Oh My Fucking God

Blood of A Rose - Part 2 (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary - Following the events of their night together, (y/n) and Art explore their dynamics together to form a perfect duet of blood and beauty.

Notes - Was requested to expand on the relationship between Art and the reader and will happily oblige! It’s honestly so fun to write Art’s character, I hate how little there is out there for him. My man needs attention.

P.S - Might branch this into a series of one shots showing their relationship more and whatnot either from my own ideas or requests from you guys for what you’d like to see with them. Hell, might even make a whole blog based on them. Thoughts?

Word Count - 4,091

Warning(s) - Blood, gore, violence, morally ambiguous reader

Song Inspiration -

Cody Frost - Process

Screams were heard all around them, piercing and agonizing. Everything was set ablaze, yet she felt no heat. She felt no pain. Even as the smoke clouded, she could breathe without struggle. (Y/n) craned her neck to look up at the clown before her, eyes wide with wonder, with trust. Her life was in the hands of a murderer and yet she felt safe. She felt protected.

His usual grin did not show, yet he didn’t frown. His face remained neutral while his eyes said it all, filled with an untamed obsession, possessiveness and dare she say adoration. His gloved hands rose to her jaw, cupping it delicately as he guided her to train her eyes on him, to ignore all that happened around them. As she stared up at him, her hands came to rest over his own, and with a look of his eyes she was told -

He would be her past, present and future. 

(Y/n)’s eyes fluttered open, greeted by the soft light of the moon that peaked through the boards of the window. The colder air bit at her skin through her sweater and she shivered. 

She sat up and looked around curiously, seeing that she was now in the makeshift bedroom from before. She then looked down and saw that she was on the mattress, however a tattered blanket now lay on top of it beneath her, shielding her from whatever mold and rot had been on it. 

Her legs closed when she felt a light breeze brush against the tear in her pantyhose, heightening the chill. (Y/n) stretched her arms out and stood, then heard what sounded like someone hammering from a different room. Her mind raced with the events of what she assumed was still the same night. Her face burned, stomach fluttering as the ghost of Art’s caress tickled her skin. 

She took a deep breath and left the room, quietly making her way to where the sound came from. Mindful of the debris on the floor as she grew near, she entered the room with the workbench, Art hunched over it on the stool as he hammered away at something. 

When (y/n) stepped closer he paused. Her breath stilled as his head slowly turned to the side, yet not over his shoulder to look at her, letting her know that he knew she was there. 

Once he returned to work she released the breath she held and made her way over to him, seeing as he hammered a screw-eye hook of sorts into the end of a chair leg. 

His face was focused, not smiling or putting on his usual dramatics as he worked. It felt strange to her, seeing him this way. It reminded her that even if he was a murderer he wasn’t excused from putting in the work to make it happen, whether it was a hobby of his or not. It reminded her that he still had interests and needs just as everyone else. It was oddly humanizing and she couldn’t help but feel privileged to see him in such a state. 

He motioned to a nearby corner and (y/n) turned to see another stool placed there, then moved to bring it over and sat on top of it to continue to watch him. He then motioned to her - conversing as he worked - then symbolized sleep as if to ask how she slept, then proceeded to pick up an average sized chain. 

“It was actually quite nice. Best sleep I’ve had in a while.” 

With chain in hand, he clapped excitedly, happy with her response. He hooked it to the screw, bending and twisting the metal to make sure it was secure as (y/n) watched casually, as if it was just another day. 

“Is it… Is it still the same night?” 

He shook his head and her eyes widened. Art turned to see it and began to laugh to himself. 

“How long has it been?” 

He held up a finger after his laughing fit died down, going back to his work. 

“One day…? But how?” 

He nodded and glanced over at her, watching as she looked down, growing more and more confused. He patted her shoulder and she looked up at him, seeing him point to himself, then her. 

“Because of you?” Her brow furrowed, then her expression changed as she chuckled. “Are you saying I slept for so long because of what we did?” 

Art shrugged and made a cheeky expression, but she became confused again when he then shook his head. He motioned to himself again, then pointed to her head. 

“You… forced me to stay asleep?” He eagerly nodded, smiling and pointing at her to say she got it. “But how? Did you knock me out?” His head shook. “Did you drug me?” 

His head shook again and he rolled his eyes, arms falling to his sides in exasperation. He then motioned to his entire body, pointed to his head with both fingers, then to her head again. 

“You were in my head…?” He nodded and clapped. “How is that even possible?” 

Art shrugged dramatically with a mischievous smile. (Y/n) paused and slowly met his eyes. 

“The dream…?” She asked, and in the back of her head she already knew the answer. 

The clown only solidified it with a raise of his eyebrows, mouth forming an ‘o’ and shrugging as an ‘oops’. (Y/n) could only laugh, not knowing how exactly to react to someone with such supposed supernatural abilities. 

She wasn’t sure if she had finally grown to become insane or if it was all a hallucination, all in her head. But as she thought to the night before she found that it all felt too real, too vivid to be fake. 

(Y/n) suddenly felt exposed and crossed one leg over the other, tugging down the skirt of her dress as her face grew warm. Art looked over at her, face twisting into mischief as his eyes squinted with his smile. He wiggled his eyebrows when she looked at him and she turned her face away bashfully. 

He reached over to grasp her chin, coaxing her to look back at him. He nudged his head in her direction, grinning to encourage her to do the same. Once her smile returned and she giggled, he playfully booped her nose and turned back to his workbench, his smile now remaining on his dramatized face as he worked. 

The minutes seemed to drag on as he worked, but not once was she bored. She watched eagerly, fixated as his hands toyed and shaped the weapon he was creating. His actions were all well thought out and deliberate, masculine yet graceful as his fingers caressed the wood and metal. 

Deeming the weapon satisfactory, he raised it by the handle - the chair leg - and examined it carefully. Three chains hung from the screw-eye, knife tips, nails and spikes decorating the length of them. 

“Is that a flail?” (Y/n) gasped. 

Art’s head whipped over to look at her and patted her thigh, the hand holding the weapon shaking excitedly as he nodded. He watched as she eyed his new creation, then an idea formed in his head. His gaze shifted to look over at her, now smiling sadistically. She caught the change in his expression and she began to smile, catching on to what he was thinking. 

“I’ll get the camera!” She hopped off of the stool.

-

After some convincing from her end, they stopped by her house for her to quickly change into something more comfortable. It wasn’t until she began to beg sweetly that he finally agreed, unable to say no to her more innocent nature, regardless of her interests.

Not a person was in sight as they were shielded by the dark of the night, hardly any street lamps in the area they currently wandered. 

“Does the bag ever get heavy for you?” (Y/n) asked as they walked through the ghosted roads. 

Art shook his head, using his other arm to exaggerate flexing his muscles and she laughed. 

“I bet that bag is the reason you’re so strong, lugging it around everywhere and all.” He waved her off at the compliment and tickled her ear with his finger. “I’m serious! You make it look like it weighs nothing.” 

As they walked, they began to see the edge of the town ahead of them. Or rather, Art saw it. (Y/n) was too focused on the clown beside her, taking in all of his features under the starry night, the moon perfectly accentuating every curvature and jagged edge, every - 

She was suddenly yanked to the side of the sidewalk he walked on and she gasped, looking over to see a pole that she nearly walked straight into. She looked back over at Art who had a hand on his hip with a frown. He pointed at her, his eyes, then the direction they were walking in. 

“Sorry…” She giggled as she blushed, nervously fiddling with the camera hanging around her neck. 

He pulled back his arm and reached for her, pulling her to stand on the opposite side where he was previously walking to prevent it from happening again. He motioned for her to continue walking, rolling his eyes from behind her before he set his pace next to her again. 

As they reached the town, Art began to look around carefully, more alert in the brighter area while (y/n) had a mind of her own. While he kept an eye out for his next victim, she focused on finding her next inspiration. She supposed they went hand in hand, but she was never one to strive for the bare minimum. 

He then paused, holding his arm out for her to do the same, knowing she very well would’ve kept on walking. Hearing the voices of what seemed to be a couple arguing, he listened carefully to find where they came from. 

Then he spotted them. 

A man and woman arguing next to a car. The man was halfway in the driver’s seat while the woman stood next to it, flailing her arms. 

Art then heard a shutter sound from beside him, slowly looking over to see (y/n) holding her camera up, taking photos of the argument before them. She looked over at him and shrugged innocently.

She put down the camera and the two of them watched the pursuing argument, equally invested in the exchange. The man then slammed the car door shut. 

“They just broke up for sure.” (Y/n) whispered to Art and he looked down at her with a widespread grin, wiggling his eyebrows then nodding towards the woman who was now making her way into what seemed to be her villa. 

Art crossed the street, making his way over with (y/n) in tow and walking up the small set of stairs leading to the front door. He looked down at her, then turned to the door in front of them and tested the door knob, unsurprisingly finding it locked. 

