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whowritessometimes · 1 year ago

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Back and Forth - Art Donaldson x Reader

A Stanford!Art Donaldson and Stanford!Reader fic :) Kinda slow burn, very soft very sweet.

Word Count: 3.9k

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The California summer sun beamed down on the court, making the colors of the advertisements and signs around you appear almost neon. Upbeat music flowed through speakers that you couldn't quite place, embodying the feeling of the tennis matches that surrounded you, the back-and-forth beat pulsating through your head. It was almost overstimulating, but this was your normal.

You were pre-med at Stanford, volunteering at some local tennis camp to fill your summer and add fodder to your resume. You didn't do much, occasionally helping some rich, pompous kid stretch out their wrist, or their knee, or their ankle, or whatever. The days blurred together, they all spoke to you in the same condescending way. For most people, it would be mind-numbing.

But it was exhilarating. You had this intrinsic love for tennis, you always had. Perhaps it was that love that led you to signing up for this gig, and not the resume experience. But you would never admit that to anyone. You had played tennis for fun your whole life, with your family growing up, with your friends in high school. It was only when you shattered your wrist sophomore year that you had to stop.

It sucked. It sucked at the time, and it sucked now. You weren't professional-level at tennis, not like these people, but it was nice to have a hobby unlike anything else people expected you to do. The pre-med thing, the reading, the studying, it came naturally to you. And it wasn't like you didn't enjoy it, and it wasn't like you weren't good at it, but you loved tennis. And every now and again, you missed it.

So here you were. Your head followed all the heads in the crowd in a practiced, synchronized, subconscious back-and-forth. There wasn't really ever a crowd, the games at the program were often informal, the audience often consisted of coaches and other players. But this was a unique match, Stanford's players engaged in a captivating display of athleticism. It was almost like a dance, the way they seemed to know the moves of the other before they made them. You could feel the intensity from your tent by the end of the bleachers.

Stanford's star player (well, one of them)—Art Donaldson. You'd half-watched him play from your tent whenever you weren't working. He was elusive, but undoubtably one of the best there. You had never spoken. He was enigmatic, focused on his training and on helping others. He had perfect technique, people said. Now, you had the chance to really see how he was. And he was. Top of his game.

Usually.

The air was thick with humidity. Your gaze flickered between the players, boredom warring with the gnawing anxiety that always hummed beneath the surface during matches. Then, a sound sliced through the rhythmic thwack of the tennis balls—a sharp cry of pain.

Your head snapped left like a whip, your heart leaping into your throat. There, sprawled on the opposite side of the net, lay Art. His face was contorted in agony, one hand clutching his ankle at an unnatural angle. His racket lay a few feet away, as forgotten as the polite pleasantries that had filled the air before the match.

The shitty plastic chair beneath you creaked in protest as you scrambled to your feet. Ignoring the surprised yelp from the equally shitty excuse for a supervisor you'd been assigned for the summer tennis program, you sprinted across the court. Dust billowed in your wake, blurring the vision that was already swimming with a mix of dread and the adrenaline rush that always came with seeing someone hurt.

You skidded to a halt beside him, kneeling. His eyes, usually bright with playful competitiveness, were screwed shut, teeth clenched as he fought back a string of obscenities you knew all too well.

"Hey," you said, forcing your voice to remain calm despite the tremor running through your body. He flinched at the sound of your voice, a flicker of something akin to fear crossing his normally confident expression.

"Hey," he managed to rasp out, opening one eye a sliver. He tried to push himself up, but his face crumpled again as a fresh wave of agony shot through him.

"Don't move," you ordered, the calmness in your voice surprising even you. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. His skin was slick with sweat, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from his injured ankle.

"'S bad, huh?" he breathed, a flicker of vulnerability in his voice.

The concern in his eyes sent a jolt through you. It wasn't just the pain; it was the fear.

"Don't worry," you said, your voice softer now, "We'll get you checked out. Just...hold still."

Ignoring the sting of sweat in your eyes, you carefully slipped your arm around his waist, offering what little support your slight frame could provide. Heaving him halfway onto your leg, you began the slow, agonizing walk towards the medical tent. Each step sent a spike of pain through Art's leg, reflected in the way he gritted his teeth and winced with every movement.

The supervisor, finally spurred into action, scurried behind you, muttering something about ice packs and paramedics. But your focus remained solely on Art, on getting him to help as quickly as possible.

You knew what it was like. Maybe that's what spurred your immediate action, your need to help him recover, to keep playing. You knew what it was like.

The antiseptic sting of the medical tent assaulted your nose as you hovered beside the injured player. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he clenched his jaw with each prod from the trainer.

"Think they all saw that?" he finally rasped, a hint of amusement battling the pain in his voice. You blinked, surprised by his oddly timed humor.

"Doubt it," you played along, a small smile tugging at your lips. "'S not like you're Art Donaldson or anything."

A sheepish grin replaced his grimace. "Thank god."

The trainer finished his work, leaving you and the injured player alone in a tense silence. He cleared his throat, his gaze meeting yours for the first time.

"So," he began, trailing off as he stared into the ceiling of the tent. There was something in his expression, the physical pain, the fear that comes with injury, the odd quiet of an unfinished game.

"So," you mimicked, sitting next to him in another shitty chair.

Something hung in the air, something all too familiar to you. He turned his head to look at you, to make eye contact, keeping his body flat on the cot. You realized then how close you were. Close enough to see his eyes, the sharp point of his jawline, the strawberry blond of his curls.

You averted your gaze, looking out into the brightness of the tent entrance. The typical ambiance of the outside seemed to be drowned by the odd intimacy you'd created together, the silence between you and Art seemed to be the only noise you could hear. His shoddy breathing, despite his attempts to pretend he was okay, only brought you back to when you felt the same way he did, all those years ago.

A blush crept up your neck. You fumbled for something, anything, to break the charged silence in the tent. "I, uh, broke my wrist sophomore year," you blurted, surprised by the words leaving your lips. "Tennis, ironically. One minute I'm playing—probably terribly—and then I'm in the ER holding a bag of frozen peas. And, I don't know, I guess I'm just saying... I get it. Sort of."

"You trying to distract me?" he asked, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah," you admitted, a hesitant smile mirroring his. "Is it working?"

"Yeah, actually," he conceded, leaning back on the cot. "Tell me more."

You felt a genuine laugh bubble up from your chest, the first since the moment you saw him crumpled on the court.

---

And that was really the last time you saw Art. Suffice to say you hadn't forgotten about the encounter. It was actually stupid, how often you thought of it. He didn't even know your name, but you remembered the timbre of his voice, the softness of his gaze.

In your defense, he was hard to avoid. Now that the spring semester had started, tennis season was in full swing. His picture was plastered around the most of the facilities you frequented, future NCAA champion Art Donaldson.

The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming jasmine hung heavy in the crisp California air as you hurried across the bustling Stanford campus. The semester had sprung with a vengeance, bringing with it the usual flurry of activity—overloaded backpacks, animated discussions about last night's party, and the ever-present anxiety of looming deadlines.

Today, however, an extra weight sat on your shoulders. Your pre-med advisor dropped a last-minute surprise: mandatory tutoring for a struggling athlete. Juggling med school coursework with a part-time job at the campus health center was already a tightrope walk, and adding this felt like a precarious extra step. But you managed it, as you did most things. How you had some semblance of a social life was a mystery. And maybe your very obvious lack of a love life was why you thought about Art so often. You didn't have time to psychoanalyze yourself, though. You barely had time for whatever this tutoring session was about to be.

Reaching the designated classroom, a small, windowless space usually reserved for last-minute group study sessions, you took a deep breath before pushing open the heavy door. The sterile light inside momentarily blinded you, but as your eyes adjusted, a sight unfolded that caused your breath to hitch in your throat. Sprawled across a cluttered table, papers piled haphazardly around him, was a man who you'd spent the better part of the last few months thinking about.

There, unmistakably, was Art. His signature strawberry blond hair, slightly longer than you remembered, covered with a backwards baseball cap, curled at the edges, framing his face. A deep furrow creased his brow, a testament to the frustration radiating from his hunched form as he focused on a massive biology textbook. An unsettling warmth bloomed in your chest, a reaction entirely too potent for a tutoring session.

The memory of him sprawled on the opposite side of the tennis court last summer, his ankle twisted at an unnatural angle, flickered across your mind. The panic that had gripped you then seemed almost comical now. The sterile environment and the way his eyes had held a curious blend of pain and something else—gratitude, maybe?—all formed a vivid memory you hadn't realized had imprinted itself so deeply.

His presence filled the small room, unexpectedly stealing your breath and injecting a jolt of something entirely different into the monotonous routine of your day. A shyness spread across your face, tinged with an unfamiliar nervousness as you cleared your throat, the sound echoing awkwardly in the sudden silence.

A slow smile took over his features as he looked at you, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. For a moment, you were caught in that smile, a memory resurfacing from the hazy days of summer.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice warm. He reached a toned arm, pulling out a chair for you.

"Hi," you blinked, momentarily flustered by the gesture and the echo of familiarity in his voice. There was a moment of tension in the air, of uncertainty, of a strange sense of reconnection. Finally, you managed to force out the words, "How are you?"

"My ankle's a lot better now, if that's what you're asking," he replied with a playful glint in his eyes. His gaze lingered on you for a beat too long, making you hyperaware of the way your heart hammered against your ribs.

"You remember me?" you blurted out, the question leaving your lips before you could stop it.

"Course I remember you," he said, his voice laced with amusement. You couldn't ignore the way his eyes flickered from your face down to your body, and back up. Blatantly checking you out. And you could hear his smile in the way he spoke, warm and genuine, sending a familiar flutter through your stomach. The memory of his teasing laughter in the sterile medical tent resurfaced.

"Right," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You shifted in your chair, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of his gaze on you.

The next hour or so unfolded in a way that surprised you both. Art's initial confusion melted away as you hovered next to him, animatedly explaining each concept. Social life, love life, Art Donaldson, you couldn't explain. Biology, medical stuff, sports, you understood.

And he was beginning to as well. Time became a forgotten entity, measured only by the turning of pages and the occasional frustrated groan from Art. He wasn't the cocky athlete you'd half-imagined, but someone with a genuine curiosity about the world around him and some kind of depth hidden beneath his confident facade on the court.

Finally, Art leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "We should probably call it," he declared, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied groan. He thanked you, looking into your eyes as he said your name, the syllables dancing off his tongue in a way that made you feel like it was more than a word you had offhandedly mentioned to him.

"Yeah, sure," you replied, your voice softer than you intended.

The study sessions became a regular occurrence. The two of you exchanged numbers, only to arrange meetings, you reminded yourself.

But whenever he called, you found yourself talking about so much more than biology. It started with him asking how you were, a simple courtesy that somehow felt more genuine coming from him. Yet, as you replied, a comfortable ease would settle in. You'd find yourself laughing at inside jokes, dumb stories, the kind that wouldn't be particularly funny to anyone else, would mindlessly tumble out, fueled by the comfort you felt in his presence. It was a kind of nonsense, a space where you could just be yourself, and somehow, it felt like everything and nothing all at once.

---

Now, it was late, and it was finals week.

Papers and textbooks were scattered across your desk, a battlefield of scribbled notes and highlighted passages. You were in the trenches, neck-deep in the intricacies of biochemistry, desperately trying to cram information into your sleep-deprived brain.

Suddenly, the familiar buzz of your phone cut through the silence of your cramped dorm. You fished it out of your pocket, a flicker of annoyance battling with the ever-present hope that it might be a break, a distraction from the relentless onslaught of scientific jargon. Gratefulness shot through you when you saw Art Donaldson's name on the screen.

You answered the call. His voice crackled through the phone, laced with desperation. "I need your help," he blurted out, completely unlike his usual easygoing self. "What the fuck is molecular cell biology?"

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "In general?" you replied, already picturing the hours that it would take to explain the subject. Finals be damned, apparently.

"Can you just come over?" he groaned. "If you aren't doing anything."

You glanced back at the flashcards on your desk. "I'm not doing anything."

So here you were, knocking on the door of Art Donaldson's dorm. You heard rustling from the other side, making you wait just a beat longer in the dimly lit hallway. You rocked back and forth on your heels, chewing the inside of your cheek and rethinking your current appearance. The oversized Stanford hoodie, mess of your hair, and lack of makeup now seemed ill-fitting for a meeting with the boy who had somehow winded his way into becoming your crush. You felt like a kid again, back in high school.

You were starting to worry you had the wrong room until the door swung open, bathing the hallway in a golden, hazy light. There stood Art, moving his large frame out of the way to gesture you into his room with a short greeting and a "thank god." You didn't know what you expected, really, but there you were, slinking a little too closely past him as he stood in his doorframe. You felt his breath on the back of your neck as he stood behind you, guiding you to his tiny desk in the corner of the room. His hands ghosted over the small of your back, and you felt his warmth, despite him not actually touching you.

The room itself was small. It wasn't unlike yours, or any of the others on campus. But it somehow felt smaller with Art next to you, burying his face in his hands every time you patiently explained a concept you'd gone over already. His face. He was so close to you now, the quiet of the night and the room only making you feel closer.

The energy of this study session felt so different from all your others in the past. You weren't in a classroom, or meeting him after practice in the library. You were seeing another side of Art, the part of himself he didn't publicize. Every freckle, the stretch of his faded t-shirt over his body, the curls he brushed out of his eyes every now and again, the way he flexed his callused hands as he cracked his knuckles, a nervous fidget.

It felt like time slowed down. You labored over the biology textbook, finding practice questions and asking him some of your own. You were gentle, cautious. Maybe it was the weird intimacy of the moment, maybe it was the lack of air in the cramped dorm. Your voice was soft, and you couldn't help but notice how the tension Art held over the phone and when you entered the room melted away. Did you do that? You felt this reciprocation, possibly imagined. But whenever you cracked a dumb joke, he'd laugh and put a hand on your arm. The contact always made you freeze. The touch was a reminder he was real, he was tangible. Every fleeting gaze, every smile in your direction.

You had almost reached the end of the chapter, and Art was getting almost every practice question right. You fidgeted with a sheet of his messy notes, reading it over to continue some rant you were on about RNA.

"...made up of nucleotides, which are ribose sugars attached to nitrogenous bases and phosphate groups..." You trailed off, looking up from the papers only to find his gaze already on you. How long had he been looking at you? And the way he looked at you...

"Do you want to take a break?" He tilted his head.

You quirked an eyebrow, unable to fight your smile. "Sure."

He got up with an over-exaggerated sigh and stretched his arms over his head, exposing the bottom of his toned abdomen. For a moment. He reached under his desk, pulling out a box of some cheap canned beer. He popped the tab of a can, taking a long draw and passing it to you.

You looked away from his watchful eyes as you took a sip. Your face heated as you took into account the fact you were drinking from the same can he had.

You winced. "God, that tastes like ass."

"Sorry." He laughed, taking the can from you. Warm, callused fingertips brushing against yours.

