself, she majored in drawing while attending Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, New York, also taking on an apprenticeship for a local tattoo artist. There she would get to work on her skills and tattoo people, progressing to doing tattoos on her legs and non-dominant arm. Anytime she traveled to a different state or country during the semester she studied abroad, Y/n got a new tattoo, wanting to have an array of styles from different artists on her body.

By the time she was 26, she had accumulated over 50 tattoos and still had room for more. From her neck down, artwork ranging from fine line to bold and traditional decorated her skin. Both her arms were half sleeves, ending just above her elbows with patchwork along her forearms and hands. The only place free of ink on Y/n was her face, though she did have her inner lip tattooed. If you asked her, it’d be the only place she regretted getting ink because it faded so quickly. But then again, she could get it redone if she really wanted to.

There were looks from people anytime she went out. Y/n loved dressing up in little black dresses and two piece sets to unapologetically show off her tattoos. Older, conservative couples or people who thought tattoos looked trashy on women would look down upon her. Getting hit on was normal, though she never gave the time of day and sending one look that read, ‘get lost’ had men scurry. Sometimes she'd be approached by teenagers asking about certain pieces, saying they wanted to get tattoos once they were of age and were looking for advice. Biker bars were a place she felt comfortable in, Y/n even taking a part-time job as a bartender so make some extra cash. People from all ages—well at least 21–were covered in tattoos like her.

In 2014, shortly after her 25th birthday, Y/n noticed an inbox notification in her instagram. She was used to getting messages on occasion. Being featured on the bar’s and tattoo parlors business instagram pages and accumulating her own following of potential clients had Y/n reach up to 80 thousand followers. The tattoo artist she worked for was very popular, having done work for celebrities and being featured in Inked Magazine.

Speaking of Inked Magazine…..

When Y/n clicked on the icon to open the message, the first thing she spotted was the blue checkmark. Then beside it was in bold lettering inkedmag. Coffee nearly spilled onto the floor when her grip faltered, gasping lightly at the name. She didn’t even realize the page was following her, confirming this by searching herself under their following and found her username staring back at her.

Heart pumping, Y/n opened the message. “Hi, Y/n, my name is Manda Williams and I’m a representative at Inked Magazine. We’re a fan of your profile and would love to work with you on our upcoming campaign. Would you be interested? Please email me at [email protected], I look forward to talking with you soon.”

Never did she think she’d become a model, let alone a tattoo model. She was taller than the average woman, standing at about 5’10 and strikingly beautiful. On countless occasions family members would say, “if you didn't have all that on you maybe you’d been discovered. You’ve got the height, the style, and high fashion look. Plus you’ll never get a well paying job with all those tattoos.” All they were met with was a roll of the eyes from the woman, annoyed with the constant nagging.

“I’m an artist,” she would defend. “I got accepted into one of the most prestigious art schools in the country and I work for a very renowned tattoo artist who has had Snoop Dogg, Angelina Jolie, and Lady Gaga as clients. Not to mention I work at a biker bar where the people there love me. Want me to go further?” the look on their face would read they didn’t but Y/n would put the nail in the coffin with, “Let me point out the fact I get paid more with both those jobs combined than you working a nine to five in your little office job. Also you should educate yourself. Tattoo models do exist.”

If only those family members could see her now. Posing on a motorcycle in nothing but a bra and booty shorts as the camera flashed in front of her.

“You’re a natural, Y/n,” the photographer complimented, making her flustered.

She adjusted her position, running a hand through her hair, “If you think so I trust your judgment.” Being in a studio felt very different than when she would set up her phone on a tripod in her apartment. It took many tries for her to capture the perfect angle, often deleting fifteen out of sixteen photos. Here with this guy calling out movements, “a little to the left,” “bring your hand up—just under your chin, perfect,” “Now act like you’re suntanning on the beach—tilt your head back as though the sun is in your face,” Y/n felt what it was like to be a model.

Not many tattooed individuals got the chance to sign with top agencies like Ford and IMG. Very few were recruited so it came as a big surprise when an agent from IMG Models contacted her following the release of Inked Magazine’s issue. When she took the job she thought it would be a small section in the magazine itself. Instead, she was on the cover.

“You don’t have an agent?” Bonnie’s tone was confused, staring back at Y/n from behind her desk as they sat in her office at the IMG headquarters. Bonnie had seen her cover on Inked, immediately going to Y/n’s instagram where she contacted her though the email listed on the tattoo parlors page. From there she asked the artist to bring a portfolio, which she was shocked to find out wasn’t much. “That was your first model job?”

Y/n shrugged, making a face like it was obvious, “Unless you count the dozens of comments I get on instagram beggin for my next post, yeah it was. I’m a bartender and tattoo artist, modeling wasn’t something I thought was in the cards.” She refrained from adding, “also didn’t think IMG scouted people like me.”

