#too much pressure to split between the right chapters

[animasola86]

6: A Special Kind of Liquid

This is a rather unusual story about a girl (reader) who comes across a special little friend that she likes very, very much. But does she love it more than she loves her boyfriend (Sebastian)?

Summary: Things continue and take a strange turn as you and Sebastian (literally) ride out the effects of the strange aphrodisiac the squid has "blessed" you with. (Last chapter of the Squid Smut Series!)

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!reader Genre: Smut // Words: 8.8k // [READ ON AO3]

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Excessive amounts of cum. Oral sex. Vaginal sex. Breeding kink. Deep (impossible) penetration. (Additional tags on AO3!) Read at your own risk!

← CHAPTER 5

6

(continued)

“You'll wake it...” you whine out quietly as Sebastian adds another finger, rubbing his groin against your leg almost needily.

“I'll be very quiet,” he hums back, pushing his fingers firmly in and out of you, while you hold your breath, hoping not to disturb the squid nestling in your bum.

Your breath hitches when he suddenly claims your mouth, pushing his tongue into it at the same time as he pushes a third finger into your wetness. Moaning against his lips, you're barely able to kiss him back, but he doesn't mind, closing his lips around yours, licking and sucking and nibbling, delving deeper, just like his fingers as he curls them inside you, expertly rubbing against your g-spot. Your limbs twitch as you force yourself to not lose it all over again.

But too late, as soon as your muscles contract, clamping down on his digits, you feel a deep thrumming inside your bowels. With a strained wail, you melt into his touches, letting him finger you senseless, kiss you breathless, and when he gently rolls you fully onto your back and lies on top of you, your eyes roll back as that special kind of vertigo assaults your senses once more.

His erection presses between your legs, guided by his wet fingers, and when he enters you with one swift motion, easily bottoming out in you, you moan into his mouth, your body jerking up under the sudden intrusion. The squid inside you stirs, but instead of moving along with the rapid rhythm of firmly slamming hips, it just thrums deeply, a constant vibration making your insides churn even more as the tension and pressure builds and builds.

Loud groans and grunts fill your ears as you lie beneath Sebastian's broad body, motionless, spent and at your absolute limit, yet he doesn't seem to care as he ruts into you with reckless abandon, pounding his length deep inside your tight space, each stab accompanied by wet squelching noises followed by shrill squeaks falling from your aching throat every time he prods your cervix almost brutally.

It feels as if he's splitting you right open, his weight and strength pushing you into the cushions, fingers gripping soft flesh, adding to the already existing bruises. And deep inside you is a throbbing sensation, making your muscles clench tighter and tighter around whatever occupies your cavities. You cry out soundlessly, body squirming and writhing, fighting the overwhelming assault on your senses.

Something warm floods your bowels, that burning liquid, oozing from the squid, seeping into your flesh, numbing the tension. You feel it stirring inside you, woken by the ruthless pistoning of the thick cock, whose bulging veins scrape over your sensitive flesh, whose thick head almost pierces your womb, whose girthy shaft rubs along your stretched entrance. Heavy balls slap against your bum, causing the creature lodged within to move with every thrust.

Your mind slips then, as exhaustion grips you, pulls you along, drags you into the darkness as everything happening to you fades to black...

You wake up with a sticky feeling between your thighs, on your whole body to be exact. Stirring on the lumpy, slightly damp surface of the couch, you roll onto your back, legs falling open, globs of white creamy substance seeping out of your clenching holes. You inhale sharply, tasting something bitter on your tongue before a pungent smell attacks your nostrils. Something warm and thick drips down your chin, and when you move, there's more of it on your breasts and your stomach. Even the couch is covered in it.

Leaning up on your elbow, you look around, feeling drowsy and confused. There's a strange emptiness inside you, no pressure or specific aches, although your insides churn, and when you shift again, something seems to be almost sloshing around inside you. You frown deeply. Despite the abundance of cum on your skin, there are two things you are missing immediately. The familiar tension of having a little squid shoved into one of your holes, and Sebastian.

Your eyes wander through the dimly lit Undercroft. What happened? You wonder, scratching your neck, retrieving your hand with more white stuff on it. What the bloody hell happened?

Breathing deeply, you sit up, rolling your shoulders. “Sebastian?” you ask quietly, your voice hoarse and barely recognizable. Slowly the soreness returns to your muscles, especially to your throat. Raising a hand to rub it gently, you take another look around. “Sebastian?”

Suddenly you see him, sitting on the floor, legs hugged to his chest, back turned to you, in a corner far away from you. Your eyebrows furrow. You stand up carefully, wiping at the sticky stuff on your skin, as your legs wobble beneath you. You almost lose your balance, yelping quietly, before you hold onto a nearby barrel to steady yourself. The longer you stand, the more your loins hurt, but you breathe through the pain and slowly make your way towards the crouched form of your boyfriend.

When you place a shaking hand on his shoulder, he flinches, issuing a strained little growl, but he doesn't look at you. You see his body shuddering slightly.

“What happened?” you ask aloud, your voice still raspy, and speaking hurts more than you've thought.

He doesn't reply immediately, head sunken on his arms. When he speaks, his voice is low and raw, muffled. “I... lost control...”

You frown even more, slowly going down on your knees, your hands on his arm as you urge him to look at you. He doesn't. “What do you mean?” you ask, although you have a notion what he means. But maybe you need to hear him say it.

“It's because of that thing...” he mumbles, slowly raising his head as he points ahead of him. There, in a little cage designed for singing birds, sits the not-so-little squid, shaking in its place as if humming violently, its eight arms coiled around the bars of its confinement.

You feel a wave of anger washing over you, seeing your precious pet treated like this, and you wince as you lean forwards but are held back by Sebastian's strong hand pulling you away from the cage. You stare at him, and when you meet his brown eyes, he quickly looks down again, shame plastered all over his freckled face.

“What do you mean?” you ask the same question again, slightly more demandingly and pointedly, despite the gravelly rasp of your broken voice, as you fall back on your knees slowly.

“Those... liquids that it... exudes...” he tries to explain, his voice feeble, strained as he stares at the squid. “Those must have... hallucinogenic properties... or... work like an... aphrodisiac...” He takes a shuddering breath. “I... don't know what happened... one moment I was... on top of you, and the next... I... ugh...”

You watch him closely, your anger switching with confusion and then... understanding. Looking down at your soiled body, you swallow hard, immediately wincing when your throat aches from the motion. He looks at you then, noticing your discomfort, and his eyebrows furrow even more, a truly saddened look sinking into his dark eyes.

“I am sorry,” he breathes, pressing his lips together to stop them from trembling. “I... I would never...”

“I know,” you whisper back as his voice breaks, and you put your hands back on his arm, scooting closer. He slowly relaxes under your touch.

“Are you hurting?” he asks softly as he leans his head against yours.

“I'll be fine,” you reply, moving one hand into his hair, lazily digging through his locks. “I might need a bath... and a deep scrub...”

His body shakes slightly when he lets out a short chuckle. “But no more dips in the Lake, okay?”

You shudder deeply as your eyes wander to the squid in its cage. Several emotions rush through you, ranging from disappointment to relief to a feeling of loss and a strange yearning. You are deeply conflicted. You know you probably shouldn't keep the (not-so) little creature. It had been fine for a whole month in which you've had the most amazing experiences, but seeing that it went all down the drain in just one night, you realize this might not work in the long run.

Not if you wanted to stay with Sebastian.

You have to choose, and in the end, the choice is pretty obvious. With a deep inhale, you wrap your arms around him and wedge your body right between his bent knees, pressing your sticky skin against his, and instead of being repulsed by it, he hugs you back, pulls you into his lap and crosses his feet behind you, really caging you in. He pushes his face into the crook of your neck and breathes deeply, his arms tight around your shoulders.

“Shall we bring it back?” you whisper after a long moment of resting in the comforting embrace before you turn your head slightly and look towards the little cage.

Your eyes widen when you realize the bars of it are bent out of shape and the cage itself is completely empty. When Sebastian notices the same thing, he quickly pulls you to your feet and lifts you off the ground by wrapping one arm under your rear, securely holding you against him.

“Where is it?” he gasps, looking around frantically.

Your heart is beating faster as you lean your arms on his shoulders, following his gaze. His bare feet tap around quietly as he walks you back to the couch, yet he doesn't put you down, instead holding you against himself protectively, his face grazing your breasts when he turns his head left and right. You look down at him, leaning back slightly.

“Forget about it,” you whisper hoarsely. He meets your gaze, tilting his chin up. Your hands cup his face. “It's probably already in the sewers and then back home in no time...” Your words fill you with a sense of loss as you imagine your cute little squid pet swimming through the Lake, probably looking for its next unsuspecting victim.

He shifts you on his arms, tightening the grip around your backside. “What if it comes back... for more?”

You shiver at the thought, unsure if it's fear or arousal. “I think I'm safe,” you say with a slight smirk, rubbing your thumbs over his cheeks. “As long as you don't come in contact with it...” you add teasingly. His face warms under your touch, and he looks away with a deep exhale.

“You know, I almost wish I'd remember what happened...” he then whispers, gently putting you down on a nearby crate (after checking for any lurking creatures). “I mean... seeing you like this, covered in my cum...” He clears his throat. “Must have been quite the experience...”

You snort, swaying your feet as you press your legs together and lean back on your arms. “It's also quite impressive... I mean, the sheer amount of it...” you breathe out with a soft chuckle, looking down at the dried up flecks on your stomach. Curiously you poke at it, scratching it off your skin mindlessly. His hand finds your wrist, and you look up in surprise.

His dark eyes bore into yours. “Come on, let's get you cleaned up!” he says firmly, ready to scoop you up into his arms again.

You hold him back. “I thought you liked seeing me like this...”

He scoffs. “I... do, but... next time, I want to be present when I... do that,” he mutters almost stubbornly, letting his eyes wander over your skin. “I want to see it hit your skin, feel the pressure when it shoots out, see it dripping down your body...” He licks his lips, his voice a breathy whisper as he stares at your mouth. “I... want to see you... swallow it all...”

A deep shiver makes you gasp softly before you reach your hands out and grab his arms, pulling him closer to you. He steps between your thighs, gently pushing them open, his gaze still scanning your body. Your fingers glide over his chest downwards, the muscles in his stomach tensing as you graze them.

“I want that too,” you whisper back breathlessly, that tension in your gut coiling up all over again.

Biting your lip, you look up at him, seeing the same desire burning in his brown eyes. Without breaking eye contact, you lower your hands until they brush against his erection. You're surprised he is already this hard, his tip coated in precum and the veins on his shaft throbbing badly as you move your fingers over them. You don't want to tell him this, but you have the feeling he's bigger than usual. Much bigger.

“Is this... still –” you stammer slightly, looking down finally, confirming your suspicion. He is huge! (He's always been rather big, but not this big...)

“– from that bloody squid thing? Yes. I've been this hard since I came to... Some potent stuff, eh?” He inhales sharply, probably in quite the discomfort in this state. Though you'd like to think you might be in more discomfort, imagining him doing it all to you with that thing. Especially your throat hurts just looking at his girth.

“Potent, yes,” you chuckle softly, trying to laugh it off, as you wrap both of your hands around his length, gently squeezing him. “So, do you need some help with this?” you offer quietly.

He raises his eyebrows, surprise plastered all over his freckled face. “Really? After everything I've done to you?”

“What? Do you expect me to run away just because you fucked me a little too hard?” You chuckle, continuing to stroke him expertly.

“A little? I... I think I did a little more than that...” he stammers, tilting his head.

“I thought you can't remember...”

“I can't... it's all a blur... but...” He extends his hand and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just looking at you, I know I've been pretty rough with you...” He cups your cheek and presses his thumb against your bottom lip. “I've certainly fucked your throat,” he says quietly before his hand moves down your neck, his long fingers tentatively closing around it, squeezing lightly. “Choked you too...”

You inhale deeply as you follow the movement of his hand downwards. He brushes his fingertips against your breasts before flicking your nipples that harden under the touch.

“And I've fucked your tits...” he utters, letting a finger glide through the valley between them, scraping at a speck of dried cum. “And unloaded all over you... from your face to your chest to your stomach...” His hand moves lower, teasing your mound. “And by the looks of it, I might have fucked both of your holes... and filled them to the brim...” He teases a finger between your folds, the wet squelching sound confirming his words.

You swallow hard before you take a shuddering breath, licking your swollen lips as you watch him raise his hand, seeing a thick glob of creamy cum on his fingertip. Without even thinking, you let go of his cock and cradle his hand between your fingers instead, bringing it closer to your mouth. You hold his heated gaze as you extend your tongue and lick along his calloused fingertip, tasting his still warm essence. His eyebrows shoot up as he watches you closely, a deep shudder rushing through his body.

“And I believe we're both still under the influence of that squid juice, huh?” he says, his voice hoarse, his whole body tense as he steps slowly closer, pressing between your legs.

“Probably,” you reply, your own voice a breathy whisper. As your heart beats faster inside your heaving chest, you can only focus on one thing: the taste lingering on your tongue.

For a long moment, or so it seems, you just stare at each other, taking in the sight of the other's arousal, trying to make sense of those intense feelings inside you, the need, the yearning, the burning desire. Your breath hitches, and when you make up your mind on what to do, you place your hands on his chest and push him back before you jump off the crate, grab his shoulders, spin him around and not so gently shove him against the old wooden box.

He gasps, and when you get down on your knees in front of him, your hands gliding down his body until you grip his thighs, he inhales sharply as you start licking up and down his hard member, breathing heavily against his hot flesh. Cursing under his breath, he leans back, his body tensing under your ministrations.

Your mind is filled with that special kind of dizziness, no coherent thought is able to penetrate the haze inside it, all you do is follow the instincts of your body, its urges. And so you lap at his cock as if it's the most delicious piece of meat you've ever tasted (he probably is), your tongue gliding up from his base in one long broad stroke, over throbbing veins and tight sweaty skin, until you curl it along his tip, sucking and nibbling on it hungrily.

His noises range from shuddering breaths to deep groans to low growls and sinful moans. Looking up at him from beneath your lashes, you see his face contorted in nothing but pleasure, his eyes closed, eyebrows knitted, mouth hanging open. You continue your assault on him by closing your lips tightly around his tip, hollowing your cheeks and sucking hard, pulling more and more drops of precum out of his slit that you lap up with fervour.

Your own noises are muffled, rapid huffs against his skin, deep hums vibrating through his cock as you take him deeper into your mouth, your tongue pressed to the underside of his shaft, feeling his erratic heartbeat thrumming against it, while your lips tighten around him as you bob your head back and forth, the friction on his hot skin causing you both to groan deeply.

Your eyes flutter shut as you force him deeper until he hits the back of your throat, and despite the initial soreness and reluctance of it, you press forward, your hands gripping his hips as you pull your head closer until your nose is pressed into his curly hairs and his cockhead is buried deep inside your throat, blocking your airways, enhancing the dizziness inside your head.

He lets out a strained grunt, stumbling against the crate, before his hands grab your hair, fisting it roughly as he pulls you even closer, holding you there until tears press past your lashes and the urge to gag grows stronger. Eventually you do, the uncontrollable shudders of your body making you twitch against him as spit and bile force their way up your throat, and as your fingernails dig into his skin, he releases you, and you lean back, spluttering and coughing, precum and saliva dripping from your lips as you take deep rasping breaths.

Wiping your soiled mouth, your chest heaving, you don't even care about the state you're in, you go right back to sucking him off, licking and nibbling and bobbing your head, repeating the motion, deliberately swallowing around him, until you feel him twitching inside your mouth. You lean back then, mouth wide open, tongue extended, hands gripping his base and balls, his heavy cock bouncing slightly against your lips as he climaxes with a loud drawn-out groan.

Holding your face in place, you barely flinch when his cum hits your skin, the first erratic drops painting your cheek and the bridge of your nose before the rest shoots right into your mouth, piling on your tongue, more and more, until your cheeks bulge when you have to swallow it, more spurts hitting your closed lips when you do, dripping down your chin, before you open up again, taking more.

The squid juice seems to lose its potency slowly, because apparently, unlike last time, he is able to stop at some point, though you've still received at least three mouthful and numerous hits to the face and to your chest. He is panting when he is finally spent, his own hand gripping his still erect penis as his eyes wander over the mess he made on you.

You lean back on your knees and lick your lips, wiping some lumps out of your eyes, before you scoop some up on your fingers to bring them to your mouth, though not to lick it off but to push your digits deep into your mouth to suck on them. He takes a shuddering breath, and the next thing you know, he is kneeling in front of you, pulling at your hand, grabbing your face and forcing his tongue into your mouth.

You kiss him back with need, your head spinning, all your senses so heightened you feel as if you're floating. He's holding you steady, your tongues entangled, licking and sucking, soft moans and whimpers falling from both of your throats. He ends up sitting with his back pressed to the crate while you climb onto his lap, his erection bumping against your stomach as you straddle him.

The kiss continues, messy and desperate, and after you grind your pelvis against him for a few long moments, his hands wander down your sides, pinching at your hips before grabbing your rear, kneading your soft flesh, pulling your cheeks apart and pressing you even closer to him. You shift only slightly, one hand between your bodies, until you grab his cock and guide it towards your needy entrance, your juices coating your sensitive skin, your walls already clenching in anticipation.

Lifting your hips a bit, you let his tip slip into your warmth, the stretch to your skin more than you've anticipated, but you keep going, slowly lowering yourself onto him, letting gravity assist you, until he is fully sheathed inside you, crown bullying your cervix, your walls moulded to his shaft, balls teasing at your folds. He fills you to perfection, and you moan deeply into his mouth as your hands lace around his neck, thumbs pressing against his throat teasingly.

His dark gaze meets yours while his hands grip your hips, deepening the bruises he's already left there, and you shudder under the sensation. Licking your raw lips, you stare at him, then dive back in to shove your tongue into his mouth, your combined moans echoing through the Undercroft. You don't even move at first, relishing in the fullness of having him inside you, warm and hard and throbbing, and for the tiniest moment your thoughts wander back to your little squid friend as you wonder where it is and if it will fill you out like this ever again.

Those thoughts dissipate the second Sebastian starts bucking his hips up, spearing you as he pushes even deeper, and you gasp against his lips, the sudden sting piercing through your nerves. Leaning back, your hands on his shoulders, you try to control your heavy breaths, watching him with a hunger you've never felt before.

Then you finally shift on your knees, straining your muscles to lift yourself up, and your walls cling to his cock as you move upwards, only to clench back around him once you slam down again forcefully. The motion causes him to groan while you press your lips together, a concentrated look on your face as you relish in the sharp pain whenever he hits your cervix. Repeating the same agonizingly slow rhythm, your body is soon covered in goosebumps, quiet whimpers escaping past your trembling lips.

His fingers dig into your hips as he lets you ride his erection, watching you with his pupils dilated and his tongue between his lips, breathing loudly through his nose. As you arch your head back, your hair falling over your shoulders, you moan loudly, your own slow pace driving you nearly insane. The more you move, the wetter you become, the combination of old and fresh liquids squelching with every downwards slam of your hips.

You feel dizzy again, barely able to keep going, and so it's him who picks up speed as he grips your hips even tighter, denting your skin, and starts thrusting upwards, bending his knees for you to lean against and for him to have better leverage as his thighs strain against your cushioned arse.

And while he bounces you on his lap, impaling you roughly with each quick snap of his pelvis, your fingers dig into his shoulders before you slump forwards with quiet, irregular whimpers, your forehead brushing against his as he looks at you intently, your eyelids fluttering as much as your walls flutter around his cock.

The sound you issue is a strained gasp, your throat unable to convey the sensation bubbling up inside you as you come with a force that shudders through your body like an earthquake. Your fingernails sink into his skin as your body convulses, your muscles contract, clamping down on him hard, and he groans under the pressure, barely able to keep moving as you tighten up almost impossibly.

He wraps his arms around you as you shiver, your orgasm crashing through you in waves of uncontrollable twitches, your head rolling back, your mouth hanging open as you stare up at the vaulted ceiling even though you cannot see a thing as bright lights and black spots dance in tandem at the edge of your vision, the familiar sensation of dizzy weightlessness taking over everything you feel.

While you float above it all, Sebastian anchors you to the ground, his embrace bone-crushingly strong as he grits his teeth and works his hips against the tight hold of your walls, his legs trembling as he pushes his feet firmly against the dirty floor, his knees shaking, his thighs straining, while he slips in and out of your contracting cunt until he lets out an almost animalistic growl as the tension within him breaks free.

With one final upwards thrust that pushes him deeper than ever before, he releases his load inside you, warm and sticky and unrelenting, cock twitching and spasming, his balls tightening as he empties himself fully, filling you to the brim and beyond until it slowly starts dripping from your tight connection. He collapses against you, holding you with his muscles aching, his head resting on your shoulder, his heavy breaths loud in your ear.

Eventually you come to, your head spinning, the warmth flooding your insides enough to ground you again. Your arms snake around his neck, hands rubbing over sweaty skin, your chest heaving against his. Both panting and exhausted, bodies pushed to their limits, you remain sitting on his cock for a long while, muscles clenching and relaxing around him, more of his seed dripping out of you.

You feel sticky all over and you couldn't care less. There's still not a single coherent thought inside your mind, there's only instincts. The smell of sex lingers in the air, and it fills your nostrils as you inhale deeply, sucking it in as if you can't get enough of it. And you can't. You slowly loosen your grip around Sebastian's shoulders and lean back against his propped-up legs, shifting on top of him.

He also moves back, head resting against the crate as he watches you out of hooded eyes, licking his lips while breathing loudly through his nose. You hold his gaze, hearts beating in tandem as you assess the situation, seemingly gathering your strength, knowing you are not done yet.

And sure enough, after the tension between you gets to both of your heads (or sexes more likely), his hands find your waist and he pulls you off his lap with ease, even though your walls cling to him as he does, and when he gently lies you down between his legs, your connection breaks and his cock slips out, followed by several globs of creamy cum that spill from your oversaturated cunt.

You're lying on your back, not even bothering about the dusty stone floor, looking up at him as he scrambles over you, your chest rising and falling fast, and when he leans down to press open-mouthed kisses to your quivering breasts, you gasp softly and relax beneath him, your skin tingling as he starts sucking on it hungrily, slowly working more and more bruises into it.

Breathing heavily against you, he makes his way up to your neck, continuing his ruthless assault as he nibbles on your pulse, sucking and licking, while you squirm slightly against him, your hands clawing at his arms, that tension in your stomach building up all over again. You press your feet to the ground and angle your hips up, missing the close contact as you push your pelvis against his needily.

He leans back and looks at you from under his lashes, his eyes nearly black with his pupils dilated, and the hunger within them almost scary. You swallow hard, ignoring the sting to your throat, and lick your lips. You see him clenching his jaw, that muscle flexing under his skin, and then he is in your face, mouth claiming yours for a searing kiss that leaves you completely dizzy.

But it's only a short, intense one before he leans back again, settling between your spread legs on his knees, his hand wrapping around his surprisingly still erect cock. You watch him breathlessly, the heat pulsing inside you, and when he pushes his tip against your folds, you inhale sharply, expecting your muscles to protest, but because his cum is still coating your walls, he slips in with ease, pushing into you with a loud squelching sound as he presses his seed deeper.

The sensation sends goosebumps over your limbs, even more so when he repeats the motion once more, and once more, over and over again, always fully pulling out, watching new globs of cum spilling from your clenching entrance, then pushing back in, until you're slightly gaping and all his seed is deposited deep enough to stay where it is. Only then does he enter you fully, easing his passage into your tight warmth with tiny thrusts before he bottoms out with a deep sigh falling from his lips.

You're a mewling mess, your stomach tensing as he fills you again. But he doesn't move yet, he stays there, sheathed as far as he can go, as he grabs your legs and presses them to your chest, holding your thighs firmly in place as he leans over you. Your arms are splayed beside your head, sweat trickling down your temple, your eyes unfocused as you look up at him.

He watches you, his breaths heavy, his dark eyes wandering over your flushed skin, over the love bites blooming on the soft mounds of your breasts and on the slender column of your neck, and over the fresh and dried streaks of his cum sticking to your chest and face. Seeing you marked like this, makes his heart race and his cock pulse inside your warm embrace. Marked as his.

