#Patrick’s sister AU

[artdcnaldson]

ARARARRARARARRARA

HIS RACKET

stop. ✋. i am unable to control and contain myself. i need mean mean mean art to fuck pats sister with his racket after losing a match because she was distracting him. she was constantly crossing and uncrossing her legs, short short skirt, flashing him her pretty panties. need him to taunt her and tell her how his racket barely fits in her tiny little virgin pussy :(((( but stuff her full of it anyway :((((( he really is doing anything to keep himself from putting his cock in her :(((( i need him i feel sick and horny. it's now his favorite racket and his lucky charm i'm dying

-🐞

RAHHHHHHHHH

Like god. Just thinking of you showing up to one of his matches in a little denim miniskirt and one of his Stanford tennis shirts you stole <3 you look so sweet, you cheer the loudest every time he manages to get a point.

He usually wouldn’t be able to see you very well from down on the court, but, god, you’re front row and he can see the flash of white panties beneath your skirt, the bounce of your tits when you excitedly cheer. And maybe you were earnestly cheering for him, you didn’t even realize what you were doing, but that brainless look you give him when he confronts you after the match just frustrates him even more.

“I’m sorry you lost, Art,” you say as you follow him inside his dorm like a lost puppy. The fact that he didn’t stop you was exciting, like maybe he as going to break finally, that he saw how much you cared. “But you looked so great out there. You should’ve won. I think the line judges totally fucked you ov—“

He has you pinned against the door and you go quiet. “I would’ve won,” he says firmly. “If you hadn’t been flashing your panties like a fucking groupie.”

Your brows furrow. “Oh… I didn’t mean to.” Which was a lie. Of course it fucking was.

He rolls his eyes. “Yes you fucking did. You’d do anything if it meant you’d have something filling your pussy.”

Something flashes in your eyes. Excitement? Shock?

His hand moves between your thighs, feeling the damp spot on your panties. “How long have you been wet?”

A shaky breath escapes you as his fingers press against the seam of your pussy, avoiding your clit with each pass. “Art—“ you whine, embarrassment dripping from your tone.

Why should you be embarrassed, though? You were the one slutting yourself out for his attention, weren’t you? Flashing your panties, throwing yourself at him at any chance. He’d done much worse to you, touched you in ways that were unforgivable. At least, they would be to Patrick.

It’s infuriating, that you have the audacity to act like some demure fucking virgin. Like you haven’t fucked yourself on his bed, haven’t gotten off to him degrading you and cumming down your throat.

But you don’t even have to answer. He knows that you’ve been soaked since the second you sat down in the stands, that your little body has been absolutely thrumming with need and want. That you’d dressed that way with the intentions of getting him so riled up he’d need to take it out on you.

And he would. He’d give you something to stuff you full, keep you satisfied.

“Lay down,” he says, and you obey so easily. You settle on top of his bed, chest heaving with anticipation. He slips your panties down your legs, he can practically smell your need. He wants to just bury his face between your thighs, lick at your core until your taste is all he knows. Make you cum again and again and again until your clit feels numb and you beg for him to stop. “You want me to fill you up, hm?”

You nod, irises practically swallowed by your lust-blown pupils. “Mhmm. Please, Art.”

A smile spreads across his lips. “Yeah? And you’ll take anything I give you, won’t you?”

You nod, almost frantic. “Yes, anything.”

He wants to save the image of your expression in his memory forever. Your wide eyes, the way your teeth dig into your bottom lip. As he grabs a racket from his bag. It’s new, the handle freshly wrapped. You let out a soft noise, involuntary as you look at it. “Art—“

He tosses the racket a few times in his hand. “I thought you said anything?”

You make a face. “I don’t think it’ll fit. I’m a v—“

“A virgin,” he finishes for you, dripping condescension. “Sure, but I know your fingers aren’t cutting it when you fuck yourself. What do you use, huh? Did you and your little friends buy pink sparkly dildos at the mall?”

Your face burns and you look away. It’s too specific of a description, and you know he knows. That he’d snooped one of the times that he had to carry you back to your dorm and found your stash of toys and the fucking spank bank under your bed. Which was mortifying in and of itself— you had fucking clip outs of him from the campus newspaper and posters of the Men’s tennis team in there. You hated that he knew just how obsessed you were with him.

“It’ll fit,” he says. “I’ll even warm you up first. I’ll give you my fingers. I’m not that mean.”

Your tongue darts out, wets those pretty lips of yours. And you nod.

His finger slides in so easily that he almost moans. You’re so warm, so tight around him, slick and obscenely wet. One finger and you’re reduced to mewls and whines. Little pants of yes, so good, thank you, art art art.

Your body accommodates him so easy, opening up like a flower for him. A second finger plunges inside your cunt and your juices drip down his fingers, down your ass. You’re wetter than anyone he’s been with before. It’s not just that you’re a virgin— he’d fucked virgins before— it’s that you’re so fucking obsessed with him.

“You really are tight,” his voice comes out a little shaky, affected. How could it not when he has three fingers knuckle deep in your sweet, virgin pussy? When your walls clench and flutter around the intrusion, when you get wetter and wetter so his fingers squelch with each thrust in? “I don’t know if it’ll fit. But we’re gonna try, aren’t we?”

Yes, Yes, Yes. The response falls from your lips like prayer, like worship.

He waits until you’re all pliant and relaxed beneath him, moaning prettily. When your pussy feels supple and opens like it needs to take more. He grabs the racket and he almost backs out, almost stops himself, but you look at him with hunger and want. You need to impress him so badly— to accept whatever he gives him.

There’s a first time for everything. He tries his best to slick up the handle with lube, not that you’re lacking in that department. He watches your cunt pulse, your hole clenching as he practically jacks off the tennis racket. Oh, you want it so bad.

“Hold your legs up,” he instructs. You’re chewing on your lip as you do, tucking your hands beneath your knees, leaving your cunt exposed and glistening in the shitty light of his dorm room. “Relax. You wanted it, so lay there and take it.”

He presses the handle against your cunt, listens to the slightest intake of breath as it breaches your tight entrance, as your body stretches to accommodate it. It’s a stretch, god, it’s obscene. Your tiny little pussy wrapped around the handle like it’s a dick.

“Ah, f-fuck—“ You’re whimpering, crying for it, little feet kicking as he presses it in deeper. “Big— it’s big.”

He’s harder than he’s ever been in his life, and you’ve pushed that limit many times before. He’s fantasized about it before, the idea of it. Of some faceless, nameless woman lying all spread out beneath him, crying out with pornstar moans while he fucks her with the handle of his racket after a game.

He blamed Patrick for that one. For planting that seed.

But now he has you. Lying beneath him with your face screwed up in pleasure, your mouth ajar as he pushes it deeper, deeper, deeper. “Tell me how it feels,” he goads once it’s fully sheathed inside of you.

It takes a moment for the question to register— he sees it in the lazy blink in your eyes, how they’re glassy when they meet his.

“Mmm… so— so full,” you moan. Your expression is akin to disappointment as he slowly withdraws the racket, only to push it back in. Your eyes roll back, toes curl and flex.

“You don’t feel gross? No shame at all?” He asks.

You should. You definitely should, but right then you can’t find it in yourself to. You shake your head. “I just— nghh— just want whatever you give me.”

God. You shouldn’t tell him that, shouldn’t willingly hand over that much power. His head swims with it.

“No fucking self respect” he mutters. “Jesus Christ. Such a fucking slut.”

But that just encourages you. “Just your slut, Art, all yours.”

God, you’re so fucking wet, dripping down to your asshole, down onto the sheets. He figures he could make you squirt, that you’d let him play with your pussy until you gushed like a fountain. He could probably do anything he wanted and you’d take it with a smile.

“You need t’ cum?”

You nod quickly, moaning. “Fuck— yeah, so bad, Art, so fucking bad.” Your cunt squeezes around the handle of the racket, like your body is trying to suck it deeper. “Touch me— touch me, I need—“

He knows what you need. And he shouldn’t. But what the fuck is he holding back for at this point? He moves his free hand to your clit, rubs in firm circles as he shallowly thrusts the racket.

The cries that escape you are like music to him, so delicious, so fucking debauched. Your feet kick pathetically, your back arches off the bed. It’s almost adorable.

“You have ten seconds before I stop,” he warns. You cry weakly, grind your hips up against the handle as he fucks you with it. He counts aloud, watches the way your breath heaves as you get closer. He can practically feel your racing heartbeat in your clit.

“C-cumming, cumming—“ you whine. He’s at two— your body is right on the edge, you want it so bad.

“Come on, give it to me,” his voice is low, rough with need. He meets your gaze, and he grins at how wrecked you are, how pathetic he can make you.

You cum just like that, leave a ring of cream at the top of the handle as he fucks you through it. He reduces you into weak moans, makes you go limp beneath him.