It was safe to say Y/n was unlike the typical runway model. Every now and then a high fashion show would hire a man with tattoos to walk for them. Very rare would you see a woman on the runway. For Y/n, that seemed to be the case in the beginning of her career. She did walk in the Marco Marco show that year which was the highlight of her life. Inked Magazine got so much response on her first feature that they made her their staple girl. Y/n worked with them the most on campaigns and even got to do a cover shoot with celebrities like Travis Barker and Kehlani. Those features got her a lot of recognition to the point she hit one million followers on instagram.

It wasn’t until Y/n went viral on the internet for her Sports Illustrated cover and becoming the first inked model to be featured in a Victoria Secret campaign that the top designers were booking her. Before long she was auditioning for brands during fashion week, securing Tom Ford, Calvin Klein, and Oscar de la Renta. Due to her tattoos being the star of the show, there were hardly any clothes on her save for tiny tops and skirts or dresses with intricate cutouts. She didn’t mind of course. After all, her tattoos were a part of her and the reason she was getting the opportunities of a lifetime.

Milan, Paris, London, New York. Fashion week was gonna have to get used to a new face in town.

Vogue, GQ, Vanity Fair, Inked. Pick up an issue and you’d find Y/n on at least one page, if not the cover.

Every now and then she’d get asked to appear in music videos for bands. The Weekend once asked her to be the cover art for one of his singles, bringing her more attention as "The Inked Beauty from Blinding Lights cover art.”

She appeared on the Inked Magazine YouTube channel several times. The most popular video being when she did a Q&A released shortly after walking in the last ever Victoria Secret Fashion Show in 2018, becoming the first inked model to walk the VS runway. Though it had low ratings, Y/n’s bit was plastered on every social media site, many tweeting: “the best thing VS could’ve done for their final show was put Y/n L/n in it. She carried the damn thing.”

“Hello, I’m Y/n L/n,” she smiled shyly at the camera, her agent Bonnie and publicist giving a thumbs up. “I’m a tattoo and high fashion model from New York City. You may recognize me from the cover of Inked Magazine, or discovered me through some of my other projects over the last couple years—hell maybe I even tattooed you at one point,” chuckling as she feels her nerves slowly evaporate. “Today I’m here with Inked Magazine, the owners of my heart and career, and I'm gonna answer some questions sent in by you guys about my tattoos and career.”

The producer gives a nod, “Ready, Y/n.”

“Let me hear them, sonny boy.”

“What was your first tattoo and at what age did you get it?”

Thankfully she was wearing a tube top beneath her jacket, removing the clothing to reveal the many inked designs on her chest, and stomach. Pointing to the one just below her ribs, Y/n says, “So this was my first one—as you can tell by how faded it is compared to the others. I got it when I was eighteenth birthday, literally wasted no time and my family is actually who inspired it.”

“As of right now, how many tattoos do you have?” The question has Y/n think for a moment, tilting her head back slightly.

“I counted just the other week and I think it was close to…. seventy,” nodding she adds, “yeah I think that’s right. I know I had fifty when Inked contacted me four years ago for my first feature. So I’ve added twenty to the collection since.” She made a mental note to count again when she got home that night.

“Do you have any tattoo regrets?”

A nervous chuckle escaped, “Fuck, uh….yes,” she looks down shamefully, but gives a shrug like, ‘I can explain.’ Lifting her head back up, Y/n takes her two index fingers and gently pulls down her bottom lip to reveal the messy smudged ink that once read, ‘baby girl’. The camera zoomed in and once they got a good shot of it Y/n let her lip fall back into place, “I don’t know if you were able to read that but when it was freshly done eight years ago it said,” she pulled a face showing she was too embarrassed to say it. “It said ‘baby girl.’ I got it when I was twenty on a dare and frankly I thought it would be hot, but it faded so quick—which,” she raised a finger, “that’s the one place I would say don’t get a tattoo. Even though it’s technically temporary…you’ll end up with a blob of ink like mine and it’s not cute.”

“Where were the most painful spots you got tattooed?” Immediately she lifted her arms to show she had ink on her armpits.

“These basterds right here,” the producer and crew laughed, nodding along with her. “You feel me? Yeah, I thought the ones on my stomach and ribs were bad. Those were a tickle compared to my armpits—-oh and my elbows. I think I actually broke a sweat when I got those done. It’s why I have yet to conquer my knees,” patting the covered area, Y/n shakes her head, “I don’t know If i can do it. But funny enough, these tiny little hearts on my palms,” Y/n flashed her palms up, the camera focusing on the two red lined hearts in the middle of each hand. “These hurt so bad. Thankfully I’m not putting anything else here because I strictly wanted the hearts, so I’m sparing myself.”

“What do they mean?” The producer asked, taking a pause from reading out the next question. The little smile Y/n gave was shy.

“I was told a lot growing up that I keep my heart in the palm of my hand,” while she explained Y/n kept glancing at the hearts, “kinda like the saying, ‘wearing your heart on your sleeve,’ but with me it’s literally in the palm of my hand. So I got these little hearts on my palms—that way when I hold someone’s hand, they can feel the love and care I have for them,” sending a wink to the camera she finishes with, “because my heart is in my palm.”