"I didn't take you for a Steel Reserve kinda guy."

"What did you take me for?"

"I don't know. Gatorade?"

"Okay." He shook his head. "No more for you."

"Wait, wait, okay, I take it back."

He held out the can for you again.

"Mhm."

"Still taste like ass?"

"It tastes like what I imagine WD-40 tastes like."

You felt your heart swell as he laughed at that. You hadn't noticed how the two of you now sat impossibly closer, thighs brushing, shoulders sending sparks whenever they met. The half-empty can of beer felt like a nervous talisman being passed back and forth between you. Dumb jokes tumbled easily from your lips, punctuated by laughter that echoed weirdly loud in the quiet room. Finals week stress had completely evaporated, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the shitty beer.

It was so easy, talking to Art. Easier than it should have been, considering you were explaining the intricacies of cellular respiration to a man who once thought mitochondria were a type of pasta. But he listened, truly listened, his eyes locked on yours. You caught yourself getting lost in their depths, a dizzying kaleidoscope that mirrored the nervousness in your stomach.

He leaned in, as if to hear you better, and you mimicked the movement unconsciously. The space between your faces shrunk, the air thick with unspoken words. His gaze did its familiar dance—right eye, lips, left eye—and this time, it lingered on your lips a beat too long.

A sudden self-consciousness washed over you. Should you pull back? This wasn't your intention. But before you could overthink it, Art's lips were hovering over yours, a question in the way they hovered, hesitant but hopeful.

"This okay?" His voice was impossibly low, breathy, quiet. His eyes raked over your features, eye contact shifting from left to right, back and forth. His hand, warm and calloused came up to cup your cheek, grounding you in the moment.

"Yeah." You breathed.

The kiss, when it came, was soft and unexpected. More of a tentative exploration than a passionate assault. It tasted of desperation and relief, of unspoken feelings finally finding a voice.

Your hands moved from your sides to toy with the curls on the back of his head, earning a barely audible groan from Art. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, his other hand moving down to pull you impossibly closer by the small of your waist. His touch was shy, tender.

After what felt like forever (and you wouldn't have minded had it been), you pulled away slowly, breathless, a blush painting your face. His eyes searched yours for some unknown answer. For a long moment, the only sound was the ragged rhythm of your breath.

A slow smile spread across his face, mirroring the one blooming on yours. "God, you're so pretty."

Leaving Art's dorm room felt like navigating a dream. Your head spun, a mix of the cheap beer and the potent aftertaste of the kiss. Your lips still tingled where his had been, a brand new sensation that sent shivers dancing down your spine. Relief, sweet and unexpected, washed over you. Months of stolen glances, late-night calls disguised as study sessions, and a simmering tension that had threatened to consume you—all of it had culminated in that single, electrifying kiss.

As you walked down the quiet hallway, a giddy smile stretched across your face. It wasn't just the kiss itself, though that replayed in your mind in a loop—hesitant, searching, then deepening with a shared sense of discovery. It was the way he'd looked at you afterwards, his eyes soft with unspoken emotions, mirroring the whirlwind in your own chest. A nervous flutter remained in your stomach, a delicious mix of excitement and uncertainty.

But beneath it all, a quiet confidence bloomed. He felt it too. This wasn't just some fleeting moment, a stolen kiss in the dead of night. It was a turning point, a bridge crossed, and the future, once shrouded in the haze of exams and unspoken feelings, now shimmered with possibility.

#art donaldson x reader #mike faist #challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson x you #challengers movie #challengers 2024 #art donaldson fic #art donaldson imagine #mike faist x reader #mike faist x you #mike faist imagine

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sirfrogsworth · 5 days ago

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In this scene, they are in the middle of the woods under a canopy of trees. They show the sky and there is no moon.

The light has absolutely no motivation.

Motivated lighting is a philosophy where all of the light sources on screen have a logical source. The light from a smartphone on someone's face. A lamp next to the couch. Sterile overhead office lights.

Often filmmakers will still use their own custom light sources, but they will simulate these things to give the impression the light has motivation.

Compare this to when all they really had were bright spotlights and insensitive film. An indoor scene just couldn't have this warm and cozy feel. And the light was just blasted in from everywhere.

Black and white helped a lot. You could still get dramatic effect despite things needing to be overlit. Or you could play with contrast ratios and shadow.

All the stuff you need to see was very bright and exposed well onto film and all the stuff you didn't was very dark.

But there was no graduation in between. It was hard to be subtle.

And when television and movies went color, this black and white contrast advantage was lost.

You can see EVERYTHING. And look at those sharp shadows. Everyone is just being blasted in the face with lights.

This sitcom lighting persisted long past when it was necessary. It became part of the sitcom language.

I think M*A*S*H was one of the first shows to subvert the overlit sitcom aesthetic. They began to play with lighting that had more motivation.

But aesthetic standards are hard to kill. And despite the heavy influence of M*A*S*H, sitcoms persisted all the way into the Friends era.

Her lamp isn't even on. Everything is just lit by God.

I don't think you will see a living room or kitchen scene lit like this very much from here on out.

People are getting used to lighting making more logical sense.

With the advent of LED lighting that can be any size, shape, and brightness, as well as cameras that can interpret very dark images, modern shows can now use bright and dark as narrative tools.

I think Severance does this well, and still keeps everything properly motivated.

But this newfound flexibility has created new problems. If you can film dark things, how dark is too dark? And how do you make sure the audience can see all of the important visual information?

The two worst examples of unmotivated lighting are always space helmets and cars.

It's a conceit. You gotta see the faces so these things are usually forgiven.

But the biggest debate in the realm of unmotivated lighting is night scenes. People have lots of opinions on how best to use light in the dark.

This is because following a motivated lighting philosophy can be especially tricky. Particularly if your setting is a secluded area without any artificial light sources.

Many cinematographers will try to give some sense of moonlight. But moonlight is very hard to replicate, so the effect usually ends up looking pretty fake.

This scene during a blackout in Die Hard 4 looks like they took the brightest light they had, mounted it as high as possible and said, "Fuck it, that's moon-ish."

If the DP is hardcore into motivated lighting, they just make the screen really really dark, like the Long Night battle in Game of Thrones.

The really really dark option bugs a lot of people.

Froggie Tangent about Dark Scenes:

I originally thought people needed to adjust their display settings. But then I realized not everyone watches content in a darkened room like a vampire. But if you find a show or movie is too dark, turning off any room lights will help a lot. Watching it in HDR will also help. And watching it on an OLED will help even more.

Scenes this dark are mostly a fad. DPs are experimenting with the possibilities of new technology. But sometimes they forget not everyone has that technology yet. And they forget some people watch stuff on their phones in a room full of sunlight.

Eventually the fad will fade, we will all adopt better screens, and the darkness will land somehwere between "I can't see shit" and "it would never be that bright in real life."

[End of tangent]

In the olden days, since film wasn't sensitive enough to do scenes in the dark, almost everything needed to have unmotivated lighting just to make sure their film wasn't a grainy mess. And as a culture, we sort of got used to that style. They'd mess with the contrast ratios to give the feeling of night, but if you think about where the light is coming from too hard, it won't make any sense. They took a Broadway theater approach to lighting and so a lot of movies felt like they were on a soundstage.

The 1961 West Side Story is a good example.

They've got a spot light hitting them, but not the building behind them. I guess that could be an overhead street light. But street lights are meant to flood the area like an ever expanding donut of light. A spotlight is like a directly projected cone of light. It is perfectly pointed at the side of their face and not coming from above.

She has some magical purple light coming from... somewhere.

And then they are in an area under a bridge, far away from any lights, but they've got soft fill light with a bright rim coming from the right.

Speilberg's version has much more motivated light.

This one is a bit of a cheat, some very bright source off in the distance. But it feels more plausible to the brain and gives a better sense of darkness. It feels like some kind of industrial lighting. Or a security light at a junkyard.

Here he straight up shows you where the light is coming from. And his preference for anamorphic lenses.

And here he uses bright train lights to create silhouettes. This is clever because it allows everything to be very dark but everyone is still legible in the scene.

I'm torn. Because I study light. And so I am very aware of how shows and movies are lighting things. And unmotivated lighting sticks out in my brain. Like when I watch someone miming playing the guitar. Or using a camera improperly. When you know too much about something, inaccurate onscreen depictions just drive you nuts.

There are some techniques being experimented with to make night scenes more legible while maintaining lighting realism. I think the most promising is the infrared day-for-night process used in Nope.

But maybe it doesn't need to be solved. Maybe DPs should just light the night even if it doesn't always make sense. Maybe general audiences just do not care and I am a big nerd who should be ignored.

#long post #lighting

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itsswritten · 1 year ago

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butterfly kisses

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word Count: 1.7K (honestly it's just a little drabble)

Warnings: 18+, implied smut, lots of fluff, mating frenzy

Summary: Azriel just can't get enough of your wings <3

Wings Universe - More from this world.

Azriel wasn’t sure how he’d gotten so lucky.

He had thanked the Mother every day since the bond snapped, and even more when you accepted it. When Mor had introduced you into his life only a couple of years ago, he never imagined this would be the outcome.

Azriel vividly remembered the first night he met you. It was another gathering at Rita’s, one of the many that had unfolded, now peace settled over the land.

Mor with playful determination had pulled you over to their table, arm looped around yours– almost in a way that said she wasn’t going to let you escape. He had noticed the faint blush that creeped up your face to your pointed ears, merely from the proximity of your High Lord and Lady, and their inner circle. He recalled how you offered a shy little curtsy in their presence, that had led to the whole table stifling their laughter. Rhys kindly explained that such formalities were not necessary, especially not in Rita’s of all places. Azriel did his best to contain his mirth at the display, all the while chewing the inside of his cheek to stop the chuckle leaving his lips. He truly couldn’t get over how adorable you were, he'd found himself captivated by your endearing innocence.

And that was only the start.

Mor explained how she’d met you in town one day and had essentially thrusted her friendship onto you, and it really didn’t take long for Azriel and his family to do the same.

You were so sweet and caring, and slotted into Azriel’s life so easily that he found it hard to remember a time when you weren’t there at all. Your kindness towards the Archeron sisters, guiding them through the intricate transitions of fae life that they still at times struggled with. Nyx was absolutely enamoured with you, oftentimes seeking your company over his actual family. But they didn’t blame him, because they all did same. Your calm sweet nature was addictive to them all, especially Azriel.

Driven by an insatiable curiosity, Azriel found himself seeking every opportunity to unravel all your layers. He wanted to know everything about you. From your favourite foods, to the books that captured your attention.

His infatuation all made sense when the bond snapped.

It was the last solstice.

Azriel had noticed how beautiful you were looking, as you always were. But you were clad in a breathtaking pale pink summer dress, the neckline delicately showcasing your décolletage. As you moved with a natural grace, the fabric billowed ever so slightly at the waist, accentuating your silhouette in a manner that held attention.

Or at least held Azriel’s attention. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

He watched you carefully navigate the chaos of the room. Nyx in one arm, giving Feyre some rest and reprieve in her pregnant state. Your other hand bringing in the cake Elain had spent all morning baking. Amidst the flurry of activity, you had been so close to dropping the cake. But Azriel's steady hand intervened just in time, grabbing the plate and taking it off you. Except in that moment your hands touched, grazed past one another in a way they had so many times before.

But that time had been different.

It was Azriel’s turn to almost drop the cake. That all consuming warmth flooded his chest catching him off guard. A golden thread connecting itself to you. The mating bond. Finally.

And based on the bright red flush covering your cheeks, it was clear you’d felt it too. You’d fled the room then, overcome with emotion and what this new revelation meant.

Though, it didn’t take long for Azriel to coax you round.

Ever the gentleman, he courted you. Taking you on the most thoughtful dates and spoiling you with bouquet after bouquet of flowers. He would leave little love notes and poetry for you to find. That it was really no surprise to anyone, when you decided to accept the bond.

That was only three weeks ago now.

Yourself and Azriel were deep in the mating frenzy.

Rhys had kindly offered one of his private residences he had on the outskirts of Night. A smaller cottage, but with all the privacy you both needed. And Azriel had taken advantage of that privacy eliciting sounds from you that he would cherish forever and never tire hearing.

And then there were your wings.

You had revealed them to him the first night after accepting the mating bond, and, Gods, was he done for.

Azriel had taken it upon himself, in the earlier months, to really vet you. His dedication to his role as Spymaster served as a guise for his self-indulgent exploration of you, delving into the intricate details of your being with a hunger that bordered on obsession. Not only had he discovered all the things you love, but he searched for details of who and what you were.

Finding himself holed up in the library at times, hours spent devoted to aquainiting himself to the type of fairy you were.

He knew you had wings, was the type of fairy whose wings were the delicate kind. Most kept them concealed with magic. Yet, Azriel couldn't shake the thought that perhaps they were hidden not only for protection but also out of reverence for their breathtaking beauty. They were mesmerising. Enough to trap Azriel into some kind of trance.

And perhaps possessively so, he was grateful not many males were privy to this part of you.

He was watching you now, laying on your front. Bare. Just how he’d left you when he took a moment to freshen up. You were giggling, your legs up and feet fluttering behind you while propped up over something.

“What are you doing, my love?” Azriel purred inquisitively, stepping closer towards the bed.

“Oh…Feyre was just checking in. Asking how much longer we might be,” he could hear you smile when you spoke, and watched as with the brush of your hand the magical parchment and ink disappeared that you’d been conversing with Feyre on.

“It’s not even been that long,”

“We’ve been gone three weeks–”

“And we’ll be gone 300 hundred more,”

You chuckled at his response, “Az, we do need to go back at some point. They need us.”

“I need you more.” There was no negotiating. Your family would be lucky to see you both before the next solstice at this rate.

Not that Azriel needed the frenzy to be satiated by you, but it truly was driving him. The primal need for you, overwhelming. The pair of you only stopped when you both fell into a slumber from exhaustion. And even then, there were many times you found each other in a sleep exhausted haze, tangled within and inside one another again.

The bed dipped either side of your legs, you were still on your front but could feel your mate over you. He had paused though, his eyes falling over your beautiful pink wings. The iridescent skin reflecting lights across the room. He had almost cried when he first saw them after you accepted the bond, mesmerised and overwhelmed by their beauty.

Getting to see this part of you, a part of you that was so private, stirred a gratefulness inside him. But there was something else too, a possessiveness that had slowly been creeping up his mind recently.

In the past three weeks, you had both done every possible maneuver, tried every kind of love making– fucking, screwing, mating. You’d even made him a crumbling wet mess just from playing with his wings.

But he hadn’t touched yours.

No, they looked so delicate and soft, too beautiful to touch, that he hadn’t dared.

You felt him situate himself behind you, his warm naked body lightly laying on you, his chest resting on your behind. His arms wormed their way under your hips to get comfy, and you splayed your wings flat against your back to fit him.

“Az?” you asked curiously, glancing slightly over at your shoulder to catch him in your peripheral.