He gave (y/n) a ‘wait’ signal and set down his bag, cracking his neck and stretching his arms out in front of him with linked fingers. Art then gave her a side smile, then suddenly kicked the door open. She froze with wide eyes, yet her stomach betrayed her as it flipped at his show of masked strength. 

He picked up his bag again and grabbed her wrist to pull her inside with him, closing the door behind them. Footsteps quickly descended the staircase in front of them and they looked up to see the same woman from before, chest heaving in fear at the sight before her. 

While (y/n) quickly snapped a photo of her expression, Art dropped his bag again and wiggled his fingers at her in a wave with a menacing smile. He then held up a finger to her and began to look through his bag as the woman remained frozen like a deer in the headlights, watching as he pulled out a scalpel and the new flail. He turned to (y/n) and raised his eyebrows, then bolted upstairs after the woman who fled. 

As they thumped around upstairs, she began to explore the villa, looking for things to use in her next piece. The woman’s screams and shrieks were muffled behind the door of the room they were in and were drowned out, inevitably useless. 

(Y/n) eyed a smaller box TV that sat on an entertainment stand in the living room, an idea popping into her head. She walked over to it and unplugged it in preparation, resuming her wandering when the noise above her suddenly stopped. 

She heard a door open upstairs followed by footsteps descending the staircase. (Y/n) looked towards it, seeing a now bloodied Art giving her the ‘ok’ to go upstairs when she was ready. 

“Could you do me a huge favor?” She asked as he made his way over to her, shaking off the blood on his hands and nodding. “Could you help take the TV upstairs for me? I want to use it as the head.” 

Art made a surprised expression, clapping his hands giddily at the idea. He then paused with a finger up, making a sawing motion and asked for her to wait a moment, disappearing upstairs. Not long after, he returned with his saw and put it back in his bag, happily walking over to the TV and tipping his hat at (y/n) when he walked by. He then picked it up as if it was nothing but a feather and made his way back upstairs, (y/n) following closely behind as she giggled. 

They entered the woman’s bedroom, her body splayed out on the bed with small to large chunks of her skin and fat missing, head nowhere to be found. 

As he placed the TV where the woman’s head used to be, (y/n) admired the slashes left from the flail. Some were rather deep, others shallow. Their marks tore at the dress that the woman wore, some simulating claw marks while other areas were simply shredded. 

“Could you move the arms to look like this?” (Y/n) posed her own arms to grab the sides of her head. Art carefully took note of the angle and position, then moved the victim’s arms to reflect it. “Perfect.” (Y/n) smiled, looking up at the ceiling to see LED lights lined along the edge. 

Art watched as she wandered to find the remote, smiling to herself once she found it and changed the color to red and turned off the main light. She looked around the floor, watching for anything she could trip on before lifting a foot onto the bed. 

Art’s face twisted into panic and his hands shook, stepping next to her and helping her up onto the bed. 

“Thank you.” She responded softly, one of his hands still holding her waist to help steady her as she readied her camera. He followed her as she captured different angles, some standing while others she crouched. 

(Y/n) took his hand to help herself down, smiling up at him as he grinned at her excitedly. Just as the night before, she flipped through the pictures she took, and just the same, she felt his closeness. 

The only difference was rather than nerves, she felt relaxed. She felt calm and comfortable despite the mess around them that he caused. His hand that rested on her far shoulder radiated heat through her layers of clothing and she subconsciously leaned into him, head pressed against his chest while he pointed at the photos he favored. 

His silent presence, twisted grin plastered on his painted face, drew her in like a moth to flame. (Y/n) found herself unable to refuse, an invisible pull guiding her to him. 

At first, their following encounters were just a few hours in the night together. Art would appear when (y/n) least expected, showing up at odd hours, his silent insistence drawing her out into the dark. However, she began to notice her sleeping pattern slowly change. She grew more tired sooner, falling asleep earlier and earlier, waking up in a strange nocturnal rhythm. 

At night, she would wake to find him waiting, patient but always silent, eager to lead her deeper into his world. (Y/n), feeling a strange sense of peace in his presence, began to follow him without question. And after only a few weeks of their odd relationship, she began to grow used to it. Comfortable with it. Comfortable with him.

“Hey, Art.” (Y/n) greeted him as she yawned, fresh out of bed to find him rummaging through her kitchen. 

He looked up at her and waved, a widespread grin bringing out her own smile in her vulnerable, post-dream state. He gushed at the sight, elbows resting on the countertop with his chin in his hands, blinking dreamily at her as she walked over to him with her arms out. 

Art popped up, engulfing her in his arms as she sighed happily at the feeling. He rocked the two of them slowly, the rhythm almost putting her back to sleep. 

Slowly, (Y/n)’s life became consumed by Art. The gruesome art pieces she crafted from his handiwork grew bolder, more disturbing, as if the dark side of her creativity was being unleashed by his influence. 

In her dreams, she would see him. His painted face looming over her, silent but omnipresent. At first, the dreams were disorienting. But over time, they became comforting. She would wake, feeling a strange longing for him, for the connection they shared in the darkest corners of her mind, weaving its way to the forefront. 

As the days bled into nights, (y/n) found herself thinking of Art constantly. He was always there, even when he wasn’t physically present; a haunting figure in her thoughts. His silence, once goofy, became a form of comfort. She began to crave his presence, yearning for their time together. 

And so (y/n) found herself growing dependent on him. Whether it was for her art or simply her attachment to him, how safe she felt with him. He understood her in a way no other person could, and she reciprocated. 

The way he was so brutal and aggressive with others, yet gentle and thoughtful with herself only drew her closer to him. He treated others as nuisances, problems to deal with and get rid of while he treated her as delicately as the rose that brought them together. The contrast was endearing to her, and she couldn’t help but be entranced. 

Though such treatment came with an undisclosed amount of protection and possessiveness, to which she learned rather quickly. 

“It just came out wrong, I’m sorry!” (Y/n) giggled. Art mocked her, rolling his eyes as his mouth and hand mocked her talking. The culprit of such a fit? 

She called his nose cute.

“Your nose is attractive, is what I meant. Believe me, you’re still as frightening as ever.” 

He threw her a side eye, then dramatically sighed and waved it all off. 

“Hey!” She stopped them in the middle of the sidewalk, a lit street lamp looming over them as they faced each other. “I’m sorry.” She gave him her best doe eyes, then stood up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. 

His grin slowly returned, hand coming over the top of where she kissed him and she giggled. He then took her hand in his own, continuing their nightly walk.

Later on, they heard slurred conversation ahead of them, seemingly male in nature. (Y/n) tried to slow their walk, but Art looked back at her and encouraged her to keep up with him. As they grew closer, they passed an alleyway that held a small group of drunks, hearing a whistle of a cat call. 

The clown immediately stilled, and (y/n) quickly grew worried. 

“Hey, where ya goin’ babes?” One of the men called, stepping out of the alleyway with a bottle in hand. “Not with the mime, I hope.” 

Art and (y/n) slowly turned to face the man, their hands still interlocked as she gripped his tighter and stepped closer to him, practically hiding behind him like a scared child. 

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you actually wanna be with the guy!”

“Ey, c’mon man, stop messin’ with them, she’s not worth it.” Another man stepped out, followed by a third to watch the scene play out. Art’s eyebrows furrowed in anger, twisted grin remaining as he set down his bag and quickly reached into it. 

“Obviously not if -“ Two shots suddenly pierced through the night air, the second and third men collapsing to the ground while Art aimed a handgun at the first who initiated. 

(Y/n)’s hold on his hand moved to his arm, clutching onto it as the bodies began to puddle with blood beneath them. She looked up at Art, his grin replaced with a frown and it sent a chill down her spine. She had only seen him genuinely angry maybe once or twice, and whatever followed was far from pleasant, to say the least. 

“H-hey, I was just jokin’ man, I was just jokin’!” The drunk held up his hands in surrender, but the clown wasn’t buying it. 

As he continued to ramble and apologize, begging for his life, Art kept the gun pointed at his head. He watched as the man slowly broke in front of him, growing increasingly desperate. Art’s grin then slowly reappeared, giving the man a glimmer of hope.

Then Art suddenly aimed at the man’s thigh and fired, doing the same to his other until he fell to his knees. Art tossed the gun into his bag and rummaged through it further, his face twisting into a sadistic expression when he pulled out a box cutter flashing it to the man as a tease before stalking over to him.

(Y/n) turned around, facing away from the chaos and gore as she plugged her ears to drown out the noise. Even still, the sound seeped through as the man struggled and cried out helplessly. His fight was futile compared to Art’s strength, and the latter simply ragdolled him as if the man was just a child. 

When the noise stopped, she unplugged her ears and felt a hand pat her waist, turning to see Art wipe off his now bloodied hands. She turned to see his mess, and his face suddenly grew concerned when she pouted. 

“I don’t have my camera.” (Y/n) nearly whined, and Art mimicked her frown. 