“Have you ever dated anyone with more tattoos than you?”

“Noooo,” she snorts. “Not because I’m not open to it—I’m very attracted to people with tattoos. And I have dated people with a lot…it just seems that anytime I do get into a serious relationship, I’m the one who has more than the other. And if you’re thinking about who I think you are—,” Y/n points directly to the camera, like a mother scolding her child, “the answer is no, he did not have more than me. Louis has thirty-three, I believe, since the last time he and I talked—which was,” she pauses to think, “I think around New Year’s.”

“Do you find yourself enjoying campaign shoots or runway shows more?”

“That’s hard,” Y/n pouts, causing her agent to chuckle since she knew the answer first hand. “Both are fun in their own way. I love being able to come into a studio or go out on sight and do a photo shoot—except in the fucking winter because I’m usually half naked freezing my ass off.” She pauses to laugh with the crew before continuing. “And then there's this feeling of ‘wow, that just happened,’ when I step off the runway. Getting to work with designers I’ve idolized since childhood and being the face of Mugler is a dream come true. If I had to choose…..it would be campaigns and photo shoots. There I can express myself more freely.”

“Do you see yourself still modeling in ten to twenty years time?”

There was a question she had to think about, taking a moment before answering. “I sure hope so. I love my job and definitely see myself continuing in the future. As long as my agent Bonnie and Inked don't get tired of me,” she laughs, winking at the woman who blows her a kiss. “But honestly I have experience as a tattoo artist so I could see myself opening my own parlor. I’d love to start my own blog or get other tattoo models into the industry. There’s a lot to think about what the future holds, but for right now I’m gonna have fun in the present.”

While home in New York when not booked, Y/n continued to work part-time at the tattoo parlor. She left the bar shortly after signing with IMG, but still visited whenever she could. There was even a picture of one of her Inked shoots framed above the bar.

With her new found fame the parlor had little to no openings each month. Regulars and new clients had to call in to reserve an appointment the second the schedule was dropped, which was sometimes weeks in advance. Several of the friends Y/n made in the modeling industry would get tattoos from her, though they always tended to go for the fine line style. More celebrities booked with her boss, adding Cardi B, Rihanna, and Louis Tomlinson to the list. The latter whom, as mentioned, Y/n actually got romantically linked to in mid 2017. It only lasted a few months, but the photo of the two on the Inked instagram was the most liked on their page.

Louis wasn’t the only high profiled person Y/n was involved with. Unfortunately the downside to fame meant her personal life was to be blasted on every inch of the internet. From starting her modeling career in 2014 to spring of 2019, she’d been spotted with actors Michael B. Jordan, Tom Felton, and fellow model Vladimir Ivanov. Like Louis, they only lasted a couple weeks to months—save for Vladimir which lasted almost over a year—and ended on good terms where they remained friends.

Frankly when it came to settling down Y/n hoped to find someone who was sweet and down to earth. Who was a hard worker—passionate about what they did for a living and wanting to share that with her. Someone who could make her laugh and feel like she was the only girl in the world. It was hard finding someone like when the spotlight follows you around. Y/n had been in the public eye going on six years and due to her connections with big named people she never seemed to catch a break when it came to romance.

All those qualities she desired in a life partner came to her in the form of the adorable weapons system officer she met at a party in November of 2019. The poor guy felt so out of place. From behind the bar Y/n could see him at the corner glancing around like he was searching for someone. Only getting a glimpse at the side of his face, she didn’t recognize him. The party had many from the fashion industry to celebrate Anna Wintour’s 70th birthday. What was ironic was Y/n took up the task of working the bar, kicking into her skills from when she was a bartender at a popular biker club in Manhattan. With her view she was able to see the entire floor as people entered.

The man she’d been eyeing must’ve come in when she was busy making the Hadid sisters their drinks. He wore a white dress shirt with some slacks and a matching blazer. His glasses reminded her of the popular style from the 80s. Come to think of it, they were probably the aviator style. He was tall, roughly six foot so she’d be eye level with him considering she was wearing two inch kitten heels.

Seeing his flustered demeanor and the fact he looked like he didn’t know what the hell he was doing there—not to mention he was handsome from what she could see, Y/n waltzed over, “May I get you anything?”

When he spun around she was met with the most gorgeous pair of blue eyes staring back at her. They blinked rapidly, like they were trying to decipher if she was in fact real. Then they snapped straight to her neck, following the ink of the exposed skin on display from her red latex mini dress—which his face mirrored the color of since he was making it quite known he was checking her out. He had a baby face to him, which was kinda adorable, and Y/n assumed he was maybe a year or two younger than her.

Offering a smile Y/n said, “So what will it be?”