When he eases the handle out, he marvels at the sight of your pussy, smeared with arousal, swollen and open for him. He rubs his thumb against your clit and he watches your hole twitch for him, still wanting anything you can give.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. He should have taken a picture.

[diyasgarden]

Patrick Sister's AU by @artdcnaldson

I don't know how much I like this, but this AU is such a brainworm for me . IT IS SO YUMMY. It was kind of hard to find pictures to describe how it feels but know its dark and mean and smutty and angsty. So yeah....GO READ

[zweiginator]

being forced to go to a fancy gala with your mom and stepdad, and of course--your step brother, patrick. wearing a long, silk dress that hugs your body. the satin material almost seems to caress your tits.

and patrick has noticed you're beautiful. he's not an idiot. he's a boy in his twenties who still wakes up with morning wood like it's clockwork.

he has been very careful around you. maybe because his dad pulled him aside after he broke up with his last girlfriend. told him he needs to be more gentlemanly. work on how he's perceived. boys who act like this don't get pretty wives and good children.

patrick never claimed to want those things, however. but he is intentional with his gaze. doesn't let his eyes linger, although they beg to.

the dress, though. it's the product of dreams. satin and emerald green and low cut but still modest. tight yet flowy where it needs to be.

patrick drinks far too much champagne. pretends to care about the surface-level conversations he's halfheartedly contributing to. is he excited about going on tour? what about college?

who fucking cares? -- is what he wants to say.

he loosens his tie and goes out back for a smoke. the air is breezy and cold for early august. it feels good in his hair. and you're out here too. looking out onto the water. your heels sit beside you, one toppled over.

"hey." patrick says from behind you.

"oh, hi pat." you turn around, leaning your back against the railing. rusted metal bars that dig into your palms.

his cigarette is limp between his lips. the flame extinguishes itself, but patrick doesn't bother to relight it.

"your dress is really nice." he says. "the color really suits you."

you look him up and down. his hair is nicely done, styled but still messy in its own regard. his tie is crooked but his suit is pressed nicely, perfectly tailored. an easy shade of black that isn't hard on the eyes. but it contrasts nicely with the hazel in his eyes.

"your get-up isn't so bad yourself. you clean up nicely."

the way you look at each other in this moment confuses you. both of you. watching the wind blow the chimes hanging from a nearby gazebo and the moon wane as your chests rise and fall. wondering if you would have ever crossed paths if not for your respective parents doing it for you. thinking about summers tangled in each others' sheets--what could have been.

but you're step siblings. and it will never be. it can't. patrick nudges his elbow against yours, and you grab onto the swell of his bicep. he walks you back inside with his suit jacket over your shoulders and you both pretend, in your own innocent way, that you can love each other, like that. for the night.

[clonethemidwife]

ok. so. au number 3 (tattoo shop au) is now complete! i do have some bonus content that’s not written but to which i am not opposed to writing should you all want that.

but let’s talk about the behemoth mother of all fics: the church au.

i love this au and it would go on indefinitely if i let it, however there are other things i would also like to write, so… i have to figure out how to wrap this up. my question is: would you all prefer a fuller picture of life with fr and mrs turner with some time jumps or a shorter term happy ending that leaves the future open to interpretations? I can write either (but i won’t write both). please let me know. you can also feel free to send me a message 😃

[fanficwolf105]

Happy Birthday Zoya🎶

[thenightwolf51]

"Danny was born a Wayne" AU except he's Bruce's grand uncle. The result of a one time drunken affair, shortly before Kenneth Wayne's death, to a young unmarried woman who gave the baby up for adoption.

(Whether the Fenton's, and therefore Amity, were just ahead of their times or the DC timeline is shifted a bit so that DP happens in its cannon era is up to you. Dealers choice, though now that i know about her i just love badass widowed prohibition leader Laura Elizabeth Wayne)

Danny grows up knowing hes adopted and loved by the Fentons but something (dealer's choice) happens and he loses his family and friends (maybe the whole town goes too?). In an attempt to avoid a Dan situation he flees into the Infinite Realm and doesn't stop.

He just wanders, time passes in its weird Realms way, not that Danny truly notices. A protector spirit thats lossed everything it protected. Its a wonder he doesn't fade and he actually might've if it wasn't for his human side.

But its a tug at his core that brings him from his near catatonic wandering. Gone before he can even understand it but enough to shake him back to himself. Enough to know that hes nowhere near ready to go anywhere familiar so he continues on, his wandering no less pointless but at least he's aware again.

What feels like a relatively short time later he gets another tug, and this time he manages to follow it.

He follows it invisibly through a natural portal that drops him somewhere in New Jersey and all the way to a fancy hospital room in the gloomiest city he's ever seen.

In there he sees his half brother Patrick Wayne, though he wont figure out their connection for a few more years, holding little Agatha. She's adorable in her little dress and pigtails and her sweet face causes that familiar tug he recognizes from what must have been six years ago given the girls age.

Then a nurse comes in and hands a little bundle to what must be the mother (whos name i cant find) and Danny takes one look at the little core tugger who brought him here and just melts. Even without knowing yet that this is his last remaining family, his instincts latch on and he vows to protect and care for the Waynes.

And he does.

He finds his forgetful brother's documents and keeps Aggy company when everyone else is busy and soothes baby Thomas so his poor sister-in-law can get some more sleep. He ices fevers and bruised knees and helps on later games of hide and seek.

He very rarely becomes visible and only to the children. His grief over the Fenton's convinces him its better to protect his new family from the shadows.

Danny explores every inch of the manor, including secret passages and an underground cave system. He claims a forgotten room in the back of the attic as his own, which over the years fill up with knickknacks, heirlooms, and pictures of the family. Even a gift or two from Agatha, who hadn't stopped believing in their shadowy guardian like her brother did when Danny felt they were too old to see him without drawing suspicion.

The manor becomes his haunt and he always knows where each family member is within it. And when any guests have some no good intentions.

And when baby Bruce is born tugging at his core and with the bluest little eyes, he welcomes the fussy little thing. And makes sure dear Martha never knows just how fussy baby Bruce really is, otherwise she might've never had a full nights sleep.

Danny blames himself for not being there when Thomas and Martha die, and promises to never leave Bruces side, practically becoming the boy's living shadow. Watching over him as he gets older, secretly aiding him in his training. Danny feels a bit of pride when Bruce takes some inspiration from the old stories Thomas told him of the shadowy Wayne family protector when creating his Batman identity, glad his nephew still remembers him even if he hasn't shown himself since the now young man was six.

Danny continues to protect and care for the family in a variety of ways over the years even as the family grows.

Lightening Alfred's workload, softening Dick's falls, calming Jason's temper both pre and post pit, hiding Tim's coffee when the boy hasn't slept in far too long, providing plenty of shadows and hiding nooks for Cass, helping Damian hide the litter of kittens he found.

And no one seems to know he's there, except maybe Cass and he's pretty sure Alfred has been know since he first started working for the family. No one knows, that is, until Duke Thomas moves in and lookes right at him watching invisibly from the sidelines.

(@omnicrafts @dcxdpdabbles @hdgnj @ailithnight @nelkcats @im-totally-not-an-alien-2 i dont know, the main point of all this is that Danny's been protecting the Wayne family for decades and no one, except maybe Alfred, knew until Duke moved in)

[acourtofkindness]

Thank you for sending in all the stories, here you can find the collection! Some of these are one-shots, some are longer stories, just click your way through them and also check out their other fics!

A Court of Vice and Victors

by @wishcamper Acosf rewrite where Nesta actually gets help and she and Cassian have a healthier dynamic, plus an Illyrian murder mystery

Pages Turned

by @climbthemountain2020 A character study on Nesta Archeron, the hardships she's faced through her life, and how they've shaped her as a person.

Could You Love Me While I Hate Myself

by @witch-and-her-witcher Humans have just been freed from servitude to the fae after years at war on Prythian and times are desperate for Nesta Archeron. With Feyre MIA and Elain a shell of herself, her options are becoming increasingly limited. When one of the young fae warriors, Cassian, who has carved a name for himself on the battlefield proposes to her after recognizing a mating bond between them, Nesta doesn't see any choice but to agree to take him as her husband and move herself and her sister to his home Court and the wilds of Illyria. War brings them together, a bond binds them - but is that enough for two broken people to find love with each other?

Firm and Fragrant Still the Brambleberries

by @foundress0fnothing When Nesta became a nurse at the start of the war, she could not have predicted a patient as challenging as Lieutenant Cassian Davies, nor he a nurse as captivating as her. As the same war that brought them together threatens to tear them apart, Nesta and Cassian must navigate the complexities of love and duty to find the way back to each other. A WWI historical AU.