It might be the squid fluid still clouding his mind, but maybe it's something else, something he's always stored away because he thought it might be too much, too strange, too outlandish to even think about.

Well, not as outlandish as your desire to shove a small tentacle monster into your holes, but still nothing he would just talk about freely. Not now while you're both stressed about exams and the future, even though those things have not crossed either of your minds during however long you've spent in this sex frenzy now.

But the thought comes back to him now, as he sees you splayed out beneath him, your feet dangling in the air, held wide open while he is balls deep inside your clenching cunt. He wants to go deeper. He wants to really mark you, deep within, he wants to fill your womb until you're overflowing, until any protective charm or potion gives out, he wants to breed you.

And seeing how achingly potent that stupid squid has made him just by oozing its fluids all over him (and you), it's the only thing he can think about now that his mind has passed the more animalistic phase of just rutting into you uncontrollably. Now the same rutting has a purpose.

It's like a sign from the gods, not that he ever believed in any higher power, but somehow the existence of a tiny sea creature that had the audacity to crawl into your pussy uninvited, which has been his for the last two years, made him realize that he needed to do more. He wanted to support you in your needs for unusual satisfaction, he wanted to be cool about it, but deep within he wants you to himself, inside and out, all of you, it should all be his!

With the squid gone, to hopefully never be seen again, this is his chance. To reclaim you, to show you that you don't need a strange creature to satisfy your deepest, darkest desires. All you'll ever need is him.

And while he imagines prodding your cervix, forcing it open to penetrate your womb so he can fill it to the brim and beyond, you lie beneath him, wondering why he is smiling down at you with that strangely absent look in his dark eyes. Has he forgotten that he's buried balls deep inside your needily clenching cunt? Should you remind him or rather use the quiet moment to try and catch your breath, knowing that he will probably continue your squid-juice-induced lust for each other.

You don't have to ponder this for too long, because suddenly he snaps out of it again, inhaling sharply as his fingers tighten around your thighs, pressing them firmer down as he shifts on top of you. But instead of using the position he's in to really piston his hard erection into you, he collapses on top of you, smothering you under his weight, his arms snaking past your legs as they cradle your head between his big hands. You can't breathe, but you also don't care as he kisses your earlobe and whispers:

“I love you.”

These three quiet words, barely audible, said with passion and desperation, make you shiver more than how his cock currently prods your deepest point. Exhaling the rest of the air left in your lungs, you wrap your arms around him and hold him close, as close as possible, hands flat on his shoulder blades as your bodies mould together even more.

You feel his muscles moving under your touch, and while his lips press to that sweet spot right below your earlobe, his hips press down on you hard, and with the very uncomfortable stone floor in your back, not giving you any leeway, you can't help but cry out loudly as he impales you deeper than ever before, that sharp sting shuddering through you painfully.

The dizziness is back inside your head, and as he starts to give you short but rapid stabs, you're quickly overcome with that mixture of pain and pleasure, so close to the edge of making you scream in agony and mewl in nothing but bliss. Balancing the rather unfamiliar sensation, you groan and grunt with every slam of his hips against your tightly folded body as his cock slips in and out fast, now really pistoning into you with ease, with your juices flowing freely and your walls fluttering around him, stretching more with every deep thrust that seems to pierce right through your cervix.

He growls into your ear, arms tight around your shoulders as he holds you during his relentless assault, unaware of the tears streaming down your face and the quiet squeaks of discomfort that fall from your trembling lips, he doesn't even care that your fingernails draw blood on his back as you cling to him helplessly. He keeps going, faster and faster, in and out, deeper and deeper as he pounds away at you, balls slapping against your bum, those wet squelching noises echoing through the Undercroft.

It is when he seems to breach territory he might have never breached before, that you come around his cock with a shrill drawn-out scream, your walls clamping down on him, possibly trying to pull him back as his thick tip forces its way through your cervix, not that you are able to even think about any anatomical formalities while your body spasms wildly under the sensation, your toes curling up as you stretch your legs into the air and sink your fingernails even deeper into his skin.

Breathing seems impossible in that moment as your eyes roll back and your mouth hangs open and the pain explodes into a million tiny lights, blinding you, numbing you, almost paralysing you. While you are thrown around like a leaf in a storm by your unusual orgasm, Sebastian grunts loudly as he pulls back one last time before burying himself so deep inside you that the tight squeeze makes him come instantly.

With his twitching cock lodged inside your breached gate, his thick cum spurts right into your womb without any hindrance, and despite the shaking of his limbs, knowing that the squid juice is slowly losing its potency on him, he still fills you up, more and more with every erratic spasm, every squeeze of his tight balls, every pulsing of blood in his bulging veins.

His breathing eases in your ears as he slowly relaxes on top of you, while you lie beneath him, trapped by his body and an overwhelming feeling of nausea as he pumps you full of his seed.

He could stay like this forever, having you under him, deeply connected, claimed as his. But he notices the ragged breath you're trying to maintain, the way your body tenses around him, the way you're quietly... sobbing? His head is still void of any rational thought, the primal need he's just satisfied burning through him like a wildfire, yet when he lifts his head slightly and looks at you, looks at the strained expression on your flushed, wet face, your eyes squeezed shut, lips trembling, eyebrows furrowed, something pushes past the haze.

Worry... and guilt.

And eventually he slips away, the way out apparently easier as the way in, and when he does, he rolls you around with him, adding to your dizziness, until you can relax on top of him, your legs finally able to stretch fully again, your body unfolding as you rest on his warm body, though he quickly spins you around once more, making you lie on him with your back pressed to his chest and his cock squished along the cleft between your bum cheeks, before he places his big hands gently on your stomach, holding you in place as you lean your head against his shoulder, breathing deeply into his touch.

You don't question the weird position, you just want to come down from it all, your body screaming for a different kind of release, a break. Your arms and legs fall to the side, spent and boneless, and you don't even care how sticky you feel, from tears to sweat to cum dripping from your clenching hole. He seems to care though, at least about one of those things, as you suddenly feel one of his hands slipping from your stomach to cup your mound, his fingers blindly prodding at your entrance, pushing his seed back into your aching walls and holding it there.

You let him do whatever makes him happy, you just close your eyes and feel your consciousness slipping as all the escapades you just experienced catch up with you. With his hands on the small bulge in your belly and securely holding your pussy to prevent any more leaking, Sebastian is determined to remain like this, holding you trapped in his arms, but his stamina is fading too, and without being able to control it, his grip on you slips as he too slips into a deep slumber.

With both of you completely passed out after the unusual exertion, none of you notice the quiet scratching sound as the squid drags its body over the stone floor of the vast room, its tentacles pulling it forwards as it approaches the heap of limbs you two have coiled up into.

Sleeping soundlessly, your legs have fallen open, and with Sebastian's hand falling away as well, letting thick chunks of cum drip from your depths, there is nothing stopping the creature from crawling closer to your warmth.

Instead of slipping inside you with its head first like usual, it positions its tendrils at your opening, thin tips poking deep, squelching through the white substance seeping from you, and slowly the squid lets its tentacles pull it up and into your wetness, the wide base struggling to fit at first, but then, with a quiet pop, it slips inside, vibrating slightly to move closer to your core, and there, at your bruised cervix, it extends its tendrils, pushes right into your womb and erases any claim of ownership from the boy lying beneath you as it slowly feeds off his fluids now.

And when the bulge in your stomach is gone completely, the squid forces its way back out of you, causing you to stir slightly as it stretches your walls and pushes past your clenching entrance. Once it plops onto the floor with a wet squelching noise, it grows even more, its eight tentacles thick and long and covered in bumps and suctions cups, its body wider and longer and more rounded, its head a perfect triangle with soft edges.

Out of its base, where its puckered mouth still devours the feast it just snatched from your insides, it suddenly grows two additional tentacles, a lot longer and thicker than the others, its tips wider and almost egg-shaped. One of those makes its way back between your legs, teasing your folds before it slips in once more, struggling to fit before a pulsing motion goes through the appendage. When it retreats once more, it is much thinner.

The other new tentacle then does the same, pushing its rounded head into you with a loud pop, then undulating against you, slipping deep and leaving you a tiny parting gift before it pulls out again.

Then the squid lifts its body onto its eight arms (or legs), using the additional tendrils as support, and slowly crawls back into the shadows, away from the pile of unconscious bodies, a quiet tapping and popping sound echoing eerily through the Undercroft as it does so.

And luckily none of you have witnessed the strange transformation and behaviour, because none of you would sleep this peacefully otherwise.

Later

You wake up to a soft mumbling that seems to move through the room. Stirring slightly, you find yourself wrapped in an abundance of warm blankets, covering you from head to toe, and you're lying on the lumpy couch that smells like... soap. Actually everything seems to smell of soap as you take a deep inhale and slowly open your eyes.

You feel groggy, your eyelids heavy, your body too wrapped up to move, but you still feel your muscles aching despite the warmth seeping through them. Licking your dry lips, you look around in confusion, your head pounding horribly.

The murmurs continue, and eventually you find their source. Sebastian is slowly walking through the Undercroft, completely dressed, pointing his wand at everything and mumbling under his breath, and you see water and soap bubbles and steam spurting from its tip. He's cleaning the entire place, you realize, and with that thought, the memories come back, albeit scrambled and kind of foggy.

Groaning quietly, you close your eyes as you remember the things you two have done during your drug-induced frenzy. You feel hot all over, but the shivers still rush through you, causing your muscles to ache even more. A sudden sob escapes you as you feel a sharp pain piercing your insides, and as sudden as the noise, as quickly he is with you, kneeling in front of the couch, his wand clattering to the floor, as his hands gently cup your face.

You stare into brown eyes full of worry, and you blink slowly, swallowing hard, wincing again, forcing yourself to smile.

“Shh,” he makes and rubs his thumbs over your cheeks. “Take it easy. Don't move too much.”

You inhale sharply, closing your eyes for a moment. “Wh–” you start, but he shushes you again, scooting closer, one hand on your face, the other tucking a wild strand of hair behind your ear before it leaves you again.

“Here, drink this, it'll help with the headache,” he offers then, holding up a small vial containing a green liquid. Wiggenweld. You gag slightly just thinking about tasting the bitter potion. “Trust me, it'll make it better!”

Screwing up your eyes, pursing your lips, you oblige reluctantly, letting him help you drink the awful thing. At first you would rather continue being in that gut wrenching pain, but then the effects settle in and at least the headache slowly fades away. You let out a strangled noise.

“How bad is it?” he whispers.

You can only groan, feeling... everything. Except one thing. Your memories are hazy, even more so when you try to remember more. You see an empty cage in your mind, but the feeling of loss you've experienced is replaced with something like relief, because there's that one memory, the last one you have, even though it's very flimsy and you're barely able to catch it. But you know it happened. You just know.

Your pet isn't gone. It has been here, with you, inside you, before everything has turned to black. But it is no more.

“Wh-where... is it?” you rasp barely audible as you open your eyes and look at Sebastian.

A dark shadow crosses his worried features, turning his freckled face into a stoic mask, his jaw clenching hard. He stares at you, long, unblinking, his eyes narrowed. After everything that's happened, after everything he's done, and is doing now to make up for those other things, the first thing on your muddled mind is that stupid squid?

“Gone,” he says coldly, his voice low. You frown at his tone, but then sigh and turn your face away. “But I'm here,” he adds quietly, sounding almost pleading now. You look back at him, your eyes wandering over his face. The shadow is still there, but his features soften slowly. “And I'll always be here for you...”

You furrow your eyebrows before you swallow hard, ignoring the strain to your throat. Wriggling out of your blanket cocoon a little bit, you raise a shaking hand to touch his jaw, fingertips brushing over the tensing muscle. He relaxes slightly, his own hand holding your face as he leans closer. You feel his hot breath on your raw lips.

“I'm sorry,” you then whisper hoarsely. He frowns at that, surprise washing over him.

“You're sorry? What for?” he asks, his voice slightly higher as he stares at you in disbelief.

“For... letting it influence me so much,” you reply quietly as you lower your eyes. “I... I should have been... satisfied... with what you're giving me... and I am, I am, Sebastian!” you repeat frantically as you look back at him, your hand slipping around his head to grab the back of his neck. “I love you...” you add in a breathy whisper. “And I don't need... a special pet... I only need you...” Even as you say this, you feel a strange emptiness eating at your insides. Might be the loss of a special little friend, but it's probably just withdrawal from its literally addictive properties.

He watches you closely, definitely noticing the conflict in your wavering gaze. “I love you, too,” he whispers and leans in closer, his nose nuzzling yours. “But don't fool yourself, love, you miss that bloody thing...”

You bite your lip and sigh, trying to hold his gaze. “Maybe... that's why I'm sorry... it's not fair...”

His turn to sigh before he huffs a quiet laugh. He doesn't say anything though, he just closes the rest of the distance and gently presses his lips to yours, his eyelids drooping. You kiss him back softly, closing your eyes and leaning into the warmth of his mouth which quickly spreads all over your aching body. The blankets feel hot and suffocating now, and you struggle slightly against them.

Yet instead of helping you loosen them, he moves his body onto the couch next to you, pushing you against the back of it carefully, one arm wrapped around you as the other cradles your head while he keeps kissing you. You squirm in his tight embrace, slowly leaning back, your eyes fluttering open.

“Why did you wrap me in so many blankets? I'm not cold...” you whisper against his lips.

His mouth twists into a smirk, and you feel his cheek warming up under your touch. “I... uh... heard warmth is good against sore muscles,” he says hoarsely. There's a twinkle in his dark eyes.

You scoff lightly, a strange thought creeping into your mind. “So you're not trying to... incubate something?”

His eyes widen, and he leans back quickly, his face, however, bright red. “What? No!” he says a tad too fast, looking along your body. “I... I... uh...” he stammers before clearing his throat. “Probably didn't work anyway,” he then adds under his breath, sounding almost disappointed as his free hand runs along your side and hovers over your stomach a little too long.

“You... want it to work?” you whisper barely audible.

“Would you?” he replies quietly, looking back at you almost timidly.

You blink slowly, trying to understand what he is even implying (though you're way past implications at this point, especially with his hand rubbing slow circles over your stomach). “How did we get from... fucking like rabid animals to... this? Wondering about... our future?”

“We're probably still high on squid juice,” he chuckles humourlessly, before his eyebrows shoot up. “Hang on, our future? Did you say our future?”

You frown, a deep throbbing in the back of your head. “Didn't you start this by trying to... breed me?” you whisper, your lips contorting into a smirk.

His eyes widen even more. “You remember that?”

“I was there, Sebastian!” you laugh and hit his chest playfully. “Of course I remember that... as a matter of fact, I can still feel it!” you add and shift slightly in your blanket cocoon, feeling the sharp sting deep inside your body. A shudder rushes through you as you remember how it felt when he breached your cervix.

His eyebrows furrow deeply, and he swallows hard. “I... I just want you to know that I... I wasn't thinking clearly, okay? That... that stupid squid and its... juices... I–I would have never done this, not without discussing it with you first, I was just so... so...” He inhales deeply and leans his head against yours. “I guess I was jealous after all... I wanted to... make you mine again...” he adds quietly, chewing on his lips.

You slip your fingers into his hair and gently massage his scalp. “But I am yours...” you whisper softly.

He breathes loudly against you. “All mine?” he asks, looking and sounding almost childlike when his deep brown eyes wander over your face, a tiny smirk playing around the corner of his mouth.

Laughing softly, but not too much as the motion seems to stir up all your aching muscles, you nod, gripping his hair tighter. “Yes...”

The smirk turns into a wide smile, lighting up his entire face. Huffing a seemingly hopeful exhale, he snuggles against you, gently pressing you against his chest as he holds you, kissing the top of your head. His heartbeat is hammering against your ear as you close your eyes and lean into his warmth.

You've always been his, through thick and thin, ever since he swept you off your feet in your fifth year (or rather the other way around). For two years you were completely committed to one another, unconditionally, depending on the other on more than one occasion.

And as you lie in his warm embrace, you realize that you've let a tiny magical creature slither its way between you, trying to lure you off the beaten path, seduce you away from him, and even though you've enjoyed the ride (quite literally), you know you'll never need anything else, anyone else, but the freckled boy holding you tightly.

← CHAPTER 5 // BACK TO THE BEGINNING?

End notes: Thank you for joining me on this unusual ride! This started as a weird little idea and escalated quite a bit. I apologize for it being so vile, I honestly have tried to write less... lewdly, but seems I just can't. Or I'll have to try again, on something else. You'll see!

You may also have noticed some hints I dropped in this chapter for a possible... sequel? One day, the Squid Smut Series may continue with more Squid x Reader adventures!

Until then, thanks again for reading and braving the filth! I appreciate each and every one of you, even if you just read this without engaging for very obvious reasons. I don't blame you. I wouldn't admit to liking this either, and I wrote it! XD (And to those who have shown their support: thank you so much! It means the world to me!)

[ MASTERLIST ] [ AO3 ]

#mysmut #smut #reader insert #x reader #female reader #f!reader #fem reader #dirty mind #ao3 writer #ao3 smut #sebastian sallow smut #hogwarts legacy smut #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #sebastian x reader #sebastian sallow x reader

[jooniperbonsai]

Thanks For The Sub (ksj) | m. list

pairing: Camboy!Seokjin x Gamer!Reader (afab)

rating: 18+

status: ongoing

genre: Smut, fluff, angst, camboy au, gamer au, comedy, crack, slow burn (?), coworkers/boss/friends to lovers, an exploration of adults in their late 20s/early 30s

Summary: After a clip of you sucking at video games goes viral, you've become somewhat famous, with thousands of subscribers now tuning in each week to see you play. Overnight, you've gone from a sexually frustrated grad student who reads smut in her room to a gamer girl (or rather, a not-gamer girl). This would have been the perfect job, except it was never the job you wanted. Desperate for money to pay for grad school, you bounce between your new gig and working at a local restaurant to pay the bills, where your hot coworker-now-boss Seokjin plays many of the lead roles in your sexual fantasies. Seokjin, two years post losing his fiancé and job within the same day, is tired of the rut he's dug himself into and wants to start over. Now 30 years old, he's stuck managing his family's restaurant where he harbors an insanely inappropriate crush on you on top of carrying one hell of a secret: Seokjin is also known as Jin, a successful gay-for-pay camboy on the streaming site Worldwide Handsome. When the stress of the upcoming semester and the pressure to stream becomes more than you can handle, you seek out some much-needed stress relief online, only to discover a man who looks a little too much like your boss is staring right back at you.

chapters

thanks for the sub teaser (2.3k)

chapter one (18.3k)

Here, he was Jin, a sexy, flirty guy who could shine in the sky of his own making.  Jin, the moon.  That’s it. He was the moon.

chapter two (13.7k)

In this world of streaming, where everything feels like fractured versions of reality, parts of you being split among the pixels and delivered and digested into someone else’s home for their entertainment and pleasure, it’s hard for you to ever feel like you can have some close community with your followers.

chapter three (14.9k)

He was being let into your world little by little, even if you were fighting yourself to let it happen.  He wanted that. He wanted this: you two eating cold pizza on the floor of your living room, you chewing happily and Seokjin warm and full of life watching you do it. 

#thanks for the sub #masterlist #seokjin smut #bts smut #seokjin x reader #kim seokjin #seokjin

[dilfspitdrinker]

Let The Light In | Joel Miller x f!reader

Description: You’ve been babysitting Joel Miller’s daughter all summer. No matter now much you try to deny it, you know you’re into him. But it’s just a little crush that you thought could never be reciprocated, until one fateful phone call. The shift between you two is irresistible, and you’re in for more than you ever anticipated. A/N: so much pining, so much denial, so much self doubt. My goal is to have these guys clawing at the walls for each other before going feral. lmk how I'm doing bae. Hope y'all like this chapter even though it's mostly just two phone convos, lowkey thought the first one should've been at the end of the last chapter but too late for that now lol. Ch 6 is in the works. I heart you. Masterlist

Chapter 5

Joel called his brother the minute you were gone. He’d been out of the dating scene for so long now, ever since his split with Sarah’s mom when she was still a baby. He went through a period of dating around while she was still too young to remember, but soon came to the conclusion that no one was good enough for his daughter and she’s the only girl he needed anyway. You were the only person he’s had any desire to date since then. But now he was floundering, with no idea what kind of setting or activity would make a good night out. He figured Tommy, who was closer to your age, was his best shot at getting this right. Or maybe he’d suggest the stupidest idea Joel had ever heard. Wouldn’t be the first time.

On the other end of the line, Tommy sounded like he was choking. “What?!” He sputtered out a laugh, “You’re goin’ on a date? With who?”

“You don’t know her,” Joel muttered, already fed up with his brother’s antics.

“Obviously I don’t know her, that’s why I fuckin’ asked. Who the hell is this girl that agreed to go out with your grumpy ass?”

Joel was glad you actually hadn’t seen much of his grumpy attitude. For the most part, he was only like that at work, and left it at the door once he was home. “Will you just help me out here? I haven’t done this in a while.”

“What, get laid?”

“Fuck off. Why did I even fuckin’ bother with you-“

“Alright now, I’m done, I swear. So what does this girl like to do?”

Joel blanked. You liked painting with Sarah, you liked baking, you liked the beach. None of which were viable date options. “She uh, she likes tequila sunrises and margaritas.”

“Did you meet her at a bar or something?”

“No.”

“Jesus, man, is that the only thing you know about her? You’re not givin’ me much to work with here.”

He knew you’d been on several coffee shop dates. You said you liked the low-pressure atmosphere for a first date. But he wanted this to be more special than that.

Tommy offered the best he could, “Well since you know her drinks, and you apparently didn’t meet her at a bar, how ‘bout you take her to one?”

“Not a bar.”

“Why not?”

“I want it to be nicer than that.”

“How about a nice bar?”

“You are such a useless sack of shit.”

Tommy burst into laughter again. “You really tryin’ to impress her, huh?”

Joel sighed deeply, “I wanna treat her right, she deserves it.”

“Now I really wanna know who this is, gettin’ you all heartfelt? Haven’t seen that in a long while.”

“Can’t say I have either.” It was true. Something about you made Joel’s heart mushier than an overripe fruit. He’d felt twinges of it since the start, but had just barely started acknowledging it.

“Well since you’re a big softie now, how about dinner somewhere? Can’t go wrong with that.”

Joel only knew that you liked that one takeout place, and that wouldn’t do. “Where?”

“Figure it out yourself, you ain’t that clueless.”

“I oughta skin you alive.”

“Always the charmer,” Tommy’s shit eating grin could even be heard through the phone. “Good luck man.”

Joel tossed his phone onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. So then, dinner… somewhere. He racked his brain for every place that was at least more upscale than a diner.

His phone pinged– you got home safe. He sent back a quick goodnight text.

He decided to sleep on it. No use staying up waiting for inspiration, it was late enough already. He lumbered off to bed, anticipating that it would be a bitch to get up in the morning.

*. * · *. * · *. * · *. * · *. * · *. * · *. * · *. * · *. * · *. * ·

The following day, you debated sending Joel a good morning text. You stared blankly at the phone in your palm for a solid five minutes straight before ultimately deciding against it. You huffed in frustration, wanting to throw the device out a window. You’d never felt this twisted up over a guy before, overthinking your every move. You always felt at ease around Joel before you made that call, before things got too personal. Was it really worth it to risk that? If this thing – whatever it was – didn’t work out, you had no idea where that would leave you two. Now that you thought about it, you hardly knew what a best case scenario “if it does work out” would look like either.

You got yourself ready for the day, cutting off the thought spiral. Staying busy was effective, for the most part. But there was always a space reserved for Joel in the back of your mind. You were brushing your teeth, but in that space you were on his couch with his hands all over you. You were driving to class, but in that space his lips were trailing down your neck. You were scrawling notes, but in that space you were sitting in his lap, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt and– fuck, new goal, see him shirtless.

It was a futile effort; as the morning dragged on, it only became more difficult to expel the blend of memories and imagination. You could only surface from your daydreams for long enough to throw together the final paragraph of your essay.

Work kept Joel busy. He was subjected to more teasing from Tommy, but that was expected. He could clear his face of emotion, but as much as he tried to clear his mind and focus on the task at hand, he couldn’t push you out entirely. In the searing heat of the Texas sun, the thought of you was a cool relief. Your image lived so pristinely in his mind. He could see you right in front of him, looking up, eyes so wide and shiny, and in the depths of them was something so… needy. Wouldn’t make it through the day if he continued that thought.