He didn’t respond though, not with words. You felt his soft warm breath blowing on the membrane of your right wing, making your squirm under the touch. Your wing fluttering a little in the air.

“How sensitive are they? Too sensitive for me to touch?” You heard him behind you.

“Hm..” you tilted your head slightly to think, “They’re delicate, but you can touch them. Gently.”

You were waiting for him to wriggle his hand from out beneath you but instead you felt something warm and wet run against the bottom of your wing.

You couldn’t stop the whimper from escaping your lips at the soft touch. Azriel had taken it upon himself to use the tip of his tongue to explore this part of you, a part of you that was still very new to him. He felt you wriggle under him, and he shifted placing his full body weight on you so you couldn’t move.

His tongue traced the ridge of your wing, and he wasn’t letting up. Not when he’d made that sound from you. He wanted more of that. He moved and pressed his tongue flat against the delicate skin, evoking another moan from you.

“Does that feel good my little butterfly?” he purred, you could feel the smirk on his lips against your wing as he pressed a kiss on them.

You wanted to roll your eyes at his teasing, but it felt too good to do anything other than surrender to his touch.

“I want to hear your words,” he spoke a little more assertively this time, before swiping his tongue along one of the tubular lines that spread like veins across your wings.

“Yes..” You huffed, before another moan slipped past your lips breathlessly. “It feels good Az…” You felt your body heat, your cheeks for sure rosy, grateful your mate could only hear not see the reaction he was having on you.

He chuckled softly then, the vibrations from his lips skirting across your wings making them twitch.

“My sensitive little butterfly, ” the new nickname only made you squirm more, your core growing slick at his predatory attention.

Azriel moved his hand then, the one caught under your left hip, so effortlessly moving down to your core, cupping your wet slit as he licked the pink shiny membrane again.

“Azriel…” you gasped, but his touch didn’t relent.

You knew this was only the start.

a/n: just some lovely little fluffy mating frenzyness! I just love these two, so I may expand a little more on the wings universe and their relationship if you guys would like to see that! Maybe some domestic bliss, or if there's any scenes you'd like me to write for them or parts of their story you're interested in then I'm happy to explore. Also this was written fairly quickly, so please ignore any typos, I only did a quick little check hehe - Lottie

p.s. also thanks to @thisiskaylin who inspired the nickname! She commented on the wings fic that butterfly would be the perfect nickname and I just had to use it <3

Forever tags: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar series #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x y/n #azriel x oc #azriel acotar #azriel series #azriel fluff #fluff #azriel smut #smut

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rainyatrium · 6 months ago

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MOTH AND LOPER!! YEAH!!! ft. @heavenhearst under the goggles... The mindspike articulates and is motorized... it gave up the goat literally as soon as the cosplay contest ended, lol Did not get to finish the lenticular film glasses in time, but such is life!!!! We got 4th place honorable mention in the group costume contest so i am pretty happy :) further thoughts and WAY more images below!

loper thoughts we know from the game that Loper is in some kind of hazard gear, so i gave them the jumpsuit (in the tradition of ellen ripley, real astronauts, and ghostbusters) as opposed to a labcoat or anything like that. we took in the waist to make it fit better. i think with the mindspike on, it made the resemblance even stronger.... these ghostbusters did not quite get why i was so amused at taking a photo with them, but i think this is a pretty good image nonetheless.

observin' makes me feel good! and speaking of the mindspike: this is my first time working on anything to this level-- I am not a robotics person! hell of a learning experience & i already have plans for version 2. mindsci i am not but i think i did pretty ok... the spike has two controllers: a modified slotcar controller & a separate knob that sits in one of the pockets (controls left/right axis). the other knob is pretty discreet and allows for puppeting the spike without a bright yellow Device in my hands. the RCA jacks on the back hooked up to Moth's laptop, so for photos it looks like they are hooked up to the spike and taking readings.

the claw was made nearly 1:1 to the game model to save on time and weight. con crunch wahoo! some extras: i put together fake 'e-paper' displays for our ids. if you have seen my prior posts, these will look familiar! i had a blast designing a seal for the FBX and a layout for these ids. i wanted to give them a better finish (hide the obvious 3d printing), but.. time crunch.. oops... the Moth id also has a little incandescent bulb in it, though I have no photos of it active. for my gloves, i intended to use gloves for high-voltage electrical work, but i was allergic to the latex, so i grabbed some dishwashing gloves off amazon and glued the label to them, hehe.

shoutout to the tf2 medic who was wearing the same pair of gloves! moth thoughts for moth, we had the benefit of the wonderful official cosplay by Shaman-- which you can see all over corru.store! (thank you shaman for the pointers!!!) Heaven thought it would be fun to take him in a more "I'M IN!" direction, so our Moth has painted nails and fingerless gloves and a great big coat over his button-down and slacks. complimented with some pins from hot topic and i think he assembled a pretty comprehensive vibe! i made the goggles out of some blue LEDs, rice paper, and a pair of costume goggles off Amazon. they are entirely opaque. moth is just such a gamer he knows exactly where everything is anyway.

you can also see the FBX patch that is present on both our Loper and Moth!

everything else wtf you read this far? cool! i don't really have anything else to add... but maybe you will see Loper at Supercon Miami in 2025.... only time will tell.....

#cosplay #corru #corru observer #corru.observer #moth corru observer #interloper corru observer #animatronic

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miguelhugger2099 · 1 year ago

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Hello sweetie, hoping you're doing well! What about bully punk Miguel and nerd pastel girl reader at college? (Miguel with 23 and reader with 21) Like reader was ugly and will have a glow up thanks to MJ and now Miguel tries to have her attention, they have a date and sweet and fluff smut!! (reader is virgin uwu) I'll let to you the creativity

Impurities

hello sweetheart you absolute DARLING i genuinely could be better but i hope ur doing great. i want to apologize for taking so long but i want u to know when i saw this i just about melted bc punk miguel is one of my guilty pleasures i adore him so much. this ask made me want to evolve it into a series i had like several different ways to make this but ahhhh i hope it's alright

Punk!Miguel x Pastel!Reader, Fluff and Smut, Word Count: 8,875 Art by: beawoodward on artstation !

You knew you weren’t the most appealing girl out there. You weren’t about to delude yourself otherwise. You knew what people said about you, how they looked at you. Your face could’ve been worse. Maybe some bushy eyebrows? You dressed…maybe a little different than most people. While the world was covered in grays and black, you opted out by showering yourself in the cutest pastel colors. You didn’t keep up with the trends and instead followed whatever you thought looked alright. It often led to some mismatching and awkward outfits but you didn’t think so! You entered campus with a light blue and pink striped pants with a pink belt and a baby blue sweater. Two low braids tied with white ribbons at the end and your white framed glasses on the bridge of your nose. Skincare was confusing to you so all you really did was wash your face with a harsh cleanser and hoped for the best which gave you some acne instead–making you pop them and leave some scars. You tried makeup but it just looked cakey so you settled with a messy and often uneven eyeliner. Regardless of your outfit, whether in a skirt or in pants, you were always decked out in some bright pastel colors and hair done in the same two braids. You held yourself close while walking around the halls, already used to people staring and calling you names from high school. College was a little more merciful, the whispers being just as loud but at least they’d never bully you to your face. You win some, you lose some. Your self-esteem had been damaged to the point of no return anyway, so any attempts of trying to prove you’re worth something would just be a pipe dream in your eyes. That’s why you push your glasses up and cling to your shoulder bag tightly in your fist as you pass by the usual group of boys to get to the front seat of your class. Your human biology class door was opened at the back so you’d have to pass the back seats to sit at the front. As usual, the group of boys were basically monochrome except for the little specks of red or blue if they ever decided to add color. But what was most noticeable about them was the so-called leader of said group. Unofficial–official– leader Miguel O’Hara, the senior who decided to take general education classes in his last year before graduating. His usual confident and toothy grin was on display, silver spider bites that his, also pierced, tongue would often play with. His big and heavy platform boots would rest on the chair beside him while his left elbow rested on the table, his hand combing through his long brown hair–shaved at the sides, mind you. He made sure to push his fringe back so everyone could see his double eyebrow and nostril piercing. Miguel’s hands were decorated with rings, big and small and his nails were short and painted black with some of it chipping off. His usual leather jacket with pins and patches, stretched and tight from his muscular build, was accompanied by a low red tank top with a spider symbol on the front. Black skinny jeans and a spiked belt that did little to actually keep his pants in place since the black and red band of his boxers were showing.

He listened mindlessly to his group of friends as they talked with each other, his fingers switching between playing with the dangling earring on his earlobe to his industrial bar. His crimson eyes glanced up when he saw you in your uncomfortably bright and awkward fashion sense. His friend tapped his shoulder and jutted his chin out to you before whispering something in Miguel’s ear that made him shove him away with a smile. Then they both laughed as quietly as possible, chuckling at what you decided to wear today: light blue overall shorts and a pastel yellow undershirt with white knee high stockings and white sneakers, your usual white ribbons at the end of your braids.

You usually sat alone at the front, placing your earbuds in to listen to music while you waited for the professor. Despite being at the front, you could still hear some faint chuckling and words being whispered from Miguel's group.

Still, you held your head up, taking out your notebook and expensive textbook. Clicking your pen, you began some light note taking before class started.

You sighed as you entered back in your dorm, dumping your bag at the door and kicking off your shoes. You faceplated down onto your bed while your roommate MJ looked over at you sympathetically.

You turn your head, cheek squished against the mattress. “I know that beauty is subjective and I'm not supposed to earn validation from anybody else but…” You sit up and rest on your legs, hands wringing in your hands with furrowed eyebrows.

“But…I want to feel pretty.” You admit softly, ashamed since you felt like you were betraying yourself.

MJ's smile grows and she eagerly jumps from her bed to kneel at your bedside. She takes your hands in hers and squeezes them reassuringly.

“You are pretty,” She insists. “But if you really want help, I can.” MJ tilts your head to look at her, a soft smile on her face.

You nod. “I do. I just want to know how to look like you.”

MJ shakes her head. “No. No, you already have your own beauty.” She places a hand on her chest. “I meant that I can help enhance it. No change to your core is necessary.” She pokes at your chest playfully and you both giggle together.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

You take a moment to look at her. MJ really was perfect–shiny straight red hair, clear skin that was painted with freckles and a winning white smile. You hoped she could work some magic on you.

“Okay.”

Your transformation didn't happen overnight. It took at least a few weeks for it all to come together.

MJ had dragged you to salons to get your hair properly taken care of. Gotten your eyebrows plucked, eyelashes lifted, an effective skincare routine–that you struggled to drill into your regular schedule–and a new wardrobe that still held your pastel look, just a little more flattering. She even helped you get some contact lenses so you wouldn’t need your glasses all the time! To tie it all together, you two spent nights practicing how to do your makeup that wouldn't look so wobbly and uneven. Each day, you improved yourself. Your tacky overalls changed into fitted jeans or flowy skirts. Your baggy shirts were now cute tops that hugged each curve. Tennis shoes into heels or cute sneakers and your hair came to life with a beautiful shine; your white ribbon still in your hair.

One day, you entered class like normal. Except there were very few whispers this time, almost nonexistent. Still, you don’t let it get to you and continue like normal–walking to the front of the class and sitting in your usual spot. What wasn’t normal was a figure coming up beside you and pulling out the chair next to you. Miguel slipped beside you in front of the class, tilting his head as he stared at your side profile. You tried not to react but you subconsciously glanced at him from the corner of your eye.

“Hey.” He smirked, his eyebrow raising and his lips curling.

“Hello.” You murmured back, opening your notebook to the next blank page.

“New look?” He asked, using his hand to brush your hair back off your shoulder and you stiffened. He noticed you still had the white ribbon at the back of your head. Miguel’s eyes glanced back down at your body. Nicely fitted flare baby blue jeans, a cute pastel green heart belt with a crop top white sweater.

“Looks good.” He purred. You held your blue bunny pen in your hand tightly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You didn’t understand why he was speaking to you. He hadn’t before–other than laugh at you–so what gives?

“Thanks.” You say curtly. Miguel places a hand over her heart in feign hurt.

“Don’t be like that, nena. You look so cute, I didn’t expect you to be so cold.” He teased. He crossed his arms and rested his head on them to look up at you while you wrote the rest of your notes down before class started. Miguel watched as your false eyelashes fluttered, making your eyes look bigger. The subtle blush on your cheeks and the concealer that hid most of your past acne. He could still see some of the scars which makes him huff a small laugh at how cute it kinda looks. Your lips were more plump than he remembered–a soft pink to them. He lifts his arm up to rest his cheek on his fist, his eyes still on you. “How about I take you out?” Your pen slips and leaves a slash right down your notes. “What?” “A date. Does that sound good?” You don’t look up, instead focusing on your task at hand. “No. Can you please just leave me alone?” Miguel doesn’t say anything else but you hear the chair he sat on scrape across the floor as he gets up abruptly. You hear the laughter of his friends behind you and Miguel snapping at them. Your shoulders hunch over–the natural instinct to hide from embarrassment overcoming you again.

Every week, in the same class, Miguel would try again and again and again to ask you out. Each time, you would decline. It had gotten bad enough where he changed his seat to move beside you, offering his help when he saw you were confused and overall just trying to get on your good side. You wanted to be strong, truly you did, but it was becoming too much. When Miguel had asked again, you sighed loudly and faced him. “If I say yes will you leave me alone?” Miguel broke into a wide smile. Once you finally agreed to a date with him, you truly weren’t expecting anything good. So you stood by the place Miguel wanted you to meet him at: a local diner that was pleasantly pretty looking from the outside. Still, due to your past experiences of being ghosted and stood up, you watched the time on your phone. You decided that you wouldn’t wait more than fifteen minutes max.

To your surprise, you didn’t have to wait at all. You heard Miguel call your name from your left, his lips curled into a confident smile. Subconsciously, you eyed him up and down. He had baggy black cargo pants, accompanied with chains on his right side. A DIY-ed t-shirt that was sprayed painted over many many times. Of course, his iconic leather jacket was littered with various pins and patches. When he was close enough, you saw just a bit of eyeliner surrounding his eyes; and a new septum piercing. For the people passing by, it was quite a sight to see. Compared to Miguel’s dark but proud aura, you emanated a more sweet and bright vibe. MJ had helped you pick out an outfit, excited that you approached her with the dilemma of going on a date. You wore a sheer baby blue crop top cardigan with a simple white tank top underneath. A slightly darker blue pleated skirt with white thigh high stockings and ankle strap baby blue platform pumps. You held a small purse in your hands and looked up at him through your lashes. Your hair was pinned in a half up and half down hairstyle; your white ribbon at the back of your head. You thought it was a bit much, but MJ assured you that it was just enough. “Te ves muy hermosa.” Miguel speaks up, a grin on his lips. “All for me?” He teases with a tilt of his head. A piece of his fringe falling over his forehead. “Oh, please.” You look off to the side, ignoring the flutter in your chest when called beautiful. Miguel doesn’t take it to heart, instead going past you to open the door of the diner. He dramatically takes a bow, his arm ushering you inside. The theatrics make the corner of your lips quirk up and you enter inside, nodding to Miguel. You turn your head around to see the inside, wooden chairs and tables, a jukebox at the back with a shiny bar. “This way.” You stiffen when you feel Miguel’s breath by your ear. Before you could turn, he places his hand on your lower back and leads you to a booth by the window. He sits across from you, menus at the ready on the table. “You know, I used to come to this place all the time.” Miguel says, his eyes scanning the different options. “Used to be a hangout spot for me and the others in high school. College took up my time so it’s a pain in the ass not being able to visit more.” You glance up at him, shuffling in your seat. It felt a little weird to have him speak to you like this, as if he wasn’t teasing you a few months ago.