Wreck My Plans, That's My Man

by @c-e-d-dreamer Drummer for the Bat Boys, Cassian has a large following, but sometimes Nesta doesn't appreciate fangirls calling themselves "Cassian's future wife."

It Looks As Though You're Letting Go

by @Darkcat18 (on ao3) Everyone is born with an arrow on the back of their hand which points to their soulmate at midnight on their eighteenth birthday. After her parents' disastrous marriage and her father's subsequent depression following the death of her mother, Nesta realized a soulmate is nothing more than guaranteed heartache and ruination. On the eve of her eighteenth birthday, she packs up her car and leaves her family and life behind forever. What she doesn't count on, however, is having a soulmate like Cassian, who may be the one to prove to her that a soulmate is what she needs.

I Guess It's Half Timing (And The Other Half's Luck)

by @moodymelanist Nesta and Cassian have a steamy one-night stand while out celebrating St. Patrick’s Day, but their lives are changed forever once Nesta realizes her period is late. Follow along as Nesta and Cassian navigate preparing to become parents, balancing their other life stresses, and figuring out their feelings for one another!

Amidst the Madness

by @This_Immortal_Hope (on ao3) Love and war have always followed the same rules: Quick to ignite, slow to extinguish. There aren't many things Cassian has dared to openly want in his 500 years of existence. Not even the position he currently occupies as Lord of Windahaven (far too lofty a spot for nothing more than a well-blodded bastard, if you ask the other Illyrian Lords), but from the second Nesta Archeron stepped foot in his camp, the entire world ebbed into a single truth. She is his. He is hers. Everything else - the war he is meant to lead, the people relying on him, the legacy he should be fighting to protect, cease to exist the second his eyes are caught in roiling silver flames. There is pain in this female, his female. And retribution will be exacted. Rhysand has his war, and now so does Cassian. Whether the two align ... only Nesta can give that order.

Sweetest Con

by @separatist-apologist Nesta Archeron has been trapped in witness protection for the past five years, hiding a secret no one can ever learn. All she has to do is wait out the criminals back home determined to punish her and her sisters for a lie they told years before. She can handle anything- even the new agent sent to keep her safe.

The Whole Truth

by @TheTeaQueen (on ao3) A beautifully heartbreaking story about what if Papa Archeron used/sold Nesta back in their village, and the IC learning this truth. It features Rhys and Nesta sibling bonding over their respective SA traumas. And Cassian helping Nesta to heal and feel comfortable with touch again

The Nesta Variation

by @persegrace (on ao3) A modern AU where Cassian is a military vet and Nesta is a former ballet dancer. They're both dealing with trauma, and meet in AA.

Ultima Ex Nobis

by @fieldofdaisiies Six years into a global pandemic which was caused by a mass fungal infection that turns hosts into zombie-like creatures and makes the whole of Prythian collapse, the former army general Cassian Cadell is tasked with one very special mission – escorting Nesta Archeron, one of the few immune survivors, across a post-apocalyptic Prythian to a group of people of the name L. Their identity is unknown but they can make an antidote.

you make my motor run

by @wilde-knight When Nesta and Cassian are set up on a blind date, neither of them can imagine their families feeling whole again. But with sparks flying between them, will they finally be able to imagine the road ahead?

[poppy-metal]

poppy… cats patrick sister au is calling for blurbs from ur sexy brain… need to know ur musings on mean art

I love mean!art <333 I have a swimmer!art ask I'm cooking over I think if he was giving swim!captain he'd be so fucking annoying. golden boy, but he's a fucking demon. those obnoxious speedos - his fit body - the stupid cross necklace he wears that's a complete sham because he fucks a different girl every weekend. claims it's because he's trying to find a girl worth his time but he's just a slut.

thinks you're beneath him because you don't see to have any goals - really it's because you called him a vapid pretty boy in high-school and he's never forgotten - he hates you. hates that he thinks about you when you're not marriage material. a "bad" girl. you give your body to every guy that gives you attention (but not him) and you're a slag and a sleaze and he's fucking awful to you.

you think its funny you get under his skin so much. you would fuck him if he wasn't so insufferably obsessed with perfection and his own self image. it's hilarious that everyone thinks he's just sooooo nice when you know hes got a nasty spirit. he's not the towns golden haired prince when he's glaring at you like you're fucking dirt and calling you a bitch.

[artdcnaldson]

ugh "leverage" to ensure she won't go tattling to patrick. especially as he starts getting meaner and meaner, he tells her it's to make sure she doesn't back out and tell on him. because patrick would genuinely kill art if he knew what he's been doing to his baby sister.

i know it doesn't really fit in the canon of the other parts to this au, but hear me out anyway... what if he agreed to fuck her, properly this time, in her sweet little pussy. BUT he needs said leverage to make sure she keeps quiet about it (truly he just needs to immortalize taking her virginity so he can watch it back for the rest of his life). so he "agrees", he's the one to bring it up lol, on the condition that he can record it. y'know like really shitty, amateur, pov style, on her creaky dorm bed and pink, frilly sheets. shaky and grainy, but it's good enough for him. it's not like he would ever actually post it anywhere or show people, but she doesn't know that.

he gets off on how nervous she is when he points the camera at her, she's blushing and trying to hide her face. but he just slaps her cheek and manhandles her to look right down the lens of his shitty phone camera. tells her to moan louder around his big cock, tell the camera how good he feels, really just stroking his own ego. makes her tell the camera exactly how he's making her feel, can't cum unless she asks into the camera. he nearly cums right inside her when she tells him he's too big and it hurts :(((((

yummy yummy yummy

-🐞

OHHHHHHH <3 I had to let this simmer. This had to ruminate. Had to really let it sit and grow legs or whatever wine people say idk

RATING: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v, degradation, making a sex tape, loss of virginity, world’s worst aftercare), mean!art as always, uncomfortable power dynamics, DUBCON due to coercion

He catches you leaving one of your classes, chatting happily with a few girls as you walk. Their eyes widen as he approaches, smacking his gum, looming tall over them. You murmur a quick apology and bound over like an obedient little pet, falling into stride beside him as he walks.

“What class is that?” He asks, nodding back towards the building. Most of the time he forgot you even attended the school beyond cheering at his games and floating around his dormitory like a ghost.

“Peoples and cultures,” you reply, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s an anthropology course I’m taking. It’s actually really interesting, like, these past few lectures have been—“

“What are you doing tonight?” He interrupts, not really caring beyond the simple answer to his question. He has a one track mind, and for the moment he’s just thinking about getting in your pants.

He watches you think, then shrug. “Um… nothing, I guess? Why?”

Art stops by a tree suddenly, tugs you by your wrist to stop with him. “Do you promise if we fuck you won’t tell Patrick?” He watches as your eyes widen, as sheer need and excitement makes you practically vibrate out of your skin.

Frantically you nod. “I’d never tell Patrick, I’d take it to my grave, I swear,” you say, totally earnest, bouncing on the balls of your feet as he looks at you.

“God, I want you so bad,” he hums, brushing your hair back behind your ear. You melt beneath his touch, gaze all half-lidded and soft. “I just… I think I’d have to have some leverage, just to make sure no one ever finds out.”

You tilt your face, resting it on his hand, your eyes half-lidded and dazed with need. You hum a soft, “Mhmm,” without even knowing what he’s implying, what he’s asking of you. But he hears what you’re thinking, all dumbed down and needy— yes, Art, whatever you say Art, anything you want, Art.

He wants to do it in your room, that night. He walks you back to your dorm and tells you to get your roommate out, make sure she’s busy for however long you need. He’d text you when he’s on his way.

So you’re just… fucking vibrating with excitement, cleaning up your dorm, changing your sheets, fluffing your pillows. You light three warm vanilla sugar candles so the dorm smells nice and sweet, put on your roommate’s SEXXXMIXXX <3 CD that she had burned in High School (and kept your fingers crossed it was still relevant). You took the longest fucking shower of all time, scrubbed your skin until it stung, shaved you’re entire body, wondered if maybe he wouldn’t like bald pussy, then worried that he’d hate if you kept the hair even more. Moisturized, then put on pretty, light makeup— lipgloss, mascara. All in the span of time it took for him to text you.

Art :) <3

omw

You feel a little dizzy by the time he’s at your door, already wet just anticipating what you were about to do. He grins down at you, at your silky little pajama set, pink and lacy around the edges. Smacks his gum, trails his hand along the sides of your waist.

“Pretty.” He looks smug as he rubs the lace between his fingers. “You got all dressed up for me, huh?”

It’s amazing how timid and shy you can look as you stand in front of him, biting onto your lip as you nod. He shuts the door behind him and guides you backwards until you knock against your bed and laugh nervously. Jesus, he’d already fucked your ass, your throat, he’d done things to you that even the dirtiest fucking sluts on campus wouldn’t dream of allowing. But you’re all shy because he’s finally going to fuck you properly?