You were finally having lunch in your favorite coffee shop, reviewing notes from the lecture you just got out of. You couldn’t recall a single detail for the life of you, and were irked to see that your notes were pretty incomprehensible as well. You flipped the spiral notebook closed, resigning your efforts, you’d redo them from the textbook later. You nearly sprang up from your chair at the sound of your phone ringing. You pulled it out, already knowing who it was. For all your doubts earlier that morning, you had still giddily anticipated his call.

“Hi Joel,” you bit back a smile.

“Hey darlin’, how’s your day treatin’ you?”

“It’s been okay, cut it close with my essay but I finished it on time.”

“I’m sorry darlin’,” his tone a bit sheepish. “Don’t let me distract ya next time.”

You chuckled, “It was worth it.” The proposition of next time was something you stored away in your mind for later.

He made a noise of approval, “Glad I made a good impression.”

You were glad he couldn’t see you, the cheeky expression plastered on your face clearly read shut up, bastard. As much as you wanted to elaborate on just how good of an impression he made, you didn’t want to melt into a puddle on the coffee shop floor. “How’s your day going?”

“It’s work,” he grunted. “Hotter than hell out here. But I’m on my lunch break now, and talkin’ to my favorite girl.”

You caught yourself swinging your feet under the table.

“‘Scuse me, second favorite girl. As much as I like you, darlin’, can’t boot Sarah off of first place. Hope you understand,” he said wryly.

“I won’t lie, I was little jealous for a second there, but I can’t blame you. Sarah’s my favorite girl too.”

Joel’s heart swelled at that. Truly the easiest way to get to him, for better or worse, was through his daughter. And you seemed to do that every damn chance you got. All the times he’d collected her scattered art supplies and noticed new markers that you must’ve bought her, even after he told you not to. When he overheard you two singing together– something she somehow got too shy to do around him. Every time he found a container of leftovers in the fridge and knew you’d cooked her favorite meal. None of it was ever lost on him.

“So I got an important question for you,” he began.

“Yes?” you smiled uncontrollably now.

“Italian or Asian?”

“Asia is a pretty big place, Joel. What country are we talking here?”

He let out a hearty laugh, your new favorite sound. “Don’t tease me, you know I ain’t as bright as you. It’s uh, Chinese.”

“Olive Garden or Panda Express… tough decision.”

“It’s neither of those places,” he said gruffly, unamused.

You stifled a giggle, oddly satisfied with yourself for annoying him. “Let’s do Italian.”

“Does Friday night work for you? Let’s say, 7?”

“That’s perfect.”

“Alright, darlin’, I’ll see you then.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

You thought he’d say his goodbyes then, but he didn’t, “I got about fifteen minutes left of my break, I can uh, still chat if you’re not busy.”

You were more than happy to continue the conversation. It filled you with something akin to pride, hearing that he wanted to spend his break talking to you. Plus, you were eager to find out some more details about him. It took a bit of prying, but you uncovered that he could play the guitar.

“Yeah, I don’t bring it out much anymore.”

“Why not? I’d love to hear you play!”

“Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get a private concert.”

You toyed with the ends of your hair, “Do you sing too?”

“I can, not that I’m any good at it.”

You hummed, “I bet you’re great and you just don’t give yourself enough credit. How do you feel about karaoke bars?”

“Never been, actually.”

Appalled, you asked if he was joking, and even more appalled, heard that he wasn’t.

“Why not? They’re so fun! I mean I know it can be annoying if someone forces you to go up there, but it only takes a couple drinks to loosen up.”

“Well maybe I don’t want my talents exploited,” he said smugly, and if he were next to you right now, you’d pounce on him.

“Okay, we’re going,” you managed between laughs, “If it’s the last thing I do, I’m dragging your ass to a karaoke bar.”

“Only because it’s you, I swear,” he shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

It was too easy to talk to him, even when you felt the conversation was clunky on your end, he just bounced off you and kept it flowing. There was an irresistible charm in the way he spoke, and it was captivating just how damn effortless it seemed. His lack of karaoke experience seemed like his only flaw, and that would shortly be amended.

He informed you that his break time was up, and you detected some disappointment in his voice. “Friday at 7, I’ll pick you up. Have a good rest of your day, sweetheart.”

The new nickname had you squeezing the edge of the table, “You too Joel.”

You gave yourself a minute to scream internally before packing up your bag and quickly heading home, where you could scream externally in the comfort of your room.

Chapter 6

Masterlist

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #tlou #the last of us #tlou hbo #tlou game

[wanderingaldecaldo]

Tagged by @gloryride, @gamerkitten, @chevvy-yates, and @aggravateddurian to share something I'm working on. Thanks, chooms! Still leaning into the ADHD, so there's several things I'm working on simultaneously. Most recently it's been...

Modding

The cutoff vests are 95% done, just need a few touches before I can make them live on Nexus, so what better time to start a new modding project? 🙃 A friend mentioned wanting Vik's pants and I'm always looking for more butch clothes for Val especially ones that ride low on those hips but also the belt & tools seem like a fun project.

Unedited. Not bad for an hour's work ☺️

Both the pants and belt are simple replacers to start while I test. I have some clipping to deal with on the pants, but so far the weights look okay. 🤞

As for the belt, I lost the tools somewhere between Blender and Wkit lol. I wanted to take a go at texturing them in Substance Painter so I split them off into their own submesh. Not sure where I lost them but I'm sure they'll turn up again.

Writing

It's fitting that Durian tag me because my latest writing was incited by a scene in his fic "The President's Lady" in which Myers invites Sol and V to lunch at the White House. I'm going for a more, uh, traditional take on The Tower ending than he is, using my fave angst, combined with some good ol' longing and probably some flashback smut. I've been canoodling on this in my notebook since Durian's chapter came out, writing a bit each night before falling asleep. I started transcribing it just for this post, so here are 315 of 338 words, hot off the Google Docs.

Some backstory: The second time I played Phantom Liberty I beelined to Dogtown, and skipped meeting the Aldecaldos and doing pretty much anything past finishing the VDBs quests. Vik was the only one who called, and she decided to take Sol up on his offer of a job at Langley. Soon after she's back in DC, she gets an invite to lunch from President Myers.

“Thank you, Madam President.” “V, please. No need to be so formal. I believe we’re well past that now.” “Heh, just a few weeks ago, told you—” “Yes, V,” she cries out, breath hot against her neck— Stopping, Rosalind turns to look at her, eyebrows and lines of her forehead drawing to a point, as if finally she recognizes V for who she still is. “I suppose that really was like yesterday for you.” The lines soften and she leads V to a sofa across the room, gesturing for her to sit first, then sits close and takes her hand. Long, graceful fingers teasing her skin— V stares down at her hand in Rosalind’s, her arms blank of cyberware still a disconcerting sight, but she doesn’t pull away. “How are you feeling? I can’t imagine the news was easy to hear.” “No, wasn’t,” she says with a shake of her head. “Thought I was gonna die a merc but now....” “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to tell you myself. Solomon suggested it would lead to too many questions among the staff. He’s right of course, but I still feel I let you down.” V frowns. “Ma’am?” “You weren’t my agent for long, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t important. What you did...” Rosalind trails off, eyes dipping to her mouth before she drops her gaze to their hands on her lap. Her nails are still perfectly polished, buffed to a shine. She looks up and says, “I’ll never be able to repay you for all that you did for me.” V down looks at their linked hands then, heart pounding, she leans forward to kiss her, as if she’s just any other woman, not the most powerful in the world, and Rosalind tilts her head and parts her lips and— She swallows and shakes her head. “You did, though. Least as far as I’m concerned.”

Tagging with the usual no pressure disclaimer: @medtech-mara @breezypunk @streetkid-named-desire @peaches-n-screem @rosapexa @luvwich @merge-conflict @steelscorner @ghostoffuturespast @byberbunk2069 and YOU!

Take this as an invitation to share something you're working on and tag me! Doesn't have to be Cyberpunk, or anything fandom-related!

#cyberpunk 2077 #valerie vermilion #streetkid!val #rosalind myers #myers x v #myers x fem v #wlw ship #milfguard #aka president's merc au #wash's writing #mods i made #tag game #wip wednesday #wip whenever #thanks chooms!! #also i really had fun making that banner in ~30min lol

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Spring, 2020 - San Diego, California

Chapter 7 Part 2 of You Are My Soulmate

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Description: Bradley's in love. One night with Tinkerbell has already been like no other experience in his life. And he wasn't even alone with her! Now his soulmate's agreed to go on a date with him - and the pressure is on. It has to be perfect. He has to make her smile. Bradley's not sure there are very many first impressions left to make on his soulmate. This date might be the last first impression they've got.

Disclaimers: Misogynistic speech. Mentioned Homosexual Relationships. Angst. Flagrant disregard for protocols or Authority. Angst. Anguish.

This content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting tag-list requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story.

Warnings: Female!Reader

Word Count: 3207

A/N: All aboard the slow-burn train! It's Roo and Tink's first date and they're so fluffy I could die

<insert Despicable Me gif of Agnes with Unicorn here>

Thanks to @desert-fern who beta-read this chapter and made sure it was all flowing right. Your girl got stuck in Angst Central (TM) and got lost trying to write fluff again.

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

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Rooster

Inviting Tinkerbell to his dad’s birthday celebration had been a better choice than he’d ever imagined. She’d agreed so readily, in a way that was balm to his bruised soul, sitting there on the beach. He’d spent the night split between two foci, caught between his family and his soul, cataloging the emotions flitting across her face just as hungrily as he sucked up the stories of his parents from the people who knew them best. As worried as he had been to invite her into the center of his messed up life, seeing her make herself at home, charming his family as easily as she’d charmed him, had been a balm to his soul. His family adored her. He’d been a little worried, standing in his dad and Pop’s colossal kitchen, that she’d feel lost and alone. Instead, it felt right, seeing the smile on her face, as sweet as the first rays of the sun on a spring morning. All night, Bradley felt his parent’s presence on the ocean breeze. He’d felt their approval, their joy as the wet, salt-laden breeze brushed over his skin.

His heart had lurched painfully when Tinkerbell asked him why he’d aimed words meant to hurt like a shrapnel-filled bomb the night he met her. He’d been less than eloquent, stumblingly explaining his feelings and his fears, trying to distill the rage in his chest, crouching like a disgruntled, hastily awoken hibernating bear. She’d let him chatter on, unblinkingly serious, reminding him of a museum statue, an eldritch being carved from the stone with a brow furrowed in thought. She’d forgiven him just as easily as breathing, too. It was an easy forgiveness made a hard pill to swallow. Bradley’s not sure he deserves it.

There will never be anything but forgiveness between us, darling.

Standing in his small apartment on base, as the morning sun slants in through the windows, weak and watery through clouds, Bradley’s only got Tinkerbell on his mind. Her words resound through his mind, coupled with the resolute look on her face. She said the words like they were facts like she’d be a fool to do anything other than forgive him. Her easy agreement to a date shocked him, too. That his soul would be so easy to trust him when he’d never shown her a reason to? 

It makes his decision of a place to take his soulmate on their date even more important. Maybe he’s putting too much pressure on himself. This is just a first date, after all. He’s been on hundreds of first dates before. But this isn’t just any other first date. This is the last first date of his life, and hers, if he’s got anything to say about it. This is the last opportunity to make a good impression on his soulmate. After so long being antagonistic, Bradley’s sure there’s no way he could make a worse impression than he has in the months since Tink came to North Island. But he can make an effort.

If he had the time to plan a bit more, he could have made reservations. But there isn’t time. There are only hours. How can he make today special? Dinner at a restaurant would be ideal. But every place he calls has been booked for months. He’d tried texting Nat, hoping his best friend would have an enlightening idea. The response he got back is less than ideal: I’m sure she’ll like any place you take her, Roo. He’s driving himself crazy, mind running in circles. Pent-up energy crawls through his veins, and the more he thinks, the less he wants to. 

Maybe getting out of the house will help? He’s out of the house before he can think, sneakers tied tight as he pushes through the humid air. His lungs burn far sooner than they would have before the accident, twinging in concert with his weakened muscles. He’s got his crutches jammed under his armpits, walking in a slow, wobbly cadence in the sand. It’s as he’s stumbling up the steps to the boardwalk that he sees the flyer. It’s not special by any means, but it should be fun, something Tinkerbell will adore.

The nerves are still crawling up his spine a few hours later when he’s standing on the stoop of the address Tinkerbell texted him last night, facing her green door. He rings the doorbell in a burst of confidence, holding a bouquet in his sweating, clammy hand. The flowers were the first thing he’d ordered when he got back to his quarters, asking if the florist could make something to denote his love and an apology. The resulting arrangement of purple-blue asters, bluebells, white tulips, baby’s breath, and green myrtle is what he’s cradling in his hands. There’s a note included in the bright white butcher’s paper wrapping, asking her to look up the meaning of the flowers. Bradley wants his soul to know what he’s saying, especially since he’s not sure he can say the words without making a fool of himself.

When the door opens, he swears his heart skips a beat. His jaw drops and he couldn’t keep his eyes off his soul if he tried. She’s wearing shorts and a flowy top. Her hair is in a braid, a signature look of hers, and all he wants to do is bury his fingers in the lush strands. He needs to know if she smells like oranges because of her perfume or because of her shampoo. Tinkerbell is just as awestruck and silent, which makes him preen over his choice of a white button-down and dark jeans. He blinks a bit more and then practically shoves the bouquet into her face.

Her nose scrunches as she laughs, her mirth making him chuckle too.

“Let me put these in water, Bradley.” She steps back and tugs him in with one delicate hand on his forearm. 

“You look a little nervous, Roo.” Her voice is teasing.

“Well, can you blame me? When I’m taking a girl out who looks as good as you do right now?”

Tinkerbell’s steady hands nearly fumble as she’s filling the vase up. He’s content to watch, drinking in the sight of her moving in her kitchen. His mind is filled with visions of sleepy mornings with Tink puttering about in the kitchen, with him draped over her back, of cooking dinner together, of kissing her skin as she smacks his knuckles when he tries to steal a taste. It’s a dream he’s still not sure he’s going to get to have.

When she turns around and chirps, “All Done!” in that upbeat tone, he pulls her into his arms. He’s been barely an arm’s length away from her since she opened the door, and in that moment, even the short distance feels like it’s too far from his soulmate. She smells even more like oranges in his arms, the scent blending with his favorite cologne, sandalwood, and citrus blending in the air like they were meant to. 

“C’mon gorgeous. I promised you a date.” 

Her hand finds his as she locks the door behind her and follows him out to the Bronco. He opens the door for her, just as he did last night, and is enraptured again at the sight of his soulmate marveling at his car. 

“I love this car.” The words spill out of her voice in a near moan as he starts the Bronco with a rumble of the engine.

The entire drive, he has to force himself to pay attention to the words she’s saying and respond to them like he’s supposed to. She’s talking about his car, asking when he got it, where he got it, and how he’s taking care of it. It’s difficult when all he wants to do is bury his face between her thighs until she’s moaning over him instead of his car. Tonight’s going to be torture. The way her eyes light up and she bounces in the seat when they pull into their parking spot half an hour later just cements his feelings. The only parking spot he found was up at the top of a hill near a big tree. Down below is a sea of cars, shining chrome and polished finishes glinting in the sun.

“Are we at a car show, Bradley?” 

He has to thank his lucky stars for the body of the Bronco, hiding his embarrassing, unexpected hard-on at the sight of her excitement as he gets out of the car and opens Tink’s door for her. His futile attempts at calming down don’t help, though, because he’s met with an armful of his excited soul the minute the door opens. He feels like he’s drowning in the scent and heat of Tinkerbell as she yanks him into a messy, filthy, wet kiss. Her hands slide through his hair, short, blunt nails raking over his scalp as he drags her closer than is decent.

When he pulls away, she’s breathing heavily, eyes glazed, and skin hot to the touch. He’s not much better. His dick is rock-hard and aching. All he wants is to whisk her away and make her scream his name, a feeling intensified by the kiss they shared and the whimper leaving her kiss-slicked lips. 

We’re taking this slow, we’re taking this slow. It’s a mantra his brain is quickly grinding into dust from over-utterance, a mantra that is not helping the situation he’s encountering. But he has to get himself in check. This is his soulmate. It’s high time he makes a good impression.

“Yeah, Tink. We’re at the car show.” 

Bradley has to grin, chuckling a little bit under his breath, as he gets hugged again in a mess of orange-scented hair and warmth. She’s practically bouncing once he pays for their tickets, dragging him in her wake as they flit from car to car. Tinkerbell’s in her element, soaking up every crumb of information from the owners as they show off their cars. Her eyes are wide and child-like in joy as she oohs and aahs over the vehicles.

Three hours later, the sun has set over San Diego. Bradley has his crutches jammed securely under his armpits, and Tink’s bought a commemorative tote bag stuffed with merchandise. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much, and Tinkerbell’s rumpled and gorgeous, her hair escaping from her neat braid as the afternoon passed by in a blur of shining metal and exhaust fumes.

Tinkerbell is also holding a bag containing their dinner in one hand and a carrier with drinks in the other. He'd offered to take something from her, but his firecracker soul just glared at him until he backed down. The bounce in her steps still hasn’t faded away. Some of her boundless enthusiasm gives way to exhaustion when she’s sitting on the picnic blanket he pulls out of the trunk of the Bronco. The grass is fragrant and warm, and they’re far from the only couple to have the idea of a picnic underneath the stars.

“I don’t know how you did this, Bradley, but today has been perfect.”

Her eyes seem to reflect the stars as they take in the vista. 

“Yeah?” Bradley’s tongue tied at the look on her face. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like to do today.”

His voice is raspy and low as he whispers the words into his soulmate’s ears.

“I loved today, Bradley.” She curls into his side like she was meant to be there. “A car show? You spent hours today listening to me talk about cars, Bradley. Hours.”

“Of course I did. I picked this place because of that cherry red convertible you drive to base.” He presses a kiss against her temple as he hands her a fork. “C’mon, start eating, pretty. I’m starving, and I know you have to be, considering how you’ve been bouncing around in excitement all afternoon.”

He waits until she’s placed a forkful in her mouth before continuing. It might be a little bit sneaky and underhanded, but there are a few more things Bradley needs to tell his soulmate.

“I never thought I’d have this.” Her brow furrows at the words, eyes widening even as she chews and swallows. “I never thought I’d deserve to have this with my soulmate.”

“Why is that?” After a day spent with a wildly curious Tinkerbell, Bradley can tell when she’s got more questions than answers.

“Bradshaws don’t spend very long with their soulmates, or well, not in recent memory.” As always happens when he’s talking about his mom and dad, Bradley feels the pit yawning in his stomach, and his throat close up as his grief threatens to yank him under again. His heart stutters in its steady beat when Tinkerbell crawls into his lap. With her head over his heart and her arms curled around his back, he feels stronger than ever.

“My dad was younger than I was when he passed away. 24. He was 24 years old.” Tink presses kisses across his face, seemingly content to stay in his lap. “I barely remember him. I don’t know how to treat a soulmate, I don’t know how to make you happy, how to keep you happy.”

“What makes you think I know how to make my soulmate happy, either?” Her quiet question is so at odds with her bubbly, confident personality that Bradley isn’t sure how to respond. “I- I want to make you happy. I want to love you.”

“But I don’t know how to.” It’s a bold statement, spiraling out into the night air. Bradley can see the pain, the worry creasing her face. Her brow is furrowed as her big brain analyzes his words.

“Shhhh.” He tries to smooth the furrows away with his fingers, a gentle caress cupping her cheek. “I don’t mean to worry you. Sweetheart, this is a promise.”

“I promise I’m going to take care of you. I promise to love you, to make you happy. No matter what happens, even if I die tomorrow, I never want you to doubt that I love you.”

This time, Bradley can’t figure out who starts the kiss. It feels like he’s free-falling, synapses firing behind his eyes in starbursts of color and zaps of electricity. Tinkerbell’s warm and solid in his arms, moans slipping out of her mouth as he traces kisses down the firm, supple skin of her neck. Goosebumps rise up across her skin as his mustache rasps over sensitive flesh. He steals the opportunity to suck a hickey against her breast, slipping the neckline of her blouse down until he can smell more of that delectable orange scent emanating from her flushed skin. When he captures her lips again, he swallows the sweetest sigh. 

Her lips are spit-slicked and puffy. “You’re not dying on me so soon, Bradshaw.” Her voice is breathy and soft as she settles back down on the blanket, toying with the fork in her meal.

“Oh yeah?” His question, coupled with how he starts to scarf down his own meal, prompts Tink to eat too. For several minutes, only the rustling of the leaves in the tree above them punctuates the silence. 

“Yeah.” Tink’s smile is soft as she looks up at the sky. “I have plans to grow old with you.”

Once again, his soulmate takes him by surprise. She’s planned a life with him. She wants to spend her life with him.

“So what do those plans entail?” Bradley needs to know, watching as Tinkerbell’s eyes flutter as she sets her bowl to the side and sips on the bottle of ridiculously overpriced sparkling water she’d ordered.

“You and me, mostly.” She murmurs, tipping her head up to watch how the colors mingle in a riotous mix of red, yellow, indigo, and violet. “But also so much laughter and love.”

Her voice is quiet as she lays down on the blanket, eyes reflecting the skies above. “Maybe a family?”

The grass is cold and damp under the blanket as Bradley settles down next to his soul. She’s got her right arm under her head, eyes wide and wondering as her face is illuminated by the silvery light of the moon.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Bradley?” She’s still looking up at the stars, shivering as the cool ocean breeze drifts across her skin, illuminated in the silvery light of the moon.

“Yeah, it is.” Bradley is not looking at the stars. He’s only looking at Tinkerbell. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her lips part as she gasps up at the vista.

The night is quiet and still around them as they chat with each other, their voices barely loud enough to be heard over the rustling of the leaves. It doesn’t bother Bradley. Nor does it bother his soulmate. In fleeting moments, he marvels at their positions. As the night deepens around them, Tinkerbell moves closer, hands against his chest, head pillowed against his bicep. In the dark, all he can see is her silhouette, smell her orangey perfume and feel the heat of her skin against him. Even lying on the hard ground, he feels more at home than he's felt in a long time.

Bradley wakes up to weak, watery sunlight and fat raindrops splattering across his face. Tinkerbell’s still fast asleep, her face buried in his chest, her weight more comforting than a weighted blanket as her limbs entangle with his own.

“Hey, Tink.” Her nose wrinkles as she clutches tighter to his shirt and nuzzles even further into his chest.

“C'mon, sweetheart. It's 7 A.M. We have work today.”

Her head jolts up so fast it nearly impacts his chin.

“Shit!” Braley's not sure he’s ever heard Tinkerbell curse before. Now all he wants to do is hear her curse some more.

She's mussed and indescribably gorgeous as she chivvies him up off the blanket and into the Bronco. 

“I'll get you home in no time, Sweetheart.”

Tinkerbell’s smile is like the sun filtering through rain clouds, golden and gorgeous. “Are you going to kiss me at the door, too, Bradshaw?”

That's exactly what Bradley does. He presses his soul up against her dark green door and kisses her until her lips are swollen and her eyes are lidded. She whines, quiet and strung out when he pulls away.

“I'd come join you in the shower, Sweets, but we need you clean, not dirty before work today. It'll also make us both late. I don’t think we need any more demerits after the past few months.” 

Her laugh curls warm in his chest. “We really don't, Bradley.” With a snick, that pretty green door opens and his soulmate leaves him with that heart stoppingly sweet grin.

They're both a little late on base that morning. Commander Grayson glares when he sees Tinkerbell walk in, Bradley following behind her like a lost puppy. Mav just sighs and orders Bradley to do a hundred pushups as Tinkerbell giggles. In the grand scheme of things, there are worse things he'd do for his soulmate than one hundred pushups. His arms hurt like hell that night though. 

Yeah. 

He didn’t regret it one bit. 