Luckily, a waitress comes up before you two with a notepad in hand. “Oh! A pretty girl! Didn’t know you were back in the dating scene.” She cackles to herself and pushes her glasses up. Miguel groans and rolls his eyes. “I thought you didn’t work Fridays, Lyla.” “Margo couldn’t make it, I needed extra hours–and now a bonus– I get to embarrass you. Everybody wins! Except you maybe. Waddaya want?” Lyla rests on one foot, her grin plastered on her face. Miguel’s smile was long gone, now snapping his order at his friend. You watched with an amused smile. They bantered like siblings. But what she said piqued your interest. He hadn’t gone around dating? You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard Miguel call your name. His eyes were uncharacteristically soft. “Do you need another minute?” He asks. You stumble over your words and feel your cheeks burn. “No-no, uhm…” You look down at your menu and pick the first thing you see. “The, uh, chicken fajitas, please?” Lyla meets you with a smile and collects your menu. “Of course, darling.” She turns to take Miguel’s menu. “Couldn’t you have taken her to a nicer place? She’s all dolled up.” Lyla sticks her tongue out at him and walks away while Miguel’s cheeks burn red. Instead of facing you, he looks down at his hands and he picks at his black nail polish.

For once, Miguel had stayed silent. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he looked a little ashamed? Embarrassed? You could see him moving his spider bites nervously as he stares at anything besides you, his cheeks still tinged red. You pat your skirt awkwardly and clear your throat. “The…I like the diner. It’s got one of those retro vibes to it. It’s cool.” You give a small encouraging smile. For some strange reason, you thought his quietness didn’t suit him. Miguel’s eyes dart to yours and then at the window. “You think?” His hand reaches up to play with his dangling earring. It was almost cute. Just a bit. You chuckle softly. “Yeah, I mean. It’s like being in one of those time machines.” Miguel smiles. “Time machines? I think a time machine would look cooler than this dump.” You playfully smack his hand across the table. “Didn’t you say you used to come here years ago? Don’t call it a dump.” You fold your arms on your chest. You didn’t know this, but Miguel in that moment felt the tension he didn’t realize he had fell off his shoulders. “Eh, it’s a little bit of a dump.” He leans back and stretches his arm on the backseat. “But it’s like you said: a little retro.” Lyla returns with two glasses of water. “One for the cutie,” she places one on your side, giving you a wink. “And then Miguel.” She unenthusiastically hands Miguel the cup.

Miguel frowns at Lyla, a familiar bubble of jealousy brewing in his chest. “Lyla.” He warns. “What?” She stretches out the word. “Just being a good hostess.” She huffs with a pout and walks away. You giggle to yourself and Miguel notices. He’s quick to speak. “Ignore her. She’s always trying to be annoying.” He didn’t like the way Lyla was buttering you up, even if it was just a joke. He wanted you to smile at him like that. “It’s funny. I never thought I’d see you looking so bothered. How do you know her?” You smile and take a sip from your water. Miguel scratches the back of his head. “Middle school. We were in the robotics club.” You blink. “Robotics club? Really?” “Why’re you so surprised? What? A guy like me can’t be into things like that?” He smirks, placing his arms on the table and his pins rattle as he moves. “Well…kind of?” You smile weakly and laugh when Miguel pretends to be hit. “No, but seriously, robotics isn’t what I expected from you.” “Well, it was middle school. I’ve grown up into a man. This time I’ve taken an interest in being a geneticist.” He rests his head on his hand. “Don’t judge a book by its cover, nena.” He teases but you pause. That phrase is a little ironic for him to say, you thought to yourself. Shaking off that feeling, you continued to chat with Miguel. Talking about your interests, past, future and current studies. All while Miguel would try to sneak little touches, whether it be his boot tapping your heel or his hand brushing against yours when handing you a bottle of ketchup. After spending enough time at the diner, the sun was beginning to set. Before you left, Lyla convinced you to convince Miguel to give her a big tip and told you she hopes to see you again in different circumstances. Miguel holds the door open for you again and the bell dings your departure from the diner. His fingertips gently brush against yours, catching your attention.

“There’s…there’s this other place I wanna show you.” He bites his lip, peeling off the skin. His index finger loosely wraps around your pinky. “Sure…” You say hesitantly. He notices your hesitance. “It’s nearby. Just for a little bit and I’ll take you home.” The wind breezes through, giving you a glimpse of the cool air that will befall once nighttime arrives. You shiver and tuck into yourself to hide from the wind. Miguel takes off his jacket and slips it around you. Feeling the heavy material on your shoulders, you look up at him and feel the warmth go around your torso. Miguel’s eyes are focused on making sure it’s snug as it can be. It’s so large that it ends around your midthigh. He takes your little purse and pops the collar of his jacket up. “Put your arms through the sleeves so it doesn’t fall.” You blink and do as he says with a flustered expression. While shuffling your arms through the holes, you try not to glance over at him. His t-shirt was cut at the sleeves that showed off his toned arms. Despite the cold approaching, he seemed to be relaxed as he watched you, making sure you stayed warm. “Good?” He asked. Your fingers barely poked out, his jacket covering most of your outfit. And it was warm. It smelled like him.

With a satisfied smile, he slyly takes your hand in his and leads you away. You try not to focus too hard on the way his hand engulfs yours. After following Miguel in twists and turns, you eventually walk up a hill and at the very top stood a single bench with a view of the entirety of Nueva York. Your eyes widened and you let go of his hand to approach near the ledge, placing your hands on the railing. The lights of the city illuminated the night sky and acted as stars. You saw them twinkle along with hover cars that zoomed past you. “This is…” “Where I planned to take you another day. But Lyla pissed me off and I wanted to prove that I could take you somewhere nice.” He comes behind you and slings an arm around your waist. You look up at him with an amused smile. “Did you really take that to heart?” Miguel pouts his lips, his eyes looking off to the side. “I couldn’t let her make me look stupid in front of you.” You laugh, using the sleeves of his jacket to cover your smile. Miguel sees and he has a faint smile of his own on his face. He leads you back to the bench where you two sit in quiet comfortable silence after an afternoon of learning about one another. As you look over at the city with him, you couldn’t help but notice the nagging feeling in your chest. This was a date. A date that only happened because you changed yourself. A date with the person who laughed at you.

“Hey, Miguel?” You speak up quietly. He hums and looks over at you. “I…I don’t want you to be nice to me just because I got a little…prettier.” Miguel looks down at you with a frown. He stuffs his hands in his pockets while he looks back at the skyline. He says your name softly to grab your attention. “I’m not being nice just because you’re pretty.” You scrunch your eyebrows and scoff. “Yeah, I’m sure all those times you laughed at me was just you being a charmer.” “Laugh at you?” He raises his eyebrows and you look away. “Nena, I wasn’t laughing at you.” “Don’t lie to me, Miguel. I’m used to it. No use in sparing my feelings.” You sigh. “But I wasn’t,” He insists. He wants to reach for your hand, to touch you but he stops himself. “Really, I was…admiring you.” You roll your eyes. “Now you’re really being a jerk. There was nothing to admire when I looked…stupid and ugly.” “You did not.” He turned you to face him by turning your chin softly. “So you’re saying the way I looked before wasn’t stupid?” You glare at him but Miguel can’t find it in him to take it badly. “You were cute. The way you dressed and looked, it was awkward–sure–but it was adorable.” He chuckles but your frown deepens, feeling the tears bubble up in your eyes as you turn away from him. Miguel calls your name again. “I’m the last person to judge anyone for how they dress. Look at me.” Miguel flicks his multiple ear piercings, pulls on his snake bites, stretches his tattered and ruined t-shirt and slams his dirty platform boots to the ground. “A freak. You were just a cuter version.” “Then why did you talk to me now?” You murmur.

“Because you suddenly changed. I wanted to know what was up.” “And…the sudden date?” “Your transformation gave me the courage to speak to you. It was my chance–an excuse to talk to you.” Miguel says softly. “Though you did reject me twelve times. I was starting to lose hope.” “It was not twelve times.” “It felt like twelve times.” “...You have to admit that I’m…much more appealing now than I was before.” Miguel sighs. “Nena, the only thing different about you is clear skin and some clothes. Everything else is still you. You were pretty underneath, you just enhanced it. At your core, you’re still you. Bright and colorful.” He bumps your shoulder. You smile shyly and look in your lap. “MJ said something similar.” “MJ?” “My roommate. She helped me with, y’know, everything.” It was still hard to believe. Over two decades of being told otherwise was not going to go away by a single conversation but it still warmed your heart to hear something positive about you for once. You don’t say anything else and Miguel takes his chance to wrap his arm around you, bringing you to his chest. With flushed cheeks, you look out into the open where the skyline is feeling at peace and just a little pretty.

You two had arrived at your dorm and you faced Miguel shyly. Your eyes looked at the ground as you felt your cheeks heat up. “This is my place.” You state and Miguel chuckles, the sound of it sending your heart pumping. “I see that.” He says, taking a step toward you which makes you take a step back. “I had fun.” You whisper softly, your eyes landing on his chest. You see Miguel’s hand lift up to your chin and make you look into his eyes. Your cheeks burn since he keeps his hand on your chin to make sure you wouldn’t look away. “Me too.” He murmured, his red eyes looking like they turned a darker shade when he glanced at your lips. He takes another step towards you and you take another step back. You feel your head hit the door and realize you’re now trapped between it and him.

You hold your breath and can only feel the pounding of your heart in your chest and Miguel’s calloused fingers holding you still. Miguel then uses his other hand to hold your hip, his thumb trying to slide under your tank top. Your hands raise up to hold onto his biceps, shivering when your skin meets his. He was warm. “I…kind of don’t want this to end.” You admit softly. Miguel’s grin grows wider, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek which makes you weak in the knees. “Then it doesn’t have to, muñequita.” His hand leaves your chin to cup your cheek. He glances up above your head. “Your roommate home?” He asks. Your eyes never leave his face, your pupils dilating and a weird feeling starting to brew in your stomach. “No,” You squeak out and he looks back down at you. “She’s–She’s, um, out with her boyfriend.” Miguel hums, another glance to your lips. “Then…will you invite me inside?” He asks, leaning down so his lips just barely graze yours. Not quite a kiss yet. Your breath hitches and you nod a few times before speaking. “Mhm, okay.” You reach your hand behind you to grab the doorknob and twist it open. You stumble backwards but Miguel quickly wraps his arm that was on your hip around your waist. He then makes you walk backwards while he could shut the door behind him. You had your arms around his neck and looked up with wide eyes and a fast paced heartbeat. Miguel huffs out a chuckle. “You okay?” “Mhm!” You squeak. He squints down at you in playful suspicion but brushes it off. He bends down to where his lips brush yours again and finally dips low enough to kiss you. Your first shared kiss. You stumble with how to kiss, especially when the other person has piercings, but with someone like Miguel, you quickly learn and get the hang of it. Soft kissing noises sound between the small space of you two and he gradually moves from your lips to your cheek and down your neck. His arms around your waist tug you closer, bending you back and he moves you further back to where your calves hit the mattress of your bed. One hand rises up to pull his leather jacket off your shoulder, gently nibbling across your skin before reverting back to your throat. With his lips on your neck, Miguel could feel your pulse going wild, heartbeat going crazy each second. He decides to check in. “You okay?” he murmurs with a smile, his lips finding yours again for quick kisses. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve just–” kiss “Just–” kiss “Y’know, never–” kiss, kiss “Done this before.” He pauses, stiffening before he pulls back. “Wait. Are you saying this would be your first time…having sex?” Your heart sinks. That was bad wasn’t it? “No, it’s not bad.” Miguel shakes his head. You didn’t realize you voiced your concerns. “I’m just surprised, is all. Usually people have done it already.” You look away from him, visibly uncomfortable that he’s lowkey making fun of you. Miguel realizes the damage and quickly tries to fix it. “But there’s nothing wrong with it, nena! I didn’t mean–” He sighs, scratching the back of his neck. He looks around your dorm room. Your side is filled with cute things like plushies and fluffy blankets–a strawberry duvet all in the same hue of pastels.

“Look. We don’t have to do anything. I don’t…want to make it seem like I’m only here for that.” He shrugs his leather jacket back on your shoulder. “Because I do like you, nena. I’m willing to wait or if you never want it then it’s whatever. I just would really like a second date at least. Maybe at a nicer place like what Lyla said. Maybe I could clean myself up.” He gives you a weary smile. You stare at his hands that hold onto the zipper part of his leather jacket. For a while, you don’t say anything. “What if I don’t want to wait.” You mumble. You look up with some determination on your face. “I…I want to. With you.” Miguel takes his hands off you. “Wh–Are…are you sure?” You slip his jacket off you and let it fall to the side, stripping off the first piece of clothing from yourself. Your mouth is tight, heart hammering in your chest and cheeks feeling that familiar prick of heat up your neck but you’re sure of yourself. You want this. Miguel rakes his eyes up and down your body as you stand before him. “Alright.” He breathes out, undeniably attracted to you at this moment. “But this will all be at your pace, okay? I’ll make you feel good.” He purrs resting his hands at your hips and your facade crumbles slowly and you get shy again. He sits you down on your bed and he kneels before you, his hands on your thighs. He takes your right foot in his hands and carefully unbuckles the ankle strap of your pumps and slides it off. You cover your mouth, heart pounding at the intimate yet innocent act of him taking off your heels. He does the same with your other heel and sets it to the side.

Miguel then looks up at you from his lashes, his confident ones meeting your bashful ones. Taking your right leg again, he slips your thigh high stocking off you and does the same for your other leg. He places his hands on your knees and slowly spreads your legs apart to give you time to stop him. You don’t. “Come closer, mami.” He murmurs, sliding his hands up to grip the flesh of your thighs. You let out a weak mewl and scoot closer to the edge of your bed. Miguel bunches your skirt up, groaning and feeling his cock twitch in his pants when his eyes land on your pastel pink panties, a sweet little bow in the middle like you were a present for him. “Tan bella,” He murmurs, unable to hide the utter desire he has for you. You cover your face in embarrassment as he spreads your legs wider. His lips graze over your thighs, pressing kisses as he makes his way up. You feel your heart skip a beat everytime you feel his warm breath. Your hands clutch your strawberry sheets and he notices.

“You can hold onto me, mami.” He purrs and you swallow the lump in your throat.