You gasp as he tugs down the neckline of your top, exposing your tits to the cool air of the dorm. So cute, soft. Your nipples already hard and sensitive, so just the lightest pinch makes you let out a pretty moan.

“Remember what I said about leverage?” Art says, and you nod slowly, dreamily. “I want to film it.”

Your eyes widen slightly, as you think back to the pictures he’d taken of you just a few weeks prior. “And you’d… what? Like post it if Pat finds out?”

“No, no, only if you tell,” he corrects. Even then… he doubted he’d actually ever post it anywhere. He had a tennis career to consider, after all. But the important thing was that you believe he will. “It’s just to make sure this stays our secret.”

You swallow, consider it. You didn’t plan on telling Patrick, so it was fine, right? He’d hate Art, and you didn’t want that. You would never want that, no matter what.

So you nod softly. “Okay,” you say finally. “I’d… yeah, I understand. Okay.”

God, you’re easy. So fucking easy it makes him a little sick to think about. What if he wasn’t Patrick’s friend, if he was some frat house asshole who would take advantage of how bad you wanted him? You’re so lucky he’s a good person.

He uses your own fucking digital camera— pink and decorated with little heart stickers. Turns it on and records you as you slip off your sweet silky pajamas, revealing soft, smooth skin beneath. You’re so shaky, so nervous. You can’t even look into the lens.

“No panties?” He asks, lips quirked into a grin. He steps forward to slip his hand between your thighs, to cup your pussy in one big hand. God, you’re so fucking wet, just like you usually are. He could just slide right in without any resistance, just bury himself right inside that tight little pussy. “Jesus, you’re a fucking mess, just dripping for it, aren’t you?”

You moan, relishing in the feeling of his hands on you. Art never touched you, not to get you off, at least. So the feeling of his thick calloused fingers against your cunt makes you whine. He breaches your entrance with just a fingertip and grins at the feeling of you clenching around the intrusion, desperate for anything he’ll give you.

But the relief is gone as soon as you’ve gotten it. He pats your thigh, nods to the bed. “Go lay down. Let me film you stretching yourself out for me.”

“Art,” you whine once you’ve laid down, embarrassed as he trains the lens on you. “Do you have to film this part?”

It just makes him double down, grinning smugly as he settles at the foot of the bed. “C’mon, just fucking do it. Show the camera how fucking wet you get for me.” You hear the whir of him zooming in as your hand slips between your thighs, as lithe fingers slide through your soaking wet folds and you tease your clit. He groans softly, grinning at the sight on the camera. “Alright, spread yourself out now. Show me how small and tight you are.”

You whimper pathetically, but obey. Your fingers form a V as you spread your lips, revealing the pretty, drippy hole of your cunt. He doesn’t even have to tell you to start fucking yourself, you just do. Pretty, manicured fingers disappearing inside the tight channel of your pussy, slow and easy as you pant and gasp sweetly.

“Can you do three?” He asks. He zooms the camera out, makes sure he gets all of you— your tits heaving with each breath, the slow grind of your hips to meet your fingers. You nod softly, press a third finger alongside the other two. He grins at the sight of the stretch of your cunt around them, how your body works to accommodate them. “God, it’s a tight stretch, huh?”

“Mhmm.” You moan as you pump your fingers slow, in and out. Wet to the point of it sounding obscene. Slick dripping out with each thrust, making your fingers glisten.

He can hardly take sitting there and watching, but god, he’d love it later on when he was alone with only the video to keep him company. But who knows? Maybe he’d fuck you once and never want anyone else. He already felt that way… kind of. You were so eager, so obsessed with him. You touched him like it was an act of worship. He couldn’t get that from easy pussy.

He sets the camera down on the foot of the bed while he undresses, tugging off his sweats and tee shirt, mussing up his hair in the process. It’s not lost on him, the way your fingers speed up at the sight of his cock, how needy and desperate you are.

“How bad do you want it?” He asks as he picks up the camera.

God, he’s mean. You whine when he grabs your wrist and makes you slip your fingers from inside of your cunt. Empty, needy, desperate. “Please, fuck me, Art.” You’re embarrassed, of course you are. He has a camera focused on your needy little expression, one hand on your thigh all warm and possessive. “Please, I’ve been so good for you. I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I just need you, I need you inside of me. Want you to be my first. Please, Art.”

He’s not sure where he wants the camera as he notches the head of his cock at your wet little hole. Part of him wants to film the second he buries his cock inside of that tight fucking cunt, but the other wants to film your face, watch how pretty you look as you take your very first cock.

And god, you’re trembling beneath him. Visibly shaking with anticipation, or nerves, or need. He runs a hand along your torso, cups one of your tits in his hands and thumbs over your sensitive nipple. “What, are you cold?” He teases.

“N-no,” you stammer, meeting his gaze. “Just— I just want it so bad.”

He films your face, which was the right call, he decides. He has to think about it technically, or he’ll risk blowing his load one pump in, like a total fucking loser. You’re so tight around him, clamping down on his cock as he sheaths himself within you, inch after inch. And god, that angelic face of yours— mouth agape, wet and pink and pretty, the tiniest furrow between your brows, lashes splayed against your cheeks as you moan, soft and sweet. “Hurts,” you practically whimper. “God, Art, fuck, it feels—“

He films where your cunt swallows him, stretched to the point of obscenity around his thick cock. It shouldn’t even be able to take him, not when you’re so small, so fucking tight. It’s a fucking miracle you’d even taken a toy before. He’d make you film that next. All desperate, fucking yourself on silicon while you drooled over a picture of him. It was sweet that you’d been trying to prepare yourself to take him and you were still a shaking, needy mess.

Tears well in your eyes as he thumbs at your swollen little clit, he feels your pussy clench around him, already so fucking keyed up. He should be good. He should make love to you, nice and slow, like a good boy. He’s starting to think he’s not a good boy, not at all. “Just lay there and take it, yeah? Just look nice and pretty for the camera.”

You cry out when he pulls back only to drive back in, hard and deep. His pace is relentless as he fucks into your cunt— warm and wet and tight and fucking perfect. He honestly shouldn’t have waited, he should’ve fucked you the first night you offered yourself up to him— sweet and needy and clinging off his shoulder like you were his girlfriend.

“A-Art, fuck—“ You cry out, fisting your pretty hands into the frilly duvet, as he bullies himself into you. “Oh, god, fuck, A-Art, it’s too much— I-I can’t—“ A strangled moan seems to rip itself from your throat as your head falls back against the pillows.

He grins. “Yeah? Don’t tell me, honey, tell the camera.”

You whine, turning your head away as embarrassment rips through you. It’s mean, keeping it trained on you while you’re so fucking vulnerable. He grabs your chin, holds it in place as he fucks into you, deeper, rougher. It punches out gasps from your pretty open mouth— Ah! Ah! Ah! Over and over and over.

He pops your cheek, not too hard, but enough to draw your attention back from him and away from your dizzying thoughts. “Tell the camera how good it feels to have my big cock in that little pussy of yours, yeah?

“It feels— ngh— I love it,” you have pretty fat tears slipping down your cheeks as he drills into you. “You’re so big, I— God, fuck— I feel you in my stomach. Here—“ You grab his hand, move it to press against the bottom of your stomach. He can’t feel anything, not except warm skin beneath his, but he groans at your words, at the implication that he’s so deep he’s in your fucking guts.

He has to bite his tongue so hard he tastes blood. He knows he’s going to cum, knows that he’s not going to last or show off epic, manly stamina and impress you. Not that you give a shit, but he wants to set a standard for whatever fucking loser you fuck next. He’d have next time, and as many other times as he wanted. You’d keep coming back for it, for him.

He struggles to manhandle you the way he needs while holding onto the camera. He tosses it into the sheets so he can press your knees up to your chest. “Hold them— yeah, that’s it, fuck— feels good.” You’re so obedient, holding your legs up for him so he can get deeper. Your eyes roll back, flutter shut. He fumbles to grab the camera, to immortalize you like this.

Your cunt squeezes around him, makes his rhythm falter as he struggles to fend off his orgasm. God, he just wants to bury himself deep and rut into you, to cum deep and hard, leave you dripping with him. It’s about him… but it’s about you too. He’d be good, he’d make you cum.

“Tell me how bad you need to cum. Fucking beg me for it,” He groans, rubbing at your clit with a calloused thumb.

You whine, squeezing around his cock as he draws you closer and closer. “Need it, Art. It feels so good— you’re so fucking perfect, feel so perfect inside of me. Wanna cum for you, around your cock, wanna show you how good you feel. Please, please, god, I want it, I want to feel it, Art. Want you to cum inside of me, need it so bad— I fucking dream about it, about you. You’re so much better, you’re everything I want, Art, fucking claim me. I want you to.”