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON TUMBLR, WATTPAD, OR AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN ON TUMBLR, WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@roosters-girl @infamous-reindeer @caitsymichelle13 @mattyskies @cosmic-psychickitty @mygyn @julesclues @greenbaby12 @bubblegumbeautyqueen @briseisgone @soulmates8 @meganlpie @captain-fandomwriter58 @caidi-paris @mazzbarnes @super-btstrash-posts @eli2447 @chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @abaker74 @marvelouslyme96 @faithiegirl01 @shanimallina87 @harrysgothicbitch @zombicupcake3 @djs8891 @bellaireland1981 @tsumudoll @scoliobean @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @callsignspitfire @roosterforme @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @thedroneranger @cherrycola27

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #you are my soulmate #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #soulmate!au #miscommunication

[ladysomething]

Well, I lasted three update emails. I was holding out on starting your new fic so I could binge a lot of chapters at once, but after getting the update email today I just couldn’t wait and to no one’s surprise, I loved every minute of it! Such an interesting world you’ve created and it’s only going to get better (for us, for Charles who knows).

I do have to ask since I’m not a fic writer - when you say you’re expecting this to be around 150-180k is that daunting for you as a writer or exciting? Right now you’re averaging around 8,000 words a chapter so with that average that’s around 20 chapters and with possible (please don’t view this as pressure) weekly updates that’s 20ish weeks of fic! I’m always so curious if this seems overwhelming to writers? I know as a reader it’s so damn exciting.

lol can you tell I’m a numbers girl and not a writer?

ah thank you! I'm so glad you're enjoying it, and I totally understand the urge to want to wait. I'm excited you're coming along on the journey anyway!

moving on to your question, I'll try to be succinct but to nobody's surprise I am an absolute yapper so it probably will be a long and winding answer.

I think firstly, you kind of almost explained it yourself, but in the opposite way. I'm a writer, not a numbers girl haha. I personally (though other writers may have different experiences) don't really think about how many chapters it will be, or how many weeks of uploads, so there is really no opportunity for it to be daunting because it doesn't really enter my mind.

The outline I have for this fic IS broken into chapters, but I already am not sticking to it. When I'm writing, I often explore a scene in much more detail (and therefore many more words) that I expected when writing the note for scene. e.g. today's chapter was like "1. Charles goes into pre-heat 2. max claims Charles 3. Pierre shows up" and then it ended up being 10k. I just finished writing chapter 6, which is also at 10k, and I've ended up having to shift half of what I outlined for chapter 6 into chapter 7 because I found a natural end point and I didn't want to end up with a 20k chapter.

so, for me at least, when I write I make a lot of decisions based on my instincts. does this scene need more, or is it dragging? is this chapter complete, or does more need to be added? is there too much in this chapter, and should I split it?

all of which is to say - my estimate of 150-180k is based on how much I have written so far (55k) and at what point in the story am I up to (I honestly don't think act 1 is done yet). I suspect my estimate of 150-180k is very low, and it's not getting to that word count that's daunting, because it's not what I'm actually working towards.

what IS daunting is trying to tell the story itself. are the characters right? are their intentions coming through? am I hiding what I want to hide? do I have a note of plot I've started at the beginning so I make sure I follow it through to the end? working towards answering those questions is what I'm thinking about, and that is always daunting, no matter whether its 10k or 200k (though.... PWP is always fairly mindless hahaha).

but it IS exciting. especially when people love something. I've written a lot of fic in my time, long and short, complete and not complete, and I can absolutely guarantee that the difference between exciting and daunting is how people react. when people love something ... the nerves are there, but they're eclipsed by the sheer joy of knowing you brought a smile to somebody's face with your writing.

not to get sappy, but I whole-heartedly believe that my purpose on this earth is to make people happy through my writing. if I know that I'm doing that, I could write 200k fic after 200k fic and die a happy woman.

I hope that kind of answered your question anon! long and winding, but fairly thorough? haha

#where you go i go #lestappen #lestappen fic #fic #fanfic

[every-aj-needs-an-angel]

Chapter 9!! I genuinely cannot believe I've actually kept up with this 😅 honestly I'm the worst ask every teacher who ever wanted coursework from me 😂 the love and support I've received from everyone who's enjoyed this has been mind-blowing and I'm so grateful to each and every one of you 💖

Betting It All On Love

Robin, surprisingly, took him shopping, which was only surprising because of how much she truly hated it. She hated the crowds and the trends the masses felt a weird compulsion for, and that was before she got on to the whole thing about consumerism. But she knew how much he loved it, knew how a new outfit could bolster his mood, how the hum of voices echoing through the space soothed something deep in his soul.

The one advantage to still having anything to do with his biological parents was that they still paid off the credit card they'd given him when he had gone on a class trip to the zoo in middle school, so on the rare occasion he felt the need to go wild in the aisles, he didn't feel like he had to feel too guilty about using it. Especially when that meant he could buy Robin the plaid coat she hadn't been able to take her eyes off of from the moment they'd walked into the mall.

Especially when she grinned like that at her every reflection as she wore it around the air-conditioned space, which was far too chilly for the tee and shorts combo she'd chosen for the day. Not that Steve was quite sure why there was a surf and ski clothing store in the middle of Nevada, but it didn't matter, he knew the coat would be perfect for when winter came to Indy. It hadn't been quite perfect in the moment, of course, and he was seriously considering giving in and just going into the nearest store to buy her yet another hoodie.

"Steve, I'm hot!" Robin whined as she wandered listlessly by his side.

"So take the coat off," Steve reasoned calmly, shifting the shopping bags in his hands to take some of the pressure off of his tattoo.

"But then I'll be cold!" she countered.

"Truly a cross to bear," Steve muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes to himself as he steered them back towards the souvenir stand; because no way we're they ever going to own another average hoodie, it was going to be the most disgustingly gaudy 'I heart Vegas' glaringly obviously touristy hoodie humanly possible. 

Except as they continued to stroll along their new route, it took them right past the food court, Robin enthusiastically exclaiming "Ice cream!" That was how they ended up crammed into a booth, the amount of bags they'd acquired practically pushing them off their seats, a giant bowl of banana split sitting between them as they both picked their favourite parts out of the dessert.

"So, how's things going with Chris?" Steve asked as he shoved a spoonful of strawberry ice cream into his mouth.

Robin nodded, chewing thoughtfully on the caramel coated banana, "Good," she admitted, blushing deeply and ducking her head. "She's amazing, Steve, I've never met anyone like her. She's like a ray of fucking sunshine, you know? Like the kind cats curl up in. Just joy and warmth and, I don't know, magic, or something," she gushed, waving her hands and her empty spoon around as she talked, saying more about her feelings than what was actually coming out of her mouth.

She bit the inside of her cheek but couldn't keep the lovesick grin off of her face as she stared into the distance, gazing vaguely at the lime green vinyl of the booth seat just over Steve's shoulder, "I swear to God, at Charlie's last night, I was this close," she pinches her finger and thumb together so there's only the tiniest sliver of light between them, "to asking her to marry me! And not just drunken Vegas marrying, like full on, come home and meet my folks, months of planning and white dresses, marrying. That's insane, right?" she asked, finally looking at his face.

Steve wasn't entirely sure how he was supposed to respond, part of him was insulted that she thought his marriage was less than because of how it had happened. Part of him was just incredibly proud of her. It was crazy, and it also wasn't crazy at all. Sometimes when you know you just know and given how long they'd all actually spent together, it wasn't like she was just jumping in feet first. Robin had probably spent more hours with Chrissy than she had ever spent with Sammi and that relationship had felt like it was never ending.

Luckily, he was saved from actually answering when, after swallowing another mouthful of partially melted chocolate ice cream, she jabbed her spoon at him and exclaimed, "And oh my god, Steve! In bed! The best I've ever had!" And Robin might've continued to elaborate on that, but Steve had unceremoniously dropped his spoon to cover his ears and “la la la” loudly until her lips stopped moving.

It was a running joke between the two of them, the first guy he'd been on a date with after Billy had been phenomenal. Alex had blown Steve's tiny small-town mind, and even though they’d both agreed that their relationship would only ever be a casual hookup, it hadn’t stopped him from wandering around for three whole days like he was on an actual cloud. Robin had quickly become sick of his permanent grin and had asked him "what the fuck he had to be so happy about?" She hadn't liked the answer and ever since whenever either one of them went into specifics about their love life that was what the other one did.

She laughed, and he did too knowing full well she'd tell him, in intricate and unnecessary detail, all about Chrissy's skills in the bedroom as they finished their shopping spree; they still had to find Dustin’s book after all, and they both knew he would listen while she gushed about what an incredible lover she'd snagged, and he'd try desperately not to be green with envy that she'd found the love of her life and was actually going to get to keep her.

They didn't talk about Eddie, he could tell she wanted to, she kept opening her mouth to ask questions and then just snapping her jaw shut and carrying on, distracting him with pretty things and tasty foods. Part of him was glad. Part of him wanted to talk it through with her. Part of him just wanted to enjoy time spent with his best friend and live in the delusion that everything was fine. He had no doubt there'd be plenty of time to talk about it when they got home, even if Robin and Chrissy immediately moved in together, and he had to learn to talk to Chrissy the same way he talked to Robin (which he honestly didn't think would be that difficult) he had no doubt that they’d make space and time for him to mourn his loss, and maybe even mourn it with him.

At least with Chrissy across the hall, he'd finally have someone to watch sports with again. Chris' taste in sport had so far been Robin's only complaint. She'd been excited to finally find someone she was attracted to who actually liked sports but had been quickly disappointed to find out that Chris preferred watching basketball and the NFL like Steve, which meant that Robin still wouldn't have anyone to watch soccer with.

Even though Steve was always happy to watch it with her, he just didn't share her enthusiasm for it. That was the thing that apparently baffled Robin, because “how could any self-respecting bisexual not enjoy a field full of men in tiny shorts chasing a ball?” And honestly, it was the chasing the ball part that seemed to be the off-putting bit. It kinda felt more like watching golden retrievers in the dog park, and although the whole point of football and basketball was to get a ball in a goal, he was proud that neither were a game a dog could play.

As he was ambling around the bookstore looking for the fantasy section, it occurred to him that it would probably be the last time he’d be asked to do anything like this for the kids. Not that you could really class a bunch of twenty-somethings as kids anymore, but it occured to him somewhat horrifyingly that all of them were about to start going out into the real world. They’d all soon be grown-ups and would soon have to deal with all the problems that came with being an adult that were coming for them thick and fast. Real relationships and jobs and rent, for most of them this summer would probably be their last one at home with their parents.

It might even be the last summer he had a chance to see some of them ever again. Max still wanted to go home to her dad and the chances of him getting an invitation to California were probably slimmer than he’d like to admit. As he picked up the copy of Earthshaker he’d been searching for, he vowed to himself to spend more than one weekend back home before they all headed back to college. Take his camera home, organise a big party, and tell them all how much he loved them. It’d be fine, the summer wasn’t over yet. 

Robin interrupted his rapidly derailing train of thought when she came bounding around the bookshelf, a stack of books cradled to her chest like a newborn. He purposefully didn’t ask, especially when he could see that the one on the top of the stack read ‘Nuclear Medicine In Tropical And Infectious Diseases’. He just grinned knowingly and waved Dustin’s book in the direction of the register, mainly because they both knew full well that given the opportunity, Robin could and would happily spend the rest of their vacation immersed in the endless racks and shelves. 

He did, however, self indulgently snag the latest Jackie Collins novel to add to his growing collection as he passed by the display. Sweet old Mrs Johnson had been the one to get him hooked. She used to read them when she would babysit, at first to herself, but then there’d been a bad storm one weekend when he was six and the electricity had gone out for hours. It was winter so although it had been early in the evening, it was dark and he was scared. But Mrs Johnson had just pulled him into her lap and let him curl into her while she read by candlelight.

He hadn’t really understand the story itself, but she had had a nice voice, and he had liked listening to her read. From then on it had been what they had done on rainy days. In fact, the weekend before she had died, it had been stormy, and they’d spent two whole days curled up in her favourite armchair in his living room while she read to him.

The books had made him mad for a while, after she’d left him, but then when he was older and trying to navigate high school he quickly realised he preferred the salacious crime novels to Shakespeare or Chaucer that were, as far as he was concerned, basically the same thing but written in another language. It hadn’t been until he was older still that he realised that some of the characters in those books had also been vital in helping him create the King Steve persona that kept him safe for four years.

 

Steve hadn’t realised how quickly the day had disappeared until they made it back to the hotel. Not that he minded, his stomach full from the tacos they’d been unable to resist, and he’d had a wonderful day with his best friend.

They’d bought so many things that even in the short walk from the lobby, his fingers had started to take on that distinctive claw shape as the handles had dug into his skin. Sighing heavily in relief as he finally released the bags onto his bed, and again in frustration as Robin cheerfully tried and failed to check their voicemails, nearly making a collect call by accident. He used his one still fully functioning finger to press the necessary buttons, flopping down next to his best friend on her bed.

Beep. “Hi. It’s me. Chrissy,” she paused giggling to herself, “I hope you two are free tonight! Meet by the creepy looking goat statue at six?” she sounded so happy and hopeful, Steve couldn’t keep the endeared smile off of his face. Robin almost cut the message off before Chris had had chance to finish, and he couldn’t help feeling like a bit of a hero when he stopped her movements just in time to hear “Okay, see you soon. I love you!” Beep. 

Robin’s eyes immediately bugged out, if she wasn’t careful it was likely they’d fall out of her head altogether. She glanced franticly between Steve and the phone, her whole demeanour screaming “You heard that, right?” Steve grinned and jostled her playfully, enjoying the deep blush on her cheeks and her silent fluster as she processed what she’d heard.

Not that they really had time for an emotional crisis, “Come on, blushy! If we’re meeting at six, that only gives us half hour,” he reasoned, flipping himself off the bed and heading to his wardrobe to find his black pinstripe shirt and dark jeans. He had no idea what they would be doing, but it’d be a fine outfit for an evening in Vegas.

He was standing over the sink adding some serum to his hair when he heard her mumble from the doorway, “Isn’t it a bit early for ‘I love you’?” She sounded so small and hesitant, he dropped his hands immediately, stepping over to her and wrapping his arms around her shoulders, being extra careful not to get sticky fingers on her fancy blazer.

“Is it ever too early to say how you feel?” he asked, pressing his cheek against the top of her head.

“I don’t know” Robin muttered glumly, grabbing two fistfuls of the back of his shirt and scrunching it between her fingers anxiously. “There’s no way she meant “I love you” right? I mean, she can’t be in love with me, Evie. It doesn’t make any sense! We’ve known each other for what? A few days! There’s no way she could… She must’ve meant “love you” you know? Like in a friend way,” she rambled frenetically; whether she was trying to convince him or herself, he really couldn’t say.

Steve hummed thoughtfully, “Does it feel like love in a friend way?” he asked evenly.

She scoffed harshly like he expected her to, “No! But she wasn’t just talking to me, she was inviting both of us,” she pointed out.

It frustrated him how easily she could convince herself that people couldn’t possibly love her. He sighed heavily trying really hard not to roll his eyes, “She was talking to you,” he affirmed, because he had heard that message, and contrary to popular belief he wasn’t actually stupid, and he’d witnessed with his own eyes how crazy Chrissy was about her, how crazy she was about Chrissy.

Huffing loudly, she removed herself from his hold, so she could look him in the eye “But it’s been days!” she whined, still trying to convince someone that the facts weren’t the facts, probably because she was actually just kinda scared.

Steve just shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, but how many hours has it been? How many hours did you spend with Mickey? You were in love with her. How is this different?” he asked, rather reasonably considering she was driving him up the wall because how could she not know by now how easy she was to love.

“Does sleep count?” she asked, wincing even as the words fell out of her mouth.

He laughed dryly, “No, Robbie, you can’t count hours you weren’t conscious for!” he deadpanned, tugging her back into his chest before she could start pacing like a caged tiger.

She made a pained sound in the back of her throat as she leaned heavily into him, gripping the sides of his shirt, moving her fingers around as she counted against his ribs. Eventually, after at least three recounts, she huffed the way she always did when he was right for a change.

“Do you think maybe you’re freaking out because you feel that way too?” he asked calmly.

“Maybe,” she muttered sighing heavily like she was holding the weight of the whole world. He knew he’d hit the nail on the head when she huffed a frustrated breath through her teeth and pushed him off, “How would you feel if Eddie said that to you!” she accused, pointing a finger at him.

Steve snorted derisively, too tired to be anything but honest, “Honestly, I’d be fucking delighted. I’m so fucking in love with him, it’s insane!” he admitted, trying desperately to ignore how whiney and pathetic he sounded.

All the fight dissipated out of her as he spoke, her eyebrows scrunching together in sympathy, “Really?” she asked softly, a pained look taking over her face when he nodded solemnly, “Have you told him that?”

Steve snorted a humourless laugh, “No! Jesus, Bobs, I’m not a complete fucking idiot!”

“But you just said--”

“Yeah! Because it’s obvious you feel the same way!” he yelled, not entirely sure why he was shouting. It wasn’t her fault he’d got himself all tangled up in infatuation again, “Sorry,” he muttered.

Robin wasn't fazed though just waved off his apology and raised a singular eyebrow at him, “And it’s not with Eddie?!” she asked condescendingly, folding her arms over her chest.

“No!” Steve exclaimed, because it was very unobvious, thank you very much! Robin didn’t argue with him, just threw her arms in the air like he was being the frustrating one, tutting and heading back into the bedroom to finish getting ready, leaving Steve to deal with the silence and his half serumed hair.

Chrissy, as it turned out, had procured tickets for a boxing match of all things. It wasn't something neither he nor Robin ever would've chosen, but apparently Chris' best friend from her cheerleading days, Beth, was now a ring girl, and she had pulled some strings and got them into a private box. They had their own bar and a balcony view over the proceedings, meaning they could see everything without getting coated in blood, it was different but once-in-a-lifetime experiences were kinda what Vegas was all about.

Robin was leaning with her back against the bar, Chrissy curled into her running her hands up and down the lapels of Robin's jacket, both of them giggling and whispering like schoolgirls. As much as he was glad Robin seemed to have overcome her earlier conflict, he was starting to find it all a bit sickening. It wasn’t their fault, and he wasn't really mad with them at all, he'd just been in a terrible mood since bickering with Robin and the dark cloud hanging over his head had only worsened when Eddie hadn't been waiting with Chrissy in the lobby like he had hoped.

He'd offered to go back to the room, part of him wanting to let them have a night to be together, the other part just wanting to be alone so he could sulk some more, but neither of them would let him. They’d giddily pulled him into their hold, linking their arms with his and practically frog marching him out the front door of the hotel and into the waiting taxi. 

In the seclusion of the private space, however, and with two or three shots in each of them, both girls had dropped all their inhibitions and seemed to have forgotten all about him. Honestly, he’d never been a third wheel before, not even with Tommy and Carol but he was seriously starting to feel like he should go home and call Barb and apologise for every time he and Nancy had made her feel how he was feeling because maybe he was technically married, but he’d never felt more single or more alone.

He sighed heavily, snagging a beer from the bartender and heading out onto the balcony, leaning heavily against the railing surveying the crowd below him. The venue was packed, not a single empty seat to be seen anywhere, which struck him as odd because the match wasn't due to start for at least another twenty minutes, and he'd been to enough ball games in his life to know that normally there was a mad dash to grab your seats before the game actually kicked off; but apparently the ring girls were supposed to be their entertainment, like some sick warm-up act.

The last time he'd seen a crowd as rowdy was at the strip club when he'd been inexplicably invited to Mark's stag do. Mark was his dad's number two, the guy being lined up to take over the company when his old man finally bit the dust. The bloke had spent the whole night weirdly trying to rub it in Steve's face how close he and his dad were, only finally shutting his mouth when after four beers Steve had lost his temper and had casually asked: "So are you sucking his dick, or--?" Mark had blushed furiously, started stuttering and stammering and had quickly disappeared. Steve had just downed the rest of his beer and hailed a cab, heading home to Robin to bemoan a wasted Saturday night.

Robin had whined about how it hadn't been fair that he'd been invited, but she hadn't. Everyone at the company had assumed they were a couple and after their first few jobs together they'd learned to just stop correcting people. Mainly because if they didn't their coworkers wanted to know why there weren't dating and usually "because we're like siblings" wasn't a good enough answer and then they had to deal with months of constant badgering and peer pressure to hook up. Robin had been right, of course, she would have enjoyed the strip club far more than he had. Personally, he thought grown men drooling over a half-naked woman, especially ones young enough to be their daughter, was a little grim.

A petite brunette who he assumed was Beth when she'd bounced up and down waving excitedly to him as she had headed into the ring, and her friend, who were both dressed in nothing but a metallic bikini and high heels, seemed to be enjoying themselves, however, especially when Beth's friend caught the attention of a stag do sitting in the front row. 

The groom-to-be was obviously a high school jock surrounded by his "bros" and by the looks of things, either his father or the father-in-law-to-be who was glancing anywhere but at the ring, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. It made Steve shudder to think that if his life had gone a little differently, if he and Nancy had stayed together, if he'd stuck with Tommy and the team, would that be him now? Would that be his dad? Or worse, poor Ted? 

Thankfully he didn't have more time to dwell on it when Robin appeared next to him bumping purposefully into his side, swapping his empty beer for a cold one with a gentle smile. Chrissy quickly joined them on the balcony carrying a beer and a tray of nachos to share, shouting over the noise of the crowd to explain the rules to Robin when she had asked how they'd know who won.

Steve knew Robin knew the rules of boxing. Mainly because her grandpa had been an Olympic boxer, but he wasn't about to call her out on it. Plus, he liked how patient Chris was with her, he thought it was sweet when he wasn’t busy being a grumpy bastard.

The ring girls left the ring, Beth waving enthusiastically, shooting Chrissy a few hand gestures that Steve didn't understand but made Chrissy belly laugh as she headed out of sight. Then it was time for the match to get started; two gigantic blokes followed by a team of helpers charging into the ring, bouncing on their toes next to the smallest ref Steve had ever seen.

There was a bit of chatter and then the bell dinged, the ref moved, and the giants started to dance around one another, sizing each other up and dodging a few hits before the real action started. One hit, two. The excitement of the crowd and the anticipation were getting Steve's adrenaline pumping. 

That was why he jumped three feet in the air when he felt hands land on his waist (that's what he told himself anyway).

Eddie laughed brightly as Steve spun around, his hands raised placatingly, "It's only me!" he yelled, giggling adorably. He smiled, placing a careful hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezing some of the tension out of his shoulder blade with gentle fingers. Slipping Robin a placating smile as she no doubt glared at him over Steve's shoulder. He elbowed her absentmindedly, giving her a look that said "eyes on your own date!" before turning his full attention to Eddie.

Steve was honestly kind of dumbfounded by Eddie's presence, when Chrissy had been alone in the lobby, he'd just assumed that Eddie wouldn't be joining them at all any more. He wouldn't have been at all surprised to find out that Eddie had packed up and gone back to Indy with Dan, even if he had spent the past half an hour trying desperately not to think about the implications of that. Especially when Chris had deliberately not said anything when Robin had asked the only question that had been on Steve's mind, “Where’s Eddie?” 

Even a foot away Steve could tell something was off, Eddie’s eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and he’d done a terrible job of trying to hide it behind a thick layer of eyeliner. There was a permanent red patch down the side of his nose, like he’d scratched or rubbed at it too many times, bursting the tiny blood vessels. His hair was overly oily at the roots like he’d spent the day running his fingers over his scalp and his fingernails were bitten down to the quick; the skin looked painful to even look at and Steve had no idea how he’d dealt with acetone and nail polish to repaint his nails.

It was the gasp of the crowd reacting to the first real punch landing that brought him back to himself. Steve glanced behind him in time to see blood pour from the slightly taller one's mouth, followed by cheers and screams as the smaller of the two landed a second punch.

Steve shook his head, immediately turning back to Eddie, "Hi," he mumbled in astonishment.

Eddie smiled cautiously, "Hi," he greeted, stepping closer and reaching up to tuck a loose strand behind Steve's ear, "I'm sorry I'm late," Eddie yelled over the roar of the crowd, "Can we talk? After the match?" he asked nervously.