At first, (y/n) resisted the growing dependency, confused by her attachment. But he began to seep into her thoughts with concerning frequency. The dreams became more vivid, more intimate, filled with his silent adoration as he twisted her perception of reality until he became the center of her world, the only constant in her life, planting seeds of affection until it became impossible to imagine her life without him.

His obsession with her only grew. He would stand over her while she slept during the day, watching her with an almost childlike fascination. When she woke, his silent attention made her feel adored, special. The way he looked at her, possessive yet affectionate. His presence was her comfort, his protection her shield.

Eventually, (y/n) could no longer distinguish where her own desires ended and his began. The thought of being apart from him was unbearable. She began to seek him out during the day when she should have been resting, desperate to be near him. 

When they were together, it was a twisted dance of blood and beauty. A duet that no one else could understand. She would create art from his chaos, and he would watch her with silent adoration, the two of them locked in a world where only they existed.

They grew to share a dark, intimate bond. (Y/n), once a quiet and reserved artist, had become consumed by Art - both his work and his presence. He had molded her. And she, willingly or not, had come to love him for it. 

As their connection deepened, (y/n) knew that she could never return to the life she had before. The darkness was too intoxicating, the bond too strong. 

She belonged to him now, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

May I request nsfw alphabet for Tommy? btw, I'm always love your posts! S2 S2

Thomas Hewitt NSFW Alphabet:

A = Aftercare (What they're like after sex)

Thomas is super into aftercare. He hates when he has to leave you after sex, for whatever reason it is, he wasn't to be able to just bask in the afterglow with you. Ideally, he'll just get to lay with you, holding you and being close to you. He loves when you give them those little smiles of bliss before giving him a gentle kiss, he just adores you so much. If he does get called away from your side, he tries to make it up to you as soon as he can.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of yours)

If asked for his favourite body part of yours, Thomas wouldn't be able to answer. He just couldn't choose! However, he definitely has an unconscious preference for your thighs. They're so soft and he loves touching them and having them wrapped around him.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically...I'm a disgusting person)

Thomas has a breeding kink so...that's pretty self explanatory. However, he is aware of the consequences and wouldn't want to put something on you that you didn't want...so, he'll be more careful. Honestly, he's happy with whatever you're happy with, it doesn't bother him that much.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Thomas' dirty secret isn't some sort of hidden kink that he's ashamed to tell you about, it's all about before you were dating. Now, he figures he is allowed to look at you and think about you in a certain way, you are his S/O after all and you have a sexual relationship. But when you were just his sweet friend that cared about him so much? God, he felt terrible for thinking about you in such a way. You would give him the gentlest of touches and it would send a thrill through him, which only brought him shame. No matter how much the thoughts of you plagued him, he could barely look you in the eyes afterwards. Thankfully, it's not something he has to worry about now that you're together.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they're doing?)

Thomas has no experience before you and that does make him a little nervous at first, but you soon put him at enough ease to feel like he has nothing to worry about. He's just a little worried that it's not going to be good for you, so he does accept any form of guidance you offer. Thomas is a fast learner and wants nothing more than to please you. He knows that no matter what, you were perfect and are wonderful to him, he just wants to be the same for you. Like I said, fast learner and eager to satisfy, he may have no experience but you won't be disappointed with him.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

It may not be very adventurous but Thomas' favourite position is missionary, it allows him to be close to you and it feels intimate. Plus it can be considered somewhat 'traditional', and Thomas kind of likes that. Another favourite of his is just having you ride him, having you take care of him, giving him kisses and praises. Plus, he gets to watch and admire you.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

Thomas does see sex as a serious thing. He really does see it as an act of love between two people, and why wouldn't he take that seriously? As time goes on and things become more familiar, he does become (and enjoys being) more playful on occasions.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Not...well. At least, not before your relationship. It's relatively ungroomed, Thomas never really saw the point but his insecurities might bug him to consider it when he thinks the two of you might start having sex. Still, he doesn't really know what he's supposed to do, so probably ends up leaving it for the most part.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect...)

Thomas is very intimate during the moment. Whether he's being completely serious or more playful, he's still intimate. He absolutely loves intimacy of any kind with you, the closeness and love of it all is what he enjoys the most. When one of you goes out of your way to be a little more romantic, Thomas' heart just soars.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Oh boy, there's that shame again. Thomas has no real shame around masturbation in general, having come to see it as a method of releasing tension more than anything. But then you came along and plagued his thoughts, now you were the reason for the stirring feeling within him. Jacking off becomes more regular for Thomas, even if he tried to resist it at first. He always found it hard to look at you the next day.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Praise kink. For the love of God, please praise this man, he will just melt. Tell him how good he is to you, how good he feels and how good he makes you feel, how handsome he is and how much you love him. He’s already in love with you and in awe of you, but he can’t get enough of your loving praise. 

Body Worship. He will worship your body without you needing to ask. He adores everything about you, and now that he can touch and admire your body shamelessly, he is going to take advantage of it. But if you flip that and take the time to worship him, you’re about to hear this large strong man whine for your touch.

Breeding kink. The thought of you having his children drives Thomas insane. He wants a family and the thought of having that family with you just makes him want to throw you over his shoulder and march you up the stairs to his bedroom.

Dominance and Submission. This one was a surprise to him but there is a dominant side to Thomas and it sends a shiver down your spine whenever it comes out.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Thomas' favourite location is his bedroom. It's the one room in the house that is just yours, you're little sanctuary where other members of the household are less likely to bother you. It's safe there and the two of you can just be together, in your room. Other than his bedroom, he quite likes the basement. For the same reason that nobody really goes down there so it offers more privacy. Though, this can only start happening once Thomas allows you to even step foot in the basement. Even then, he makes sure to clean up more than he used too, for your sake.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

You really don't have to go out of your way to turn Thomas on, just being around seems to be enough. But certain things do get him going. Talking about the future, talking about marriage or children, makes him want to get a head start on it. Also, just when you're being extra affectionate, it just makes him want to be closer to you.

N = NO (Something they wouldn't do, turn-offs)

Thomas would never share you (not that there is really anyone to share you with anyway), he values loyalty and exclusivity. The thought of anyone else touching you breaks his heart.

He also is not into degrading, giving or receiving. He would never want to insult you, even in a roleplay situation, and he couldn't handle any degradation coming from you. However, that doesn't mean he won't be rougher with you if you ask him to be and let him ease into it.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Thomas wouldn't ask for oral and only ever hesitated the first time you had offered, he would never turn down your generosity now. While he certainly enjoys receiving, he also enjoys genuinely enjoys giving. His approach is never particularly...skilful, but its determined and effective.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.)

It all depends on Thomas' mood. In early stages of your relationship, he leans towards slow and sensual, not wanting to accidently hurt you in anyway. As your relationship progresses, Thomas becomes more comfortable with being faster and rougher with you, finding that he enjoys it just as much as you do. So, now, it all just depends on his mood but he does both well.

Q = Quickie (Their opinion on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Thomas prefers proper sex, without a doubt, but sometimes he can get busy. The family relies on him for so much these days that he is kept busy a lot, so he understands that quickies can be more practical at times. He doesn't hate them, he does enjoy them and always makes sure to take care of you, but he definitely prefers proper sex.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

For the most part, he is open to experimenting. Pretty much everything is new to him and whether you're introducing him to things or you're discovering things together, he's excited to do so. So, he is open to taking some risks but Thomas will always be hesitant to do anything that he thinks might harm you in anyway (even if it won't, he's just being cautious).

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last...)

Thomas has good stamina, he's an active man with impressive stamina in other aspects of his life, why would it be any different in this case? His stamina always surprises you, sometimes you don't even know how he has it in him for another round, but he usually does!

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) 

He doesn't own any and he's not all that interested in using them. If you ask to incorporate them into sex at some point, he will agree and give it a try, but it's not really for him. He prefers for it just to be the two of you, he thinks it's more intimate that way.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Thomas isn't much of a tease, not at first anyway. As his confidence grows, he becomes more of a tease. If he notices you staring at him, he makes sure to keep your attention on him, thriving on your attention and infatuation. You probably tease him more than he teases you, even if you don't realise it.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

While not being exceptionally loud, it might be the loudest or most vocal you hear him. You adore his groans and occasional grunts. He's relatively quiet for the most part but it's not like either of you can be very loud, since the house always has other people walking around. But on the rare days when you get the house to yourself, you're both allowed to be louder and Thomas does take advantage of the opportunity and you love it.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

There is a lot to Thomas under the surface and you have to be patient to see every side of him, especially in the bedroom. He absolutely cherishes you and he always manages to show that. At the beginning of the relationship, his touches are always so gentle, like you're something precious that he doesn't want to break, like he doesn't want to do anything wrong. Slowly but surely, Thomas begins to become more confident. He stops waiting for you to touch him first, stops trying to be so light-handed with you, stops being overly gentle with you. He starts making the moves rather than waiting for you to make them all. He knows you won't break, that he won't hurt you, that you're enjoying the way he's touching you. It's thrilling the first time he manhandles you, when you feel his fingers digging into your thighs as he plants you down on the table. You love seeing him come out of his shell, becoming more sure of himself.