Art wanted to pull out. He did. He was going to glaze your pussy with his cum, get it on video, swipe his fingers through it and make you taste it. But Jesus Christ, you fucking ruined that idea. He cums suddenly, practically collapses on top of you as he fucks into your cunt, spilling himself deep inside of you. And like the perfect fucking toy you are, you cum too, milking him for all he’s worth, walls clenching down around his cock as he lazily ruts into you.

He pants, stays buried inside of you as he tries to catch his breath. He’d never cum inside someone before— he was too afraid of knocking someone up. He’d always had the self control to pull out, but he lost himself in fucking you, in the tight grip of your pussy around him. Christ, that was bad.

When he pulls out, a thick gush of his cum follows, pearly white, dripping down your ass and to the bed. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, you’ve tugged a blanket over yourself shyly. Looking so demure, so sweet, batting your lashes up at him expectantly.

The camera lays dropped and forgotten on the bed, he goes and presses the stop button on the camera and you grab at his arm. “Do you want to stay the night?” You ask with a shy bite of your lip. “I told Izzy to fuck off, so she’s with her girlfriend. We’ve got the dorm for the night, so you can stay.”

Art makes a face akin to annoyance as he redresses, tugging on his boxers and sweats. His shirt is somewhere… he can’t focus. “I’m not your boyfriend.”

Your eyes widen, you swallow as heat floods your cheeks. “Yeah, I mean, I know,” you stammer. “I just thought…”

His jaw ticks. “Don’t do that, then. This is just about fucking.

Art watches the sad little nod, the tiniest twitch of your nose as you fight the rush of tears to your eyes. “I know that, Art,” you say sadly, and you’re trembling again. “I just wish you’d stay for a bit. I’m… I feel a lot right now. I’ve never… I’ve never felt this before I just want—“

“What do you want? A hug, a kiss?” He watches you sniffle sadly, nod and mutter a watery, yeah. He sighs, stops searching for his shirt, and pulls you against his chest. You feel so warm, so vulnerable as you shake and cry hot tears against his chest. He frowns, pulls back, and presses his lips to yours, quick and chaste. “I’m not doing this again if you keep acting like this.”

You sniffle and nod. “Okay, I know, I won’t do it again.” He kisses the crown of your head. Grabs a random shirt from the top of your laundry basket, grabs the camera, and heads for the door. You watch him leave with a pouty, wobbly little frown and get up to redress. You find his Stanford Tennis shirt partly beneath your bed and pull it on. It’s big, fits you like a hug, smells so boyish and warm. You lay back down on the bed he just fucked you on and breathe deep, let his smell flood your senses. It feels a little like being wanted.

AURRRRR this was so much longer than I thot <3

Anyways. Love pat’s sister au, feel free to send me any asks you want about these messy bitches <3

🐞 anon i love u

[diyasgarden]

Art’s Sister AU by @artdcnaldson

This AU is so cute cute cute <3

[amymbona]

i can see reader in the preist! patrick au going and getting a tattoo like benniamina has in la chimera. the little sun on the upper right side of her back. innocent and sweet, but a tattoo nonetheless

Yes yes yes! I had something like that in mind. But some different place, perhaps your tummy, like under your boobs, because that's where your parents wouldn't see it when you're wearing a tank top in summer. It's permanent, after all.

It hurt like a bitch as well, it you're being honest, because you managed to contact some sketchy guy from the, let's say, less catholic and good people - ish side of the town. You sneaked out of the house ar midnight and returned wincing in pain and having to resists the urge to rub and scratch the sore spot.

But the pride of finally having done something forbidden fills you with its sweet taste, helping you go through the following days with surprising confidence. Even Patrick notices when he meets you at the market one morning. You smile at an old lady, helping her choose between two mugs that she foujd really pretty, and eventually sell her one with a blue floral pattern. He sees something else in your expression that your parents probably couldn't notice, as if you were in pain.

"Good morning," he greets you with the usual heavenly calmness, examining some of the plates that you personally have designed and painted. "They're made by you?"

"Yes," you nod, moving behind the stand and circling around your younger sister who's currently selling a cutlery set to some newly wed couple.

"I like that one," he points at a circle plate with a yellow sun in the middle, its beams spiralling further and further until they blend into the white porcelain. It resembles the new permanent addition to your body awfully accurately.

"You want it?"

He wants more than that, but a plate will do for now. "Yes, please."

So you pack the piece into some old newspaper, carefully smoothing it down so it doesn't shatter. Before you accept the payment from Patrick, he retreats.

"Actually," he mutters, looking you up and down, "I'm wondering if you have a matching piece. A mug, perhaps?"

Coincidentally, you do.

"Right, a mug," you nod, packing that piece as well. Patrick pays for it and then walks away with the utter calmness, his expression not changing at all. A strained groan of annoyance fills the stand as you notice he's left the perfectly packed compliemnting piece from the set and walked away with just one of the two.

As your family is packing your belongings in the late afternoon, you father convinces you to drop the piece off at church. So you find yourself in the cold building once again, clutching the sunny mug against the sun under your breasts. Almost as if everything was connected.

You eventually find Patrick in the little room all the way in the back, a place he has assumed to be his personal chambers, sitting in an armchair that's almost comically big for his lean frame and reading a book.

"You did it on purpose, didn't you?" you push without greeting him, setting the cup on a nearby shelf.

"Was there any other way I could get the two of us alone?" he asks smugly in response without raising his head. Only when you give him no verbal answer, he gazes up. "You weren't there on Sunday."

Right, you miss the sermon. It was the day after the eventful night when you recklessly got the tattoo and felt like shit the in the morning. Luckily, the intense pain made you puke and you had a wonderful excuse to remain in bed, blaming your state on something you ate the day before. "I was sick."

"You look perfectly fine to me," he states, closing the book.

"Was," you remind him, crossing arms over your chest. The actions makes your shirt brush over the sore skin and a small wince leaves your mouth. Unfortunately, Patrick notices.

He raises a hand, wiggling his fingers in the direction of himself, silently beckoning you to come closer. You don't.

Apparently, he doesn't have the patience for your bullshit. "Come here and show me what you did."

This time, you do, slowly walking closer. Even when stuffed in your stupid sweater that you inherited after your sister, the slight away of your hips looks almost erotic. Or perhaps it's just the expression of utter annoyance that's adorning your beautiful face, but it makes Patrick want to slap it off.

You want to slap him as well, for preaching all about being good and following the God's will, but being such an idiotic man himself, all tattooed and devilish. With one slightly staggering movement, you pull off both your sweater and shirt, flashing Patrick not only with the sigh of your bare tits but also the ink sun sitting directly in the middle between them.

"You're such a dumb girl," he curses, grabbing your hips a bit too harshly to pull you closer. Not caring much for gentleness at this very moment, he reaches out to trace the tattoo, earning another painful sigh from you. It's obvious the spot is still sore.

"Stop," you mutter, swatting his hand away. "You're being too harsh."

"Serves you right," Patrick scoffs.

He readjusts his hold on you, snaking one arm around your waist to pull you between his legs before his thumb rubs the sore spot again, this time a bit more bluntly. You squirm and he grins at the sight of the reddening skin once he begins scratching the injury with his nail. As if he could possibly scratch it off.

"Stupid girl," he repeats again, glancing at your tits, at your pink, perky nipples, before looking up at your face. "Is this what you wanted? What if your family sees this?"

Something inside you begins boiling and your cheeks heat up when you notice Patrick pay a greater amount od attention to the sight of your breasts. Never before were they seen by anyone else than your mother and some of your sister. Never before were they touched or admired.

You shrug, stepping closer and leaning in too, just barely so it doesn't look too forced, and your tits hang over his face. "They'd send me to you, of course. To whip the evil out of my body."

"Is that how it's usually done in here?" Patrick questions, almost too casually raising his hand to cup your breast.

"Lots of things are usual here," you mutter, arching your back into his touch, earning a hum from Patrick. "Like daughters getting spanked when their misbehave, being forced to believe in some random man's existence, old and scruffy priests."

"Old and scruffy priests," he repeats with a nod, allowing his thumb to circle your nipple. Warm, pink, hard.

"Yeah," you respond with a strained moan, blinking lazily. As if the innocent looking flower below his ear suddenly sharpened into harsh spikes, it seems to crawl up his face and push through his hair to form two horns at the top of his head. "And the moment this young, liberal guy with bad past and a touching story of redemption showed up, everything changed.

Again, Patrick nods with a hum, intently listening to each word you have to say, as if he wasn't just giving you the first erotically painted touch of your whole life. "Did it?"

You know he's just teasing, and he knows it did. That perhaps it's his fault, but he can't really bring himself to feel guilty about it. Not when he has you marked like this. "Yeah."