“Wha…how do I..?” You feel stupid, your hands raising up and unsure of where exactly to put them. Miguel takes your hands and places him in his hair. His fingers curl around yours so you could grip onto his strands.

Feeling your face burn, the sight of you holding onto him while his eyes bore into yours. You instinctively clench your fists, his hair being tugged on in the process which makes him groan and close in his eyes. He likes a bit of pain, it seems

Miguel's hands return to your thighs, wrapping his arms underneath to tug you closer to his awaiting mouth and to keep your legs apart. “Hips up, mama.” He purrs and you do as he says, making him slip your panties off.

He discards them off to the side and delves between your thighs. His nose nudges your nub and you gasp, pursing your lips and gripping tighter on his hair.

“Miguel!” You whimper and he hums in response. You feel the metal ball of his tongue piercing curl inside you–it was strangely pleasurable. You didn’t expect it to feel so good. You rest on one hand behind you, the other still planted in his hair as you bucked forward on his tongue. Miguel the munch that he is, grins against your folds and licks a long stripe up before spitting and devouring your sweet nectar again. You felt the sudden slimy wetness hit your nerves and you yelped in surprise. Just as quick, you fall into submission when his skilled tongue swirled in little number eights. Your eyes were closed shut, your hand pulling Miguel closer to which he obliged. He then surprises you by sticking one of his thick fingers inside you. “Oh my…god.” You moan, your body growing hot and sweaty underneath all your clothing. “Miguel…” Miguel’s mouth moves in rhythm, his lips kissing your pussy as he drinks whatever your sweet cunt offers him. He could stay like this forever, cleaning your mess up and licking you for all eternity. His rings nudge your folds, the metal a stark contrast from his rough fingers. He pumps a second finger inside and it’s a bit of a stretch that feels good enough for you to thrust harder. “Mmm, yes…oh, I’m so close…” You mumble to yourself, chest heaving as you come closer and closer to climax. Unexpectedly, Miguel pulls away from between your legs. The pleasure being ripped from you and you struggle to lift your head as he pulls off you. The look in his eyes is different. More lustful, more hungry.

“If you’re gonna cum, I want you cumming around my cock.” He groans and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. Miguel stands up and gets into bed with you, shoving his platform shoes and pants off. While he gets on top, you rest back into your bed and your eyes become big and wide–darting between his face and between his legs. “Is it–will it hurt?” You bring your hands to your chest, clutching the fabric of your tank top. Miguel lifts your chin up to him. His eyes are kind and soft. “It’s not supposed to. I’ll make sure it won’t.” He grabs the waistband of your skirt and tugs it off your legs, throwing it with the other forgotten clothes. His hands make his way up your body, helping you remove the sheer cardigan and sliding your tank top up and over your head. Miguel chuckles at the heart patterned bra you wore. He leans over to kiss your neck and you sigh. The feeling of his lips sucking and tongue licking you was surprisingly pleasurable. Instinctively, your reach around his shoulders to hold onto him, your back arching to be chest to chest with him. Miguel’s hands go under your back, holding you up while he quickly unclasps the bra. Feeling the loss of your support, you whine but Miguel kisses you before you become louder. He places you back down on your back and finally removes the last piece of clothing. Miguel admires you from above, his hands at your waist, rubbing up and down your sides as he feels your curves. “Perfecta. Eres mucha mujer.” He whispers while trailing his lips along your collarbone. You whimper, feeling your cheeks burn and grow hot to the touch. His breath ghosts over your breasts and he stares up at you maintaining eye contact. Miguel notices something in your hair; your white ribbon, still tied in your messy hair. His heart swells and smiles, reaching up to brush your hair away.

He kisses down the valley of your breasts and around your nipple. He glances up at you every so often to make sure you’re not feeling any sort of discomfort. He can feel your heart pounding underneath his palm. Miguel wraps his lips around your nipple and sucks softly. You gasp and hold your breath for a moment while his cold tongue piercing swirled around your nipple, his spider bites and nose piercing pressed against the softness of your tits. You stare up at the ceiling as the warmth in your body flooded down to your core. “Oh! M..Miguel…” You whined, your hands curling in his hair where you felt most comfortable. Miguel flicks his finger around your other nipple, pulling and bullying it until it becomes erect and perky. Even then, he twists it and gropes your tit in time with his sucking and biting. Your hips buck up, feeling your pussy throbbing uncomfortably. When you hit his bulge, Miguel moaned and grinded himself to your soaked pussy in soft circles. Your juices left a stain on his boxers in your desperate attempts at relief. He lets go of your tits–leaving a small bite mark– and continues to kiss down your body. “Gracias a Dios por mandarme esta belleza.” He murmurs, digging his hands into the plush of your hips when he raises your thighs up. Suddenly, he stops and lets go of you. “Shit, shit, fuck–hold on.” He mumbles and gets off you. You feel cold and watch as he gets off the bed and picks up his pants from the floor and searches through his pockets. “Did I…do something?” You ask, worried you might’ve done something that made Miguel regret touching you. He shakes his head. “No, no–just–ah, there it is…” He chuckles to himself after finding his wallet and pulling out a small square packet. He pushes his fringe back with one hand as he gets back into bed. Miguel shuffles down his boxers after putting the packet between his teeth. “I’ll get you pregnant some other time.” “What?” “What?” You close your mouth and hear ringing in your ears. You were sure that steam would be coming out of your head at this point–your mind felt like mush with how easily flustered he made you. Miguel looks down at you and huffs a small laugh, letting you know he was joking. Maybe. Hopefully.

His cock springs free once his boxers are off and he groans when it slaps his stomach, leaving a bead of his precum on his tip. Your eyes shamelessly stare at him. You were by no means an expert when it came to sex but you grew both worried and aroused at how massive he was. “There is…no way it’s gonna fit.” Miguel rips the plastic with his teeth and rolls the condom on his dick to the base. For a moment, you’re disappointed that he added protection. Just for a moment, though. He breathes out and gives soft strokes to his shaft while looking at you from beneath him. He feels his cock pulse and throb, growing harder by the second just by the sight of your perfectly sculpted naked body. He thought you were divine. Placing his hands on either side of your head, he leans down to kiss you as if trying to ease your worries. “It’ll fit, I promise. It’ll feel so good, too.” He whispers, his lips brushing against yours. “I’ll go slow.” He takes one hand to lift your thigh up just enough to give him space to rub his cock between your wet folds. “Miguel…!” You gasp while you feel just how hard he was. He shushes you. “I know, nena. Look what you do to me. Feel what you did to me.” He buries himself in your neck, nipping at your skin and you tilt your head back. More of your arousal soaks his cock, creating wet sounds while you grind on each other and Miguel shudders. He bites into your shoulder and fights against his instinct to shove his cock inside and fuck you into your own mattress. Miguel kisses the spot he bit, his breathing labored and heavy. “Tell me if it hurts, mama, okay?” You nod, your eyes screwed shut. “Uh-huh…” Slowly, Miguel looks down and makes sure his tip splits your folds apart as he enters inside you. Your breath hitches and you tighten your arms around his neck. “Miguel!” You whine while he penetrates you. He kisses your temple and stops when only his tip is inside you.

“You’re doing great, nena. No te preocupes, lo estás haciendo bien.” He reassures you with a shaky voice. It’s clear he’s holding back. You whimper apologies and Miguel kisses across your cheeks to try and return your focus on him instead of the new stretch you’re feeling. He praises you in a mix of Spanish and English–ones you can barely hear. He moves his hand down between your legs and gently rubs your clit with your thumb in hopes of loosening you up. With the added stimulation, you moan and hide in his neck with your eyes shut. You weakly thrust up, feeling a bit of relief and allowing Miguel to push further in. “Good, good,�� He purrs. “Just like that, mama. Just let me in.” He groans and hisses when you clench around him. Miguel’s thumb switches between a fast and slow pace, sliding in his cock easily until you cry out and dig your nails into his skin, leaving small crescent shapes. “Stop, stop–” You whimper. “I’ll pull out–It’s okay–” “No!” You keep him close to you. “No, I just–I need a minute.” You sniffle, your body slowly adjusting around his girth. Miguel nods and pulls back enough to meet your eyes. “Okay. Okay, whatever you need. At your pace, remember?” He rests his forehead against yours. You open your eyes to see his cheeks flushed, a bit of sweat running down his temple and he shakes with every breath. Despite his current state of desire, he’s putting you first–he’s putting your comfort first. “Thank you.” You whine softly. Miguel huffs, leaning down to kiss the corner of your eyes. “Don’t thank me for that, nena. Never.” Miguel continues to pamper you with kisses, murmuring about how beautiful you are, how well you’re taking him, how he can’t get enough of you. He nuzzles into your neck, rolling lazily over your clit and does gentle thrusts of whatever you were able to handle. After a few moments, you grab his attention by running your hands through his hair, fingernails scratching over his shaved parts. “Okay…more, please.” He lifts himself up and holds your hips with both his hands. His thumbs caress your hip bones as he pushes himself deeper. You moan and tilt your head back, biting your lip as the combination of pain and pleasure hits your stomach and through every nerve in your body. It felt like forever until he reached the hilt, the light smack of his balls hitting your pussy. Miguel smiles. “Good girl,” he licks his lips. “Mirame.” Your head tilts back down to see both of you finally connected. “Holy shit…” You whisper, the sight making you clench. Miguel moans and grips your hips tighter, his head falling forward as he takes a deep breath. “Fuck, don’t tighten around me like that.” “Sorry!” You squeak and he chuckles. He raises his head back up, hair falling in front of his face and a lazy smile on his face that shows his fangs–his piercings glinting in the dim moonlight. “Don’t be. It’s just, you feel so fucking good–you’ll make me cum.”

You cover your face and resist the urge to scream. The heat emanating from your face made you sweaty. Miguel takes your wrists and pins them to the side of your head. He cocks a pierced eyebrow up with a smirk. It softens when he sees just how flushed your expression is. “‘m gonna move, okay?” You gulp and give him the green light. Miguel looks down and slowly pulls out, watching your slick drench his condom covered cock. “Jesus…” He groans under his breath. He looks back up to see if there’s any sign of discomfort on your end but he’s met with your eyes glued between your legs as well. Your eyebrows are scrunched up in pleasure, mouth agape with shallow breaths while you watch him slowly ease out of you. Miguel’s eyes darken with lust and he pushes back in once his tip was kissing your heat. He watches as you roll your head back, your eyes rolling behind your skull when you felt his cock filling you up again. “Oh my God…” You moan. “Miguel…” Miguel’s heart jumps and his hands tighten around your wrists. Still, he’s careful. For a few minutes, Miguel continues his slow thrusting. He pulls out sweet moans and whimpers from you, getting you used to his massive size and stretching your cunt out to the shape of him. His tip nudges against your cervix and you jump which makes him grin. After those few minutes, you began writhing underneath him. The pain had subsided and now this soft stroking was sweet but it wasn’t doing anything for you anymore. Your hands clenched and unclenched into fists.

“Miguel, Mig–more,” You begged. “Faster.” “You sure?” He slows to a stop and you furrow your eyebrows in annoyance which he doesn’t notice. He’s about to ask again after your lack of response when you lock your ankles around his waist, shoving him back inside you. You and Miguel moan in unison, Miguel nearly falling on top of you if he didn’t catch himself by resting on his elbows by your head. His breath fanned your face and he looked down into your eyes with a heavy blush. “More.” You moan and Miguel quickly goes to work. He leans on one elbow and places his other hand down to your hip to start picking up his pace. Miguel attaches his lips to your chest, biting the plump flesh of your tits before taking your nipple in his mouth once again. Your hands go around his back, your nails raking down his spine that leave red streaks. He pushes himself further against you, folding you in half while he increases his speed, abusing your pussy by slamming his cock in and out of you. Your squealing and moaning becomes music to Miguel’s ears. He groans and licks his tongue around your nipple, lapping it back in his mouth to suck on it. His nails dig into your waist while the sound of skin slapping signaling just how desperate he is to fill you with his cock. “Atta girl,” He moans after moving up to your neck with wet open mouthed kisses. “Knew you could take all of me. Knew you would sound so pretty crying all over my cock.” He smirks, looking up to see your eyes rolled back, tears brimming your eyes in ecstasy instead of pain this time. Your pussy spasms around him as you whimper.

“Mig–Mig–” You babble mindlessly. The only thing on your mind is Miguel, Miguel and Miguel. “So–so good…” You slur, vision going hazy while the lust clouded your mind. Miguel’s ego inflates, his dick twitching inside you. Even with a condom he could still feel your pussy contract around him, your warm walls sucking him in deeper. Your hips wiggle and buck weakly to match his thrusts but ultimately Miguel does all the work, sending your mind spinning while he practically fucks all your thoughts, fears, and insecurities from your brain—turning you into a dumb cock-drunk mess. Through the haze, you can hear your juices sloppily smacking between you and Miguel–an erotic sound of wet plaps, his balls becoming slick and sticky with your arousal. “God, you feel so good,” He moans, hips stuttering. “It’s like your cunt is just begging for my cum. You want it? Huh? This tight little pussy gonna milk me dry?” He quickened his pace, humping against you in fast short thrusts. You scratch his back, multiple lines of red marking his skin while your toes curl. “Yes, please, please, please–I wanna,” You babble through gasps. “It’s so good–I wanna cum–Don’t stop…!” Your voice becomes high pitched, your hips lifting to grind yourself on him. The both of you fucking one another exactly like horny college kids. Miguel growls, nipping at your neck to add more hickeys to your body. “Never. Holy shit–you’re so fucking sexy,” He cuts himself off with a groan, his sweaty forehead falling to your shoulder while he humps you. “Never letting you go. This pussy is mine.” His thumb finds your clit again, his fingers slowly being drenched with your messy juices that had spread all around your labia, smearing around your pussy with the help of Miguel’s unstable thrusting. His cold rings bumped against your hot skin, the difference in temperature becoming another factor in your raw lust. Your screams of pleasure bounced off the walls. “C’mon pretty girl. Cum for me. I know you’re close.” He pants in your ear.

“Mig–gy!” You choke out, eyes squinted in ecstasy as Miguel helps you reach your climax. It wasn’t anything you’ve experienced before. White hot numbing pleasure waving through your body as you spasmed. Your orgasm shook your entire body and you clutched onto him tightly, your legs keeping him near, nails finding purchase in his back and arching your breasts up to his chest, nipples sensitive to the touch. Miguel followed right after: rubbing your clit faster and his balls ached with a tightness before releasing his seed into the condom, his cock twitching as it spurts out his cum. He moans loudly, his body shivering and shaking along with you but he still helps you come down from the high, pumping weakly as he empties himself. Your body falls limp, head lolled back while Miguel breaths heavily. He pulls out as gently as you can but your virgin cunt wasn’t used to such stimulation, each inch back caressed your sensitive nerves up until he finally left with a pop. Miguel’s hands shook as he took off the condom, body now covered in cold sweat now that the heat of the momentum was gone. He stumbled off your bed and tied the condom shut then dumped it in the small bin in your dorm room. He slipped back in your bed beside you, smiling to himself when you took deep breaths with your eyes closed. “Hey, you alright?” He asks with a soft wheeze. “Huh?” You barely heard him over the heartbeat pounding in your head. The blood flow goes through your body normally once again. “Hm? Oh. Mhm. Yeah.” Miguel chuckles, resting on one elbow with his cheek in his palm and brushes your sweaty hair back from your face. “Yeah? You were amazing.”