“Huh?” He said confused before remembering what she initially asked before he got distracted. “Oh uh, just water please.” Still smiling, Y/n took a clean empty glass and filled it with ice before adding the water. Finishing it with a straw she placed it on a napkin in front of him.

“Will that be all?”

“Yes. Thank you,” he took the glass, glancing around briefly before letting his shoulders drop.

“You seem a bit out of place,” Y/n wiped down the countertop, catching his attention again. The man nervously laughed, adjusting his glasses.

“Is it that obvious?”

“A bit,” she teased, nodding her head to the crowd in front of them. “All these people walk around like they own the place. You’re the first person I’ve seen tonight who doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing. Are you here with someone?” Part of her was hoping he’d say a friend invited him, feeling a sudden rush of butterflies at the way he looked at her—like he couldn’t believe she was real.

“My sister dragged me along,” he confirms, the model mentally sighing in relief. But she couldn’t get her hopes too high. For all she knew he may have a partner back home. “I was visiting her this past week and she begged me to come. I told her it was a bad idea since I’m not….part of this crowd.”

“Ah,” she hums, biting back a grin at the way he described the industry. “Not a model or influencer, I take it?”

“Nooooo,” his laugh filled her stomach with butterflies. “Not at all. I don’t know how to work social media. Are you?”

Y/n refilled a guest's drink and handed over a beer to another, “I dabble here and there,” it was refreshing to meet someone who wasn’t familiar with her work. Usually at events like the one they were at she had people coming up to her already knowing who she was. “You’re probably like, ‘thought she was just a bartender,’” she giggled at the flustered look taking over him. “I was one before being discovered. I’m doing this for fun honestly—-and because Anna likes what I make her.”

His eyes went to her neck and collarbones, lingering on the ink. She assumed he’d never seen a model with so many tattoos before. “You can look,” she smirked, when he glanced away from being caught staring. “You’re only seeing a small portion of the canvas,” his eyes went wide at her words, making her giggle, “these babies are the reason I’m in this business.”

“You're a tattoo model?”

Y/n raises a brow at the surprise in his tone, “Didn’t know they existed, handsome?”

“No-no,” he quickly apologizes, “sorry I meant no offense. I knew there were models with a lot of tattoos. My sister told me that the industry was starting to expand by signing more people with them.” His words have Y/n intrigued. Obviously his sister was someone in the business, she wondered if she knew her.

“Is your sister one?”

“No, she’s an agent,” Y/n stops what she’s doing, towel long forgotten.

“For a modeling agency?”

“Yeah.”

“Which one?” Just as the question left her lips, Bonnie’s voice interrupted the two, “Bob, there you are! Oh good—,” she grins wide when she sees who he’s talking to, “You guys met!”

Snapping their heads toward each other, the two have the same expressions of, “wait what?”

Bonnie claps her hands, coming beside Bob at the bar and motioning between the two, “Y/n, this is my brother, Robert—the one I was telling you about last week,” mouth slightly agape, remembering the conversations the two had about Bonnie’s brother—in which the agent suggested setting up a date between the two—Y/n watches Bob react the same when Bonnie then says, “Bob, this is Y/n L/n. One of my clients at IMG—I know I’ve mentioned her before to you.”

Not knowing what to do at first, Y/n extends her hand to formally introduce herself, “So you must be the famous, Bob,” butterflies swarm her stomach again by the warmth of Bob’s hand when he goes to shake it. “I’m Y/n. So nice to finally meet you—Bonnie’s told me a lot about you.”

“W-wow,” Bob stutters, mentally hating himself when he does. “It’s really nice to meet you too, ma’am. I wasn’t expecting to meet you tonight, but now I see why Bonnie was so adamant I come.” A pointed look is thrown at Bonnie, who shrugs with a smile like she did no wrong.

“Well seeing as you two found each other without me, I’ll leave you both to it. Bob, let me know if you plan on riding with me back to the house or if you catch a ride. And Y/n I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.” Winking, Bonnie takes the Cosmopolitan Y/n made for her and scurries off, leaving the two alone.

“I should’ve known,” Y/n laughs lightly, topping off Bob’s water. “Your sister has brought you up the past couple times she and I have gotten together,” lips curl into a smirk, “she wasn’t lying when she said you were a cutie.”

Bob turns red, smiling shyly, “when she told me about the inked beauty she worked with, she left out the fact you’re a walking piece of art.” His boldness impressed her, Y/n leaning closer to him against the bar top, resting her elbow on to so she could lean her head on her hand.

“How long are you gonna be in New York?”

“Till Wednesday,” part of her was disappointed that it was only four days away considering it was currently Saturday. But it was enough time for something to blossom.

“Tell me about yourself, Bob. The night’s early and I could listen to you talk for hours. Let’s see if Bonnie was psychic when she said we’d be quite the puzzle when put together.”

Ever heard of the type of couples where the girl radiates black cat energy and the guy is a literal golden retriever?

That was Y/n and Bob to a tee.