Steve's brain very obviously and very quickly went to the worst case scenario, that Eddie was here to officially ask for a divorce, but his poker face must not be what it once was because Eddie cupped his cheek gently forcing Steve to meet his gaze, "No! Nothing bad, I promise. I just want to tell you about my day, maybe we could go for that dinner we talked about?" he asked hopefully, pulling Steve’s SuperEl shirt out from behind his back and offering it to him.

Steve blinked at the shirt for a second and felt the smile tugging at his cheeks threatening to split his face in two. Hope starting to bloom unchecked in his chest, making his heart skip out of beat. Eddie's hopeful little smile had been the most adorable thing he'd seen since he'd seen him drooling into his pillow that morning.

Eddie beaming back at him when Steve nodded bashfully, nervously tugging the collar of his shirt through his fingers, came in a close third. Eddie’s hand got dislodged from his face when his head automatically flicked back to the action when the crowd let out an elongated "ooh!" as one of the boxers went down hard. 

Steve took the opportunity to take Eddie by the hand and lead him out onto the balcony, leaning against the railing to face the action, waiting for Eddie to mirror him and get absorbed in the match, then turning to watch Eddie react with the most adorable second-hand winces as the smaller boxer tried and failed to get up.

Steve quickly found himself wanting to watch Eddie more than the fight. He tried to stealthily turn his whole body so he was leaning sideways against the railing. The metal bar digging into his ribs a painful reminder that he was here and this was real. That Eddie was with him, and he wanted to go to dinner and talk. That he wanted to tell Steve about his day! Wanted to take him on a proper bonafide date! Because he’d brought Steve his shirt. Honestly, he’d forgotten that he’d even left it in Eddie’s room. The thought that he must’ve hung it up in the closet for him, so it wouldn’t get wrinkled was so sweet it was making his heart want to burst out through his chest. 

He knew he must look like the worlds most lovesick fool stood staring at Eddie's profile like he was the most beautiful man on the planet (which he was) and like he was the luckiest man alive to even be in Eddie’s presence (which he was) but he just couldn't find it in himself to care, he was going to take this moment while he could and store it in his heart forever.

The bell dinged again and Eddie looked over, flicking his eyes down noticing Steve's posture and smirking to himself. Steve felt the blush creeping up his neck and turned back to the action, forcing himself to not push himself too far into Eddie's personal space, but he needn't have worried. As soon as Steve was settled against the railing again, Eddie threw his arm around his shoulders, jostling him lightly and smiling joyfully at him, pressing a gentle kiss into his shoulder.

As the match went on Eddie's arm slowly slipped down his side holding onto his waist, then slipped further down to his hip where Eddie gave up and just hooked his thumb through Steve's belt loop, tucking his chin over his shoulder and pressing the odd kiss to any bit he could reach but just staying as close as he could, curled tightly into Steve side for the rest of the night; until the bigger of the two boxers had been knocked down for the final time, and it was time for the masses to disperse.

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

Part 10

tag list my beloveds @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @adhdsummer @nerdfighteratheart @anaibis @dolphincliffs @hbyrde36 @marinarasarah @deadflowercollector @lunabookworm @a-couchpotato @wonderland-girl143-blog @ddharrington @abstractnaturaldisaster @lololol-1234 @bestwifehaver @steviejeebiez

#you know i proof read these things to death but tense changes and punctuation are my kryptonite!! #i'm just going to post this before i edit it again. sorry if there's any mistakes #steddie vegas au #steddie au #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #platonic stobin #platonic hellcheer #background buckingham #steve's pov #aj writes

[j-nipper-95]

WIP Wednesday (because it's still Wednesday somewhere!)

Thank you so much for the tags recently. Even if I've not been responding to them I've been reading what everyone has been working on and it continues to astound me just how wonderfully talented this fandom is. Keep being fabulous, each and every one of you!

Would it really be a WIPsday of mine if I ever posted on time in my timezone?

That's right folks, Trails is back! Edits are happening with the next chapter, which I'm hoping I'll be able to share soon. My team and I are working through edits for chapters about one a week at the moment. I may have to go to bi weekly posting though, as writing has slowed down on the newer chapters. But we shall see. The muses are fickle, and may return to me, one day.

A huge thank you has to go out to my beta team, my friend Zoë (who isn't on tumblr), @artsyunderstudy, @cutestkilla and @iamamythologicalcreature! I couldn't have got this fic back on track without you all!!

But for now, a snippet from the next chapter. Baz POV.

The knife is kicked from my grip and sent flying into the river by a heavy work boot and another crewman drops into the lifeboat. I lurch away, almost back to back with Simon, the crowbar digging into my shoulder. I grope behind me, drawing it from his braces. “Told you it’d come in handy,” Snow smirks. “We’ll have time for ‘told you so’s later.” “Promises,” he purrs. You have no idea, Snow. Crowbar raised over my head, I swing at the newest attacker over the central bench but he deftly steps back out of reach, ducking under my return swing. I cross the bench to keep him on the retreat. He whips his handgun up to shoot but I get a hand around the muzzle and shift his aim. The bullet clangs against the side of the ship and I copy Bunce’s earlier move with the crowbar. I slam it into the man’s wrist and he releases his grip on the gun. My own hand flies open at the impact but I don’t try to fumble for the gun. The splash it makes into the Thames is too faint to make out.  Both hands back on the crowbar I swing for the man’s jaw. The crewman ducks and lunges for my waist grabbing me and knocking me off my feet between the benches. I’m forced to drop the crowbar and shove his face back, thumbs searching for his eye sockets, anything to get him off of me. One of his meaty hands pins my wrist to the bottom of the boat, the other finding my throat.  “Baz!”  Shadows shift as Simon spins, now doubt raising the mattock to attack, but there’s a spray of something warm over me from the other direction. The crewman goes limp in my grip as warm blood trickles down my wrists and beneath my shirt sleeves. Something metal clatters to the floor of the boat as I throw the man’s limp body off of me, and see the wound to the side of his head. Penny’s face is ashen and flecked with the man’s blood. “Penelope Bunce,” I breathe. “Penny, the rope!” Simon’s hand is on my chest gripping my shirt a split second before Penny’s end of the boat drops as the rope snaps. Penny screams and grabs hold of the central bench as Simon helps me sit up. The crewman’s body flops forward and tumbles out of the boat.  “Simon,” Penny calls, pointing over our shoulders. I follow her stare and see the rope Simon had been cutting is almost sawn through as well. More crewmen are shouting above us, seemingly deciding not to bother climbing down the ropes anymore and instead just shoot us from the deck. Hammers cock. A call to take aim. Please, not like this. He doesn’t know how much I love him.

(No pressure) tags for Sunday: @artsyunderstudy @aristocratic-otter @bazzybelle @blackberrysummerblog @bookish-bogwitch @cattocavo @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @cosmicalart @cutestkilla @dragoneggos @erzbethluna @ebbpettier @fatalfangirl @frjsti @henreyettah @hushed-chorus @ic3-que3n @ileadacharmedlife @ivelovedhimthroughworse @krisrix @larkral @letraspal @martsonmars @nightimedreamersworld @orange-peony @prettylightsbigcity @palimpsessed @phoxphyre @raenestee @shrekgogurt @skeedelvee @stardustasincocaine @subparselkie @that-disabled-princess @theearlgreymage @wellbelesbian @you-remind-me-of-the-babe 

#wip wednesday #snowbaz #the trails we blaze #el dorado au #1920s london

[folklorianhaze]

Should I be extra bad and let you guys have a preview of my modern day elucien multichapter??? 😈

...

okay I need no convincing imma do it

(For context, Elain and Lucien have just had a messy almost-hookup after Elain, still grieving her breakup with Graysen from several months ago, got drunk at Feyre and Rhys’ wedding. This scene is the morning after, and the whole fic will be told with chapters that alternate between past and present, filling out the gaps in Elain and Lucien’s friendship to eventual developing feelings for each other, as we piece together how they got to this point and how they’ll move forward!)

OCTOBER

Listen. We should probably talk about last night.

Elain Archeron squinted through bleary, swollen eyes at the too-bright screen of her phone, staring directly at but somehow failing to comprehend the words occupying the little blue text bubble. Trying her level best to ignore the name attached to the top of the thread, reminding her against her will of the sender.

And then, beneath the first message, a follow-up that somehow felt even more humiliating than its predecessor:

I know you’re going through a lot right now — I don’t want to pressure you at all. But I don’t like the way we left things.

Somewhere beneath the dull pressure steadily building in her head, she managed to muster up enough shame that her face burned. The tone of the messages alone said enough about her behavior last night that she wanted nothing more than to chuck her phone out of her fifth-story apartment window (and then maybe back her car up over the wreckage just to be sure.) 

As polite and careful as his words were, it was all too obvious — he was worried about her. Did he pity her, perhaps, for the emotional wreck she’d been lately? She wasn’t sure which option made her feel worse.

Although Elain supposed she couldn’t entirely blame him for showing concern. Last night, she’d . . . she shook her head and grimaced, as if she could clear her mind of the foggy memories that still lingered. And each snippet she recalled proved all the more embarrassing. To say she hadn’t been herself would have been the understatement of the century. She hardly ever drank, let alone to that extent. She wasn’t entirely sure what had possessed her to behave in such a way — and in public! At her sister’s wedding!

Just perfect, Elain, she thought, the oily, queasy feeling returning to the pit of her stomach with a vengeance. I’m sure Feyre appreciated your hysterics so much on the happiest night of her life.

She’d be sure to call her sister later and apologize. Profusely. She couldn’t remember exactly if she’d made a huge scene in her drunken stupor, but she supposed it didn’t hurt to cover all her bases. But her damage control would have to wait for later, when the headache inevitably receded and she had to face the consequences of her actions in the harsh light of day. It was just as well — Feyre and Rhys were undoubtedly still traveling to their luxurious tropical honeymoon destination, and wouldn’t take kindly to any interruptions.

Not that she was entirely sure if she wanted to interrupt them later, either.

Elain let out a slow exhale, shifting in her soft bedsheets. She’d gotten accustomed to being in her apartment by herself lately, though lying in this bed alone still felt strangest of all. Sometimes in the middle of the night, she still found herself expecting to find Graysen’s sleeping form there, even though it had been months since they’d split. Months ago, and yet . . . here she was, acting like a reckless teenager. Acting messy. Her eyes began to sting, and she swallowed past a sudden tightness in her throat.

As she burrowed her face farther into the pillows, a thought occurred to her. How had she gotten home last night? Obviously, she’d been too drunk to drive herself, and she didn’t remember getting into Nesta’s car. Yet she’d woken up in her own bed, and vaguely remembered stumbling through the darkness of her bedroom and shucking off the dress she’d worn to Feyre’s wedding before plopping down onto the mattress. 

The briefest flash of a memory — the sleek leather interior of a car, the blur of the highway through the passenger window, warm strains of Billie Holliday floating from the radio — an all-too-familiar woodsy, earthy scent that had made her feel so at home, nearly lulled her to sleep — a golden-brown hand reaching across to hold hers, his thumb gently stroking her knuckles —

— and a voice that twisted something in her chest, that made her ache to remember it: It’s okay, you’re okay, Elain. It’s going to be alright.

#acotar #elucien #i just feel in my soul like lucien would be a billie holliday kind of guy

[rosanna-writer]

The Dust of the Stars in Her Eyes (7/7)

Summary: Feyre Archeron didn't want a prince, just a night off and a dress. But when the mating bond snaps for Rhysand at the ball where his father is pressuring him to choose a wife, he'll do anything to keep Feyre close—even convince her to fake an engagement to him. Warnings: Light discussion of injuries Pairing: Feysand Chapter Word Count: ~2.4k

Chapter One: The Prince is Giving a Ball | Chapter Two: I Have Found Her | Chapter Three: So Why is the Fellow Going Crazy? | Chapter Four: I Wake in the Loneliness of Sunrise | Chapter Five: Move a Mountain, Light the Sky | Chapter Six: And She's Taking Me Back to the Skies | Chapter Seven: ...or Are You Wonderful Because I Want You?

We've reached the final chapter this fic and the final day of @officialfeysandweek2023! Thank you so much to the event organizers; the absolutely INSANE amount of behind the scenes work to make this successful is so, so appreciated!!!!

You can find the last chapter below the cut or here on AO3.

Feyre didn't winnow or fly, just ran. There was no plan in her mind, hardly another thought other than a desire to put distance between herself and Rhys. As much as possible, as fast as possible.

It wasn't until she was too winded to go on that Feyre stopped to think about what she was doing. Returning to the house wasn't an option, not with Rhys there. And she wouldn't go back to her stepmother, either. Or any of the Illyrian camps.

The only place for Feyre was the forest.

She could make do with that—she'd been keeping a hunting knife strapped to her thigh, a precaution since Rhys had been shot. Ideally, she'd have more supplies than that, but Feyre Archeron had made herself a master of surviving on very little.

She'd intended to split the soup with Rhys, but now she found herself right back where she started–hunger clawing at her stomach as she prowled the woods for game. Perhaps she'd been a fool to think she'd have a chance at ever doing anything more than that.

Feyre cut branches from a sapling and began to build a snare. The process had become so intimately familiar that the steady motion of her hands left her mind free to stop and think.

Rhysand had known. And for the life of her, Feyre couldn't understand why he hadn't just said something instead of taking the most roundabout route to getting her to agree to marry him. They were mates—there was no way he wouldn't have her if he wanted her. Until a few hours ago, she'd been convinced he had wanted her, but now she wasn't sure what was true any more.

Feyre finished the snare, then perched in a tree above it to wait, still alone with her thoughts. She replayed the last few days on an endless loop in her head, trying to make sense of them.

The leaves rustled. A rabbit squeaked. The snare held.

Feyre got down from the tree and started on the work of slaughtering and butchering her meal. Skinning the carcass and building a fire took more of her concentration, but even then, she still couldn't quite escape the conclusion she'd come to, as much as she wished she could.

She'd have to talk to Rhysand.

While Feyre roasted the meat on a makeshift spit, she considered what to say, whether she owed him an apology for throwing soup and asking questions later, what questions to ask, how those answers might change her mind about what she wanted. Between the confusion and the hunger, her head was pounding.

She'd taken her first bite of the unseasoned meat when the snap of a twig and the sound of her name had her hand flying back to her still-bloody knife. Feyre leapt to her feet, heart pounding.

But it was just Rhiannon and Mor who emerged from the trees. For a moment, they just stared, taking in the sight of the fire, the snare, and the pelt she'd cast aside. Feyre didn't move her hand from her knife.

"What the hell are you doing? " Rhiannon said. "I thought you said you hated hunting."

"I needed to eat," Feyre said, keeping her chin up. She refused to be ashamed about it.

"You didn't have to run off to the woods to do that," Mor said. Feyre just gave her a flat look—there hadn't been a more appealing option. Mor sighed and added, "I meant what I said before, about not watching you end up in a desperate situation."

There was a long moment of silence, and Feyre considered whether or not to accept the help. Being alone in the woods might not be comfortable, but it was familiar. She couldn't quite find the words to ask for what she needed.

Mor just held a hand out, obviously ready to winnow them somewhere else. Feyre took it.

The world disappeared into smoke and shadow, and when it reappeared again, they were outside a log cabin. Before Feyre could ask, Rhiannon said, "It's been in the family for generations. The wards keep out anyone who doesn't have permission to be here."

"We were sent up here for 'reflection' when we were younger. No one's going to be using it for a while," Mor said.

They ushered Feyre inside, showing her how the cabin was spelled to take care of its occupants. Then Feyre found herself being shooed out of the kitchen while Rhiannon reached into a pocket dimension and pulled out more of the soup that she'd originally meant to send to Rhys that night. Feyre started to ask about it, but Rhiannon just winked and said her brother's soup privileges were revoked for the time being.

Feyre spent several days in that cabin, the first time in her life there was nothing to do but rest and consider her next steps. Mor and Rhiannon stayed with her that first night, but after that, they were in and out, sometimes keeping her company and sometimes giving her the stretches of alone time she needed. They shared news, though only when Feyre asked. Rhys was recovering well, back on his feet and pursuing changing the Illyrian inheritance laws with a renewed fervor. The updated statutes would go into effect in a matter of days.

And when they did, Feyre would have options, something that had been so rare in her life thus far. The money from her father's estate would keep a comfortable roof over her head and food on her table for a few months, enough time to decide on a path dictated by her own desires. She'd never have to speak to her stepmother again.

The morning of the day the changes would be signed into law, Feyre was waiting for Rhiannon when she arrived at the cabin. Rhiannon took in the sight of Feyre in leathers again and said nothing, just raised her brows.

"You still have the Suriel's cloak, don't you?" Feyre said. "The one I left in your room?"

"Of course. What do you need it for?" Rhiannon said.

"I want to see what the Weaver is willing to trade for it," Feyre said with a shrug.

Somehow, Rhiannon's brows climbed higher. "Are you…?"

"We'll see. It's an heirloom ring. If he ends up alone, then I hope you find someone to give it to instead."

That afternoon, Feyre arrived in Windhaven with a newly acquired star sapphire on her right hand. Just outside the tent where Rhys was meeting with the camp-lords and signing paperwork, she found a place to sit and wait.

When he emerged from the tent, speaking to Cassian, Feyre took a second just to watch him. She's known his wings were healed, but it was a relief to see it for herself. Deep down, she'd still worried.

His nostrils flared slightly as he caught her scent, and his head whipped around in her direction. Rhys went still. Feyre raised her right hand in greeting, letting the ring glint in the late afternoon light.

His steps were carefully measured as he moved closer to her, but Feyre had the sense that he was doing everything in his power not to run. The bond went so taut she nearly pressed a hand to her chest.

"What brings you to Windhaven?" he said, carefully casual, even as his eyes moved back and forth between her face and the ring on her finger.

"I'm here to claim what's mine," Feyre said. There was one stiff nod from him, then she continued, "How are your wings?"

"Intact, thanks to you."

There was scar tissue from the first time he'd been shot, perhaps that was true this time around, too. Feyre hoped that was the worst of it.

She watched Rhys's throat bob, and after a beat of silence, she said, "We should continue this conversation in private."

When she held out her hand to winnow them, Rhys had never moved more quickly to take it. Within seconds, they were outside the cabin. Feyre pulled her hand from his, and a part of her hated how reluctant she was to do it.

"Is this where you've been staying?"

Feyre just nodded and gestured for him to follow her inside. She sank down into a chair at the kitchen table, and Rhys followed suit, though from the way he was looking at her, she'd half-expected him to wait for her to give him permission to sit. Taking a breath to steady herself, she toyed with the ring.

"I'm going to ask questions, and you're going to explain everything and leave nothing out. And I'll decide at the end of it whether I'm giving this ring to you or your sister."

She'd already decided she wouldn't be accepting the bond that day. There would be time for that eventually, when everything between them wasn't so new and she had a better sense of what she wanted now that she was out of that cottage in the woods. Today, all she'd decide was whether there would be a chance for Rhys to use the ring to ask her properly one day. He seemed to understand, going silent and weighing his words before he spoke again.

"I didn't want a spouse, either," he said softly. "That's why my father held that ball in the first place. You've seen for yourself now that being close to me comes with danger, and I couldn't ever imagine asking another person to shoulder that burden because of me. Especially not someone I loved."

Feyre said nothing, just let that sink in. When she didn't ask a question, Rhys continued, "Then you landed on that balcony, and even though the bond hadn't snapped yet, I think I knew who you were, deep down. You were so different from everyone else there. And then you said that you were only there for a night off, and that's when the bond snapped and everything became more complicated. I wouldn't marry anyone else, but I couldn't— I could ask anything of you, not like that."

"You could have told me right then," Feyre whispered. She still didn't understand why he hadn't or where he'd gotten the willpower to keep from blurting it out in the moment.

For the first time that day, Rhys looked her in the eye properly. "I wouldn't force you to choose between accepting the bond or returning to your stepmother. Those would have been your options, and a choice like that is no choice at all. You deserved better."

Feyre could see the truth in those words, the way history would be repeating itself if he'd told her about the bond then. She was half-Illyrian; of course she'd heard the stories of how the bond snapping with the High Lord had saved his mother from wing-clipping. Feyre's life in poverty and Rhys's as a High Lord's heir left a gulf between them too wide for a mating bond to properly span.

"But I wasn't strong enough to stay away," Rhys continued, "so I schemed, the one thing I'm good for. And you seemed to want me, and that was intoxicating. I couldn't decide if I hoped you'd change your mind and stay, even after you received the money you were owed, or if I hoped you'd run far away and stay safer that way. Then I was attacked and I'd known you less than a day and I already thought I'd lost you. I didn't know how to tell you about the bond, after that. I just…wanted to stop feeling like I was in a crisis first."

"Were you ever going to tell me?" Feyre said, voice sharp. Rhys flinched.

"I don't know. Probably. But it was hard to think very far ahead after coming so close to death. I knew you'd figure it out eventually, but I didn't anticipate you'd do it that fast."

Feyre considered that, too. He was being honest, more concerned with giving her the truth like she'd asked than trying to win her. And maybe that's what she needed from him.

"I couldn't stay away, either," she admitted softly. "You should have factored that in."

"That would have been mighty conceited of me."

"Did I really deflate that massive ego of yours so quickly?"

For the first time in days, Feyre was smiling. And so was Rhys. The bond uncoiled in her chest, and she started to believe they both might actually be alright.

"I promise the other massive parts of me are—"

Rhys stopped abruptly as Feyre slid the ring off her finger. As he watched her, Feyre wasn't even sure he was breathing.

"I want you to try again, when the time is right. No lies, no scheming. Ask me for real next time," she said, holding the ring out to him.

Rhys took the ring and pocketed it. "One day, only when I'm sure the answer will be yes."

Feyre stood up from her chair,  holding a hand out to tug Rhys out of his and closer to her. "And what will you do to make that happen?" she said, tipping her head back to look at him.

Rhys cocked his head, his eyes taking on a predatory glint. "Would you believe me if I said I made a list?"

She'd started to lift her hands to rest on his chest, but they froze in midair. "You— You made a list? "

"Of everything I wanted to do to you but couldn't because I was stuck on my stomach."

"How long is it?"

"I thought you'd be more concerned with the length of–"

Feyre pushed up on her toes and kissed him; Rhys had no business finishing that sentence when there was nothing handy she could throw at his head. She pulled away just long enough to mutter, "Don't dig a bigger hole for yourself."

Before he could respond, she was kissing him again, deepening it and leaning him backwards until he was nearly splayed out on the table for her. She wasn't sure exactly what was on the list, but she guessed there were plenty of items that involved getting Rhys on his back.

There was still more to figure out–what to do with her stepmother, how they fit into each other's lives, what settling into the role of future High Lady might even look like. But for now, Feyre was just concerned with how to get Rhys out of his clothes as fast as possible.

And that was more than enough of a happily ever after for her.

#feysandweek2023 #feysand #the dust of the stars in her eyes

[dduane]

...A lighting and positioning test for the scene from chapter 5 of The Door Into Fire where Herewiss and Freelorn are reunited after a couple of years apart.

...It's scenes like this that point up some of the most trying of the difficulties of working (in the artistic sense) with digital media. Basically, it's hard to express real tension in a medium where flesh can't be indented when you press on it, and when the design limitations of the models themselves physically prohibit them from doing some of the things that the scene calls for. You can sometimes cheat the look of the pressure, the strain, by the way you position and light the characters. If you can hide the places where the figures "collide", as it’s called—i.e. illegally pass through and into each other, like a micro-Transporter accident—and fake the closeness that way... okay, fine.

Yet faces say so much. And if the digital models' faces can't be forced into the eyes-squeezed-hard-shut-because-of-the-twinned-pain-and-delight-of-holding-him-after-two-damn-years, oh-Goddess-I-forgot-how-warm-he-was,-he-is,-how-could-I-forget-something-like-that,-what-kind-of-person-am-I? expression... then you have to fake it some other way. Little things: the way a fist closes on the other party's surcoat (which can't be deformed or pulled because it's too old a piece of technology, so that too has to be carefully faked, and as you can see it's not perfect yet): the tilt of a head against another, the toward-you curve of a pulled-in waist (not in place yet), the way the light falls over faces. Or whose thigh is pushed between whose (I think Dusty's going to win that one, since Lorn's surcoat is conveniently split in front).