“Really?” You try to look up at him through the exhaustion in your eyes. Who knew sex could take all your energy? Miguel grabs your folded fuzzy blanket and unravels it to drape it on top of you two. “Really. I’m honored to be your first.” You blush at the reminder that you hadn’t had sex before and the reminder that you were no longer a virgin. You stare at his face while his hands caress your cheeks, his thumb rubbing the side of your neck right under your jawline. “Do you really like me?” You find yourself asking him. Miguel’s hand stops moving and he looks surprised. “Yeah,” He confirms gently. “I wouldn’t fuck you if I didn’t. I don’t have sex with just anyone.” He pulls your cheek. You frown and pout at him. “I'm serious!” Miguel chuckles. “I know, I know.” He tilts your chin up with his index finger and leans down to kiss you sweetly for a quick peck. He knows what’s really on your mind. “My pretty girl.” He hums as he stares down at you to admire the afterglow of your orgasm. “All mine. My pretty girl.” He dunks his head down to your chest, wrapping his arms around you to pull you in his embrace and snuggles you.

Your heart flutters. Pretty. It hits you then that Miguel really does think you’re pretty. You feel his ear piercings against your chest and the rings on his fingers running up and down the curve of your spine. His fingers find your white ribbon, crumpled under you and he twirls it around his ring finger. You struggle to hold back your smile as you hug him back, nuzzling your nose in his hair and falling asleep with the comfort of knowing someone genuinely finds you beautiful, inside and out.

a/n: im sorry i wasnt normal i just love a good trope and punk miguel i cant help but make him cute

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara imagine #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #nonie requests ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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taintandviolent · 1 year ago

Text

Thrill of the Rush ; James March x reader

summary: Reader is a murderer, coquettish and demure in nature. She brings a man to the Hotel Cortez, and it ends how it always ends for them. The only difference, is that James March is watching her and is enamoured.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 2.6k! | serial killer!reader, graphic descriptions of murder, violence, blood and gore, descriptions of smut, cunnilingus, arousal, kissing/making out.

a/n: requested by anonymous and inspired by Lana Del Rey's Serial Killer song! hopefully this isn't too clunky, or boring in anyway! proofread very briefly, if you see any mistakes, no you didn't.

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don't have a taglist, but please turn on post notifications if you'd like to be notified of future fics!

Elvis’s voice drifted from your speaker. The hotel room was cool, a stark contrast to the hot LA summer outside. The room itself was outdated in decor and architecture, something that you found charming – you’d chosen it specifically for its gorgeous, untouched art deco style. Stephen protested, saying it was rundown and dingy. You shushed him with a single manicured finger and led him inside, heading straight for the hotel desk.

He was a man. A stupid, hungry man who could only think with one head at a time. So, it didn’t take much for you to get up to the hotel room, and onto the bed. You’d let the strap of your dress fall off your creamy soft shoulder, coaxing him closer to you.

He nuzzled his lips into your breast, tugging softly at the skin. He muttered something into your skin, something grotesque, and you didn’t hear him. You were too busy listening to the thud of your own heartbeat – your own excited little heartbeat. You reached into your purse, which had been laying next to you, to retrieve the knife. It was a beautiful thing; pink pearlescent inlay on the handle, and a long, shimmery silver blade.

Raising it high above his head, your elegant fingers gripped the rosy hilt of your knife, and using all your strength, stabbed it into the side of the man's neck. The blade sliced through his skin like butter, giving no resistance. There was nothing like the sensation of killing – it never failed in making your eyes glisten, a cruel fire burning bright within them. Your chest fluttered with excited little breaths, rushing out over your pouting, pink lips in tiny gusts. The thrill, the rush, it was unlike anything you’d ever experienced – even sex. No man had ever made you feel the way killing him did. You twisted the knife slightly.

In response, he gurgled; a delightful sound that had you giggling. You had angled the knife just right, plunging it deep before yanking it out quickly. The blood spurted out in a warm geyser over your hand, trailing down your wrist in crimson ribbons. His hand flew to his neck, pitifully trying to stop the flowing river. You slapped his hand away softly.

"Pl-please..." He murmured, as his body started to droop away from yours.

You bent over, kissing the man on the forehead. As darling as you had been before, maybe even more so then. “Oh, baby…” you whispered, cloyingly sweet and soft like a summer day. He knew that he was going to die, and the begging was futile. Still, he persisted, wet and coughing between each plea.

You pushed him off of your breast, and more blood squirted out, the arteries pumping it out with each beat of his heart. James' dark pupils widened, watching as you worked. He hadn’t made himself known yet, and wouldn’t until you were finished. Nothing should interrupt this delicious display of cruelty.

“Tell me you love me,” you whispered. “Tell me I’m the sweetest girl you’ve ever seen.” He didn’t. He didn’t say anything else… and he never would again.

“Hmph.” Frustrated, you got off the bed, and smoothed your hands over your hips; the satin of your slip dress was warm and soft and provided no friction.

"Seems you've got yourself between a rock and hard place, my dear."

You spun around. In front of you stood a dashing man, dressed to the nines and resting some of his weight on a cane. He was handsome, but possessed a coldness that drew you in. He wasn't like the others.

"How did you get in here?!"

"The door was..." He turned to look at it, casually. "Open."

"No..." You shook your head, soft curls bouncing. Your tone was coy, knowing. "No, it wasn't."

"Ah," he said, tightening his lips into a sly smile. Had his heart been beating, it would’ve quickened at your darling little response. You were quick; a trait that he enjoyed and very rarely saw.

"He deserved it, you know." You looked at the man on the bed with a disproving sourness in your gaze. His body had slumped over the side of the mattress, blood streamed from the gash in his neck to his hairline, staining it red.

"I don't doubt that." He inhaled, stepping further into your room. "However... The problem remains of what to do with him. I presume you’ve yet to figure that out." His voice had your knees weak, turning the tendons to jell-o every time he spoke. It was so deep and croony, like molasses if it had a voice.

"No," you trilled. "No, but you seem like you do."

"I do," he started. There you went with your quick-witted confidence again. "You see, I have built this hotel to satisfy... my every need and whim, whatever they may be. I have a way to dispose of him for you."

Your hand lifted to your shoulder, your finger winding a lock of hair around it. You pursed your lips, as though you were considering his offer. The truth was, you’d already made up your mind. He was dangerous, unafraid, but interested in you. A refreshing change from the rest of the men that you courted and ultimately killed. Besides, he was right. You had a corpse in the room and were unsure what to do with it, besides leaving it and requesting another room, claiming something trivial like the hot water not working.

"Why are you doing this?" You ask, running your tongue along the bottom of your teeth, before coming to rest in the corner of your mouth. "You don't even know me."

"I don't, my little buttercup, this is fact, but what I do know of you, I crave."

Your knees wobbled. Somehow, he’d captivated you. You were never taken by men; they were useless, dumb playthings that you disposed of as soon as you got bored with them. You were never the one that was wrapped around a finger, it was always the other way around. But something… something about this man and the sick, nasty glimmer in his pitch-black eyes had you shivering.

“James March,” he declared proudly, before offering his hand. You placed your own atop his palm, and he leaned down, pressing his lips softly against your knuckles. Your lips tensed, withholding a whimper.

All at once, he closed in the distance between the two of you. Exactly what you wanted him to do, and without asking. You gasped, looking up into his soulless gaze. “Hold me,” you whispered. “Please.”

With a single nod, he enclosed you in a frighteningly firm grasp. You weren’t going anywhere – not that you wanted to.

“I don’t know what you do… or what you’ve done…” you whispered, feeling light in his arms. He held you like old movie stars held their beloved; arms wrapped passionately around the waist, holding you tight at the hip. James waited, on bated breath, for you to finish your sentence. Instead, you stood on your tiptoes, and pressed your soft lips against his. They were cool, and immediately surrendered to yours, parting to exhale into your mouth. As his breath filled your lungs, you succumbed to every feeling he was pulling from you; your legs quivered and pressed together tightly. Your core tightened, and your cunt clenched with arousal. Slick leaked into the silk of your underwear, staining the fabric with your submissiveness.

His head tilted, allowing him to go deeper inside your mouth. His tongue slipped along yours, twirling and exploring the soft, slippery flesh of your mouth. Without breaking the kiss, James walked you backwards, guiding you towards the bed. His shin knocked into the corpse’s head, which lolled lifelessly.

You were at his mercy, and gasping for air, broke the kiss to look down at your feet. Stephen’s eyes were glazed over now, void of life. He had paled, the crimson stark against his bloodless skin. A puddle had settled beneath his head, seeping into the carpet. You broke away from James and bent down, shoving all your weight down on Stephen's shoulders. Rigor mortis hadn’t set in, so he rolled over easily, towards the edge of the bed, which freed up most of the bed for whatever came next.

You immediately snuggled yourself back into James’ arms, nestling against his chest. “There… all better.”

He hmm’ed at the crown of your head, holding you tight. His hips ground against yours, a stiffness pressing into your hip bone. A reminder – he was a man. But not akin to the other men… he was different. You looked up, gazing into his eyes.

James guided you backwards onto the bed, your ass hitting the mattress with a squeak of protest from the old springs. Placing one hand on either side of your hips, he kissed you again, urging you back further yet. He was intoxicating. Everything he did had you quivering like a lamb in the jaws of a wolf – and you wanted more of it. More of everything. You wanted him.

“I love you just a little too much,” you cooed, brushing your lips over his neck. The satin of his ascot brushed against your chin and you longed to feel it tied around your wrists. Your hand brushed along his bulge, feeling the taut fabric that covered it. As the feelings bubbled up inside of you, effervescent like champagne, you couldn’t stand it. No man should ever make you feel the way he did and with a small gasp of air, you reached for your knife again. James caught you fast, holding your wrist in an iron grip.

“I’m afraid not, my dear. You won’t get that pleasure with me.”

“Pleasure?” You asked, doe-eyed, feigning innocence yet again.

“Perhaps another pleasure,” he cooed against your lips, his moustache tickling the flesh under your nose. You were divine… a shining beacon of temptation amongst a sea of poor fools. It had been decades since a woman captivated him the way you did.

James sank to his knees, slowly, as you watched, holding your breath. His hands gathered your satin slip over your knees, and pushed it over your hips, exposing your silken underwear. The wet spot had grown considerably, and James pressed his lips against the damp fabric. The sensation was electric, sending chills up your spine in a wave of unadulterated pleasure. He kissed her again, pressing harder. He could almost taste her through the silk. You whimpered, and let your head drop between your shoulders. He brushed his lips across your mound again, and you got even wetter. For a brief moment, he disappeared and the reaction was painfully visceral.

“Don’t…. Don’t stop…” you said to the ceiling, out of breath and trembling. You could hardly get yourself upright to look at him.

“I’ve no intention of doing so, my dear. None whatsoever.” Carefully, as though unwrapping a delicate gift, James pulled your underwear from your hips, tugging them delicately down your thighs. Murder always got him worked up, but this was an entirely different arousal.

“Let me see her…” he said, low His hands were on your thighs, resting carefully atop of them.

Using your manicured fingers, you reached forward to spread your cunt to him, eagerly, obediently. She glistened in the low-lighting of the room and you heard him inhale. He leaned closer to her and began kitten-licking between your folds, sending a shockwave through your core. She clenched uncontrollably, tightening. James paused to observe, pleased with the reaction. He’d done so little, and you were already a mess. Placing his hands behind your knees, he scooted you further towards him.

Your cunt ached with everything he did; from the gentle touches to the way that his moustache tickled the soft skin of your inner thigh. You weren’t used to your heart beating this quickly outside of killing someone. He was making you feel things you’d long since forgotten.

To say that you never experienced sexual pleasure would be a lie; you did. Usually, covered in blood and panting, after a kill, your body and senses would be so wound up that you’d finger yourself, use a vibrator, something to get yourself off. But this orgasm, you knew, would be different. And much quicker.

With a breath, he flattened his tongue against your cunt, lapping at it hungrily. Your muscles all trembled, the first hint of an orgasm clawing at your insides. And just before you did, he pulled away. Cruelly. Mercilessly. As though he knew that he had you under his spell…. Oh, you’d kill him if he’d only let you.

James slipped two fingers inside your waiting, wet cunt. You let out a desperate yelp, rocking your hips back and forth to meet his fingers. Electricity coursed through your core, your body quivering again. His fingers drilled into you, curling upwards with each thrust, hitting your sensitive spot. The pressure increased, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter around itself. You were close.

“Speak to me,” he ordered. “Use your voice.”

You swallowed, wetting your throat. It was frightfully hard to form words, your mind was too clouded with arousal and ecstasy. “C-can’t…. Feels…. So good….”

James leaned forward again, the tip of his tongue drilling into your sensitive clit, twirling at it. After a moment, he encircled your clit with his lips, sucking softly. You were sweet, wet and singing for him. James hummed into your pussy, satisfied. With his fingers still thrusting inside you, the overstimulation was too much. Your coil snapped, and your hands flew to his hair, making tight fists in the greased locks.

As you orgasmed, you called his name, chanting it over and over again like a prayer. He was there, between your legs, tugging you over the edge with whispered praises against your throbbing cunt. An attentive lover, James didn’t stop fucking you – or licking at you – until the final pulse subsided.

“Now that I’ve made you mine,” he said, straightening up. “Let’s deal with your little hobby, my dear.”

Made you his? You thought, chewing on the corner of your lip, as your eyes bored into his. How dare he – made you his. Despite feeling like you’d been bamboozled, you knew it was true. He’d made you his, and barred you from loving any other man again.

A knock at the door. You looked down at Stephen – you’d almost forgotten he was there. James got to his feet as the door opened, and you noticed that his cock had tented in his trousers, pulling against the fabric, begging for release. You gasped, looking at the woman as she entered. She was pushing a silver room service cart, though it was empty.

“Fret not my dear, it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before.”

You furrowed your brows; his erection or a corpse in a hotel room? You weren’t sure which. Effortlessly, James hoisted Stephen’s expired body up onto the cart, waving his hand dismissively towards the woman, who hmm’d curtly, and made her way back towards the door.

“Follow me,” he said, jovially as he headed towards the open door. He began whistling a tune, as though wheeling a body out into the hallway was the most normal, routine thing he’d done all day. Perhaps it was. You heaved a breath, and got up off the bed, pulling your underwear back up.

“James, James, wait!”

He paused.