[kyliafanfiction]

As I may have mentioned before, I have seen a number of fanfics where the author describes Carol as Amy's 'Stepmom' which is... not how words work. I can only hope that it's an issue of an author not having English as a First Language and screwing up that phrasing, because otherwise, it makes no goddamn sense for anyone to make that mistake.

But I ran into another fic that did it today, and that gave me an idea. A cursed idea, but then, all the best ones that involve Vicky and Amy in any form are cursed, aren't they?

In an AU where New Wave isn't an unmasked team (Maybe they're still called the Brockton Bay Brigade, but I like the name New Wave more, so let's stick with that), as far as the public knows, Carol Dallon is just a really good lawyer, known for being aggressive in the courtroom. She has a daughter, Victoria, and a husband, Mark.

No one knows that she's Brandish, that her husband is Flashbang, that her sister is Lady Photon, etc. But one day, when Vicky is... let's say 12 or 13, Flashbang dies. Maybe it's an Endbringer, maybe it's a battle against some group like the Teeth or some other villain that doesn't care about the general custom of not killing other capes in fights, who knows.

Carol mourns, but after a year, maybe two, she meets a man. Handsome, charming, rich, invested in making the community better. Patrick Lavere. Good man. Has a daughter, Amelia, that he absolutely dotes on. Despite herself, she starts falling for him, they start dating, Amelia and Vicky seem to be okay with it and get along well and then they remarry and Carol and Vicky move into Patrick's very nice house near Captain's Hill or wherever.

And now, Carol really is Amelia's stepmom.

But of course, somehow, through the dating, Carol never finds out that Patrick is actually the crime lord supervillain Marquis, or that his daughter Amelia is the cape Duchesse (to borrow a name from @mechakingghidorah100-blog's fic The Problem with Shipping).

And to make it more fun, Amelia and Patrick don't know that Carol is Brandish or that Victoria is Glory Girl.

(Don't examine too closely how no one figures it out, it's a cursed fic idea :P )

Amelia, being gay, and Victoria, being, you know, Victoria *gestures at her* develops a crush on Victoria, which is less of an issue for her psychologically because it's not the same level of 'I'm a freak' to crush on a stepsister you never even knew until you were 14/15/16, (still not necessarily 'super normal', obviously, and Amelia would presumably not intend to act on it all things being equal) and she doesn't have most of the same baggage that she'd have from being raised from Carol in canon about her moral standing (not that she'd be either perfectly well adjusted or unrecognizable, she's still Amy and Marquis, actually loving parent aside, is still Marquis). Maybe throw in some Glory Girl and Duchesse rivalry for fun, or maybe they strike up an unusual caped friendship... even while Brandish and Marquis fight. There's a lot of places it could go.

More of a premise than a full fic plot concept but the idea of a fic where Carol really is Amy's stepmom just burrowed into my brain and I at least had to spit it out here for the rest of you all to see :P

[nhlclover]

christian bale is great sparks fly au

✭ — summary: at a halloween party, rutger does his best to avoid sofia

✭ — warnings: couple instances of cursing, a guy being a creep, mentions of drinking, awkward behaviour from rutger, miscommunication

✭ — a/n: thank you to the anon that requested this i hope you enjoy! also she is a long one soz

✭ — word count: 1.56k

Rutger had now cancelled three of his and Sofia’s regular study dates. He was coming up with a variety of excuses; “Sorry, Sof, it’s boys’ night” to “Sorry, Sof, late night workout with the boys”. He felt bad but this felt like the only option to get rid of this crush he had on Sofia.

And now, tonight, he was cancelling his study date once again, however with a valid excuse this time. One of his buddies' fraternity was hosting a Halloween party that the entire team was going to. Rutger hoped this would be a good time to get over Sofia.

Sofia, on the other hand, was a little confused over Rutger’s behaviour. He was cancelling on her left and right, and when they saw each other in class, he was weirdly quiet. Part of her wondered if he had caught onto her small crush that had been developing or if he was now weirded out that he was becoming friends with his friend's younger sister.

“Hey girly, you’re coming to Noah’s Halloween party tonight, right?” Brynn asked, coming back from her afternoon biology lecture.

Sofia spun around in her desk chair, looking at her roommate. “Mmm, I don’t know. I’ve got an English essay I’m trying to wrap up.” Sofia sighs.

Brynn simply looks at her, an unimpressed look painting her face. “C’mon girly. You know you could finish that even if you get back and you’re piss drunk.”

Sofia chuckles, spinning back to look at her laptop screen. Her nearly completed essay on their newest book, Fahrenheit 451, sat open on her screen. Brynn was right, she could finish this essay in her sleep or if she was piss drunk. Plus she had already gotten her Halloween costume and it’d be a waste to not wear it.

“Okay, fine I’ll go.” Sofia agrees.

Brynn squeals, coming over to press a kiss to the top of her roommate's head.

Later that evening, Sofia and Brynn got ready together, a melody of their musical tastes playing from Brynn’s speaker. They arrived late, as Brynn said it would be embarrassing to arrive even slightly on time. The house was packed when they got there, making it hard to navigate the house. However, since it was Brynn’s boyfriend's frat, she already knew the layout.

Rutger’s eyes were immediately drawn to the girl who walked into the room. It was hard not to stare at her. She walked in, hand in hand with a brunette girl. She was smiling brightly, dodging drunk bodies that threatened to hit her.

Sofia and her friend approached one of the frat brothers, her friend laying a sloppy kiss on his lips. He scanned her, putting together her costume in his head. She was dressed as Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, albeit a feminized version. She had on a black vest and a black mini skirt, the red tie hanging loosely from her neck. She adorned the see-through raincoat, as well as an axe.

God, she looked good. The combination of her mini skirt and knee-high boots was driving Rutger wild, her legs seemingly sculpted like a goddess's own.

Rutger caught himself, forcing his eyes to avert. He knew he couldn’t think like that about Sofia.

“Sof, there is a super cute guy staring at you. Straight ahead.” Brynn said.

Sofia furrowed her brows, looking straight, but seeing no one staring at her. “Wait no, straight for me.” Brynn said.

Sofia turned around, now seeing a familiar pair of eyes staring back at her. “That’s Rutger.” Sofia tells Brynn.

“You did not tell me Rutger was this cute.” Brynn comments.

“Babe.” Noah says, disappointment lacing his tone.

“I mean in like a metaphorical sense. Like he’s cute but-”

“I’m going to go say hi.” Sofia says, excusing herself from the argument brewing.

She walked to Rutger, eyeing his costume. “Hi.” She says, stopping in front of him.

“Hey.” He says. “I like your costume.”

Sofia does a twirl, showing off the full extent. “Thank you very much. I like your wolf onesie.”

Sofia motions to his grey wolf onesie, Rutger’s cheeks flashing pink as he pulls the hood off. “It’s a group costume with Seamus, Gavin, and Luca. They’re the three little pigs and I’m the wolf.”

Sofia bites back a smile. “Very creative.”

“Hey, at least I’m not wearing a pig onesie.” Rutger said.

“Oh cause the wolf onesie is better somehow?” Sofia asked, letting out a suppressed laugh.

Her bright smile and her hearty laugh cause a sudden wave of butterflies to take flight in Rutger’s stomach. He was in deep and didn’t know how to dig himself out. He was so far failing at his plan of simply ignoring Sofia. She was too nice to ignore. Realizing this, Rutger feigns an excuse.

“Hey, I gotta go, I see one of my buddies from stats, I’m gonna go say hi.” Rutger says quickly, leaving before Sofia can even reply.

He feels his heart squeeze as he turns the corner, getting out of sight of Sofia. It physically hurt him to act this way towards Sofia. But he knew if he truly developed feelings, it would hurt him even more to not have her in his life.

The rest of the night, Rutger did his best to avoid Sofia. Whenever she entered the same room, he would slip out. He would talk to other girls, despite none of them being able to make him laugh as Sofia could.

Rutger entered the dining room, spotting Sofia. He nearly walked straight past her, a sight that he was sure to use to dispel his crush. She stood, back against the wall, a guy opposite her with a hand placed on the wall above Sofia’s head. But when he saw the look on Sofia’s face he halted. Her face showed a look of discomfort, her eyes glancing around for a familiar face or rather anyone to come and save her from this scenario.

Rutger watched as the guy's free hand went down to Sofia’s face, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. Before Rutger could even register it, his feet had brought him over to them, stopping right next to Sofia.

“Hey Sof, what’s up?” He asks, looking into her blue eyes that switched from panicked to relieved. “God, great costume! American Psycho is a great movie, I mean Christian Bale is great. Probably the best BatMan in my opinion.”

Rutger doesn’t even know the words coming out of his mouth, as they just flow, hoping to rid Sofia of the guy.

“Hey man, what the fuck?” He asks.

Rutger turns and looks at the guy dressed in a lackluster cowboy costume. “Wassup, dude?” Rutger asks.