...And of course that's another issue, because the surcoat—an important clothing item and vital battlefield identifier for someone in an alternate-medieval-European scenario—is absolute crap. There is, in fact, not a single damn decent medieval surcoat to be had anywhere on the Daz 3D platform: not even one that's worth the electrons it's hung on. (And it's not like such a thing should be difficult to design, at least for the people who specialize in such work.)

The mail that comes with that surcoat is also total crap, and ideally needs to be rebuilt. Look at the way its texture deforms near Freelorn's armpit.

If the arm and the chest were two different texture "regions", I could have put it right myself with just a few clicks. But (sigh) nope.* ...The sword is also crap, but that's going to be broken next book anyway, so I don't much care.

...Anyway. One other pressing issue to be handled is the lighting from the fire in front of them, which is way too flat (and the wrong color temperature). A problem for another day. ...But the sunset's nice, at least. The really talented maker who goes by Orestes devised it, so that's pretty much a given.

So: not bad for a couple hours' work. Now to leave it alone for a day or so and—on reviewing it—see what all the other things are that need attention.

(shrug) Ars longa, yeah? ...Or at least we have to act like it is, even when it's as ephemeral as (under some circumstances) electrons.

*The mail coif that goes with it is crap too, and Dusty's hand on Lorn's neck is hiding the complete lack of the damn thing, which I threw the hell out because it has no "coif down" setting. WTH kind of thing is that?! It'd be like having a metal hoodie permanently stuck in the "up" position. :/

#digital art #Daz 3D #Middle Kingdoms meta #The Door Into Fire #Herewiss #Freelorn

[mangoshorthand]

No Hard Feelings- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Ch4

SUMMARY: You're Five's latest assassination target, but things don't go to plan and now he wants you as his fuckbuddy. Funny how what we want and what we need are rarely in line. (Five's physically aged up). Obvious smut warning but there's plot too, I swear! Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five- Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve

In this chapter, it's Tuesday and you made Five wait. You're expecting one visitor but the second is a surprise.

Smut below. Proceed at your own risk. They're actually screwing this time! 😲

Chapter Four: Working With Groragne

You’re enjoying a glass of malbec. You haven’t changed, wearing the same pencil skirt, blouse and mid heels you wore for work. What are you supposed to wear in this situation? You’d needed the wine to calm your nerves. You’ve been half aroused, half anxious all day. You're playing music and keep glancing over at the digital display, unconsciously clock-watching. 

At 19:58, you hear an impatient knock. Something about it makes you think he’s been standing there a while, knocking as much before eight as his pride will allow. Placing your wine glass on the table, you cross to the front door.

Again, he stands in your doorway. Another nondescript suit, the jacket held over one arm and shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow. You wonder briefly if his wardrobe is all black and navy suits, like a cartoon character.

“Wine?” you ask, “I have- “

“Nope.”

A flash of light and an electric whoosh and suddenly you’re slammed hard into the wall between your kitchen and bedroom. It knocks the wind out of you, but he’s on you. He’s kissing you too hungrily to allow you to catch your breath. More than once, his teeth graze your lips, hard. He deepens the kiss. Needy, insistent, he pushes you inexorably into the wall, as if he’s trying to force your two bodies into one. His long-fingered hands stop caressing your hips, thighs and breasts and come to rest on each side of your head. He scrunches your hair between his fingers and pulls a little harder than playfully.

A low gasp rumbles deep in his throat as he returns to the attack. You take every spare moment he gives you to whoop in air. There aren’t many, and they’re punctuated by hard bites to the back side of your neck. You can feel him getting more turned on as you let out tiny pained noises in response to his teeth. You know you’ll have to wear your hair down for at least the next week.

At last, he comes up for air, breathing hard through his nose. Up until now, it’s been his upper body forcing yours flat against the wall. Now, giving you breathing room, he shifts his weight through his pelvis, grinding his crotch into your hip. For the second time, you feel him stiff against you. This time the pressure’s firm and absolutely deliberate.

With his brow furrowed in mock wrath, he murmurs:“ You made me wait.”

He hasn’t let go of your hair. You try to say something, but either the breath or the right words don’t come. He helps.

"You ok? Color?”

“Gree-orange.” you stammer, changing your mind at the last second. It might feel like your entire vulva is on fire, but his ferality was unexpected.

He allows himself a single exhale of laughter, “I can work with grorange. Now, take off your panties. Leave everything else on." 

You reach up your skirt and pull your panties down, stepping out of them.

"Good."

Suddenly, abruptly, he pulls your left leg up and around his waist. You overbalance- or would, were he not holding you. You suddenly become aware of his strength. His slight build and structured suit-jackets belie the muscle tone underneath. Looking down, you see the muscles and tendons standing out in his forearms, taught. Almost as if the skin can’t contain them.

He pulls you higher and your legs wider apart. He’s not gentle and his rough handling splits your skirt up the back seam.

“Five!” you yell, indignant. He responds only by pressing into you harder and allowing your right leg to find the floor. Eyes glinting evilly, he looks you straight in the face as he grabs the torn seam and pulls, ripping your skirt until only the waistband holds it on. He cocks an eyebrow and gives you a grin.

“It was getting in my way.”

His hand creeps between your legs.

“God, you’re dripping,” he loads as much derision as he can into the single word, laughing malevolently.

He strokes a single finger gently up and down your slit. He puts on a mocking pout as he says: 

“Are we nice and wet for Daddy?”

You nod, but he tilts his head: I can’t hear you.

“Yes,” you croak, hoping it will satisfy him.

As his index finger applies the lightest touch, you buck your hips forward. You've never wanted a man to touch you as much as right now.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he chides, shaking his head and withdrawing his finger.

His eyes lock yours again. He knows he’s won the unspoken challenge. He has you just where he wants you and enjoys that knowledge. He lowers his voice to just above a whisper.

“You know what to say.”

You feel the heat rise to your face as you murmur, “I’m wet for you Daddy.”

“Yes you are. Wet like a little slut?”

You don’t wait to be prompted this time. Desperation for him to renew his caresses outweighs your humiliation…or is it the humiliation that makes you desperate?

“Please Daddy? I’m your little slut and I’m wet for you.”

Hearing yourself give in has an electric effect on your pussy. You feel it throb, an epicenter for shockwaves that tingle all the way up into your stomach and down your legs, pleasure radiating outwards. You feel a corresponding gush, and you’re sure his finger must be dripping now too.

“Good girl,” he croons, stroking your slit again, his finger quickly finding your engorged clit.

He works slowly, gently, swirling his finger. He works you to a feverish pitch before sliding his finger down to your hole, taking a moment to circle your sensitive inner labia. He wiggles the index finger against you, letting you know what’s going to happen before it does. Then, torturously slowly, he slides it in.

He continues at a languid pace. It's maddeningly too little. At the apex of his movements, he crooks the tip of his finger, almost absent minded. But for his face, you might believe he was absent minded. He studies your expression, watching your reaction to every micro movement of his hands. He looks detached, scientific; like a physicist taking notes on an interesting experimental outcome.

“You’re going to need more than one, aren’t you?”

This time, your desperate nod satisfies him. Abruptly, he removes his finger. Your breathy cry at the loss is stifled at once as he returns to your clit. He’s no longer experimenting; he's frigging you concertedly. His middle and index fingers strum a steady rhythm as you writhe onto them. Your orgasm builds, you surrender more of your weight to the wall and his arms

“Don’t stop!”

He doesn’t. You let yourself go. Wave after wave of pleasure cascade through your every cell. You buck wildly, your still-heeled right foot sliding slightly on the floor. Then, as mingled supplications and obscenities pour from your mouth, he suddenly changes tac, those two fingers abruptly entering your pussy. Here again he dispenses with teasing, pleasuring you deftly and efficiently until you go limp in his arms, the second orgasm a less intense but deeper pleasure, resonating through you like some kind of choral hymn. 

He removes his fingers and presents them to your mouth.

“Clean your come off me,” you open your mouth and he pushes them in, “suck them.”

You oblige, humiliation making the mingled taste of your juices and his fingers even more erotic. He pushes his fingers in deep before removing them.

He steps away, leaving you to catch your breath against the wall. After a single moment to take you in, he strolls to the coffee table and picks up your half-empty wine glass. He throws it back in one swallow, making a face.

“Ugh. Next time, I’ll choose the wine,” he says, slamming the glass down.

“Snob,” you manage, before he gives his next orders.

“Kneel.”

You kneel, watching greedily as his slightly unsteady hands undo the button and zip on his suit pants. From the plain white underwear, now just visible, he finally pulls out his dick.

The uncut five and a half inches stands proud from his pants, curving slightly to the left. It looks painfully, strainingly hard. Its soft patch of hair curls neatly at the base. You feel your mouth water and you swallow involuntarily.

He approaches, stroking himself just a little. It’s the way he holds it that you notice. Confidently; like he intends to use it.

As he looms over you, your eyes turn, unconsciously to the freezer: you knelt like this with his gun to your head. He notices and withdraws slightly.

“Are you ok?”

You nod slowly and then drag your eyes back to his. He holds your gaze.

“We can move if you want?”

You respond by leaning forward and taking his dick into your mouth, teasing the head with your lips and tongue. His skin is soft and warm. Not expecting it, he arches his back and lets out a tiny, contented sigh, as if home after a long day.

“Mmmm. Fu-uck”

Hands laced once again in your hair, he watches the lips that dared speak back to him now wrapped around him. Around his aching cock: where they so clearly belong. He lets you suck him for a while, enjoying for the moment that you're kneeling there just to pleasure him, working so hard to make him come, the eyes he couldn't forget studying his face, altering what you do to service him better based on his tiniest looks and moans. It's too much, thinking like that with the soft wet heat around him; it's too good when the head of his dick is already tingling.

“I’m close”, he says, casually. “And I want to fuck your face.”

You remove him from your mouth with a wet sound that makes his cock twitch.

“Green.”

He takes one of your hands and places it on his leg, warm and firm beneath his pants.

“Tap me if you need me to stop.”

You accept him again into your mouth, taking him as far as you can. Your nose meets his trimmed curls and his clean, pheromone scent fills your senses intoxicatingly.

As he looks down at you again, he squeezes your hair between his fingers, holding you firmly. He begins to use your face, stroking it up and down his cock while pushing his hips forward. He lets out grunts as he does so; low little 'Ohs' of satisfaction. It's like being a human fleshlight and the thought makes your nipples harden. You feel the head of his dick ramming the back of your throat. You try to breathe through your nose and power through but it’s soon unbearable. As your gag reflex begins to take over, you pat his thigh and he allows you to pull your head away, eyes streaming and taking steading breaths.

“I’m so close.”

A whine edges into his voice and precome beads the end of his dick, invitingly. After a few moments, you catch your breath and use the tip of your tongue to lap up the little drop. This earns you a little stroke through your hair.

"Such a good girl," he whispers, throatily.

Showing him how good you can be, you swallow him again. this time, he tilts your head back and pushes you down to a lower kneel. It makes it easier; you’re able to cope as he slams himself as deep into your face as he can.

“Take more you fucking whore, take all of Daddy’s dick. Ahh-ha you’re such a good little bitch. Such a good-fucking-dirty-whore- slutty-bitch…”

As he devolves into word-salad, his hips surge forward and you feel him spurting against your throat. He slackens, moaning, pulling back to ride out his orgasm in your mouth. The salty taste makes your pussy tingle all over again.

He pulls out and immediately covers himself. As he rights his pants, he strides to the door, grabbing his abandoned jacket and stooping to pick up your panties.

“Thanks," he winks, shoving them in his waistcoat pocket, "I'll probably see you on Thursday.”

The door opens and then shuts. He’s gone abruptly and you’re still kneeling there, some of his come dripping stickily down your chin.

It was harsh, but probably wise. 

He thinks this as he hails a cab. When he climbs in, he’s thinking he should have at least stayed long enough to get her a washcloth. It would have been the gentlemanly thing to do. 

As the cab pulls away, he thinks that’s bullshit. This wasn’t exactly a ‘gentlemanly’ arrangement. She knows what this is: if she wants ‘gentlemanly’ then she can get a boyfriend.

He drummed his fingers erratically on his knee. 

How was he supposed to know where she kept her washcloths anyway? She could get her own damn washcloth. He’s upholding his end of the bargain just fine. He’d felt the power of her orgasm in the tight, clenching around his fingers- he didn’t need any more evidence that he was delivering on his side of things.

Though he recently came, the reminiscence makes his dick show weary interest…though perhaps not so weary. He’s suddenly very aware of her panties in his waistcoat pocket. 

She has nice eyes.

He pushes the thought away, replacing it with more appropriate ones. She has nice tits, nice legs, a nice round ass and she sucked his cock like a champ. That’s what he should be focusing on.

He looks out of the cab’s window, watching the city go by morosely. 

…Should he have left immediately after calling her a whore? He can’t even recall what else he called her as he came. 

The way she smiled when she called him a snob. It was undeniably cute, he could acknowledge that, but it didn’t mean anything. They were just two adults in a mutually beneficial arrangement and he was maintaining boundaries: keeping things nice and clear for her. 

He sighed.

Having sex in this body is usually odd. When it was seventeen or so, he had a raft of one night stands just because he could get away with saying it was older. It felt all wrong though: he was detached from the experience. He imagined it was how a ghost must feel when possessing Klaus: he was able to feel all the sensations but felt that he had no right to be there, that he’d stolen it from someone else. In Five’s case, the body was stolen it from the teenage runaway he’d once been. It wasn’t really him.

Today was different, though. This whole experience was different from start to finish. The way the body seemed to take over where she was concerned…it horrified and fascinated him. He got caught up in the sensation in a way he hadn’t with any of the others: the feel of her, her little noises and the way he looked at him…he’d been so focused on them that, for a moment, he forgot the fundamental wrongness of his physicality. 

Again, he chased away the pointless thoughts. When all is said and done, you only show physical affection to the people you love. And he simply isn’t available in that way. His heart isn’t free for the taking. It would be wrong of him to make her think it might be.

But still, the sight of her kneeling on the floor, watching him leave with that confused expression keeps replaying in his mind.

 He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

There’s a knock only ten minutes after he left.

By now, you’ve cleaned yourself up, disposed of the ruined skirt and wrapped yourself in your bathrobe. Could he have reconsidered his hasty exit? It was hard to know how to feel about it. It was true that it was a casual encounter, but you hadn’t expected him to be so clinical at the end; to make such an abrupt departure. 

You cross to the door, a smile forming on your face, but when you open it, it’s someone else. A woman.

Her outstretched hand shoots through the door.

“Hi, I’m Lila.”

Almost before you can shake her hand in bewilderment, she barrels over the threshold. You step aside sharply for fear of being knocked over.

“Sorry to drop in on you like this. Just needed a chat.”

“Who are-“

“I told you, I’m Lila!” and then, “I know Five.”

From what you know of Five, this isn’t exactly reassuring, so you eye her warily.

She walks to the living space, looks around with an air of assessment, and turns to face you.

“So, weird thing number one: Five takes a job and doesn’t carry it out- hence you standing here. Weird thing number two: He meets you for a milkshake and now you’re best friends or something?”

Your mind races. Could Five have lied? Is the contract on you really canceled? Who is this woman? You can feel panic starting to build for the third time in the past few days.

“What do you want?” you say, stepping backwards.

If Lila notices, she doesn’t pay your fear any mind. 

“Usually when Five acts shady the world is about to go bye-bye, so I just had to know what that cunt was doing here at…”

She trails off, taking in your appearance.

“No way...is he fucking you?”

“N-”

“OH MY GOD HE’S FUCKING YOU!!” 

She shrieks with laughter before putting both hands on your shoulders, gleeful.

“Oh god! It looks like a baby mouse, right? Like a fucked-up baby mouse? Please tell me it looks like a baby mouse!”

“I-”

“What’s he got on you? Surely nobody’s going to fuck that unless they had to?”

“N-no, we-“

“So you’re taking one for the team? Sort of like a public service to all women?”

“I don’t-“

“Well, you’ve got awful taste but welcome to the clan! I’m with his brother.” 

She seems genuinely excited. She’s volatile, but excited.

She throws herself onto your couch, legs on the coffee table.

“You know, I’m honestly glad. I thought he was only into dolls. Couldn't help thinking about it- what if I'm downstairs eating dinner and he's up there in the attic banging something he had to order special from Japan?" she shudders, laughingly.

Your face prompts her to continue.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you? His last girlfriend was a mannequin, honey. You’ve already got her beat on personality. Poor little bastard gets lost in the apocalypse, goes batshit insane and carries a department store dummy around for forty years. Called it Dolores.”

You knew about the apocalypse. He'd told you that much when explaining his age...but a mannequin? 

She chortles, grabbing an empty glass and filling it from the bottle of malbec.

“Apparently, he talked to her like she was talking back. Like a married couple. Pervy little shit.”

She takes a sip from the wine glass.

“Wow, you do have bad taste!”

Masterpost

Alternatively, join me on A03.  Here is a link to the whole series The beginnings of a tag list: (lmk if you want to join) @dilfjohhny

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy imagine #umbrella academy x reader #the umbrella academy smut #the umbrella academy five #umbrella academy number five #umbrella academy five x reader #umbrella academy five x you #five hargreaves x you #five hargreaves x reader #number five imagine #five hargreeves imagine #five hargreeves smut #number 5 #number 5 imagine #number five smut #number 5 x reader #number 5 x you #hard feelings #no hard feelings

[dialsforshutup]

Oh, hello. Pt 4

The final part, aaagh!! I hope you all enjoy ,) Since the poll was almost even, I decided to split it evenly and have a slightly longer chapter with a tiny amount of drama that’s played off as a joke- with a happy ending! 💕

Larissa Weems x Fem!Addams!Reader

4/4. Not proofread, english isn’t my first language, some parts of the canon are changed.

Changed the formatting a little to make it easier to read :)

TWO time skips, minor (hours)

Tag list: @miaivy @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @lea-maximoff @larissaweemsrealwife

Hours had passed since (Y/N) and Larissa let bygones be bygones and apologized to one another. Hours since they had both fallen asleep in one another's arms. The soft serenade of silence combined with the chipper of crickets outside lulled them into a deep, undisturbed sleep. They wouldn't have woken up if it weren't for the rays of light seeping through the blood-red curtains- which were coincidentally slightly ajar. The rays of light made their way onto the sleeping faces of the two women, who were entwined into one another. They perfectly fit into one another's structure, almost as if they were made for each other. Sculpted for one another by the gods, where one cannot be complete without the other. Larissa was the first to wake up, eyes fluttering open as a ray of sunlight shone onto her eyes. She groaned annoyed-ly at the disturbance of her slumber. She just had the most beautiful dream of (Y/N)… (Y/N) that was in her arms…right now? Larissa sighed happily, it seems like it wasn’t simply a dream. The woman she longed for all these years was soundly asleep in her arms, she could feel her warm breaths against her neck- a notion that allowed her to bubble up with love. But also a fear, Larissa was afraid of rushing things, of coming off too strong and driving (Y/N) away again. She never wanted to loose her, if she could, she’d freeze time and stay in this moment forever. But alas, moments like these seem to flash by too quickly, and (Y/N) began to slowly move around in Larissa’s arms. The fluttering of her eyelashes making a soft scratching noise against Larissa’s neck, grumbles and quiet complaints about the break of her slumber were heard. Larissa chuckled at the woman cuddled onto her, as her hands slowly began brushing into (Y/N)’s hair, the light that was seeping into the room fully covering them. It was like a scene straight out of a renaissance painting, ethereal.

“Did you rest well?” Larissa softly asked, brushing stray hairs out of (Y/N)‘s face. Her voice almost brushed with the worry she felt, she didn’t want to come off to strong and drive (Y/N) away again- she couldn’t bear the thought of loosing her.

“Mhm..” (Y/N) answered in her sleep riddled state, moving her face out of the crook of Larissa’s neck, “To be honest, I haven’t slept this well in years” and it was true, she hadn’t, not since she was a student at nevermore and found herself falling asleep in the arms of the taller woman after a stressful exam. Whenever she’d try to go to sleep after leaving, she always felt as if something was missing- as if something that should be there wasn’t there. But what she didn’t know is gay Larissa felt the same way, and the ever growing pressure of being principal- which increased when Wednesday was admitted to the school, only made her insomnia worse. And her now filled arms felt empty.

There was a moment of silence between them, eyes getting lost in eachother, melting in the pool of the other, almost drowning. Sharp breaths. Warm breaths. It was too much for Larissa to handle, she could feel herself melting from the inside out. Oh how they longed for the other to do something, to make a move. (Y/N) froze, her hand entwining itself into Larissa’s. The tension was so volatile that it could be cut with a butter knife. The blanket that covered their legs was tangled between them as (Y/N) moved closer, eyes fluttering but never leaving Larissa’s- which seemed to widen in curiosity and longing. Their hearts were beating, almost in perfect synchronization. This was it, (Y/N) thought to herself, this was her chance to go the thing she’s been wishing to do ever since she first stepped foot into the Nevermore halls. To kiss Larissa. She began to lean in, their stares so intense, it was like a scene from a movie. Their faces inches apa-

Knock knock

…(Y/N) jumped in her place, starting Larissa along the way. Who could that be? They both thought, worried expressions on their faces. Larissa was the one who eventually stood up, she couldn’t take the embarrassment any longer and it would he awkward if they just sat there. But she frowned as she stood up, not feeling that familiar warmth and bubbliness that filled her when she had the confused woman still sitting on the bed in her arms. She brushed off her skirt and straightened her posture as she made her way to the door; (Y/N) furrowing her brows and sitting up straight on the bed in return, patting down her messed up hair in a desperate attempt to make it look decent. Larissa quietly cursed the person who was knocking on the door under her breath, for taking away this sweet moment from her. Her cheeks flushed at the moments before the knock, she assumed that (Y/N) was going to kiss her, or perhaps she was just staring at her- she didn’t know. She hoped that she was going to kiss her, she wanted her to kiss her. She shook her head to stop her thoughts from wandering, and finally creeped the door slightly open; only enough to see who was outside. “Ah.” Larissa said, nodding at the shorter frame that stood outside of the door, foot tapping on the wooden planked floor beneath her, “Miss Addams, goodmorning.”

Wednesday was hesitant to knock at first, not wanting to disturb the women in their room. But almost half of her ‘Macabre Psychology’ class had passed without the professor showing up. The class was beginning to worry and assigned Wednesday to go and find her aunt, it made sense as to why they chose her, but she had no clue as to where her aunt actually was at first. She tried various locations, such as the principals office or the library. She even tried the conservatory, only to be rushed out of the classroom by Ms. Thornhill for disturbing her other class. She was clueless until a thought struck her; Aunt (Y/N)… Aunt (Y/N), always late to everything! That’s it! She was simply still in her room. And so Wednesday made her journey to find the missing professor, knowing that she did share the room with Principal Weems… and well, she didn’t want to disturb and end up finding herself being lectured by the principal yet again. But her class depended on her, and although she didn’t usually care for the gratification of societal norms- she did admit that there being a lack of a professor in the classroom halted their studies, and would only result in Wednesday having less time to write, which was not looking well. And so she did knock, expecting her aunt to open the door with the dreadfully cheerful face and blabber out some excuse as to why she was late. But alas, she door creeped open and she found herself face to face with Principal Weems. “Goodmorning.” She replied to the principal’s greeting, “Is Aun- Professor Addams there? She’s been absent from almost half of the class. It’s lucky we didn’t all die of boredom.” She frequently accidentally refer to her aunt as her aunt, which people usually didn’t mind but, for some reason Principal Weems did not care for it.

Principal Weems, used to Wednesday’s dark sense of humour, wasn’t phased by her choice of wording. Instead, she simply crossed her arms and nodded; providing some sort of insight to the girl, “Yes. She’s just woken up, I’ll send her your way once she’s ready.” She told her, unaware that (Y/N)- by the time Wednesday had started talking- had already gotten up and prepared herself for the day. And that she was now standing behind her with a smug smile on her face, “Ahem.” Was all (Y/N) said, it was enough to cause Larissa to jump slightly, clutching her waist. “Christ-“ Larissa mumbled under her breath, startled by the woman’s sudden appearance behind her. Wednesday chuckled- it was unbelievable, this family, Larissa thought to herself. They were all the same, in one way or another, she just happened to find herself in the middle of them. Lucky her. She moved aside to let (Y/N) pass, she watched as she smiled at Wednesday and the pair of them walked off into the distance to the Macabre Psychology classroom, chatting incoherently between themselves. Her eyes softened when she saw how much (Y/N) cared for her niece, it was sweet, seeing people in moments where they do not realize how adorable they are. Larissa wished she could take a photograph of it, to remember it forever, but she did not have a camera. What she did have was responsibilities, especially since today was the day of the Rave’N- and even though she was going there as a chaperone- she was ecstatic since (Y/N) would be there by her side. So she had to ensure that everything went according to plan, nothing can go wrong. Hence the overwhelming amount of planning she had to finalize, she would see her beau later, but now, it was time to step out of her fantasies and be Principal again.