X = X-Ray (Let's see what's going on in those pants)

I'll leave this one to your imagination...sorry! XD

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Thomas has a high sex drive, it might even be surprising to you when you realise that after you're platonic relationship when he was pretty timid at times. He is pretty much always ready for you, is nearly constantly desiring you.

Z = ZZZ (...how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It depends. Sex doesn't necessarily wipe Thomas out completely, and he is normally perfectly capable of carrying on with chores afterwards. But after a long day when the two of you had ended up in bed, Thomas will have released his pent up tension and be more than ready for sleep. So, he'll likely only stay awake long enough for you both to get comfortable, cuddled up together before finally getting some well deserved rest.

Tits out

Summary:From the moment you two met, your tits have been out

Type:Hcs:Nsfw: Halsin X M!Reader: Zevlor X M!Reader: Dammon X M!Reader: Astarion X M!Reader

Version:Bg3

!⚠️DNI! FEMALE READERS AND MINORS⚠️!

Zevlor

He hated how much he stared

His eyes instantly falling to your pecs as soon as your in sight

He gets so flustered by the thought of your pecs he'll just not look at you

Definitely fantasizes about laying on them, or playing with them

Just to slap himself back into reality and shake it off

If he ever got the chance, he's gonna be hesitant

But eventually he'll be groping your pecs and tugging at your nipple in no time

You might even get a bite or two if your lucky

He'll be super flustered about it later though, and will definitely punch your boob if you tease him too much

Astarion

If you ask him, it's hard not to look

Ever since you guys met he'd had his eyes on your pecs, especially during the colder days when your nips would harden

He isn't ashamed either, and will openly say stuff

Unlike Zevlor, he loves to stare

And the includes going out in fights with you, he gets more of a view

The moment he has a chance he's latching onto your nipples like a leach

Sucking and biting one of them while teasing the other one

I'd say it's his guitly pleasure, but he's not guilty about it

He's a vampire, of course he's gonna make your pecs bleed, your bloody pecs are eye candy for him

Halsin

Ever since you guys got closer, he's wanted to drizzle honey on your chest and lick it off

Your pecs are just a tempting sight

He'd be lieing if he said he didn't stare alot, cause most of the your conversations he's staring at your pecs

Sometimes, it'll get to the point he has to excuse himself to go jerk off just to stop thinking of your pecs

At some point, he does talk to you about it and does convince you to let him taste you

And yes, he does drizzle honey on your pecs

After getting you moaning and squirming under him just from playing with your nips alone

He'll be proud of his handy work the next day, your pecs now covered in bite marks

Everyone knows who did it too

Dammon

Gods, he was not prepared

Especially since you just fought the goblins and was covered in sweat, he was struggling man

Like he was trying not to stare, but if your taller than him he was to turn away so he doesn't lose focus

After awhile it becomes normal, and he starts making special Armour specifically for your pecs to be exposed

He likes the boob windows, especially from you

If you come back bloody and sweaty, with a glistening chest, it takes everything to not dive into your chest right there

Especially at the forge, making everything 10x hotter(you are no exception)

When he does get the chance, its gonna be at his forge, small licks and gentle bites on your pecs

Then hard sucks in your nipples, making you moan and squirm under him, it's as if he's trying to milk you

~

[A/n:I love pecs ❤️, the perfect stress toy. I hope you enjoyed]

Can I get pegging with Thomas Hewitt?? Thank you!

i l o v e tommy and this is the only request i have for him :(( its a good one tho 👀 hope you enjoy dear anon

length: 1.8k

Thomas has massive hands. All of him is massive - he’s towering and barrel-chested, with muscles hard and defined from labor and a plush softness to his belly and thighs from Luda Mae’s cooking - but it’s his hands that always grab your attention: the broad palms, the long, thick fingers, the pronounced calluses on his knuckles. His hands swallow yours when you interlace your fingers with his, effortlessly span the breadth of your hips. They wield chainsaw and hammer with a butcher’s efficiency, but they touch you like something holy; an icon to be protected, cherished.

Keep reading

1/2 next ->

I hate that they cut my comic

A little doodle and fixes I almost forgot to post here hope you like them :"^✨

You and Art the Clown getting married

— REQUESTED: @jokersgrf — PAIRING: GN!reader + Art the Clown — WARNINGS: blood, implied murder, and well, Art is a serial killer clown so. — A/N: Thanks for this request! I had a lot of fun coming up with these. Enjoy, reblog, and leave me some requests if you liked it!

OF COURSE, Art's proposal is a spectacle. Art waits for you to finish the scavenger hunt — yes, there are riddles involved — to meet you at the end, dressed in his usual garments, but now, he is brandishing a big bowtie around his neck. Formal. His grin says it all. Art holds out the box in his hands, with the bottom soaked with blood that stings your nostrils. You open it to find a heart. A human heart. You smile politely although you are retching a little on the inside. A card rests on the bloody organ. “I got you this as a gift / Now you have my heart / Can I have yours too, Y/N? / I love you, Art.” You don’t notice, but Art has dropped to one knee and holds out a ring. “Of course I’ll marry you!” You exclaim, yanking him up to kiss him. “I love you too, Art.”

AS EXPECTED, Art insists on going to help pick out what you’ll wear on the big day. As you’re focusing on picking out articles to try on, there is suddenly some excited honking from that familiar bicycle horn. You look toward the sound, a little afraid of what you might see. Art has come out of the dressing room wearing the frilliest, laciest, most extravagant wedding dress you’ve ever seen over his usual clothing. After a few poses and an exaggerated curtsy from the clown, your stomach is already hurting from laughing. “You’re beautiful, Art!” You tell him, holding up your hand to cover your mouth and try to control your laughter. He fakes shyness by hiding his eyes, and then he blows you a kiss before disappearing to get changed.

YOU BOTH CHOOSE to put Emily, the Little Pale Girl, in your wedding party. You are both too scared of what will happen if you don’t.

ON THE BIG DAY, your vows about “‘til death do us part,” but Art wanted to add a little something extra. When it comes the time to read his vows, he does a somersault for you before he whispers those vows to the priest — or possibly a threat — who looks frightened but announces the two of you are married. You dance down the aisle together as you leave, balloons falling from the ceiling.

FOR YOUR HONEYMOON, you two newlyweds go to a Caribbean resort. He insists on paying every time you order fruity drinks at the pool, and when he goes up to the bar with his trash bag in arm, you can’t bear to tell him that the resort is all-inclusive. Everything’s already paid for. As he pulls out coin after coin, you laugh. And you’re glad you’ll be laughing for the rest of the life you have together, however long — or short — that may be. You hope the two of you live happily together for a long, long time — 'til death do you part.

The Last of Us Headcannons

Summary: Headcannons about TLOU2 characters 

A/N: I’m sorry I haven’t posted in a bit, I’ve ben stressed so I thought I’d write for my comfort characters lmao 

Warnings: Slight NSFW mentions, TLOU2 spoilers 

Word count: 2.4K

Keep reading

My headcanons for Art the Clown

Tw: mention of violence, blood, killing and etc

Note: sorry for long waiting, I had some stuff to do. But I watched this movie last night, just can't not to write something

• Suppose that by some miracle you interested him, and Art changed his mind about killing you.

• Art is a man of the moment, of impulse, in this regard he is like a child. If he wants something, he will get it, no matter how. If he's interested in you, he'll get you and keep you.

• Again, he is quite childish, and since he cannot speak, all his emotions are visible in his body language and antics. His childish behavior can also manifest itself in frequent insults. He will be sitting on the couch with his arms folded and fundamentally avoiding your gaze. Try to guess what he's offended about. And it's better to do it quickly, before the desire to tear some human flesh wakes up in him. His mood changes very often, so be always prepared for the fact that at the moment of rare hugs he will suddenly become agitated or, conversely, aggressive.

• He's very jealous. It's not that he's insecure, he just doesn't like sharing his stuff, including you. You better not pay too much attention to other people unless you want to see their guts smeared on the wall in your bathroom.

• Despite this, Art is quite protective. He won't let anything happen to you. Be prepared that he will be constantly watching you. But now you can safely walk through the dark alleys, Art is always there, you are under the reliable protection of this guard dog.

• Art likes to scare you more than his victims. He doesn't know why, but he really likes the taste of your fear, it really turns him on. But Art will never really hurt you enough, except for a few cuts or bruises. There's something about you that makes him fear losing you for real. There's something special about the way you're scared of him. Maybe it's your expression or your cute screams, he doesn't know. But your guardian definitely makes him feel a lingering warmth in his lower belly.

• His actions and feelings can hardly be called love, because he really does not know how to get attached, he is just not quite the person for this. But he shows a certain affection in his own way. First of all, he's not killing you. Secondly, sometimes he tries to take into account your wishes in many things, tries to find out what you like. Thirdly, he can be quite clingy. When Art realizes that he wants your attention, he can gently pull the sleeve of your hoodie, as if asking for a hug, or he can just roughly grab you by the waist and put you on his lap.