“What the fuck is this? I was talking to her.” He says.

“Yeah? Now I’m talking to her.” Rutger says, stepping between Sofia and the guy.

“Hey, what’s you’re problem?” The guy practically sneers, placing a hand on Rutger's shoulder, pulling him to face him.

“You’re my fucking problem, creep. You’re making her uncomfortable and she doesn’t want to talk to you so back off.” Rutger tells him.

There are now eyes on them, eyes on Sofia. “You think you know everything, huh?” The guy says, stepping into Rutger, their chests bumping one another.

“Back the fuck up.” Rutger says. Rutger could feel his anger spiking, ready to swing if this guy so much as touched him one more time.

Suddenly Brendan and Mark are there, pulling the two boys back from each other. Brendan is pushing Rutger back, trying to get him to calm down, while Mark is in the other guy's face, telling him to just walk away. Mark spots Sofia, her back still pressed to the wall as she looks at Rutger.

“You okay?” Mark asks.

Sofia nods slowly, eyes still glued to Rutger who is being chastised by Brendan for nearly getting in a fight, something that surely would’ve gotten him suspended.

Luca is suddenly there, eyes going between Sofia and Rutger. “What happened?” He asks.

Mark fills him in, Sofia going to her brother, her arms finding his torso. Luca pulls her close, attempting to soothe her ragged breaths. “I’m gonna take you home.” Luca says.

He bids a quick goodbye to his friends, walking Sofia out of the living room. “Wait.” Sofia squeaks out.

The pair of them stop, Sofia turning back to Rutger. She walks up to him, still being cooled down by Brendan. He stops talking when he notices the blonde presence beside him. Sofia, not finding adequate words, wraps her arms around his torso, squeezing him tightly. She didn’t know another way to thank him for having intervened and rescued her from the guy who wasn’t taking her hints.

Sofia unlatched, looking up at Rutger's face. His eyes shone with despondency, his chest still slightly heaving with anger. She couldn’t exactly read his expression but it almost seemed like he didn’t like her. The pieces began to add up for Sofia; the canceling of their study sessions, his being quiet in class. He might have grown to dislike Sofia.

But then she remembered what Paisley had pointed out to her. All the times Rutger had gone out of his way to do something for Sofia, the little details he would remember about her, the insanely thoughtful birthday gift.

Sofia just couldn’t figure out Rutger.

[rmd-writes]

'tis the season

@stereopticons tagged me to share my winter/holiday fics because 'tis the damn season! I love a winter/holiday fic despite the fact that I live in the southern hemisphere and today is 1 December and the temperature hit 35C today 😰

Schitt's Creek

and then one day, everything changed | T | 9.1k | canon divergence

All David wants to do is sign Marcy Brewer on to sell her amazing fudge at Rose Apothecary. Unfortunately for him, her very snippy, business consultant son gets involved. In an effort to win both Marcy and Patrick over, David invites Patrick to spend some time in the store and on a vendor trip. There’s snow forecast for the day of the vendor trip, but it’s Schitt’s Creek and it never snows. Right?

it's just for snow | E | 18.1k | coffee shop / fake dating AU

When David gets a last minute wedding invitation and Stevie refuses to go with him, he needs to find another date - he needs to show his so-called 'friends' (and Sebastien Raine) that he's thriving now. Enter: David's new favourite barista... — aka the coffee shop / fake dating / road trip / snowed in / there was only one bed fic no one asked for

since we've got no place to go | E | 6k | canon compliant

Patrick books a winter weekend away so that he and David can connect.

Red, White & Royal Blue

you're all that i need | M | 3.9k | coffee shop/book store AU

“Alex.” Henry leans against the wall behind the counter with his arms folded, wearing a pale blue cable knit sweater with the sleeves pushed up and navy chinos. Alex wishes he wouldn’t because it only emphasises his forearms.

He crosses his own arms in response. “Henry.”

“Are you actually looking for a book?” Henry asks with a sigh. “Or are you just wasting my staff’s time?”

“That staff member is my sister.”

“I’m well aware,” Henry says drily. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re probably wasting her time. Which book are you looking for?”

“Oh.” Alex grimaces slightly. “I’m not actually–” He exhales. “Hunter is in the coffee shop, so I got the fuck out.”

yours for the afternoon | T | 4.6k | coffee shop / fake dating AU

Henry is quietly minding his own business in his favourite coffee shop, when he’s rudely interrupted by an insufferable man attempting to flirt with him. He’s rescued by none other than Alex – a fellow cafe regular who he’s long admired from a distance – posing as his date.

Snowed In? Snow Problem | E | 7.3k | college AU

Henry and Alex get snowed in at their dorm for the holidays, whatever will they do?

911 Lone Star

Make the Yuletide Gay | M | 19.6k | college / fake dating AU

"I'll be your boyfriend for Christmas."

Carlos stares at him like his brain is struggling to comprehend what TK is offering. It's a shared feeling, given that sometimes TK's brain engages before his filter does, and this is definitely one of those times. There’s no room for regrets, though, and he’s not really sure he regrets making the suggestion.

“TK,” Carlos starts softly. "What you're suggesting is— Well, it's a little crazy but also very generous. I can’t ask you to do that for me. It’s really too much to ask of anyone."

TK gets up off his bed and crouches in front of Carlos, his hands on Carlos’s knees. “Firstly, you're not asking, I’m offering. Secondly, consider it a social experiment, like the ones you learn about in class. Except this one directly involves you and me...as your fake boyfriend. You know, for science." --

Fake boyfriends. For science.

Your Place or Mine? | E | 4.5k | college AU

(the sequel to Make the Yuletide Gay)

From best friends to fake boyfriends to real boyfriends, it’s been an eventful few days for TK and Carlos, but now they’re finally back home and alone.

Whatever will they do?

Tagging @welcometololaland @liminalmemories21 @strandnreyes @three-drink-amy @everwitch-magiks @indomitable-love @cha-melodius @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @inexplicablymine @lemonlyman-dotcom @carlos-in-glasses @alrightbuckaroo @iboatedhere @reyesstrand @lightningboltreader @indestructibleheart @lilythesilly @maxbegone @mostlyinthemorning and anyone else who wants to play to share their own winter/holiday fics!

[the-ace-with-spades]

10 Things I Hate About You hangster AU (but expanded)

because it's occupying my mind too much - featuring Bradley as Kat, Nat as Bianca, Jake as Patrick, and Bob as Cameron (plus Reuben as Micheal and Mickey as Mandella)

All the Top Gun stuff still happened so Ice and Mav adopted Bradley when Carole passed away when he was around eight. They were already in the process of adopting at the time (because this is an au where systemic homophobia doesn't exist) and not long after, Bradley got a little sister - Natasha.

She's two years younger and a bit shy at first but definitely becomes a social butterfly with some help. They get along like a house on fire and despite being siblings, they consider themselves best friends.

It all changes when Ice gets sick.

The diagnosis is followed by a heartbreaking six months and Ice passes away three days before Bradley starts high school. Bradley is grieving and Nat is grieving and Mav is grieving and can't keep up with how to help them.

After Ice's death, Mav switched to an instructor position so he wouldn't be deployed anymore - he's only been taking non-deployable roles since. He considered retiring altogether but he knew it'd be hard to find a job that would pay as well and had the same benefits. He still works crazy hours but tries to be a present parent to them both.

Bradley goes through a rebellious phase, something happens during his sophomore year and then all his misbehavior goes down to something else - he's bitter and cynic and Mav doesn't know what is going on. He's worried but he prefers this Bradley over the Bradley he had to pick up from the police station every week or who had to be tested with an alcomat after coming home on Sunday morning or who skipped school for a week straight.

Nat, who was used to having Bradley as her best friend, tries to find her own friends. Turns out, people don't like strong, intelligent, and confident girls so she switches how she lets people perceive her (ala Bianca in the movie). Mav is absolutely paranoid she's going have a similar rebellious phase as Bradley so he implements a shit tone of rules to follow for her before she enters that phase, one being no going outs and no dating unless Bradley is with her there.

Bradley never goes out anymore. Since the summer between sophomore and junior year, he's been concentrating on one thing only and that was getting his application to USNA packed with as many extra points as he can. People say he's a military freak and an asshole and in general, he's got a very small circle of friends (basically just Mickey, who is also planning a military career and can get along with everyone to the point he doesn't mind Bradley's sharp attitude).

Cue Bob arriving into town as a new kid when Nat is a sophomore/junior and Bradley is a senior and he is instantly head over heels for Nat. From his new pal, Reuben, he hears all about Mav's strict rules for Nat and about her asshole big brother Bradley and they make a plan so she can start dating.

That's when they approach Jake, the only openly queer guy that might be enough to face Bradley's cold asshole attitude.