Out in public they stood out—even in a city like New York. Then when Y/n went to San Diego to meet his friends for the first time after four months together—which also resulted in her being stuck in California due to lockdown from the covid pandemic—it was like everyone couldn’t believe someone like Bob was with someone like Y/n.

He was a quiet, reserved naval officer and she was a sharp-tongued, world renowned tattoo model. They were the definition of the couple in high school you’d never expect would hit it off.

When Bob introduced Y/n to the squad, they instantly knew who she was, but had different ways of discovering her. Nat saw her walk in the VS Fashion show, Mickey and Reuben recognized her from The Weekend’s cover art, Javy remembered her from an episode of Ink Master she appeared on, Jake saw her on the cover of Sports Illustrated, and Bradley actually got a tattoo from Y/n when he was in NYC.

The entire period Y/n was in San Diego she grew close to the squad, even Maverick who had a lot of questions about her work and tattoos. “You think I’d look good with them at my age?” Y/n couldn’t help but laugh at the question, ensuring the Captain with a pat on the back.

“Some of the sexiest men I’ve met have been your age with ink more in than me,” she giggles when he goes red. “I worked at a biker bar in New York City. Believe me, Pete. Anyone can look good with some ink.”

Needless to say when it came time for Mav to get a tattoo, Y/n was the one doing it.

A lot of the squad ended up getting work done by her. Jake, Mickey and Rooster had a few already so they were familiar with the process. Nat only had one from a drunk night in college, which Y/n redid on her behalf since it had faded. Payback was a man who liked bold, meaningful tattoos so sometimes Y/n had her work cut out for her but she always came through.

“Yo is this gonna hurt bad,” Javy was practically sweating as Y/n removed the stencil from his shoulder. The design was a geometric sun about the size of an airpod case.

“It’ll sting, but this area generally isn’t too painful. If this was your bicep then it’d be a different story.”

Javy didn’t look convinced, turning to look at the guys while the stencil dried, “How was it for you guys?”

“Didn’t hurt at all for me,” Rooster shrugged, “my bicep was worse—like she said.”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine,” Payback waved a hand. “You see how tiny it is? It’ll be over before you know it.”

Going over the details once more to confirm the colors and shading, Y/n moved her chair closer after turning on the tv to an episode of Chopped. “You ready, Jav?”

“Ready,” he didn’t really sound like it but it was too late to back out. The buzz of the needle filled his ears and soon the stinging sensation they all said had him clutching his first.

“Try to relax, man” Bob sat on the chair next to Y/n, “being tense won’t help.”

After over a year of dating Bob had his fair share of tattoos. His were mostly small and easily hidden by his uniform. When they first got together, Bob loved learning about her tattoos. When she got them, why she did. If there were any meaning behind certain ones and if she planned to get more.

She was like a walking art gallery. So many colors and styles. Large and small. Y/n told him stories about almost every one—even if they were embarrassing like the inner lip tattoo.

“Biggest mistake,” she wiped a tear after she was done, the two laughing so hard. “Not only did it hurt but it faded not even a year after I got it. Now it looks so bad—I should get it redone but what’s the point when it will just end up looking the same.”

Bob hated when people would give her looks of disproval when they’d go out, usually from those who were unfamiliar with Y/n’s work. One time he nearly got into a bar fight with a older gentleman who thought it was okay to call Y/n a Jezebel. Rooster and Mickey had to hold him back, but Y/n simply looked at the guy and said, “Baby, I’m a fucking millionaire because of these bad boys. While you’re about to kick it the dust I’m gonna be on the cover of Vogue magazine next month. So eat shit and die already.” The man was left speechless, making her and the squad smirk in victory. The equally tatted bartender who knew of Y/n whistling and even given her a free round.

“That was so fucking hot,” Bob pulled her into a searing kiss when they left the bar moments later, Y/n smirking against his lips, “You think that was hot? I’m a mess under these pants from seeing you so worked up, baby. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Whenever he and Y/n would cuddle she’d trace the raised ink with a finger, Bob doing the same to hers and committing them to memory. He loved to kiss the ones on her neck and collarbones, but his favorite were the tiny hearts on the palms of her hands.

“What do these mean,” he asked one day during the early days of their relationship. They were laying out on the hammock, taking her hands to admire the collection of small tattoos along her fingers and wrists. He hadn't even realized she had any on the palms until he flipped them over. There his thumbs traced over the red outline of each heart.

“If you ask any person I’ve ever loved or cared for they’d tell you I carry my heart in the palm of my hand,” she flips her hands so they are holding Bob’s, the tattoos against his skin. “So when I hold people’s hands, they know a piece of my heart lies with them.” Letting her head fall back against his shoulder, Y/n shifts so her lips are against his jaw. “And I’m kinda hoping you’re the only one who gets to hold them from here on out.”

Anytime after that Bob would press a kiss to the hearts whenever he held her hands. Then when asked about what tattoo of Y/n’s was his favorite his answer was always, “the hearts.”