• He really doesn't care about your appearance, he has a weakness for you because it's you.

• Talking about what you like. Art is very narcissistic and cruel. But over time, he will realize that your smile and your joy create some kind of strange feeling in his chest, he likes it. In fact, Art makes you happy only because it gives him a certain pleasure.

• He loves using you as bait for his victims. This gives him an extra push to kill his victim in an even more brutal way.

• In general, he can be kind to a certain extent, he even brings you small gifts from time to time. Besides, he's crazy about the sight of someone else's blood on your face and skin. But you'll definitely have to teach him to wash more often and eat normal food.

Make Me Sway (Thomas Hewitt x Reader) + RQs info

Summary: After going on a road trip with your friends, you become the sole survivor of the group, trapped in the Hewitt’s residence, because Thomas doesn’t like the idea of you getting killed as you show him humanity and fearlessness in the face of death.

Part 1

Part 2 and 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9 (NSFW)

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14 (NEW, I am back <3)

Notes: This story happens somewhere between the events of Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning (2006) and Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003)

Warnings: Violence, Mention of rape, Trauma

Content: Reader has moodswings due to trauma, and is acting on irrational impulses, however has a strong/fearless personality, wittiness and calm nature despite the circumstances, Thomas is confused by his emotions, he knows he should kill you, but he doesn’t want to, Fluff/Smut coming your way 

REQUESTS INFO:

What I will write:

NSFW

SFW

Headcanons

Oneshots

Who I write for:

Thomas Hewitt

Michael Myers

Jason Voorhees

Brahms Heelshire

Bubba Sawyer

One-eye/Sawtooth/Three-finger (Hilliker brothers)

All League of Legends champions

Anime characters

𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary jealousy makes people do crazy things. when steve finds out you’re going on a date with eddie munson, he devises a plan involving one pair of binoculars, one robin, four adopted children and an important question. [7k]

warnings gn!reader, ditzy reader, protective steve, childhood friends to lovers, pining steve, mutual pining, fluff, love confessions, slight hurt/comfort, soft steve, steves pov, eddie fucking munson ♡ tw for toaster bathtub joke

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Steve knows you're outside not because you told him you'd be visiting him at work today, but because you're talking to yourself. You quieten as you pull open the door, a smile on your face that hasn't changed since he first met you in the third grade. Some kid had pushed you down and when he'd asked if you were okay you'd smiled just like that, like you hadn't been pushed at all. 

"What are you talking about?" he asks lightly. 

You stop in the middle of the store and blink. "What?" 

He skirts around the front desk and wraps you up in a hug. You're still at first like you usually are, though you slowly relax under his touch and hug back. 

"What were you saying? Before you came in?" he asks, rubbing your back with both arms. 

"Um… I don't really remember." 

Steve holds you at arm's length to assess your face. You're lying to him. He can tell from the way your top lip twitches towards your nose, almost pouting. 

You drop your arms from his waist and take a step back. Steve has years of knowledge on your whims and whiles and is reluctant to let you move away from him just yet, his hand clasped loosely around your wrist. 

You smile and your hands float at your sides like lily pads bobbing in the air. He decides not to pry, returning to his station behind the Family Video desk. You hop up onto the counter and watch him from over your shoulder. 

"Where's Robin?" you ask. 

"I'm starting to think you like her more than me." 

You smile at him softly and he doesn't know what it means. It's alarming. Robin appears from the backroom before he can work himself up over it, a crate of tapes in her arms. 

She groans as she puts them down on the counter. "I miss Scoops Ahoy." 

"Cute uniforms," you mumble.

"It's not the uniforms I miss," Robin says, letting her forehead fall to the counter. "My arms hurt. I'm not cut out for manual labour. If Steve were a better man he'd do all the heavy lifting for me." 

"Where's the equality in that?" Steve asks, looking to you to see if he's made you laugh. 

He has. Your lips quirk up into a startled smile as a rush of breath escapes you, a lilting miracle of sound. 

He realises then that he's doing something he's not allowed to do and decides to be a better man. "I'll do the rest, Robs." 

Robin looks up, surprised at his charity. "You will?" she asks, not trusting his genuineness. 

"Sure. Keep Y/N entertained while I'm gone." 

Once he's securely in the backroom he starts to freak out. He's been harbouring a mess of feelings for you ever since he hit puberty but has discarded them time and time again. Your friendship is longstanding and special to him, even when closeness with you has been hard to obtain. Not because you're purposefully distant, but because you're a total dreamer. 

Head in the clouds your entire life, Steve has wrangled through hoops to try and protect you from bullies, from bad friends, from your own distraction; you forget to eat, you're lucky you graduated because your attention span for anything that doesn't interest you is non-existent, and you hate parties so your circle is a closed loop consisting of just Steve. 

Now you've both graduated there's a lot of time to be spent together. 

Steve is suffering through it. His life feels like a constant game of look but don't touch. 

That might be unfair. He's definitely very touchy. 

You're giggling to yourself as he carries the second box of tapes in and heaves it down by the first. Robin's laughter is much more evil. 

"What's funny?" he asks suspiciously. 

"I'm giving Y/N tips." 

"Tips?" he asks, so used to Robin's absurdity that he starts to unpack his second box, elbows brushing Robin's as she hums. 

"Mm-hm." She taps her nails over a plastic case and leans towards him. "Boy tips." 

"And what would you know about boys?" he asks her. 

"I'm not stupid. Boys are like… frogs." 

"Frogs," Steve repeats dryly. 

"Slimey. Predictable. Easily disected." 

"Green," you say seriously. 

Steve chokes on a laugh and drops the tape in his hand back into the box of new arrivals to cover his mouth with a fist. 

"Babe, what?" he asks. 

You look at him and shake your head lightly. He knows he's not gonna get any answers from you, trying for nonchalance as he asks, "Boy tips? For who?" 

"They have a date." 

"You do?" Steve asks you. He almost snaps his neck. Robin coughs to cover a laugh.

A knife in his chest. Twisting. Steve's definitely been stabbed. He looks down to his sternum and doesn't find a wound.  

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, pretending that's why his lungs have exploded. He's gonna suffocate to death any second now. 

"I didn't think you'd have any boy tips," you say, clearly surprised at his surprise. 

Whatever. Steve takes a huge breath in through his nose and becomes your friend again, rather than a jealous idiot. 

"Y/N," he says, "I don't know if you've noticed, but I am a boy." 

"I've noticed." 

"So I know what boys like." 

"No, you know what you like," Robin says. "You don't know what Eddie Munson likes. You're different genres." 

"You're going on a date with Eddie Munson?" he asks you, almost shouting. Not his smoothest moment.

"Friday," you say, in the sometimes infuriating way that you do, like you have no indication that he's shocked. And he's shocked. 

"When did he ask you out?" Steve asks. 

Robin smirks behind her hand. Steve would love it if she had, like, a miniscule amount of compassion. An atom's worth, for his struggle.  

"I asked him," you say. 

Steve needs to flee. He can't because he would look insanely obvious so he cracks on his customer service smile and tries to stop asking questions. 

He fails. "You like Eddie Munson?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm going on a date." 

An insane wave of jealousy sloshes around inside him. Or maybe the slurpee he'd had a half hour ago. Whatever it is, he's nauseous. 

He's also confused (a common theme when it comes to you.) He'd had no clue you were dating, or looking to date, no clue this was a lane that was open. And you're so pretty, so magnetic, so disgustingly special and this Munson kid is gonna snap you right up if he has any sense at all. 

Steve isn't proud of anything that he does next. 

"I heard he's a drug dealer," he says. 

Your eyes are wide. Not in horror, as he'd hoped, but puzzlement. "Is he?" 

"For sure. The devil's lettuce, Mary Jane, marijuana, everything." 

"I thought they were all the same," you say, perplexed, your voice like an ebbing wave. 

They are all the same. He was hoping you didn't know that. "Right. What if he gets you hooked on something?" 

Robin frowns at him. "Since when are you so judgemental? We've been high together. Like, fifty times." 

He steps on her foot. Robin, unused to him fighting back so quickly, gasps in outrage and steps on his foot right back. What ensues is an undignified battle of shoes that has him throwing his arm out and hitting her in the stomach. 

"What's your problem?" she asks, eyebrows pinched. 

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Sorry! I think you broke my foot." 

He flinches when he remembers you're there and watching, only you're not there and you're definitely not watching, having made your way to the two boxes of new movies on the counter. You're sorting through them slowly and singing something to yourself under your breath so quietly he can barely decipher the words. The loudest part is your inhales, familiar, small intakes of air. 

"I told them boys like it when you slip them the tongue," Robin whispers smugly.

Steve steps on her foot again and gets promptly slapped in the arm, hard enough to ache. 

Later, when Robin's left and the store's finally closing and you're waiting at the door for Steve to drive you home, he tries to slander Eddie again. He almost feels bad. 

"You know he's still in high school, right? Isn't that a little young for you?" he asks. 