~~ Timeskip , Trip to Jericho, 3 hours before the dance~~

(Y/N) was so glad to have finished teaching her classes for the day, the time to unwind finally found her when she was offered to chaperone a small group of students- Wednesday, Enid, Bianca, and Xavier- to the neighboring town of Jericho so that they may purchase outfits for the dance. It came to her by surprise, from none other than her fellow colleague, Marilyn Thornhill just as she was passing by the conservatory.

“I hate to ask you, I know you’re on your break but.. I really have some important family issues to deal with” Marilyn said as she explained her situation, not giving any further insight on what kind of family issues she was experiencing. Or perhaps it was because (Y/N) did not want to intrude on the woman’s personal life and simply didn’t ask- either way she felt bad for the situation Thornhill found herself in and accepted. This in turn only caused the red headed woman to smile and nod sharply, “Thanks a bunch, I owe you one (Y/N)” she replied with a sweetness laced in her voice, it was almost sickening. (Y/N) didn’t question it though, and took up the opportunity to also bond with these four students, and make sure her niece wasn’t getting into any trouble outside of school bounds. She returned the smile and watched as Marilyn made her way back into the conservatory, red boots making stomping noises on the floors. They were very unique boots, you could spot them from a mile away, maybe even in the darkness. But she simply shunned away anymore thoughts of the red boots and continued her walk, but instead of going back to her room she made her way to the nevermore gates, passing by groups of students as she smiled and said hellos. Lo- and behold, the four students were waiting there, a bit confused as to why she was there and not Ms. Thornhill.

“Professor Addams?” Enid asked, a smile on her face. She couldn’t deny that she did prefer her over Ms. Thornhill, she was more lenient with them, less strict. And she was Wednesdays aunt, whom she already felt drawn to. (Y/N) smiled back and made her way closer to the four, “Hello Enid. I’m here in place of Ms. Thornhill to accompany you four to Jericho.” She explained, providing light to the situation as the confused expressions left their faces. “Would you four like to walk or shall I drive you?” She asked, as grins spread on all their faces- save for Wednesday, who only smiled on extra special occasions, and not usually infront of a large group of people. The group eventually came to the decision of driving there, as to not waste time so that when they returned they would have an extra hour to get ready. (Y/N) agreed with this, as she had to be at the hall earlier to help prepare everything. With this, they walked over to (Y/N)’s car, a gorgeous red 1959 Chevy- straight out of a cheesy romcom movie. “Nice wheels.” Bianca said, as she entered the car, followed by her classmates. (Y/N) chuckled and sat in the drivers seat, the leather seat already dented perfectly to her shape, she used this car frequently, and it showed. “Thanks, it was a gift, I’ve had it since I was a student here”

Over the course of the trip to Jericho, the five of them engaged in conversations about various things. Of school, of work, of the excitement for the dance, and of special talents. The students got to know a bit more about their professor, and (Y/N) certainly got to know more about her students. Once they arrived at their destination, they immediately scattered off into corners of the town, browsing different dresses of various colours and sizes. All except for Wednesday, who was busy staring at a dress in the window of the antique and oddities store. “Oh?” (Y/N) inquired out loud, as she passed by Wednesday’s tranced state. It seems like her niece, who was so against the idea of social situations, wanted to buy that dress for herself. And it certainly did match her personality, with the dark black eerie fabric and the cobweb like tulle on the collar. It looked like something straight out of an Edgar Allan Poe story, “Wednesday?” (Y/N) said, to get the girl’s attention- it worked wonders as she turned from staring directly at the dress to staring at her. “Yes…?” Wednesday questioned, the usual grim expression plastered across her face. “Are you interested, in that dress?” (Y/N) asked with a sliver of a smile on her face, Wednesday just nodded, and turned back to the window- almost hesitant to buy it. “What are you waiting for then?” (Y/N) said, breaking Wednesday’s trance once again as she walked towards the entrance of the store, holding the door open just a smidge- a sort of invitation. Wednesday- surprisingly- smiled at the invitation and made her way into the store which was filled to the brim with oddities and unusual things, something that was certainly enjoyed by both Addamses. After all, it was in their nature to love the unusual. As Wednesday acquired the dress in her arms, (Y/N) skimmed through some shelves which were filled with trinkets and her eyes landed on an intricate pair or earrings- clad with pearls. She smiled at the thought of Larissa wearing them, they’d compliment her platinum blonde hair nicely, and make her eyes pop. It would certainly make a lovely gift… or was it too much? Too soon for gestures like this? She wasn’t sure, but her confusion and desperation must’ve been so obvious as she felt a tugging on her blouse jacket. “hm? Sorry- I wasn’t paying attention.” (Y/N) said, turning to her niece, who slightly frowned at her state of not paying attention. “I said, are you okay?” Wednesday repeated, crossing her arms. (Y/N) chuckled and rested her shoulder on the shelves, facing Wednesday as she provided an explanation to ease the girls worried state, “As your teacher, yes I’m perfectly fine. As your aunt… not so much, I’ve found myself in a dilemma regarding these earrings” she said, gently taking the earrings in her arms and swinging them in-front of Wednesday. Who, in turn, raised her eyebrows. “For you? Or someone else?” It’s true, the rumours of the sudden close friendship between the professor and the principal spread across the school like wildfire, some even suspected something else, but the actual thought of it never crossed Wednesday’s mind until she saw the distressed state her aunt was in over something as simple as earrings. (Y/N) sighed and gently took the dress out of Wednesdays arms, the look her niece gave her was enough to know the answer, and so she went to the counter and paid for both the dress and the pair of earrings- which were placed in a seashell box. She just hoped that Larissa would enjoy them, at the very least.

~~time skip, THE DANCE!! ~~

After a long and tiring day of planning, shopping, and stress it was finally time for the Rave’N- the highly anticipated Nevermore event that was surely the talk of the town. The students buzzed with excitement the entire day and most seemed like they would burst with joy at the thought. The sun had set and the twinkling of stars only added to the mystical vibe that surrounded the hall. The staff had already been there an hour ahead, making last minute preparations and such. Larissa was wearing a beige, almost silver toned dress whereas (Y/N) was wearing a deep maroon dress that hugged her in all the right places but not too intensely. Larissa, being the principal, had to be there first before any of the other staff members arrived to the venue, and (Y/N)‘a entrance made her breath hitch in her throat- she was surely a sight to behold. She was wearing the same color she wore back in their Rave’N, it was sad in a sweet way, as things had come full circle and Larissa found herself in awe of the woman infront of her once again. Only this time it wasn’t followed with sadness and jealousy, only happiness and joy. Perhaps love, definitely love. (Y/N)’s eyes scanned the venue before she took her place standing besides Larissa, they exchanged smiles and simple hello-s before silence engulfed them. “You look beautiful, by the way” (Y/N) said, quietly, almost as if she didn’t want Larissa to hear it. Larissa blushed, which was extremely difficult to achieve on its own. The pink appearing on her cheeks was noticeable in contrast to her pale skin, it made the shorter woman besides her chuckle a bit. “thank you.. ah- so do you!” Was the reply Larissa managed to get out in her flustered state, still managing to keep up her confident demeanor, she was naturally good at speaking her mind- usually anyways. This was a different case though, the feelings she felt for (Y/N) were unlike any feelings she’d ever felt for anyone before, they were pure, raw, and terrifying. It excited her.

Before (Y/N) could reply, swarms of students had begun walking in, and the sound of happy yells and laughter diffused across the room like a strongly scented perfume. The overall atmosphere was so positive one couldn’t help but smile and dance along to the beat of the music, which was only further emphasized by the chilly winter-like decorations. (Y/N) clutched the seashell box in pocket, deciding it was really now or never that she’d have the chance to give them to Larissa, even though she would have preferred a movie private situation. “Issi-“

“Would you like to dance?” Larissa said, accidentally interrupting (Y/N)- who let the idea go and just decided to give the earrings to Larissa another time- a more personal time. “Sorry for interrupting” the taller woman added, letting a bit of laughter slip through her apology. (Y/N) shook her head and joined in on the laughter, “No, no, it’s okay, and I’d love to dance with you.” She said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Larissa jokingly rolled her eyes and extended her arm for the shorter woman to take, which she did, and led her to a more secluded part of the dance floor- the students would definitely have something to gossip about now- but neither of them really cared about that. Once they had both reached their location, a sight in silvery beige and maroon, the music began to slow down into an almost dreamy tune and the sweet riddled voice of Dean Martin began to sing. Larissa smiled sweetly at her dance partner, as they both held hands, both nervous to initiate the dance. Who would make the first move? Neither of them knew. They stared into eachothers eyes, a habit they developed with one another, and almost naturally- began to sway to the music. It was like clockwork, the way they danced, as if they’d been dancing together their entire life when in fact this was the first time they had ever danced this romantically before- at-least together anyways. It was heaven, nothing could ruin this moment between them, or the tension that lingered in the air. (Y/N) moved closer, Larissa looked like she was going to faint at this; but simply extended her arm to wrap around (Y/N)‘a waist, if nobody had ever thought it before it was certain that they looked like a couple- especially in this state. It was something out of a romcom, almost too good to be true, a dream perhaps. But no, this was no dream, it was reality. Their reality.

Then, the first drops came. The cruel prank played upon Nevermore by Jericho teenagers. The blood, the screaming, the panic. Atleast it wasn’t real blood, not that (Y/N) would mind, but it would’ve definitely soured the mood more. The professor didn’t even notice the blood at first, before Larissa’s expression turned sour when looking at her. “What’s wrong?” (Y/N) asked, worried that she had done something to upset the taller woman. Larissa shook her head and looked up, that’s when the rain of blood started, and so did the screaming. All of a sudden, the entire hall was drenched in blood, the people within it included. Most of the students were panic ridden, while others looked hurt by the prank. Larissa was one of them, she looked like a lost puppy, just staring blankly at the distance. She had gone through great lengths to prepare this years Rave’N, she wanted nothing but her students to have a night to enjoy themselves and the atmosphere. But it didn’t seem to matter, all of that preparation was flushed down the drain the moment the first drop appeared. (Y/N) gently placed her hand on Larissas face and moved it to face towards her, “Don’t blame yourself.” She said, almost as if she could read Larissa’s mind, but she didn’t have to- the pained expression on the Principal’s face said enough. That’s when the power was cut, as if it couldn’t get any more disastrous. (Y/N) moved forward, being as close as possible to Larissa as to not loose her in the darkened room. Larissa didn’t know what to do, her heart was racing, all thoughts of the dance left her mind and the only thing she could think of was how close (Y/N) was to her right now, it was almost unbearable. “Oh darling…” Larissa whispered, a barely audible sound of yearning as the lights of the auditorium shut off. The dance was in the midst of it’s height when the power closed, causing a shock within the student body. (Y/N)’s breath was heavy, their bodies closer than before, lips barely apart. She could close the gap right now, set aside all of their yearning and teasing and just do it. She wanted to. She needed to. *They* needed to. Larissa’s position hitched, she couldn’t see the woman she held onto infront of her, but she could feel her warmth- and her floral perfume that sent her insane. “Please don’t torture me any longer” Larissa said, breath buzzing on (Y/N)’s lips. “But you know how much it excites me..” (Y/N) said, before leaning forwards. This was it, after so many years of yearning they’d finally admit their love for one another, how desperate they needed one another. How, like a candle to its flame, one could not exist without the other. And so they finally kissed, and what a kiss it was. When their lips met it was like they were incomplete before this kiss, perfectly fitted to one another- almost made for one another. The sparks between them were so strong you could almost see the light that illuminated from them in the blacked-out room, it was a dangerous game they were playing; the lights could come back on at any moment in time. It only made it ever more exciting, and suddenly a dance that seemed to go very badly suddenly went very well. It was a perfect way to end the day, and to end the years of longing between them. They were finally complete.

Made whole by one another.

Thank you all for following along with me throughout this journey, it has been so fun writing this series and I hope I provided a good ending! I will probably write a one shot about the earrings though so ,) look out for it! More Larissa to come, of course <3 ❤️💋❤️💋❤️

- A question, would you guys be interested in one shots relating to (Dracula) & (Cersei Lannister?) please let me know!

#Spotify #i’m sorry for part 4 being so late #larissa weems #gwendoline christie #wednesday #wednesday netflix #fem x fem #larissa weems x reader #mwah #theaddamsfamily #in love with larissa weems fr #the addams family #principal weems #happy ending #y/n #x reader

[blackstarchanx3new]

FSR rambles...THE FIFTH ONE???

It dawned on me while I work on the 2nd flashback comic in a row I could talk about the scene between Blue and Green. I will probably have less interesting/insightful things to say about this chapter since it was mostly "Aftercare" for all the BS I put yall through with the Link chapter. X'D

I actually EXTENDED this scene from it's OG length not sure how obvious that is though. We all needed to heal. UwU Mostly me actually lmfao. I write obnoxiously fluffy shit after dark shit to make me feel better. X'D

IS IT TONAL WIPLASH!? MAYBE!? DO I CARE???? NOOOOOOO.

Jumping into this page after the last one it gives the impression Blue talking yanked Green out of his thoughts about Link/the past few days leading up to Link pulling the sword.

Twice now someone has warded off Dark Link just by talking to the person he's affecting. Previous being Shadow not so elegantly yelling at Vio till he woke the hell up but he was way deeper in in than Green is here.

Onto the more pressing matter of this page though:

Green feels responsible for taking care of everyone and was worried about what Vio was going to go do once he left the house: Note, we SAW what Shadow and Vio were up too but Green has NO CLUE. If he knew I feel like he'd be more concerned about the freakin' panic attack oof.

Vio just said he was going for a walk and hasn't come back for presumably hours. Right after the split too and with someone who is DUBIOUS at best. The situation kinda just sucks.

Blue gets annoyed with Green's stubbornness offering to take his place in waiting for Vio. The millionth sign he cares about Vio a lot despite his previous ranting.

Dude just decides to concedes to sitting with Green cause it's easier than trying to get him to sleep. Despite him OBVIOUSLY needing it.

Fair question to ask all things considered...

Not much to say story wise but art wise Blue is very cute and his super long side burns are one of my favorite things about him outside of his huge eyebrows. Yall will know weird eyebrows are a thing I enjoy drawing if you've seen my art for a long time. XD

That hug went on a little too long lmao. Blue's kind of shy about physical affection and I think that's cute.

Blue doesn't wanna be Link, like at all. He must have also caught Vio staring at the sword's pedestal because he knows Vio had thoughts about placing it earlier and knew Green had paranoia about Vio putting the sword back while on the "Walk"

Blue's perceptive.

Green says the gayest thing he possibly could prompting one of my favorite lines from Blue in this entire comic "Why am I the only normal one???" He's projecting his own insecurities about being "weird" onto the Vio and Green.

He really wanted the split to be the key to solving all their/Link's problems. Unlucky for him it just makes 4 times more issues oop.

Blue ain't an idiot. He can tell Green's not doing too well. UNLIKE VIO GREEN'S ACTUALLY HONEST RIGHT OFF THE BAT WITH HIS PROBLEMS/FEARS.

Blue decides he wants to be the 2nd most level headed character in this comic outside of Shadow Link.

Blue's a true bud.

Blue how dare you capture Green's heart. X'D Vio and Green are both desperate for comfort. I find Green and Vio were the ones affected by Link's depression the most.

Vio harbors a LOT of regret and anxiety. Green feels overwhelming pressure to do what Link did before the split while being "Diet Link".

Vio's less good at dealing with and communicating emotions are hard for the purple boy. Green doesn't have this problem and is with someone who gets what he's going through right away while Shadow wasn't sure WHAT was the problem when Vio started to break down.

Green never gets to that point at least not here.

Green and Blue also don't have the utter BAGAGE Vio and Shadow do lmao so that probably helps.

Green and Vio got baggage together that will be unpacked later. ;)

Lol Green's confession is cute. Blue's a lot less comfortable saying stuff quite like that. Red's the MOST comfortable saying that kind of thing so maybe this scene is OOC but Green's insanely difficult to characterize so I'm doing whatever I want with him. X'D

Blue hasn't been slick at all about his feelings towards Vio let's be real and Green calls him out.

Shadow Link pisses Blue off and I'm so giddy to show off more of WHY that is. (It's deeper than he's jealous which you can probably figure from his dialogue.)

Also just goes to show Link himself still harbored tough feelings around Shadow Link deeper than Vio's emotional baggage.

While Vio was in denial he was still alive despite the obvious fact he was there the whole time and the notion they could ever meet again, even HOPING they wouldn't, he still showed fondness towards Shadow and was happy to be around him.

Blue actively doesn't like Shadow and has been vocal about that fact. If Blue calling him a "Bitch" and a "Bastard" didn't make that clear enough.

Green you'll notice only at first mentions wanting Vio to come back but switches to mentioning them both in the next page. He also was the one who clarified Shadow was welcome to stay with them and was apart of their team. Showing a sort of neutral leaning on positive tone to Shadow's existence.

Red's relationship with Shadow is nonexistent at this point but will be explored later so I can't speak on it as of rn. Red hasn't had much of a role but I will point out I did like drawing him in the BG of these pages. XD He's still around just sleepy.

Blue's ability to sense danger is such an interesting thing about him. Like, that's so useful I wish we got to see it more in the manga.

I appreciated Blue way more as a character after drawing these pages and it made me change how I wrote him in certain scenes in the script X'D

I want him to have just as much depth as Vio and Shadow, because while Vidow had a strong focus at the START the whole of the comic leans on: A sequel to FSA vibe.

We're left on a cliff hanger for what the hell Blue's afraid of...Vaati perhaps?

We'll see.

Blue being protective of Green was smth I thought would be cute, but Green also trusts his judgment.

Also smth that will be touched on btw and I'm sure yall have noticed is: Where the hell is Princess Zelda/what is she up too. Considering she got a letter from Link.

#four swords adventures #four swords manga #four swords returns #shadow link #four swords returns au #loz #loz fsr au #four swords #FSR rambles

[moa-broke-me]

This is a rough draft, of the first chapter, of a fic I don't even have a name for, and purely for @yonemurishiroku so if you're not into Mpreg and a/b/o, percico, or fictional politics, scram!

Percy pouted up at his father. "Can't you tell them to go faster?" He whined.

Poseidon sighed. "Percy, if you won't listen to the chariot driver, then maybe you'll listen to me; You have to go slowly to let your body get used to the pressure difference."

His son just huffed, his tailfin swishing in annoyance. "I don't even want to be here. Why couldn't you just come here alone?"

"Prince Nico has specifically requested you, and only you."

"... Are we sure this isn't a trap?" Percy asked. "Anglers have a reputation for doing that, y'know. Luring people in."

Poseidon scoffed. "Anglerfish, maybe, but just because they share a resemblance doesn't mean they share behaviors. That's like saying you have a reputation for dying the minute you're forced to stand still."

Percy looked down at his lower half, the tail of a great white shark, which he shared with his father. "... Well, I do have ADHD."

-

A few hours later, they met at Twilight City, sort of in-between zone for the two kingdoms, Poseidon's in the sun, and Hades' in darkness.

Specifically, a restaurant, by the name of Arielle's.

The boy before him was short, and had a soft glow about him. Literally, there were tiny glowing freckles along his cheeks and shoulders, in a rainbow of colors. The biggest of which was a protrusion in the center of his forehead, glowing a bright purple. He was thin and delicate-looking, his cheeks sallow and his hip bones protruding. His eyes were large and black-... No. Brown. A dark, rich brown. His hair was black, though. He was pale, so unbelievably pale, like he'd never seen the sun. And his lower half was dark blue, dappled with white and adorned with a myriad of fins.

Percy shook himself out of his admiring trance. "Um, I assume you're Prince Nico?"

Nico nodded, sitting at the booth. Dinner was nice, they ordered the swordfish ribs, but Nico didn't seem to eat hardly anything.

Percy tried to make conversation. "Um... Your tail is really pretty."

Nico laughed, and god, his laugh... "Um, thanks. My father gave it to me. He's a coelecanth, y'know."

Percy laughed too. They didn't talk policy much, which was a relief. Percy hated talking policy. He'd heard something about a population crisis, but didn't remember the details, or even if there were any.

Mostly, they just talked. And was it just Percy, or... Was Nico flirting with him?

He sure hoped so, because the boy was hot.

(SMUT WARNING)

-

He and the charming boy went to stay in a hotel down the street, but uh oh... There was only one bed.

He could feel his testes swell, just underneath the skin of his tail.

"Um, you take it." Percy insisted. "I'll just, um... I-I'll be in the bathroom."

He went to the bathroom and transformed, his tail splitting into two legs, letting his nether regions free. His erection sprang up, and he debated himself over whether or not to just masturbate and get it over with, but... No. Nico would hear him.

He just transformed back, and went out to check on him.

Little did he know, Nico also had his legs out.

And he was an omega.

"Um... I-I'm sorry, can I... Help you?"

Nico smiled seductively. "Yeah."

The unmistakable scent of heat hung in the air, and clouded Percy's mind. Even without any prior experience, he mounted Nico without hesitation, fucking him senseless as he screamed and begged for more. He came into his soft omega pussy, pumping his womb so full Nico felt it was about to burst.

It was brutal, and wonderful, and all a blur.

-

Nico sighed next to the older boy, satisfied but guilty. "... I'm sorry."

"For what?" He asked. "Giving me possibly the best sex of my life?"

"Well... I-I didn't bring any condoms. And... I knew how this night was going to go. In fact, I... I-I'm on my heat right now. That's why this meeting was so urgent."

Percy slowly realized what he meant. "... You... You baby trapped me?"

Nico winced. "I knew you'd take it badly, but... I thought you should know. Please, it's... It's the best plan my father and I could come up with." Nico was crying now. "We don't have any alliances at the moment, and... I was hoping that having children with you would change that. Maybe then, we could get your food for cheap. There is no sun, agriculture is... Nigh impossible." His voice broke. "My people have to scavenge the whalefalls, eating flesh that's decayed and diseased, and even those are diminishing. They're starving, Perseus, and this is the only way I can save them."

Percy wanted to be angry at the violation, but... He just couldn't. His arms found their way around Nico's body, cold and small. Now he understood why he didn't eat much at dinner. How could one expect him to?

Nico cried into his chest, and Percy squeezed him tight. This was more than just animal attraction, this was... Percy refused to say love.

But it was something.

He sighed. "... Just call me Percy, from now on."

Nico sniffled, seemingly out of tears. "... Percy... I can feel them. Your sperm, swimming in my belly, trying to find my eggs."

Percy patted his tummy gently. "... How many?"

"Thirty, and almost all of them are fertilized already. There's no telling how many will survive to birth... They'll start to eat each other in the womb when faced with starvation."

Percy sighed. "None of our babies are going to eat each other. We're taking you back to my kingdom, to see our doctors, and we'll be sure to feed them plenty. And you, too." Percy wasn't sure why, but he impulsively pecked him on the cheek. "Now, let's sleep."

Nico hummed, snuggling into the other prince's chest. "Thank you."

#percico #mpreg #nico di angelo #pjo #percy jackson #a/b/o dynamics

[miguel-ohara-wifey]

I’d never let you go

Chapter 5

Miguel O’Hara X Fem!reader

Rating; 18+ smut & violence

Prompt; Finally what you two have wanted for so long.

Warnings; PiV sex, Dominant Miguel, biting, scratching, unprotected sex, overstimulation, oral sex (fem receiving), orgasm as lubricant, degrading, violence, death, corpse, blood, swearing, cop mention, dubious consent roleplay, abusive ex, Eric’s arc comes to a close.