“Aren’t you going to… well…”

His eyes followed yours to his groin, which was still stiff. You sucked on your bottom lip, looking up at him with come-hither eyes. Curiosity had gotten the best of you. Despite having just come, you wanted more, and you desperately wanted to know what the weight of his cock felt like in your hands.

“Oh.” He smiled, pleased. With a slow nod, he reached forward to cup your chin with his large hands. “I’ll get mine.”

#James Patrick March #James March #James Patrick March x you #James Patrick March x reader #James Patrick March smut #ahs hotel #ahs smut #myfics #requests

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astroboots · 2 years ago

Note

Omg please continue with the Miguel fang prompt!!! It’s too cruel to stop there!!!!!

HIDE AND SEEK

Summary: Miguel and you plays hide and seek.

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Content: Hunter predator kink (I think that's what we're calling it?) anyway explicit. Miguel is a bit rough.

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

It's all too easy to get lost in the crowd in a city as crowded as New York. You slip in among a throng of tourist standing around like a flock of pecking hens, their faces dipped down at their phones, huddled over google maps as they try to figure out how to get to Broadway as if it's not within goddamn walking distance, right down the street.

In a nervous habit, you fiddle with the watch on your wrist. Your eyes flick over the bright light that tells you it's 11:28pm.

Which means, there's still 32 minutes left.

God this is the slowest hour you've ever lived through in your life.

You squeeze yourself in the back, behind a woman with a large hat and larger sunglasses, even though it's evening and the sky is near black. The only things left illuminating the sky now is glaring shop signs, aggressive LED lights, and the mega-spectacular ads display that is brighter than the goddamn sun.

Peering over the madness of the crowd, you try to spot the familiar sight of his all too recognizable build looming over everyone else.

But there's nothing.

He's not here. You let out a long held in breath, your chest sagging with relief. Of course he wouldn't be here.

Times Square has over 300,000 visitors passing through every day. 300,000 sweaty, exhausted individuals drenched in perfume and deodorant that would make it impossible to pick up your scent. Thousands of people speaking all at once, over the angry noise of honking traffic that would make it impossible, even for him, to pick up the sound of your distinct footfall.

No, He won't be able to catch you here. That's why you came here after all.

You glance down at your watch again. 11:31.

Shit! How has only three minutes gone by?

Shaking your head, you look up at the sea of people.

You'd better get moving. Even in a crowd, if you stay still for too long, it won't be safe.

Walking briskly down the wide street, it's a struggle to squeeze through the ever moving crowd as the glaring lights change from makeup ads to theater marquees. You're peering over your shoulder with every three steps you take, constantly expecting the familiar sight of his messy curls to peek out a foot above the crowd.

He's so damn tall there's no fucking way you'll miss him if he's found you. You'll get plenty of advance warning, you reassure yourself as you continue to move forward.

Your eyes settle over your watch again.

11:46. Fuck you sideways.

You know you shouldn't keep checking it every two seconds like this, because all it serves to do, is to ratchet up your blood pressure so high you're going to need to start taking medication for it.

How is time moving so slow. You shake your head in exasperation, and for a fraction of a second you swear you see it.

A flash of unmissable dark navy glowing with red.

You freeze. Your back feels like ice, cold damp sweat breaking out along your spine. You snap your eyes back but there's nothing there now. Nothing but an anonymous crowd.

What the-- How could he have just disappeared into thin air?

He's 6 feet and fucking 9 inches. Taller than your refrigerator back in your tiny studio apartment. The top of his head beats out your fucking Christmas tree. If he was here, he'd be impossible to miss. You don't fucking miss a giraffe when you visit the Brooklyn Zoo, so why are you having such a fucking hard time spotting him? How the fuck does he move so inconspicuously?

Was it just your imagination?

You glance at your watch: 11:46. Gotta be kidding. Is time standing still now? Has it just decided to stop moving altogether?

You force yourself to step forward and ignore how your knees seems to cave at your own weight as you sink into the pavement with every step.

In the corner of your eyes you spot him. Clearly this time. Real. Not a figment of your imagination. He's only a few steps away from you. The familiar pair of glowing scarlet eyes fixed on you.

Oh fuck, shit. Shit! Your heart races at the sight, beating so hard you think you feel it in your lungs. You're already sprinting in the opposite direction without thought and the only thing guiding you is the pure impulse to escape.

You push through the crowd, sprinting forward without taking in your surroundings. All you care about is to get away as your gaze is fixed on your watch.

11:52. Eight more minutes. You just need to stay away for eight more minutes.

You keep running as the crowd seems to thin, and the colorful lights and noise of traffic fades away. Then you finally stop, catching your breath to look up at your surroundings.

It's empty and void of people. A large empty van is blocking the narrow alley from view of the main street, and there's an unlocked gate that you've come through.

On the other side from where you've come from there's a tall bricked up wall as far as the eye can see-- a dead end.

How the fuck did you manage to find the only deserted dead end alleyway in central New York?

Shit you need to get out of here, you won't be able to run away if you're trapped here.

You glance one more time at your watch.

11:57. Three minutes. 180 seconds. It's all you need and then you'll win.

You turn your heel back towards the gate. But it's too late.

The dim light of the alley is eaten up by a large and imposing shadow.

He's already here.

The familiar navy blue and the menacing red sprawled across his chest fills your vision, blocking your only path to escape. All you see is red eyes glowing so bright it lights up the dark alley with it.

"Time's up," he says, mouth curled into a mocking smile so wide that you can see his fangs peek out from his upper lip.

That's when you realize you are well and fully trapped like the helpless prey you are in his spider's web. You're right where he wants you.

God you're so damn stupid. You were safe in the crowd. But one sight of him had you spooked and running into the only alley to be found in all of New York.

Shit.

He'd planned this all along. The bastard's must've been the one who opened the gate. And you had ran in here like some scared witless rabbit straight into his trap.

You could try to escape him. Some vain, silly leftover pride in you, is adamant that you still have at least two whole minutes to get away.

He steps closer, and you can't help but instinctively step back as he does.

You know it's a game. Know that he would never hurt you, but that hungry and predatory red glow in his eyes has fear spiking along your spine all the same.

"Miguel, wai--"

The rest of your futile plea dies in your throat. His broad palm covers your mouth and jaw, and even your startled squeak is muffled into silence as he presses you up against the wall.

You whimper into his hand, but he doesn't relent. Doesn't ease up, even as he leans down and hushes you. Despite the soothing tone he uses with you, it isn't comforting at all. It drips with condescension as he press his lips to your bare throat.

"I'm gonna take my prize now, nena," he murmurs into your skin and because your brain is broken, with no sense for survival instincts, every part of you tingles at the amused threat in his voice.

"You promised remembered?" He reminds you.

And of course you do. It's hard not to, when the bastard's got you pinned against a brick wall in an abandoned alley like something out of a horror movie.

Fuck. He's taken this way too seriously. You don't know why you had suggested the world's dumbest hide and seek with this competitive and unreasonable man.

He presses you into the hard brick behind you, like there's anywhere left for you to go. And you can feel it. The proof of his excitement pressing up against your stomach, pinning you against the wall. He's hard.

Any residual resentment at your loss gives way for excitement when you feel his cock twitch and jerk against you.

The edge of his teeth rests on your bare shoulder as goosebumps breaks across your skin, and you feel dizzy. Anticipation swirls in your stomach with an intoxicating warmth.

You can't fucking breathe.

His hand snakes up your dress, wedging your panties to the side, until you can hear the fabric rip and tear. Shit, you're going to kill him for that.

The thick head of his cock presses in and stretches you open, as he forces his way inside of you, in time with his sharp and whetted fangs sinking into your flesh. Electricity pings across your nerves, sweet and euphoric and you feel drunk with it.

He's filling you, inch by hard and relentless inch, until you swear you can feel him lodged in your stomach. You feel so fucking full. Full of Miguel until nothing else fits anymore, but he doesn't stop.

His cock nudges along an impossibly deep spot inside you that has you losing orientation and makes the space around you spin, and he's still not fully inside.

White blinding pleasure streaks through your every nerve and crowds your vision, as he sinks you down further on him, until your vision goes blank. He's so fucking big. Always is no matter how many times you take him like this.

Pleasure pool with heat in your stomach as he holds you in place, impaled on the thickness of him.

Your limbs go boneless, unable to hold up your own weight, and for a moment you're not sure if that's the venom released to your bloodstream or just the effect he has on you. You only remain upright because he's propping you up with his body.

His mouth skims along your throat, dragging his teeth up until his fangs tease along the shell of your ear, with the threat of sharpness. The edge of them barely graze your skin, completely unlike the feral impatience he'd sunk into you with, as he whispers into your ear.

"Found you, Nena."

Dedication and credits: This piece is dedicated to @foxilayde for her completely deranged (and amazing) post that had me SALIVATING. Thank you for putting this brainworm into my head. I am shooketh.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #oscar isaac #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse

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mrsshabana · 8 months ago

Text

𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄!𝐆𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎 ⛧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary You are one of the many princesses seeking to marry Gyutaro, the prince of the most feared kingdom. It's a marriage that you could only dream of. But you will soon come to regret it when you find out his secret. ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, biting, blood, violence, arranged marriage ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 1.7k words

༺ Art ༻

⇢ Chapter two ⇢ Chapter three ⇢ Kinktober Masterlist

This is the most extravagant castle you’ve ever seen. Nothing like the one back home. So huge, beautiful, and expensive. Yet so quiet like the people inside are afraid to speak.

Your gown trails behind you as you’re led to the throne room. Where you will meet him for the very first time. Gyutaro Shabana, your prospective husband. If he chooses you of course.

Gyutaro is the prince of the most feared kingdom in all the land, your kingdom can’t even compare. Being a princess, you’re used to special treatment. But being here, you feel so small and insignificant.

Rumor has it that dozens of princesses from the surrounding regions have come in hopes of becoming Gyutaro’s wife. But apparently, he hasn’t chosen one yet so your father sent you. You doubt he’d ever pick you, a princess from a poor and insignificant kingdom. But who knows?

No one outside of the castle has ever seen Gyutaro’s face before, but you’ve heard rumors that the Shabana family are extremely good-looking. Albeit very secretive, no one knows much about the family except that they are cruel, their army is fierce, and their kingdom is rich.

Marrying someone you don’t know is pretty common amongst royalty. Besides, it’s mostly for political reasons anyway. If you can manage to marry Gyutaro, then maybe the future of your kingdom will be bright. His money and the protection of his army would do wonders for your people.

The chances of him choosing you when he has a plethora of women to choose from are slim though, so you don’t have your hopes up. But you are excited to make his acquaintance nonetheless.

The atmosphere is heavy as you walk into the room where Gyutaro sits on the throne. Looking down at you with vibrant red eyes. As soon as you make it to his feet you get on your knees and bow before him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness,” you say, trying to show the utmost respect to make a good impression.

He smirks, pleased by your submissive display, and stands. All you can see is his shoes as he walks to stand in front of you.

“Stand,” he says in a commanding voice.

You feel your body move on its own, almost like you have no choice, as you stand and come face to face with him.

You can’t stop yourself from becoming smitten by him. He’s absolutely gorgeous.

The structure of his face is only comparable to an angel. And his long black hair, the way it delicately drapes over his broad shoulders and frames his face. In stark contrast to his pale skin, so bright and flawless, seemingly lacking any color. Even the spots on his face are beautiful, like they were delicately painted by the most esteemed artist.

And then there’s his eyes. Vibrant red, almost inhuman in the way they command you with only his stare.

Not to mention his chest. You feel ashamed for staring at it but you can't help yourself. Not wearing an undershirt, his chest is beautifully displayed in his suit coat.

“Princess Y/N, I presume?”

“Y-yes! That’s me!” You say nervously, having gotten lost in his ethereal appearance.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he says as he takes your hand and lifts it to his lips, giving it a gentle kiss. You feel something sharp prick the back of your hand but you’re too distracted by this beautiful creature touching you for you to even care.

His eyes widen and he drops your hand. Then covers his nose almost as if he’s disgusted. But he isn’t, he’s actually enticed, something about you must have surprised him.

You don’t know what to do or what to say. Should you apologize? But you didn’t even do anything. You’ve heard rumors about what they do to people here when they step out of line, so for your own sake you just stand there and be quiet.

Gyutaro circles you, looking you up and down.

“Yes… she will do,” he mumbles to himself before coming to face you again. “You, you will be my wife.”

"E-Excuse me? I will?" you gasp in disbelief.

"Yes, you will," he smiles, "Ume, please begin preparations for the ceremony tomorrow night."

A drop-dead gorgeous woman with pure white hair looks at you with a scowl, "Are you serious, brother? You had to choose this one? She isn't even that pretty..."

"Enough," he rolls his eyes, "She's perfect, just cooperate ok?"

You can't believe that someone would dare to speak to him that way, but when you hear her call him brother, you begin to understand. You had no idea he had a sister but you can see the resemblance.

When Ume comes closer, her facial expression shifts from annoyance to surprise. It's like there's something the Shabana siblings see in you that you are unable to see yourself.

"I-I think I understand brother," she mumbles, "I'll start the preparations right away."

After that, you are swept off by Ume and their servants. Taken for measurements for a wedding gown that will be made for you before the ceremony. Word is sent out to your kingdom to alert your family that you have been selected to be Gyutaro's wife.

By the time they receive the message, you will have already been married to him. Things move so fast, and you can't believe that all of this is happening to you.

You don't even know anything about your husband to be, except for the fact that he's beautiful. His beauty is enough for now, but you do wish you could have a moment alone with him. You haven't even seen him since he declared you'd be his wife.

It's not until after midnight that you're finally done being tossed around the castle. His servants taking your measurements, having you sign papers, and even letting you choose the flavor of the wedding cake.

It's been an exhausting and long day, so you walk through the large dark hallways trying to find your room. Ume told you which one was yours but you were too tired to listen to everything she said.

Suddenly from one of the many rooms, you hear something strange. It sounds like a woman... moaning? You imagine Gyutaro wouldn't be very happy if he found out some of his servants were slacking off and getting frisky in one of the bedrooms. But you don't plan on telling on them.

Though you can't help but be curious as you walk past the open door and peek inside. But it isn't two servants as you had expected.

It's Gyutaro.

On top of another woman in bed. He appears to be kissing her neck as she holds on to his bare arms. His shirtless torso looks so beautiful that you almost don't feel angry.

You feel petrified as you watch the scene unfold. But the woman's eyes become lifeless, and her grip on him softens until her body goes limp.

Gyutaro pulls away from her neck to reveal his mouth is covered in bright red blood.

His eyes meet yours and he can't help but smirk. Like he wanted you to catch him. "What will my little mouse do next?" he thinks to himself. Looking at you with satisfaction plastered all over his face.

You don't know what to think. Anger, fear, even jealousy.

You feel betrayed as you run down the hall, wanting to get as far away from him as possible. You aren't sure whether you're more angry that he's a vampire, or that you found him in the bed of another woman. Should you even care? If he really is a monster then there's no point in being jealous is there? Maybe it's his beauty, you can't help but be envious. You wish he had let you touch him like that, even though he's a monster.