His family adored her. At first they were put off by her striking image but learned quickly Y/n was perfect for Bob. The children of his siblings loved taking washable markers to color in the tattoos Y/n had that were black and white. “Can I draw you a tattoo someday?” Little Emma asked shortly after the couple celebrated one year. She was a little artist who loved asking questions about the pretty pictures on Y/n.

“Of course, my love,” she promised. “Draw me whatever you desire and I shall get it done.”

The first fashion show Y/n booked after the pandemic Bob had front row seats. With his phone out he was the ultimate cheerleader, though he refrained from whistling or making noise so as to not embarrass the model, but would be in absolute awe when she strutted past him. It was the Tom Ford show, Y/n had walked out in a long black trench coat, coming to the end of the runway first before removing the item to reveal a silk dress underneath. It was spaghetti strapped with an open back, thigh slit to compliment her legs and the cameras loved it. She walked a few steps back up and turned to strike one last pose before making her exit.

Bob was mesmerized. It was the first time he’d seen her walk the runway and my God if he wasn’t already a simp he sure was then. A photographer captured his reaction to her discarding the coat and it went viral on Twitter.

@ inmyreputationera: if my man doesn’t look at me like @inkedbyY/n bf at NYFW then I don’t want it.

@ Inked✔️: We’re all Bob Floyd when @inkedbyY/n steps onto the runway.

When it came time to pick out her wedding dress Y/n was unsure of the route to go. It’d been five years the two were coming up on, one year of being engaged with the wedding to take place in North Island. A beach wedding in the late fall, Y/n wanted to look elegant and classy.

“Whatever you choose you’ll gonna look amazing, darling,” Bob kissed her head after she sighed when shuffling through bridal magazine pictures of dresses she’d cut out. “You know I love your tattoos—they are a part of you and I don’t want you feeling like you have to cover up for the sake of pictures. Baby, you’re one of the top models in the world. Like you told me when we first met, those babies are what got you discovered. Show them off.” Rubbing her shoulder exposed from her tank top, his lips pressed to the ink covering the skin. “But if you like this,” he pointed to the dress she kept going back to in her pile, it was elegant and pretty with neckline that fell just below her collarbones. “Then you should get it because you love it.”

The ceremony dress ended up being the one with a high neckline. It had open back with Y/n deciding on a her veil cascading down to the floor to become a small train rather than having the dress itself have it. Lace covered her arms, the ink peeking out from beneath to make the material stand out more due to the contrast.

She was stunning. An actual goddess that had Bob’s jaw drop the second his eyes landed on her. For the reception Y/n changed into a white two piece set that showed off her legs.

And you best believe she hired local tattoo artists to do a ‘spur of the moment’ tattoo booth at the party.

It didn’t take long for Inked Magazine to want to do a bridal shoot with Y/n. And if you look at it one way, it was a full circle moment. The issue marked ten years since they discovered Y/n and blessed her with the career of a lifetime that led her to meeting the love of her life.

All because she had a knack for getting ink.

……………..

TGM tag list: @avaleineandafryingpan @caitsymichelle13 @poppyalice2001 @cutelittlepotatofry @luckyladycreator2 @americaarse @elenavampire21 @back-tooo-black @wildellaa

#Spotify #bob floyd imagine #robert bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x y/n #robert floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd fluff #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick #lewis pullman imagine #lewis pullman #tattoo!reader #tgm fluff #tgm imagine

[mothdruid]

Full

pairing. werewolf!Robert 'Bob' Floyd x afab!reader

word count. 2.3k

warnings. this is an 18+ piece of work, minors buzz off. 18+, mdni, smut, werewolf smut, penetrative sex (p in v), oral sex (fem receiving), breeding kink, pregnancy kink, knotting, cream pie, Bob is in human form but his dick has a knot (sorry, not sorry)

author's note. the second of the three. i'm super excited to share this one with you all, even though i know it won't be for everyone. jake is the only one left!

A smile tugged at Bob’s lips as he saw you casually walk into the kitchen. It was just a regular day, him in a pair of gray sweat pants and a white t-shirt, you in an old baggy t-shirt and a pair of joggers. Bob was sitting at the kitchen table working on a Lego set,and you were figuring out what to make for dinner. Bob completed one step in his manual then looked back up at you.

The sun was cascading through the window over the skin, making you look like an angel. Bob always thought you looked like an angel, but you looked so pure in the lighting. His heart lurched when he watched you rub over the mark on the joint of your neck and shoulder. Your mating mark.

The two of you had talked about it thoroughly before it happened. Even after talking about it, it took a few weeks for it to happen. Bob wanted to mate you so badly, but he was nervous about you potentially deciding he wasn’t for you. No matter how many times you assured him, he was still nervous about it. Once mated, you two would be bound together until death. Bob had been taught to be ready for this his whole life, but you hadn’t.