Word count; 5.4k

“What the fuck are you doing?” Your voice shook as much as the muscles under your skin. Almost like your own insides were trying to get snug in your flesh. After your heart starts beating a mile a minute, your blood runs hotter than jet fuel. 

Eric grimaced, “Waiting for your new boyfriend-“ suddenly four grinding mechanical tubes with four sharp claws on each end. Pulled themselves out from behind his back. They looked shoddily put together, some with mismatching parts and rust already leaked through its edges. But they were moving on their own almost. A second body connected to Eric. That was enough to get you ready to run. 

“But hey, I got to see you in this dress. Why didn’t you wear anything like that when we were together?…” he taunted as he walked closer towards you. Without letting him continue you bolted for the sliding glass door. One of Eric's claws crushed itself right on the side of the split between the door and door frame. 

“Come on now, don’t spoil the fun-“ that next moment after your unsuccessful attempts to get the door opened anyway. He violently sandwiched your throat between another one of his claws and the glass door. A web of cracks formed around the impact. As he held you there, just on the top of the bottoms of your feet. Air being forced inside your lungs by the pressure. Crying from the choking in attempts to get back to properly breathing. You underestimated the grip of this machine. It was already decorating a tight necklace of bruises around your throat. Strong enough to hold up at least a third of your body weight too. In your obvious terror and pain, he just kept talking.

“Seriously your tits look great in that….”

Your fingers are now trying to pry themselves into the small space between the claws and your skin. In vain motions to try and give yourself more room. Even if just the breath. Your hair was now dipped in sweat from panicking, your brain wasn’t much help. Already screaming and crying in defeat. You weren’t able to fight or flight or even freeze. It’s been seconds and you’re already at his mercy. 

And by the gleam in his eyes he knew it, just a few feet away from you. The metal claws extended by ever shifting metal tubes, from what you saw a metal backpack. Held around him by thick fabric straps. Even when he’s killing someone out of pure spite. There’s no chilly indifference nor occasion in the matter. He has the typical nonchalant assholery that typically defines his mood. He simply walks around as if he’s gods gift to the earth.

His plan was perfect however; It’s the dead of night, only one person knows you're here. And even if Miguel was home there’s no way he could take Eric out. All that was left for you to escape. 

“Please Eric, don’t do this.” Was to beg, even as each word was punctuated by a scratch in your pronunciation. Unable to keep a straight word by the consistent grip closing part of your neck.  Blood was being slowed in your body, your heart was on its last legs of keeping you awake.

As Eric laughed, “You should’ve thought of that before you took EVERYTHING FROM ME-“ as his sentence went on. The walls inside your neck grew closer, tears couldn’t even escape as your eyelids felt heavier than ever. The clawing of your hands faded, arms dropping to your sides. Your own head felt like a weight you couldn’t hold up. As even Eric’s features softened, framed by the black edges of your vision as it started closing in on itself.

You were too exhausted, in too much pain to fight back. Your brain didn’t have the strength to even think of any final thoughts. You begged whatever you thought would or could listen for help. For a sign, for anything. 

“NO-“ Suddenly a booming voice cuts through the haze in your body and mind. The glass behind you shattered as neon ropes cradled you, pulling you away from Eric’s grip. Your eyes are shut, the sensation of being on a roller coaster but you’re terrified of heights. So you close your eyes and just go along with the motions. 

But soon your body caught up with you, you started coughing in a desperate effort for air. You then realized Spider-Man was holding you carefully on Miguel’s lawn. His right arm held your back up from the grass, as his left arm was snug beneath your knees to hold you up. His knees were buried in the dirt so he could look closer at you, granting you a comfortable place to lay down. 

“It’s okay, don’t worry, I’m here.” He whispered through his red and blue mask. Once the hacking jumping from your mouth subsided, he laid you down fully on the soft lawn. You unconsciously rubbed your neck just to feel what cuts and bruises now circle the skin outside your throat. 

“You’re safe now.” He grabbed your hand and the entire time his vision didn’t break from you. The indescribable safety you felt in his embrace. The very warmth from his skin making a net that seems to deflect all harm that could possibly come. The utter tenderness of how he ran his arms across your body. 

Miguel

Another arm flew towards the two of you; he grabbed its wrist without even looking. Eric destroyed the moment howling 

“This has NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU-“

Spider-Man then tore the claw off with a simple jerk of his arm. 

“ILL FUCKING KILL YOU-“ He screeched, promptly throwing himself towards Eric with full force. Making dents in his own perfectly cut and maintained lawn. Not even gravity or the force of throwing himself onto Eric mattered though. As he rushed like a linebacker, tearing off every one of Eric’s arms which were trying to stop him. Once they were scrap on the ground, spider man tackled Eric into his own dining room through the frame of jagged glass that now lined the sliding door.

You still laid on the grass, pulling yourself up by switching to your side. So your arm could level your body up partially. “P-please sto-“ Eric’s pleas for help were brutally cut short. As the cracking of bone and tear of skin erupted soon after his silence. 

You witnessed Spider-Man claw and punch away at Eric. You were a few feet away so you didn’t get the grimy details. But you saw a red pool forming on the floor circling the two. As Eric’s movements gradually ceased, and all that was left was Miguel making the bowl of what was left of Eric’s face wider. 

After a few minutes he stopped, you honestly almost felt scared of him. The instant ferocity of killing with a messiness of squashing a bug. Eric had it coming definitely. But as the sounds of grasshoppers and bugs weave through this eventful evening. Miguel started huffing, to cool off the rages bubbling inside of him. That he let melt Eric’s life away in a slow succession of clawing and punching. 

You made your way to your feet, not before removing Kassies heels. Even before you came into Miguel’s place your feet were revolting against you. The grass gently weaves its way in between your toes with every step towards Miguel in the dining room. Standing over Eric’s now corpse, you didn’t mind the scene however. Standing just outside the shattered glass door. You only saw Miguel as he calmed himself, turning to see you there. 

He got up and with some blood now covering his spider symbol on his chest. He asked,

“A-are you okay?”

With shame weighing down his tone, as he stepped through the door to get a closer look at you. He was eyeing the bruises Eric left. You padded them with your arm.

“It would’ve been worse had you not shown up, thank you….” You smiled at him, in spite of his hands covered in a new shade of red. He didn’t know what else to say, but you did.

“Take it off.”

He leered his head down at you confused.

“I want to see you Miguel….”

He knew he was doing a bad job at hiding who he was. Without a moment passing the holographic mask of his face dropped, you saw him. His shimmery almond eyes, below his dark autumn brown locks. His face is almost ghostly white, terrified of what you think of him now. 

“Let me-“

“I came-“

You both laughed soon after cutting each other off at the exact same time. 

“You first.” He offered, you accepted.

“I came to say I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Miguel almost innocently asked

You sighed, slightly frustrated with the fact he wasn’t a little angry with you.

“For ditching you, for running away when you told me you loved me, for being cold with you on the phone….those are the big ones.” 

He grinned, “I forgive you then, to be honest. I’m glad you ran away…I didn’t want you to see this part of me…” You’ll surely cry a river for Eric. The scene itself was gruesome, Miguel’s dining room decor already made the space grizzly. Now it’s unlivable. 

Miguel’s arms dangled at his sides heavy with the light coat of blood. As you gazed you saw he’s shaking, almost trying to nudge the stains of the fight off. He was twice your weight and muscle mass. A head and a half of height on you to boot. But he couldn’t have been smaller at this moment. You watched as shame pulled him down to the very floor. Fighting to keep his eyes on you, but every now and then losing strength. He didn’t want to see your face. Possibly filled with fear and judgment and disdain. He already lost you once due to inaction of your connection. But now you have every reason to be terrified of him. 

And you didn’t care, mixing your fingers with his. The sensation of cold blood mixing in between your palms didn’t phase you. 

“That doesn’t matter to me Miguel, I love you.”

Traveling your fingers up his chest, molding your lips into his. He barely moved as you did so, hoping the moment would go slower. To savor when you finally meet your mouth with his. And you tasted amazing. No candy or desert on earth would be as sweet as your lips. The kiss traveled throughout his entire body, setting it aflame from the inside out. Before anything could happen further, you broke it off.

“We should take care of that…” your eyes drifting to what used to be Eric. Miguel nodded sheepishly “Yeah yeah we should we should, what are we gonna say to the cops?” 

“We? Miguel didn’t kill him, Spider-Man did.” You winked 

Miguel cackled slightly, as you followed up Miguel carefully threw Eric over his shoulder. Solely in the interest of keeping more blood splatters off his house.

“Well, the cops will be after you-“

“Would not be the first time.” He commented 

“Let’s continue this when I get back, alright?”

You remained confident while blushing “Definitely.”

~~Twenty minutes later~~ 

You were sandwiched between the wall and Miguel as you two made out. Both of his hands gripping each globe of your ass as his tongue explored every nook and cranny of your mouth. His touching was relentless, forceful as it was tender. Swallowing your whimpering, proceeding him dry humping you. Surely leaving dents in the wall with the force he applies in between your hips. He pulls back for just half a second of breath. 

Then he kisses you again, dragging his lips down the middle of the left side of your jawline. Dotting your neck with kisses, and thoughtfully jumping over the bruises that still remained on your neck from Eric. Once you could speak you encouraged,

“Take me to bed Miguel…”

He stopped his onslaught on your neck, his hand motions on your ass halted soon after. Looking you dead in the eyes as his were wide by the shock of what you just begged for. 

“A-are you sure? It’s not too fast?”

You gave a puzzled laugh, you let him dry hump, massage your ass, then kiss you silly against a wall. Now he questioned if just giving in to having sex was too fast.

“God yes Miguel, if you want me take me…”

He quivered out a blissful sigh as he went in for a rough yet brief kiss. Still in his Spider-Man suit, he lifted you off the ground with both hands. Anchoring yourself by your arms tied around his neck. You continued the make out session as he moved you both up the stairs to his bed. 

Once down the hallway and into his door frame, he let you down on your feet. As he shut down the spider tech all over his body. Removing his shirt as you stumbled to remove your dress. Miguel helped you with your clothes once his chest was exposed. Now only your bra and panties concealed your body. 

Just like that you’re on your back atop his cool comforters. Once again crushed by Miguel’s beautiful body as he quickly followed on the bed atop your physique. You drew out the dips in his abs and chest with every one of your fingers. As he laid a few more pecks on your chest. After removing his pants, he hooked two fingers around the left side of your underwear. He gave one final asking look to you before going further. Just the presence of him; moments from exposing your pussy. Shots a delightful tingle throughout every square inch of your skin. You already felt pressure in the middle of your hips by the scene alone. A coil growing tighter by the sight of his chiseled man with beautiful doe eyes and undying softness held within them. 

You then started working your hands along the muscles of Miguel’s back. Pleading to him as he still waited for one final confirmation. 

“Please Miguel, I want you.”

Moaning out with a desire that was sparked years ago. But exasperated by the last few days. Of anxious but loving hugs, eating dinner cross from one another itching to be closer. Awkwardly ending further physical touch. As everything below the surface cried for more. Your very brain chemicals are spiking to signal you two how much you wanted the other. 

And with your tone thick with impatience, as inside of his boxers surely were. He finally slipped off the second to last of your clothes, as the black lace that concealed your pussy from him now littered the floor. Your bra soon followed, his fingers each made a light grip of there own on each of your thighs, his vision pointed at your womanhood. Awestruck at how he waited this long, his underwear was getting tighter before your eyes. His erection was surely painful at this point. But the aching need around his mouth for your pussy was stronger than any pain he’s ever experienced.

His locks pushed down against your pubic hairs, his tongue now inserting itself into your walls. You whined sharply, your fingernails violently rubbing themselves against his blanket. How he to and fro inside your vagina destroyed the light prickle of cold against your mostly naked body. 

The coil develops at the bottom of your gut now enveloping your entire body. Your moans spurred him forward, started humping you with his face. Wanted to dig further and further into you as he could with each thrust of his nose onto your clit.

His expertise showed itself, as he poked and prodded at your G spot with precision and patience. He was taking his time now, ensuring you were wet and limp enough to take him rougher later on. But right now, he’d extract every whimper, moan, and groan from your mouth. It was a gorgeous one woman symphony. Miguel enjoyed your taste to boot, he couldn’t tell which one of your lips he preferred. 

“Oh god-OH GOD Miguel I’m close-“

As you cried out, he kept at the same pace but pressing the front of his head further between your thighs. Leaning your legs against his shoulders now, perfect fit. Just as he knew. His fingers ran from your legs to the sheets, to keep himself balanced in this new position. In the haze of ecstasy, white creeps into your vision. You now planted your hands into his hair, lightly griping his scalp in a rewarding massage. The simple touch made him groan louder than you thought. He’s evidently extremely touch starved on his head, recalling how he somewhat recoiled at your touch when you traveled across his back. 

But now the motions of his tongue grew more desperate. He couldn’t have patience forever, he was going to make you come into his taste buds right now. And you felt the shift hit you like a truck. Your hormones blazing in your brain as Miguel eats you like no man ever had. Or could.

Then the coil, after so long of being pulled and pulled and pulled. The sudden force broke your ovaries into an orgasm, pouring into Miguel’s mouth. He swallowed every drop of it, ascending to see you blanketed in only sweat. He huffed and puffed, now not only breathing through the minuscule gaps in between you and him as he went down on you. His bottom lip was so sore he had to wipe that part of his face to keep from drooling. 

His hair was frizzy from you wantonly pushing every lock in your reach aside and back again. You both spent a moment and a half catching your breaths. Then Miguel spoke up,

“Christ you’re a dream come true bebita.”

He was still out of breath, but he locked your legs around his waist once he removed his boxers, making his way further up. You knew he was built like a truck and sculpted by the gods but now you only see further proof. He has to bend his back to be face to face with you. Wanting to be as close as possible, not a breath or inch pushing you two apart. 

And because his lungs still recovered from what he deprived from them to fuck you with his face. Whispering in your ear, the heat of his words caging itself between his mouth and the pillow your head was seated on. 

“I’ll be gentle Nena, I’m not small….”

You felt the side of his forehead against yours, you planted your left hand on the back of his neck. He whimpered again.

“Just fuck me Miguel.” An accidental command that told him everything he needed to know.

With his hair mixing with the sweat on your cheek. He pulled his waist down, sneaking his hand in between himself and you. To guide him in just right, just by how he moved and gritted his teeth you knew he was harder than a brick. You regretted your momentary assertiveness as he started pushing his cock past your lips. 

A gasp leapt out as like a gag reflex, your muscles pulled you away. Wanting to spit it out, he laughed at your recoil.

“What happened Guapa?” His taunt was laced with a grin at the side of your head. He moved his head up, face to face he was eyeing your distress at his size. He kissed you one more time, so innocently and quickly despite the position you’re now in. 

He poured a sweet reassurance from his eyes alone, repositioning himself at his lower body. So he could curve his back, able to see your face as you two continued.

“I promise nena, I’d never hurt you. You’ll just be a little uncomfortable, then you’ll feel amazing….” His gruff instructions made your breath steadier. You stopped fighting it, and let him sink in further. He was right, the displeasure at first was immense. Whether he was just unnaturally large or this is the first time you’ve had sex with a man this big. But you took it, Miguel sewing in your awkward limping with praise.

“There you go, you’re doing great nena-fuck so good. You’re perfect…” he meant every word with utter sincerity even as he was moving to get balls deep inside of you.  His shoulders now eclipsed the low light at the ceiling of his bedroom. Seeing the tones of his broad shoulders made the discomfort all the more bearable. Plus your thighs rubbing against your own made you realize how strong he was down there too. You started to believe he’d make good on his promise.

His thickness was no joke however, splitting you to new margins as he went further. Keeping the first thrust slow, ensuring you were in as less of an ache as possible all the while savoring when he finally felt you hug his dick. Jesus you’re so tight, but he’ll make sure you’re better accommodating to him. 

He passed your g spot and made it to your Cervix, where he finally couldn’t reach further. He planted one more kiss, right above your eyebrows.

“There bebita, I told you.” Giving a self satisfied smile, witnessing how blushed your face was. You admit to feeling great now, you’ve never been so full before. Never had yourself so wonderfully stretched like this. 

“Jesus Miguel…” you panted, 

“Now the fun part.” He reassured you. 

He moved himself further up, grounding each of his hands on each side of your head. His body started flexing as he moved out of you, whimpering at the loss. He promptly thrusted forward again, not going entirely in. Just enough to tease your g spot. He was close enough for your nail to reach past his neck. Creating scratch marks on his back, he growled in response. But didn’t refuse you doing so, then after. He picks up the pace. Still slow however, he didn’t want to be rough as soon as possible.

Not solely to make sure you get used to anal sex with him. But because he needed this to last, he would keep every feeling of doing this with you close for as long as it could stay. How you stifle moans when you’re too embarrassed about what noises you make in bed. How your backs crack under the push of his thrusts, the squishing of your lips walls as he keeps going. He wants to be here as long as he possibly could be. 

“Don’t quiet yourself baby, I want all of you…”

He whispered, his eyes still entirely attached to yours. Digging himself into your mind and you into his. He wanted this time to be about love.

You naked in his bed, under him, taking him. Crying for more as you mark him. His primal spider urges are quelled by the trust you have in him to go soft. And by his romantic pining to have you like that for the first time as long as he possibly could. You’re absolutely vulnerable right now too. And he wouldn’t exploit that, so he went on taking his time. 

Faster than you could’ve realized you were close to a second phenomenal orgasm Miguel was giving you. You were on birth control, and you trusted Miguel. So you didn’t stress about doing this without protection, even so it’s far too late now. And your brains have been bobbed to soup by Miguel’s movements into you. So you couldn’t have the thought to stop anyway. 

Miguel started whispering in your ear again, the movement of his lips brushing against your ear as he said.

“I’ll make you mine princesa…”

As softly as it was delivered, his speeding thrusts carried it out as a command. You would take him after he came. And you’ll let him. Finally, After all his dreams and years of unspoken feelings. Like being able to see color after being blind. Hearing the most beautiful orchestra after going deaf. The feeling of need and want just balled into one for this with you. 

You scratched him one last as you looked him in the eyes. Weighed down by one orgasm and another approaching. Your eyes were shot in the back of your head, but now you finally managed to look Miguel in the eyes.  He was barely hanging on, halting his own orgasm if it meant you could come first. 

He was tearing his own pillows with his grip as his pace didn’t waver in the slightest. The weight of his shoulders and chest kept you in place as he rutted inside of you. His movements became sporadic and desperate. Still not going too rough, but clearly going harder than before to rush the process. 

“Mmm I-I Wanna, pls lemme baby I need you to let me-“ 

He couldn’t complete a sentence, how you swallowed him up and cried out for him as you did so. Made him go crazy, the cocksure man dissipated in the sea of skin slapping against skin. The ambience of feeling one another’s heart beats. Now he’s begging, he didn’t need to say it for you to know what he was asking. 

“Yes Miggy, you can. I want you to.” You traveled your left palm onto his cheek. A delighted sigh escaped him as he kissed you. 

Soon after he emptied himself inside of you, you followed too with a screech that could break glass. Your lungs grew and shrunk trying to get your body back on track to breathing. In the mindless pleasure you forgot to take a few breaths. Miguel barely looked or sounded winded. Something you inquired about once you came back down to earth. 

“Jesus Miggy, how are you not even winded?”

“Spider serum, makes me inhumanly strong, durable, and with lots of stamina….”

The confidence returned as he started to stand up on the bed on his knees. Now towering over the damp comforters by the pool he made you sweat beneath you two. He got a hold of your legs, placed them right on his soldiers, your toes reaching out behind his hair. You’re too limp and weak to fight back about what position he was folding you into. He set your ass right on his dick, you felt his cum fall out of you. As his soft dick pressed against your ass. 

He folded you like origami, pressuring you furthering into the pillow propping your head up. He wanted to have your ass without turning away from you. That much became clear as he arched his upper body completely, able to support both of you at this angle by tracking his talons from his fingertips. Digging them into the granite acting as a headboard. He could now hold both of you up.

“Now, if you don’t mind I’m going to fuck you…”

All his restraint was gone, a red hue ate away his brown painted Irises. You’re able to hear the tearing of stone by his claws as the pressure he put on his muscles displayed veins under his skin. Without a moment's wait Miguel shot his dick into you at a breakneck pace. He was in complete control of your body, he now caged you under his form entirely. No room to wiggle out at the sides nor ability to reach up and allow your nails to retaliate. 

You were his willing prey by all means. You saw fangs emerging from behind his mouth, as a growl festered in his chest and crawled out from his lips. In the form of a chant 

“Mine, mine, mine,”

Punctuating every word with a thrust, truly testing the bed frame with his pushing. With your ass as the cushion between himself and your hips. He refused to slow down, and you’d surely feel the soreness for days to come. But you’d happily let him rail you into numbness in your vagina and lower. 

He was no longer worshiping a goddess inside her body as the temple attendant. He was rawing you like an animal. Huffing, clawing, dominating and bearing his fangs as he was inside of you. You were his fuck toy, you’d stay still and obedient as you did this. He didn’t mind your sounds, in fact he got even more full of himself as you cried out so much more helplessly at his change in pace.

He can please you as a gentleman and as an animal. He could and will do both for you. 

Almost feeling your guts been rearranged by him, his violent pressing in and out. Is accommodating your pussy to his length far better than when he was gentle. Saying so to boot,

“Gotta break you in, we’ll be doing this more….”

He grunted out as you grasped at his pecs, in a futile effort to slow him down. Full upper body strength wasn’t enough to even waver him, just pressing back was enough to silence your pleas.

“God Miguel, I can’t-I can’t like this.”

You tried pushing yourself away, but he flattened himself further down on your ass. 

“You will.”

He said simply, of course if you told him no he’d stop. But until then, you’re his sex doll. He won’t have you moving or refusing him. To ensure you wouldn’t, he pulled back his lips to unveil his fangs. He sunk them into your shoulder to cut loose your physical resistance. It did, instantly. The pain made you drop both of your arms. 

The sweet, generous man has vanished. In his flesh was a crazed pervert. Who’d have you as he wanted when he wanted and wouldn’t even let you fight back. It was so sexy, you’ve never done something like this before but…you now can’t imagine never not doing this again. 

As his formerly pushed back bangs poorly curtained his gleaming crimson eyes. The product on his locks undone by sweat and pure force of sex. His head now has a small, messy mop of brown locks. Nothing compared to what your hair looked like now. But he didn’t care about the mess he was making in the slightest. 

You and him were going to have a third orgasm, in his way. Considering how much pleasure, both physical and emotional he’s given you. Excluding the past half hour of sex. You want him to enjoy you as he wishes to. He starts wiggling in his stance on the bed, you can tell he’s moments away from releasing inside you again. So like a good doll, you stayed put.

Let him go even harder than before to rush to his orgasm, as your own was just ahead of him. You cried out as you felt the same old coil snap again. Your body was a limp noodle now, Miguel knew you’d come by your familiar screech.

But he didn’t care, he chased his own high. Again and again and again. Then he bared his fangs, biting you opposite to where he bit you last time. As a similar cold substance filled where his dick was once present. You groaned and whined, retracting his teeth from your skin. He started to breathe heavily now, not even slightly tired. But definitely was taking a toll on his form.

“Need a break baby?”

The autumn brown returned in his eyes, as his claws removed themselves back into his fingers. He gently swept his hands against where he bit you and your hips. He cautiously set you down flat on the bed. Careful of your soreness, answering.

“Y-yeah, Christ Miggy….”

He laid down on the bed beside you, gentler cradling you beside him in his arms. Ensuring you could use his chest as the new pillow, seeing as he destroyed most of them beside the one dipped in your sweat.

He was so soft now, the shift was an entire one eighty. Not that you minded, but a tiny spark of fear of how quickly he can change. Dug itself in your mind. But the absolute love and devotion he held for you, how gentle and considerate he is of you even in such a taste. Was enough for you, more than enough.

“God I love you,”

He whispered at the top of your head, promptly kissing where he spoke. 

“I love you too Miguel.”

This is all you two ever wanted, now wrapped into each other. The dreams you’ve shared for years. 

#miguel o’hara #spiderverse #miguel 'ohara x fem!reader #smut #18+ #miguel ohara x reader #spider man 2099 #miguel ohara #I’d never let you go