He flicks up the collar of his jacket and switches off the neon lights. You hold the door open, leaning against it with your back arched, like a doll that's fallen down. He pokes the naked skin you've accidentally exposed, a taunting sliver of hip, as he walks past you. 

"He's twenty." 

Again, Steve knew that. He was just hoping you didn't. 

"The whole still being in high-school thing doesn't bug you?" he asks as he locks the door. 

You shift from foot to foot beside him, cold now that the sun has disappeared for the night. You shove your hands deep into your pockets and kick the floor. 

"I don't know," you say. 

He feels bad for trying to dissuade you when you sound like that, insecure. 

Despite his selfish wants, he says, "No, I mean. It's totally fine. You're the same age." 

"Right," you agree quickly. 

"Right," he echoes. 

The two of you climb into the BMW and the silence feels unnatural. Conversation between the two of you has always been easy. Now it's stilted. 

He sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair furiously and starting the car. 

"You know… I've heard he's really nice," he says. 

You perk up. "Yeah?" 

"He's in a band, too. A rock band. You like that stuff. You'd be good together," he says, unconvincing even to himself.

Each word could be demonstrated as a plier held to his teeth, slowly pulling. It's agony to stick up for his competitor. No, he corrects himself, not a competitor, because you don't like him. Steve's alone in his pining. 

"I don't know about all that," you whisper. 

"You don't have to be nervous, okay? I'm sure he's a nice guy and that you'll have fun." 

You don't seem very cheered up. 

He unclenches his jaw and sneaks a look at you. You're picking the hemming of your long sleeve with a thoughtful look in place. Steve thinks, Fuck, they must really like him. 

"Seriously, babe." 

You drop your head against your shoulder. "Can I sleep at your place?" 

He should say no. "Yeah, of course you can." 

"I think there's a racoon living in my attic." 

"I'll come take a look tomorrow." 

"Thank you." 

You tumble out of the car and up the gravel to Steve's house, unlocking the door with a practised ease before running up the stairs. Steve follows with little urgency behind you. 

"Babe?" he asks, closing the door behind him.

"I need the bathroom," you call. 

Steve nods and beelines for the kitchen, looking for something to make that you'll enjoy and that won't take a year off of your life expectancies. If Steve were by himself he'd skip dinner or order something greasy, but he thinks you should have a proper meal.  

He's got a can of soup warming over the burner when you come back down, having switched your outfit for something comfy, clothes you keep in the bottom of his wardrobe for such occasions. 

"Pee your pants?" he asks, grinning. 

You hit your hip into his on purpose and hoist yourself onto the counter to watch him stir. 

"Watch it! Can't you see I'm performing a culinary miracle?" 

"It smells nice." Your face floods with happiness.

"It's your favourite one." 

"They don't sell my favourite in Bradley's anymore." 

"It was at the back of the cabinet. Might get food poisoning," he says. 

He's lying through his teeth – he'd gone up to some fancy Indianapolis grocery store and bought a fuck load. He prays that your attention stays on him and not the cabinet behind your head where evidence of his affection hides in wait. 

"Yum," you say.

"There's ciabatta in the bread bin. Do you want, like, the works?" 

"Balsamic vinegar," you nod your head sagely. "Yes." 

He feels a tendril of fondness curl around his heart. 

-

Fed and watered you crawl into Steve's bed like you always do, smack dab in the middle, sheets pulled up to your nose. Your moaning nonsense to yourself about being greedy and evil demons that cause bloating. 

"I told you to slow down," he murmurs as he climbs in beside you, the two of you smelling like spearmint toothpaste. 

Your hands smell like soap as you bat at him uselessly. "Shut up, Steve." 

He moves onto his back and sighs. "You have such an attitude problem."

"I do not."

He throws his hand out fast and squeezes your sensitive waist. You gasp and pull away, giggling as his hand chases you. He digs his fingers into your ribs until you're panting for air, your legs kicking him away from you. 

"Stop, Steve. Steve, Steve, Stevie, please stop." Your words are garbled with laughter. 

"I can't hear you." 

"Stop!" you cry out. "Please." 

He pulls his hand away and feels smug at how little effort it took to get you that badly. "I didn't know you could shout that loudly, babe." 

"Only for you," you say, catching your breath. 

Steve feels his cheeks go red. Physically feels the blood blossom under his skin. He clears his throat and turns away from you, flicking off the light fast so you can't see his embarrassment clear as day. 

You calm your breathing and Steve calms his heart. After a few minutes there's a dead silence. Not even the sound of a passing car. 

"It's so quiet," you say. 

"It was." 

Your hand at his back. He suppresses chills as your knuckles move over the dip of his spine and then over, your palm smoothing down his arm until you find his hand. Another one of your quirks when you're tired and dizzy with content, you search for his fingers and twine them with your own as you talk. 

"Thanks for dinner. You're a better cook than you'd think, Steve. S'like being at Enzo's but with none of the tables and chairs. Or the music." 

He rubs his thumb gently over the back of your hand where it rests on his thighs and chuckles. "I'll give the chef your compliments." 

"Thank you." 

Another stretch of silence, broken up only by the sound of your breathing. Steve's more familiar with your breathing than his own. He thinks of nights where he'd feigned sleep and watched the rise and fall of your chest through barely parted lashes. 

With his back to you it's easy to pretend you're more than friends. He pulls your joined hands to his chest and worries your skin with the pad of his thumb, a thousand thoughts rattling around his brain. 

"Y/N," Steve says suddenly, unsure if you're still awake. 

"What?" you ask quietly.

"Don't listen to Robin, okay? Don't… don't try and tongue kiss Munson the first time." 

You inhale weirdly. "I won't." 

"Good." He moves your hand back to your chest and drops it gently. "Goodnight," he says.

You don't say anything back. 

-

Dustin sits under the Family Video desk with his radio contraption that Steve doesn't understand, him and Robin having entered a surprisingly easy conversation. Less surprising upon discovering the topic: Steve's ineptitude, Steve's idiocy, Steve's hopelessness. 

"I feel sorry for him," Dustin says conversationally. 

"Really sorry for him." 

"Because it's his third snub in as many years-" 

"And that's not counting each Scoops Ahoy disaster-" 

"Exactly. And, it's like, going on how many years of being friends?" Dustin asks. 

"Twelve," Steve says, resigned to his fate and feeling very pathetic where he manually ticks through returns on the computer. He doesn't even look up. 

"Twelve years to make a move and now he's too late," Dustin says. 

"Well, never say never," Robin says, her voice high. 

Steve frowns and looks through the screen for a moment before turning his gaze over his shoulder to where Robin lounges on the floor, legs crossed and a book between her thighs.

"What?" he asks. 

"What?" she repeats. 

They stare at each other. Steve's expression changes from depressed to incensed.

"Oh my god, you know something." 

"I don't know anything." 

They stare at each other more. Steve doesn't believe her even slightly. He knows Robin. They've been friends for an entire year by this point. Steve would even say that they're best friends. He knows when she's lying. 

"'Never say never?'" he quotes. 

Dustin has stopped messing with his technology to watch. His head moves one way and then the other like he's following a tennis ball, his brown curls bouncing around his ears. 

"It's a common saying-" Robin defends. 

"But why did you say it?"

Tense silence.

"You do know something," Dustin says. Excitement gives his face a boyish charm.

Robin closes the book between her thighs and smiles awkwardly. Steve feels his heart leap into his throat when she tilts her head to the side guiltily and sighs. 

"Shit," she mutters. 

-

Operation Stakeout is redundant, according to Mike. 

"An operation and a stakeout are basically the same thing," he mutters.

"That's not true," Dustin says, know-it-all tone in play. "A stakeout is always an operation but operations aren't always stakeouts." 

Lucas eats a handful of chips noisily. Max groans. 

"It feels redundant," Robin says. 

"It's about to feel jeopardised," Steve says scathingly, forcing her head back down where the six of them hide behind a trimmed hedge outside Enzo's. 

"When's it my turn with the binoculars?" Robin asks. 

"Never," Dustin says. There isn't a trace of sympathy in his voice. 

"Sexism?" she wonders to herself. 

Max snatches the binoculars from Dustin’s hand and brings them to her eyes, looking through the painted window of Hawkins best Italian restaurant for any sign of you and your date. 

They must look like a group of idiots. Half the gang are in dark clothing where Mike, Robin and Max had all refused to bother. Dustin had brought a camouflage net and strewn it over their heads, though most of them had shrugged it off, holding it to their shoulders like a terrible blanket. 

Steve waits impatiently for Max's report. 

"There they are," Max says. 

He can't himself as he springs up and searches for you. They'd all watched secretly as you'd arrived and met Munson outside. He scrubbed up well. It boiled Steve's blood. In a totally fun, carefree way because he's being very normal about this whole thing. You know, if you ignore Operation Stakeout. 

"Where?" 

He holds his hand out for the binoculars and Max drops them heavily into his palm. Steve almost blinds himself as he brings them to his eyes, squinting for a glance at you.