This whole life was new to you, but you didn’t stray from it. Werewolves weren’t something you were unfamiliar with. It came out that they were real when you were a kid, which was just exciting at the time. It was exciting when you found out Bob was a werewolf. Bob was so kind and formal, and the idea of him being able to be a ravenous beast made your insides clench. He had disclosed this information to you shortly after your third date.

It’d been four years since he had told you. Two months since he gave you the mark. Ever since he had given you the mark he has had this urge. He knew there was a chance of it happening, those wolf instincts wanting to take control. Having a family was something that he had always wanted, but these instincts were starting to become too much. He was cautious though, pulling out almost every time until you two had decided on the prospect of a family.

Bob groaned internally as he watched your fingers trace over the mark. It was as if he could feel it. The soft tips of your fingers brushing over a part of his soul. He let out a deep breath as a heat started to envelope him. His sweatpants were starting to tighten, cock hardening at the thought of him filling you.

Bob never realized he had a breeding kink until after he mated you. Until after his wolf instincts to mate kicked in. The idea of his knot locking him deep inside of you, filling you to the brim with his cum. Watching it pour out of you once his knot went down, only to fuck it back into you. Watching as your belly would grow with his child. It was intoxicating for him to think about. He let his head fall back slightly, closing his eyes while breathing deeply.

“You okay, sweetie?” You asked.

You walked over to the table, noticing that he had stopped half way through his Lego set. That was unusual for him, normally not stopping until he finished the set. But he had been acting a little unusual since he gave you the mating mark. The outline of his bite was lightly scared now, just enough for someone to tell exactly what it was. A part of you had started to wonder if he might have regretted it.

You reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, kneading gently. Bob opened his eyes and offered a warm smile to you. He leaned his head towards your hand, reveling in the skin to skin contact with you. If anyone were to see him they would think he was touch starved, which was far from the truth. He literally had you pinned to the bed earlier that morning. But this was different now.

“Yeah,” Bob pressed a kiss to your hand, “I’m okay.”

“You’ve been acting kind of weird lately, ya know,” you blatantly said.

“I have?” Bob asked.

He brought his hand up to yours, grabbing it and turning it over. He placed a kiss on the inside of your palm, looking up at you with that innocent look. The look that wasn’t as innocent as it appeared. It was the look he gave you when he was up to something, devious thoughts swirling around in his brain.

“Yeah,” you chuckled softly.

“How so?” Bob started pressing soft kisses up the inside of your wrist.

“Not finishing your Legos,” you smiled as his kisses continued, “spacing out after sex, and just being weird.”

Bob stood up as he trailed kisses up your arm, eventually making it to your neck. His kisses continued, scattered all over your skin. All you could do was giggle. Bob’s hands grabbed your hips, moving you back towards the counter while attacking your neck. Soft noises started to pass your lips, a smirk formed on Bob’s lips in response.

“You want to know what I’ve been thinking about?” Bob whispered in a low tone.

“Please enlighten me,” your hands wrapped around Bob’s shoulders.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Bob’s lips ghosted over your neck, “thinkin’ about how you look with that mating mark, so beautiful.” Bob nipped at the mark softly, earning a moan from you. “Thinkin’ about how you’d look so beautiful, full of me,” Bob kissed the spot below your ear, “belly full of my pup, swollen, showing everyone what you mean to me.”

“Bob,” you were fisting Bob’s t-shirt, “are you serious?”

Bob pulled back to look at you. He was expecting there to be a bit of shock on your face, but there wasn’t any. Love and adoration covered your face, eyes practically telling him it was all you wanted. Bob leaned towards you, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I mean, I’d like to but if you’re not ready or anything we can keep waiting,” Bob’s words were soft and comforting.

“No,” the word came out quickly, “I want that too, I’m ready for that. Or at least to start trying.”

All you heard was a low growl mixed with a groan before he smashed his lips to yours. One of your hands moved into the hair on the nape of his neck, tugging lightly. The edge of the counter was digging into your lower back. Hands moved up your sides, finding their way under your shirt. His incredibly soft palms ghosted up your body. Warmth was starting to spread between the two of you, encapsulating the both of you.

Bob’s hands moved to your chest, groaning when he was reminded that you never put a bra on for the day. His lips started to move across your jaw and down your neck. They graced over the exposed part of your mating mark. Bob’s hands kneaded your chest as he licked and sucked at the mating mark. The beautiful imprint of his bite, forever connecting you to him. His hands left your momentarily, pulling your shirt up and off you.

Bob gripped your sides and helped you onto the counter. He took in your shirtless form, groaning when he thought about how your breasts would look while you were pregnant. Wetness enveloped one of your nipples, tongue swirling around your hardening bud. One of his hands settled on your waist while the other moved to the apex of your thighs. Another groan came from him when he felt wetness start to dampen your joggers.

“No panties? You must really want me to fill you up,” Bob kissed a wet trail up to your ear, “want me to breed you like a bitch in heat.”

“Please, Bobby,” you tugged on his hair, “fill me up.”