(Obviously, all the stuff with Joey happens and stuff goes more or less like in the movie from now on...)

Things it'd also include:

Nat wearing one of Carole's dresses (that she found in the attic) and Bradley getting mad at her for it.

Bradley wearing Ice's uniform jacket (minus ribbons and all the rank stuff) to prom.

People calling Bradley 'Kazansky' despite never having his surname changed

Jake's unknown year which was rumored to be prison time, etc. was actually the time he spent in a 'special school' his parents sent him to 'remove' his queerness. He came back to town when his meemaw found out and took him in to live with her. He's openly gay now but no one dares to comment because he's also the resident bad boy.

The thing that changed Bradley's attitude was definitely a bad situation with Joey (trying to force him into sex and saying shit about Bradley's family to the whole school when Bradley didn't let him coerce him into it).

[paperbackribs]

In the Darkest Corner

A halloween side-story for the Witch Steve AU series. POV outsider.

Andy joined his teammate, Jason Carver, to terrorise the young members of the party while they 'hunted the freak' over Spring Break. Steve Harrington ensures that Andy will receive the justice he deserves for hurting one of his kids. A spooky story set over Halloween as Steve uses his Witch powers to make Andy regret his actions.

Andy can’t help the strange shiver that comes over him as he passes the Hellfire Club members in the school’s empty hallway. The echo of his footsteps gives way to the exuberant noise of the no-name freshmen and Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson as the latter trails behind Sinclair.

Apparently, Coleman is allowing Munson to visit in the new school year as part of an apology and so that the club can do a proper handover. Andy mentally sneers at the Hawkin High principal; what a pansy reaction just because Jason had got them all a little riled up after Chrissy's death.

Munson’s talking to the younger girl, she’s in a pink jacket thrown over some turquoise outfit — Girl Sinclair? Erica, he abruptly recalls, remembering Chief Hoppers’ glower as he’d dressed down Andy in front of his folks at his role in capturing Sinclar's sister along with the rest of the satanist freaks.

Or, at least, Andy had thought they were satanists. Jason had seemed so right and true over Spring Break, pointing to the obvious wrongness of Munson and how weird the little freaks around him were.

But these days... well, Lynda and the rest of the girls in the Cheer Squad were saying a few things about how poor Chrissy had been afraid of Jason before she died and...

And Patrick... he was law-abiding and respectful, a decent power forward and loyal to the Hawkin’s basketball team. But what had happened to him, the horror of what Andy had heard had been done to his body, and Jason had been right there...

It’s not his business, Andy thinks firmly, moving to walk past the young teens boisterously jostling opposite him in the hallway.

The orange and black of the recently decorated Halloween ornaments on the walls create a fitting background to the black leather-clad leader of the nerd brigade.

The grimacing smile of the sickly orange pumpkin faces mocking him as surely as the group’s laughter as they chatter amongst themselves, ignoring Andy.

He scowls at their indifference, striding past with his fists firmly planted in the pockets of his green and white varsity jacket. But none of it is his business, not really.

Not anything about Jason and Chrissy anyway, he assures himself, ignoring the uneasy memory of how much he had made it his business when Chrissy was reported murdered and they’d decided to hunt down the trailer park trash and freak.

What happened to her and Patrick though — really, that was up to the cops. Nevertheless, he doesn’t feel right about hanging out with Jason anymore. The cheerleaders definitely don’t, and no one is going to have a half-decent party if the cheer squad decline to turn up just because Jason was invited.

Munson easily smiles at something the girl, Erica, says and Andy averts his eyes from the freak. It’s far more fun to taunt the psycho nerd when Andy has his friends around. Watching Munson carefully choose his words, so he doesn’t get pinged by the authorities is incredibly satisfying whenever the team baits him around town.

So far, the former leader of Hellfire has restrained himself, but Andy isn’t sure that he wants to push it yet since Hopper had taken him for a ‘ride along’ a few days ago.

He swallows hard at the memory of Hopper outlining exactly what he would do to Andy if he tried to stir up the same trouble that Jason had done over Spring Break. As he does, he catches the gaze of little Sinclair. Her deep brown eyes flash up and meet his before dismissing him to look back and respond to Munson’s question.

Andy bristles at the disrespect in Erica’s attitude. She should remember how easily he had shown her who was in control of the situation when he’d chased her down and grabbed her in front of the old Creel house. Little shit had been scared enough when it was just him and her in the dead of the night.

He’s tempted to reach a big hand out to her shoulder and give her small shoulders a little shake so she can appreciate her current freedom, but she glances behind her again and Andy inexplicably feels his body freeze. Munson follows her gaze to look at Andy with a cool and unwelcoming expression.

The hairs at the nape of Andy’s neck rise and cold lock his joints from moving  from his spot in the hallway. It’s not until the group of the dweebs round the corner, the faint sound of their laughter hanging in the air, that Andy feels his bones give way.

He unclenches his stiff jaw, shaking it off and determinedly striding away. He has dribbles to practise if he wants to make point guard.

---

“It’s called a Spirit Week for a reason, Ron,” Lynda sulkily frowns down at her banana milkshake, angry at her boyfriend for failing to get into the Halloween festivities. The bustle of folks at the Soda Fountain almost drown out her words.

Andy rolls his eyes over Lynda’s head to Ron sitting next to her, but he’s not even listening to them. His teammate has an arm thrown over the back of the booth by Lynda’s shoulders while disinterestedly looking out of the large windows to the autumn afternoon. The fading sun casts golden fingers of light onto the red and green Formica tables.

Ever since Chrissy had died the girls on the Cheer Squad had been high maintenance, prone to being overly emotional and, honestly, complete downers. So what if Ron doesn’t have a preference for their couple’s costumes on Wednesday’s Wacky Tacky Day?

Andy ignores the flickering of the fluorescents above him as he continues to scold the girls in his head. The fragmented light is barely noticeable in the busy post-school rush. Laurie, his  sister, works here some afternoons, but she’s not behind the counter today.

The lit-up jukebox behind him faintly plays the eerie pulsating synth of Rockwell; the lead calls out that it’s close to midnight, evil is lurking, and somebody is watching him from across the darkness.

Andy rolls his eyes again, but this time at whoever’s getting into the Halloween mood with their music choices.

Ron is just going to dress up in whatever costume Lynda decides anyway, Andy knows. She’ll figure it out and doesn’t need to be so over the top just because Ron hadn’t magically come up with some incredible, romantic idea by himself. Andy looks over at her frozen expression, scoffing again.

His chips are halfway between the red basket and towards his open mouth when Andy realises that Lynda’s frozen expression is literal. She’s not moved, her soft, shining lips parted, light brown eyes averted, and elbows locked.

Andy flicks his gaze beyond her and sees that Ron is frozen too as if by an invisible hand, just like Jesse and Grady in the booth behind them. The sea of green and white outfits of the basketball team is eerily stopped in place.

Ron’s long column of his neck is bare and defenceless as his head stays tilted up towards the high ceilings in a stretch. Jesse’s jacket gapes open, laying bare the thin shirt over his chest, with his hand reaching behind as if to scratch his back. None of the boys, or the girls at the end table, move. All motion is arrested. Silent and uncanny like a film paused mid-action.

His heart beating irregularly in his chest, Andy dares to turn his eyes to the rest of the parlour.

The open space is unnaturally soundless. The servers in their white and blue dresses paused in the act of serving drinks or bussing tables, their arms outstretched, leaving the naked skin of their arms and legs exposed.

Andy is the only one awake for this strange and impossible moment. As he looks further, he notes a scarlet tinge that inexplicably seeps further into his world.

The checkered walls subtly bend and warp, crimson bleeding below his sneakers to coat the white plastic in a nasty, faded pink. The corners of the room become shapeless and dark, twisting amongst the frozen figures of his peers to sinisterly embrace them.

Andy is helpless, able to move himself but terrified to in case the horror of the room turns its focus on him. The hunted feeling intensifies as though he has become vulnerable like fleeing prey.

The jukebox’s synth bassline is completely forgotten as a whisper starts, forming into the sweet sound of a young girl’s softly lilting voice as she sings:

In the darkest corners, he'll win the race,

Through the moonlight's glow and the shadows' embrace,

He hunts you down, you can’t find a safe place.

Run away, run away—

The enchantment of the child’s voice abruptly breaks away as Andy is jostled by none other than Munson the Freak as he walks past, accidentally bumping into him. The howling of a wolf shatters the silence, and Andy startles until he realises that it’s the beginning of Thriller over the jukebox.

“Sorry,” Munson sneers over his retracting elbow, walking past with a greasy paper bag and absent of all respect for his betters, but the rest of the room is suddenly and blessedly full of loud movement and sound. A glass nosily smashes to the floor and a boy hoots across the space at his friends; the extraordinary hush is broken.

Continued and complete over at Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50672572

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