"Toward the left." 

"They're ordering," he says. 

"They're on a date," Mike says. 

Lucas makes a sad sound and eats more chips. Steve feels a sharp wave of pity for him though he quickly forgets it in favour of the look on your face. You're smiling wide but insincerely. 

"Y/N is not having a good time," he says happily. "Is it evil to feel relieved?" 

"Yes," a few voices say. 

Dustin shrugs. "Let's hope Eddie makes them cry. Or the other way around."  

"Dude." There's a silent conversation that Steve isn't privy to then that ends with Lucas and Dustin shoving each other. 

"Why are we expecting this to end badly?" Max asks. "Because I'm still not convinced." 

Steve watches you reach for your drink and tries not to recant his explanation with any bias. Tries. "Y/N doesn't like Munson." 

"We already knew that, to be fair," Robin says, still trying to defend you now that she'd possibly exposed your secret. Guilt is a new look on her. 

"Right, but not liking Eddie and liking Steve are two different things," Max says. 

"Well, why wouldn't you like Eddie?" Dustin says. 

"If you like him so much why don't you marry him?" Steve asks, deadpan. 

"Shut up." 

"I know who I'd choose," Max says. 

Steve waits for a follow up because he has no clue who Max would choose. When she doesn't answer he peels his gaze from your upturned mouth and finds that the rest of the group are giving Max the same curious look. 

"What?" she asks furiously. "One is clearly more attractive." 

"Which one, Maxine?" Steve asks. 

"Eddie," Mike and Dustin say. 

"Steve," Robin and Lucas say. 

Max is saved from having to answer by the ensuing argument. They can both drive. Steve is wealthy - "Generationally!" - where Eddie's less so. Steve graduated - "Barely!" - and Eddie's in his third senior year. 

"He's in a band," Robin says unhappily, like she's sad that Steve isn't measuring up. 

"Have you heard them play? Steve's definitely winning," Lucas says. 

"Steve doesn't know who Gollum is," Dustin points out. "He's, like, socially misplaced." 

"Does Y/N?" Max asks. 

The group ponders. Robin takes the binoculars from Steve's hands and aims them at you again. "Wait, did Eddie get the carbonara? That's a point for Steve." 

"It's an Italian staple!" Dustin defends.

"You'd think a cult leader would order something a little more adventurous." 

"Hellfire isn't a cult, Steve, don't be fucking offensive." 

"Okay, watch your mouth, Henderson," Steve says testily. 

His knees ache from hiding and his hands are frigid. It's dark enough for Lucas to switch on a torch as he offers Max his pringles. She wrinkles her nose in disgust and the poor guy looks dejected beyond words. 

A disgruntled old lady complains behind them at having to walk around them. Mike complains louder. "This is pointless." 

"It's not pointless," Steve says. 

"Yes, it is." 

"No, it isn't." He glares at Mike. 

"It totally is! You're wasting our night to perv on someone who couldn't be less interested in you." 

"I didn't ask you to come!" Steve shouts.

"I wanted to see you be wrong in person," he says. 

Steve sighs because maybe he is wrong. He doesn't know what he believes anymore. He's working on the tiniest evidence that you like him, a slip of the tongue. 

When you'd walked into Family Video a few days ago and asked Robin for 'boy tips', you'd said something suspicious. Steve doesn't think you know what you said. Robin thinks you're both idiots, though she thinks you're pathetic in the loveable way and Steve the pathetic way. 

"Why Eddie?" Robin had asked you while he was hidden away in the backroom. "I didn't know you liked the rock and roll type. I was thinking, like, Steve's calibre. Homegrown boy next door who's a little misguided." 

"Well, Steve's never gonna ask me out," you'd said. 

"Thank god for that," Robin had joked awkwardly. Steve doesn't hold it against her. 

When she'd relayed the conversation to him he'd been happy at first, because in most situations this would imply that you're waiting for it. That you want him to ask you out. 

But you're not like most people, and you might've meant Steve in place of someone like Steve. 

"I don't think he's wrong," Dustin says now. 

"You're the same IQ," Mike says. 

"You might be right, Wheeler," Steve huffs, holding his hands out for a turn. Robin passes them obligingly. "Y/N's so literal. They might've just been stating the obvious." 

"Or maybe they thought Robin was implying they liked Steve and got defensive," Max adds. 

"Or maybe it's exactly like it sounds and they have a crush on Steve," Lucas says. He wilts under Max's fierce scowl. "Or maybe they were being defensive." 

"Defensive isn't really their style," Steve says, not sure what side he's on, sick with hope.

"What is their style?" Mike asks. "Delusion?" 

"Shut the fuck up, man," Steve says. 

"You're such an asshole sometimes," Max says. 

They dissolve into bickering and Steve spies on you, watching through the binoculars with one eye pinched closed as you set down your cutlery. You're laughing. 

Steve pulls the binoculars from his face and feels maybe every stage of grief as he hands them off to Dustin. "Mike's right, we're wasting the night here. If Y/N liked me, we wouldn't be camped outside Enzo's right now under the world's most threadbare throw blanket." 

Mike clears his throat, and Steve knows he must have sounded pathetic when he, at odds with the cold indifference he usually sports, says, "I mean… People are complicated. El broke up with me last summer because my grandma died." 

"That is not why," Max says. She sounds like she wants to be mad but can't manage it. She sounds about as happy as she has all year, so Steve decides maybe the night isn't totally wasted. 

"Your grandma died?" Lucas asks.

"No." 

"He just grabbed Y/N's hand," Dustin announces, one eye pressed to the binoculars. 

His head is smushed against Lucas', who peers into the binoculars with his opposite eye and hums thoughtfully. "More of a caress than a grab." 

Steve snatches the binoculars. "Give me that," he demands. 

"You still haven't explained the spying," Max says. 

Steve finds you in the restaurant. Your hand is extended across the table. You're twisting the rings around Eddie's fingers, saying something he doesn't have the talent to lip read. 

"I thought that," he starts, morose, heart stomped on with every second you spend fawning over Munson's rock star hands, "if Y/N likes me, the date would be a total failure." 

"Right, like halfway through the date Y/N was gonna have this amazing epiphany and come crashing through the doors, like a rom-com," Robin continues. 

"That's stupid," Mike says. 

Steve agrees with him. It's stupid to expect you to throw away a good chance at happiness and keep a candle burning for him instead when he's never showed any interest in you before. But, in his defense, he didn't know he was allowed. 

"Whatever," he sighs. "I'm sick of thinking about it. Let's just go home." 

There's an awkward silence then where everyone feels sorry for him and nobody knows what to say. 

"Plenty of fi-" Lucas starts, voice lilted up in question until he's socked hard in the arm. He clears his throat. "Plenty of time left. On the clock. We can go get food?" 

"Steve needs ice cream," Robin says cheerily. He scrubs his face until his eyes hurt as she continues. "He needs to eat through the heartbreak. Ice cream, pizza, moon cakes, cheese balls." She turns to him fully. "I'm really sorry your love life is so sad, but look on the bright side! You now have an excuse to watch Splash on repeat." 

"Oh, goodie," he says. 

He gets a round of sympathetic shoulder pats and then everyone starts to pack Dustin's spy equipment and the snacks away. There's a pounding headache between Steve's eyes and his back pops in three places as he stands. He's getting too old for shit like this. I need to go home and sleep for twelve hours, he decides. And have a self flagellating bubble bath. With a toaster.

"Shit, they're coming out." 

They dive back behind the bush. Steve locks eyes with Robin. She holds her hand over her mouth as the door to Enzo's creaks open. 

"What size are you?" Eddie's asking. 

"I don't know. Do I have to wear the shirt?" 

A handsome laugh. "No, you don't have to. It's just for club morale. Plus, it's pretty sick." 

"It's not sick, it's cute." 

"No, no." He's being so nice it makes Steve feel terrible for wishing bad things upon him. "Not bad sick. Good sick, like awesome." 

"Right," you laugh. 

Robin starts to lift her head. Steve shakes his vehemently, begging her not to. She does anyways, her eyes shifting up over the green hedge line. He tugs her shoulder urgently. 

Robin starts to push against his face with her hands. It's increasingly difficult to fight her silently, especially when she smacks him straight in the soft part of his nose. 

He winces and covers his face with both hands. God, are you there? He thinks urgently. It's me, Steve. 

Robin gasps. 

Five sets of eyes whip to her and Steve yanks her hard to the ground, covering her mouth with his hand. She licks his palm and Steve throws himself back, sprawled on the ground with his elbows stinging, his heart hammering because there's no way you didn't hear all that. He waits to be caught. 

"I'll get it printed for you. Everyone has one. Like a uniform."

"Thanks for dinner," you say. 

"You're welcome. I'll see you on Friday, yeah?" 

"Yes. Thank you, Eddie."

Your voices stop. Steve lets himself collapse onto the sidewalk beneath, hair crushed under his neck. Your date must've gone pretty fucking well if you're going on another. 