Bob attacked your mouth, filling it with his tongue and dominating every crevice. His hands snaked to your hips, grabbed you and pulled you off the counter. He guided you to the living room while maintaining the kiss, not wanting to break it. On the way to the couch Bob had managed to get your joggers off, leaving you completely bare and at his mercy.

You landed on the couch with a soft thump and gasp. Bob settled down in front of you, pushing your legs a part. He didn’t even give you a chance to breathe before his tongue was lapping at your clit. A continuous whining erupted from you, not stopping as Bob continued his assault on your cunt. Your hips started rolling against his face, something he was more than happy to welcome.

Bob groaned into your cunt, sending vibrations of pleasure to your nerve endings. Both of your hands were on his head, locks threaded through your fingers. Your nails were digging lightly into his scalp, pulling a few noises from him. On one especially hard tug you pulled him off you. Bob started to kiss up your body, his fingers replaced where his tongue was.

“Need me that bad, huh?” Bob whispered.

“Yeah,” you nodded feverishly, “need you in me.”

Bob groaned and pressed his face to one of your breasts. He took your nipple into his mouth while circling his fingers against your clit. You arched your back to push your tits further out for him. Bob couldn’t stop thinking about how full your tits would feel in his mouth if pregnant. Breathy moans were falling from you as you let your pleasure mount in your lower abdomen. Bob’s fingers were working diligently against your cunt, tongue swirling around your nipple.

Within seconds you were coming on his fingers. As you quivered underneath him, he gently nipped at your nipple, suckling at it soothingly after. His fingers eventually slowed, bringing the hand up to grab your other breast to roll your nipple between his cum covered fingers.

“Can’t wait to see you so full,” Bob licked at the valley between your breasts.

“Then why are you taking so long?” You quipped at his comment.

Bob lifted himself off your chest, a smirk on his lips. His eye raked over your body, taking in your disheveled form. Your sudden neediness was amusing to him. Where was this after he first mated you? If he would have known you were this needy for him to breed you, he would have knocked you up already. He would have had you knocked up within the first week after you two were mated.

“God, you’re goin’ to look so pretty baby,” Bob started to rearrange the two of you. He laid you down on the couch then pushed his sweats down to his mid thigh. “Look even better than you do with my cock in you,” Bob jerked himself a little as he moved between your legs, “better than when my cum is dripping all over your cunt.”

Bob locked his eyes with yours as he lined himself up with your entrance. You let out a shaky breath as he started to push in. It was a feeling you would never fully get used to, the stretch and full feeling he gave you. A thrill ran down your spine when you thought about finally taking his knot this time.

When he bottomed out he attacked your mouth. Your lips parted quickly to let his tongue into your mouth. His thrusts were deep and heavy, making your abdomen ache in all the best ways. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, one threading into his hair. Bob’s hands ghosted down your sides, grabbing your ass and pulling you impossibly close. His body was blanketing yours, skin sticking to skin.

“Fuck,” Bob groaned while his thrusts started to turn more into a rut.

All you could do was moan in response. Bob’s weight and thrusts were the only things you could focus on. Each thrust hit that perfect spot that had you clenching your whole body. Crescent moons were starting to appear under Bob’s grip on your ass, nails digging so deep. Bob nuzzled into your neck, lapping at your mating mark. The both of you were starting to teeter on the edge of your climaxes.

“Please Bobby, don’t stop,” you whined right next to his ear.

Bob pulled up from you a tiny amount, just enough to look in your eyes. His lips were slightly parted, hot breath passing by and hitting your skin. The feeling of his knot starting to swell had become more noticeable. It had started catching on your entrance, stimulating your cunt in a completely new way.

“Want me to fill you up?” Bob asked in a whimpering tone.

“Yes,” you pleaded.

“Put a little pup in you?”

“Please, Bob,” you whined, scratching his back in frustration.

With that Bob was coming, knot popping out and locking the two of you together. The feeling of his knot stretching you out and his cum filling you became too much. Your climax hit you hard. Feeling yourself clench around his knot sends your mind reeling. The both of you were panting for a little bit, trying to catch your breath. You started to softly rub Bob’s back, smiling when he relaxed into you fully.

“I love you,” Bob pressed a kiss to your collarbone.

“I love you too,” you pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

You felt Bob’s hand move up your side, settling on your stomach. You didn’t think anything of it until he spoke.

“And I love you too, pup.”

You let out a soft chuckle, pulling his attention away from your full abdomen.

“What?” He looked up at you.

“I don’t think the bun is cooking yet,” you said.

Bob’s gaze changed from questioning to playful. His smile turned into a sinful smirk.

“Well, I’ll just have to keep you full all day then. Make sure you get thoroughly bred,” he rasped seductively.

And that’s exactly what he did. Once his first knot had subsided, he fucked you again. Popping a second knot and filling you with a second load of his cum. He repeated it one more time before the two of you finally went to bed. As the two of you fell asleep that night, his hand was settled on your stomach.

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