Robin's face above him. Her hair hangs down, blocking slices of her face from view. 

"Don't sulk, Steve." 

He glares at her. "You heard that, right? They're going on another date. Leave me here to die." 

Robin's beaming. "Steve." 

"It's too late. I should've- I don't know why I thought this was a good idea. I'm a loser." 

"Could you stop feeling sorry for yourself for a second?" she asks. 

"What's the point?" 

"Steve," Robin laughs. "They didn't kiss." He swallows around the dryness in his mouth. "They didn't kiss," she repeats. "Eddie tried it, but…"

"Total head turn," Dustin says, the top of his head touching Robin's as he comes to stand over Steve, his shoes at Steve's shoulder.

"Doesn't mean anything. They're still going on another date," Steve says. 

"Dummy," Max says, joining the two hovering above him. 

Mike and Lucas join soon after. "You're definitely a loser-" Mike says. 

"Dude." 

"If you don't try," Mike finishes. 

Steve looks up into the circle of their faces. They look super weird from this angle. Too happy. It's never a good thing when they're all smiling the way that they are. Hope in this family turns into stupid decisions. 

"The head turn was on purpose?" he asks. 

He's crushed by their hesitation. 

"Well, it's Y/N," Robin sighs. She rolls her eyes at his expression. "Nah, I'm messing with you. It was definitely on purpose." 

He covers his face with his hands and stares at his friend's through parted fingers. "Shit." 

A ruckus of laughter and smiles as Robin offers a hand to pull him up off of the ground. "Alright, come on, dingus, we have work to do." 

"Work?" he asks. 

"T-minus six days and… twenty two hours until their second date," Dustin says, checking his watch. "Six days to make a move, Harrington. Can you do it?" 

-

It only takes him three. 

Saturday and Sunday are spent feeling sorry for himself and sick with worry that he can't make a move or that his move won't be reciprocated. 

But then he sees you on Monday and can't really stand it anymore. You'd turned your head. You hadn't let Eddie kiss you. 

Steve needs to know if you'll let him. 

You're all in blue today with your eyebrows pinched up, looking sad. He knows from experience that you aren't sad at all, only thinking, sitting on the hood of his car with your legs pulled up. You're demure. You're probably an angel. 

"How long have you been out here?" he asks, coming to a stop in front of you. 

"I'm too afraid to come see you," you say. It's more honest than Steve had been expecting. Certainly more straightforward than you tend to be. 

"You're seeing me now." 

You look up into his face. The sun behind you, your face in shadow and your hair kissed by golden light, you open your hands over your thighs. Steve thinks of Lovers Lake, the Victoria flowers bobbing on the surface. Green, soft cups over dark water. 

"I'm seeing you," you say. 

You twist your fingers together and the lily pad turns to a water lily, your fingertips a tight bud. 

You're nervous.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest and leans back slightly to take you in. 

He lifts his chin at you. "How did your date go?" he asks. 

"It was okay. Eddie's a nice guy. He's… interesting." 

"Yeah?" 

You hum. "Why are you asking me?" 

"We're friends. I want to know if you had fun." 

You shrug your shoulders and turn your haze to the hood of the BMW, scratching your nail over an imperfection he can't see. 

Steve's unnerved to see you so still. He waits for your legs to kick or for your hands to fidget, to wear holes into the hem of your shirt. 

"I don't think we're friends, Stevie," you say finally. 

He actually feels mad. It shocks him, but he does, and he won't shy away from it. "Why did you ask Munson on a date?" 

"He can drive. He's nice to girls. He's good looking." You stop scratching but don't look at him. Your ankle swings towards his car, stops before it hits the front bumper. 

Your answers hurt his feelings, little pinpricks of annoyance? Jealousy? He doesn't know what he feels. He was hoping you'd say something reassuring. 

He kicks himself quickly. You're not going to reassure him because you don't know he needs to be reassured. You don't know anything because he hasn't told you. 

You mumble something too low for him to hear. 

"What?" he asks gently. "I can't hear you." 

"I asked him because I thought if-" You stop. Steve watches your hesitation turn to distress and steps forward to take your wringing hands into his. 

"Don't do that," he says quietly. 

You stop rubbing your wrists. "I'm trying to tell you." 

"I know you are. Don't wind yourself up over it. Tell me slowly." He doesn't like this expression you're wearing. So unlike you. He wants to see your quiet face again, your features settled, your eyes bright. He bends at the waist to talk to you. "What did you think?" 

"I thought if anybody in the world could make you jealous, it would be Eddie." 

He works your clenched fingers open, rubbing his thumbs over the small creases in your skin. His heart thrums in his chest.

He smiles at you. "Now why do you wanna make me jealous?" he asks fondly, a hint of smugness creeping in. 

You raise your eyes to his and squeeze his hands. "Steve," you say pleadingly. "Don't be cruel." 

"About what?" he asks, his eyebrows pinched together in confusion.

"I know that I'm- I'm stupid, and distracted and-and I miss things, and-" 

"Hey. That's not true." 

You overflow.

"No, it is, it's true." You pull your hands out of his grip and cross them over your torso. Your eyes squint in efforts to stop the tears he can see gathering from spilling over, and your mouth twists up into a bitter smile. "Everyone says so. I- I don't know why I thought you would like me back." 

"You like me?" he asks weakly. 

You stop. "I thought you knew." 

Steve's eyes flit in disbelief from your eyes to your lips, wondering if you've truly just said what you said. 

Fine, whatever, he can be brave too. "If I tried to kiss you, would you let me?" he asks. 

The upset wanes from your face and is replaced by a lighter kind of lovely. You pout. "Why would you ask me that?" 

"Do you want me to kiss you?" he tries again. 

"I don't know what the right answer is." 

"I could…" Steve taps under your chin with his knuckle and lifts your face to his, eyes skipping between yours, the circle of your pupils dilated and shining. "I could never be cruel with you." 

You wrap your hand around the crook of his elbow. 

Understanding moves between you. He can pinpoint two realisations on your face as they happen. The first, that he isn't toying with you. That Steve had no idea how you felt, and that he hadn't known you were trying to make him jealous. The second, that you're about to be kissed. 

"You were right," he says, his thumb sliding over the apple of your cheek. 

"About what?" you ask, your eyes restless, clicking over each of his features in turn and getting caught on his lips.

He leans in, your mouths an inch apart. "Your date with Munson – I was jealous. But it's not about him. It's about you. You could've," he stops to laugh, bringing his second hand to the curve of your neck, "could've gone on a date with Keith and I would've been sick with it." 

"Really?" you ask. 

"Mm-hm," he hums lightly. 

Your eyes close. Steve hesitates still, can't believe that he hasn't moved in, but he needs to say it.

"If I tried to kiss you, would you let me?" he asks again, voice barely louder than a whisper. 

"Yeah, I'd let you."

His hands tremble with anticipation, a long time spent longing. He moves in, his ears pricked at the sound of your sweet inhale. A hitch, the same sound you make when you sleep beside him. The same sound you make when you're dreaming. 

He spreads his hand over your thigh and kisses you. 

Your lips are soft as a downy feather beneath his. You're shy, moving back as he moves forward, pliant under his guiding. He pets the juncture of your neck soothingly and pulls back fast, a short, chaste kiss. His lips burn. 

"Again?" you ask. 

He wades in carefully, worried to overwhelm you. You're like a wave cresting sand, falling back to push forward quickly. He's so elated to have his kiss returned that he sighs into you, palm spread wide over the dough of your thigh and squeezing carefully. He can feel your smile grow, your lips parting with it, the kiss inadvertently deepening. 

You pull back. "I'm sorry." 

His eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head. "For what?" he asks, rubbing your thigh. 

"Boys don't like it when you slip them the tongue on the first kiss." 

He blinks owlishly and has to step away from you to stop from laughing in your face, never at you, but laugh all the same. He smothers it with a cough and then doesn't bother, chuckling as he stands between your legs and throws his arms around you in a steel-armed hug. 

You giggle and bring your forearms to the back of his head. Your wrist craned, you sift your fingertips through his hair, nails running over his scalp fleetingly. 

"Right," he says. "Duh." 

"I remembered," you say, sounding infinitely pleased with yourself. 

He feels the heat of your body sink into his and wants to scream. The indescribable heat of your kiss plays over his chest, snaking tendrils. He feels weightless. 

"The second kiss though," he says. Strictly informative. "They don't mind it, the second time."

He moves his head away from yours to meet your eyes. They're lit with mirth. 

"Don't mind it, huh?" you ask knowingly. 

His cheeks ache with a grin as he pulls you back in. 

-

"You know, I saw you spying outside Enzo's," you say much later, your head tucked into Steve's chest.

He didn't know but he's not surprised. "Gonna cancel your date?" he asks.

"What date?"

"On Friday?" 

"That isn't a date. I joined Hellfire Club." 

Oh my god, he thinks. Eddie fucking Munson. "You're gonna have to kiss me again," he says morosely. He cheers up considerably quickly as you lift your chin, beaming.

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