"Why are you running, dear?" A voice echoes behind you as a cold hand grabs your shoulder.

You turn around to see Gyutaro, looking as gorgeous as ever despite the blood dripping down his bare chest.

"D-Don't touch me!" You yelp, trying to get out of his grasp but he overpowers you and pulls you close to him.

"Shhh it's ok," he coos, "Why so upset?"

"You have the audacity to ask me that?!" you scoff, "You're a vampire!"

"I know you don't care about that," he laughs, "What's the real reason?"

You blush, knowing that he's right. You really don't care that he's a vampire. Sure, you're afraid but it doesn't upset you.

"I-I'm not the only one am I...?" your eyes begin to water, "You told that woman you would marry her too, didn't you?"

His eyes turn soft, and he gently caresses your cheek, "No, you are the only woman I chose to be my wife. But I must feed, and you humans are easy to lure. All I have to do is show a little skin and you submit yourselves to me. Will you do the same?"

Your face begins to heat up and you turn away from him, "N-No, not when you sleep with other women on a whim."

"Do you really think I'd give my seed to some wench?" He grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him, "I told you that you would be my wife, and I intend on keeping my word. I assure you that I will be by your side until I take my last breath. Do you understand?"

"Y-Yes," you nod, "I understand..."

"Good," he hugs you and kisses the top of your head, "Now off to bed with you, we have a long day ahead of us. As soon as the moon rises we'll begin the ceremony."

Your thoughts spiral as you walk back to your bedroom, your new husband to be walking in the opposite direction. You don't know how to feel. Should you trust him? Should you be terrified? He seems sweet and sincere but even children know that vampires can't be trusted.

Either way, it's not like you have much of a choice. You're in his castle, his territory. If you try to leave or deny him you might soon become one of his victims. Besides, your family sent you off with intent to have you married. You have no say in whether you marry him or not.

All you can do is hope that he will keep his word and be a good husband to you. "Think of how much this union will benefit your kingdom..." you think to yourself. Even if you don't want to be his wife, do it for your people. That's what you tell yourself to ease your mind.

And after tomorrow, there's no going back.

#gyutaro #gyutaro shabana #gyuutarou #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x y/n #gyuutarou x reader #gyutaro fanart #gyutaro smut #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny smut #demon slayer smut #kinktober #kinktober 2024

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ageingfangirl2 · 2 months ago

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Hazbin Hotel x Child Reader Series

PART 12 - ALASTOR'S SECRET TRIP TO CANNIBAL TOWN

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY TWENTY-ONE TWENTY-TWO TWENTY-THREE TWENTY-FOUR TWENTY-FIVE TWENTY-SIX TWENTY-SEVEN TWENTY-EIGHT TWENTY-NINE THIRTY THIRTY-ONE

It all started when Alastor approached you one evening, his ever-present grin just a little wider than usual, ‘Tell me, little one, how would you like a special outing?’

You blinked up at him from your seat in the lounge, half-distracted by your coloring book, ‘Where?’

His red eyes gleamed, ‘Somewhere you'll love! But—it must be our little secret.’

That got your attention. You hesitated. Charlie and Vaggie had been very clear that going anywhere alone with Alastor was a bad idea. But at the same time… you were curious.

And then—Alastor leaned down, his voice lowering to a near-whisper, ‘If you keep quiet about it, I’ll make sure you get all the flesh and organs you could ever want.’

Your stomach twisted at that. Because as much as you tried to distance yourself from your past, a small, awful part of you missed the taste. So you make your choice, ‘Okay.’

Alastor beamed, ‘Splendid! Let’s be on our way.’

The trip itself was a blur. One moment, you were in the hotel—next thing you knew, Alastor was humming cheerfully as he led you through the twisted, grimy streets of Cannibal Town.

It was exactly what it sounded like. Meat hung from hooks in open-air butcher stalls. The scent of roasting flesh filled the air. And the demons that lurked here? They all watched you closely, licking their lips, their beady eyes filled with hunger.

You stayed very close to Alastor, ‘Ah, don’t be shy, dear! The fine people of Cannibal Town are most welcoming—so long as you aren’t on the menu!"

That didn’t make you feel any better. Alastor led you through the winding alleys, his pace quick and purposeful, until finally— ‘Here we are!’

He gestured to a bright pink establishment that stood out drastically against the grimy backdrop. The sign above read: Rosie’s Emporium.

The inside was… surprisingly cute. Pastel pink and white decorated the walls, giving it the look of a bakery—except instead of cakes and pastries, the glass displays were filled with meticulously prepared organs and flesh.

And behind the counter? A tall, thin woman with beautifully styled hair, a big hat on her head, and a smile so wide it nearly rivaled Alastor’s.

Her eyes lit up the moment she saw him, ‘Alastor, darling! What a treat!’

Her voice was sickly sweet as she hurried over, arms open wide. Alastor chuckled and gave a dramatic bow, ‘My dear Rosie! It has been far too long.’

Rosie giggled—then, her eyes landed on you. She tilted her head, her smile never wavering, ‘And who is this precious little thing?’

Alastor placed a hand on your shoulder, ‘Oh, just a delightful young friend of mine! I thought it was high time they got a proper introduction to Hell’s finer cuisine!’

Rosie’s grin stretched wider, ‘Ohhh, what a lovely surprise! I do hope you have a healthy appetite, dear!’

You swallowed hard. Because now that you were closer, you could see… Those weren’t human organs behind the glass. They were demon.

Rosie led you to a small, pink booth and waved a hand, ‘Sit, sit! I’ll whip up something special!’

You hesitated. Alastor tilted his head, watching you closely, ‘Oh, dear me! Are you nervous?’

You looked at him, then at the displays of freshly prepared demon parts. You weren’t sure how to feel. Back on Earth, you’d had no choice but to eat human flesh. But here? This was… different. This was willing.

Rosie soon returned with a plate. It looked deceptively normal—little meat pastries, neatly arranged with a drizzle of some dark, rich sauce.

‘Go on, sweethear, try one!’

Your fingers twitched. You looked up at Alastor. He simply smiled, ‘No one will judge you here, dear.’

Your stomach growled. Slowly, hesitantly… You reached out. Took a piece. And bit down. The taste hit you instantly—rich, savory, perfectly seasoned… and so familiar. You froze.

Rosie beamed. ‘Oh, you like it! What a precious little thing.’

Alastor chuckled, ‘They do have an acquired taste, after all.’

You weren’t sure how to feel. This wasn’t like before. You weren’t forced into it.

You chose. And that? That made it so much worse. Alastor’s voice broke through your thoughts.

‘Now, now, dear! Remember—this is our little secret! Charlie and Vaggie wouldn’t understand.’

You clenched your fists. Because you knew— If they ever found out…They’d never trust you again.

You sat there, staring down at the half-eaten pastry in your hands, your mind reeling. The taste of seasoned, roasted flesh lingered on your tongue, dredging up old memories—some buried deep, some you wished would stay buried.

But Alastor? He was watching you closely, his red eyes gleaming with something indiscernible, ‘Ah! I knew you’d have a refined palate,’ he hummed, resting his chin on one hand, ‘It’s in your blood, after all.’

You swallowed. ‘I… I don’t know if this is right,’ you admitted.

Rosie giggled, setting down another plate of bite-sized morsels in front of you, ‘Oh, sweetheart, there’s nothing wrong with indulging in a little treat now and then! You think Al here doesn’t have himself a snack every so often?’

Your gaze snapped to Alastor, ‘You… still eat people?’

Alastor’s smile never wavered, but there was something dangerous behind his eyes now, ‘Ohhh, my dear, you say that as if it’s some horrible little habit!’ He chuckled, sitting up straight. ‘I simply believe in moderation! Everything in life—even the finest delicacies—should be enjoyed in balance! Too much of anything, and well…’

He lifted a clawed hand and made a snapping motion, his grin widening, ‘Poof! It loses its charm!"

Rosie nodded enthusiastically, popping a small piece of what looked like braised lung into her mouth, ‘Exactly! It’s just like how gluttony ruins a good meal! You can’t just shovel it down like some filthy, mindless beast—you have to savor it! Respect it!’

Alastor’s voice dropped into something low, smooth, and velvety, leaning ever so slightly closer to you, ‘And besides, dear, don’t you feel better? Stronger?’

Your stomach tightened. Because the horrible truth was…You did. For so long, you had denied this part of yourself—telling yourself it was wrong, that it was just something your family forced on you. But the second you took that bite…You felt a warmth in your veins. A familiarity.

And Alastor saw it. His grin stretched wider, his voice a low hum of amusement, ‘Ahhh, there it is! That little spark! Oh, don’t be so ashamed, dear—it’s natural! Why, back in my day, we understood the importance of a good hunt! The thrill, the ritual of it all!’

Your breath caught, ‘You… did this too?’

Alastor let out a deep, satisfied chuckle, sitting back and lacing his fingers together, ‘Ohh, my dear, you have no idea. Back in the golden days, hunting wasn’t just about survival—it was about art! A careful, calculated dance between predator and prey!’

His voice became smoother, like he was reminiscing about old jazz tunes instead of murder, ‘Every meal had to be earned. Every kill had to be perfect. If it wasn’t done right—well, then what was the point?’

Rosie nodded vigorously, her pink curls bouncing, ‘That’s exactly what I tell my boys, you gotta treat it like a craft, not just a sloppy indulgence!’

Alastor chuckled, ‘Oh, Rosie, you’ve always been such a fine connoisseur.’

She giggled, waving a hand at him before turning back to you, ‘So you see, sweetheart, it’s not about being a ravenous little beast—it’s about control! There’s nothing wrong with indulging every once in a while, so long as you keep your wits about you!’

You glanced back down at the plate of bite-sized pieces. They looked so harmless. Like… little appetizers. Like a special treat.

Alastor’s voice curled around you like velvet, ‘So, my dear? What do you think?’

You swallowed hard. Then, hesitantly, you reached out—And took another bite.

#anime fanfiction #anime imagines #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel child reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel x child reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel rosie #alastor imagines #alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin

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neeeooon · 2 months ago

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saw the event and RAN to ur inbox 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

anyways, may i, tumblr user ohagiyo, request from thou a drabble with knight kunigami, medieval au and royalty user who gets assigned kunigami as their personal knight after many adventures of sneaking out?🙏🙏

fluff no angst plz i beg im forever traumatized after i saw that one medieval au kunigami 😞😞😞

i, tumblr user neeeooon, will gladly provide and pray you enjoy lmao

shining armor

knight!kunigami x royalty!reader. (sort of) fluff, crack

knight!kunigami cannot believe his ears when he learns that his new duty is to watch over you after your fourth successful sneak-out that week

“is there no one else you could assign?” knight!kunigami was desperate not to miss his training, as he knew he had so much more potential that simply watching over the rebellious royal

every excuse is shut down, and eventually knight!kunigami gives in and accepts his role. he tries to look on the bright side. how hard could it be to watch one member of the royal family?

very hard it seems, because as knight!kunigami reaches the room he’s supposed to meet you in, you’re gone and your maids are in a panic. “they jumped out the window and ran through the gardens! you must fetch them before his majesty returns home!”

knight!kunigami mourns his peaceful life, kissing it goodbye, before rushing outside to where his horse awaits and follows the direction you’re said to have gone in

it doesn’t take knight!kunigami long to find you, as your bare feet left intends in the wet earth and led him directly to a seemingly empty field hidden behind the castle

“your highness,” knight!kunigami greets as he jumps off his horse. “i must insist you return with me to the castle before your father returns home.”

knight!kunigami can’t see your face, but the way you hang your head makes it seem as if you’ve accepted defeat. until you glance over your shoulder and reveal a sly smirk. “sure, i will go with you! but i do not expect to make your job easy, knight. you were assigned to keep me locked away, correct?”

knight!kunigami isn’t sure how to answer, but he knows you’re royalty, and he cannot lie to you. “yes, that is correct. it’s my duty to make sure you don’t sneak—hey, what do you—stop!”

knight!kunigami doesn’t stand a chance as you dart past him, and jump onto his horse, his armor weighing him down. “it was a pleasure to meet you, sir knight! see you back at the castle!”

eventually, knight!kunigami makes it back to the palace on foot. when he sees you standing beside the king, he immediately stiffens. “you’re majesty—“

“he saved me, father!” you cut him off, waving your arms frantically as you throw yourself at your father. “the thieves attempted to carry me away from the kingdom, but this brave knight gave me his horse and sent me home. welcome back, brave knight!” knight!kunigami blinks at your wild display, and only he can see the wicked grin you give him before hugging your father

as a thanks for ‘saving’ you, knight!kunigami is granted a higher status and asked to be your permanent guard. he’d reject if it wasn’t the king asking him

knight!kunigami catches you on your way to your chamber after supper. “what are you planning? why did you steal my horse and lie to the king? that’s forbidden.”

you smile coyly at knight!kunigami and tilt your head. “lie? would you have preferred the truth? that you lost me within two minutes of being assigned to me, and then let me steal your horse?”

before knight!kunigami can scramble for a reply, you push a finger to his lips. “i propose a deal. you let me continue my adventures, as a chaperone of sorts, and i shall keep your knightly status safe. deal?”

and because you’re his highness, knight!kunigami gently bats your hand away and says, “deal.”

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bestanimal · 2 months ago

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Round 3 - Reptilia - Eurypygiformes

(Sources - 1, 2)

Our next group is the unique order, Eurypygiformes, which is composed of two living species within two families: Rhynochetidae (“Kagu”) and Eurypygidae (“Sunbittern”).

The Kagu (Rhynochetos jubatus) (image 1 and gif below) is a crested, long-legged, bluish-grey bird endemic to the dense mountain forests of New Caledonia, restricted to the main island of Grande Terre. Its beak has “nasal corns”, structures covering its nostrils, a unique feature not shared with any other bird. It is nearly flightless, and spends all its time on or near the ground. Its bright red legs are long and strong, enabling the bird to travel long distances on foot and run quickly. Its crest is used to display to other Kagu, and is barely noticeable when at rest. Its wings are also used for display. The Kagu is exclusively carnivorous, feeding on a variety of animals, with annelid worms, snails, and lizards being favorites. Their hunting technique is to stand motionless on the ground or from an elevated perch, and silently watch for moving prey.

Kagu are territorial, maintaining year-round territories of around 10–28 hectares (25–69 acres). They have a clan-based social organization, with families composed of one breeding female and one to three breeding males. Kagu are monogamous breeders, generally forming long-term pair bonds that are maintained for many years. Within the territory the pairs are solitary during the non-breeding season, and may have separate but overlapping foraging areas. A single nesting attempt is made each year, where a simple nest is constructed, which is little more than a heaped pile of leaves. A single, grey, slightly blotched egg is laid. Each parent will incubate the egg for 24 hours, with the changeover occurring around noon each day. After hatching, the offspring may remain in their parents' territory for many years after fledging, sometimes up to six years. Male offspring will help defend the territory of their parents.

The Sunbittern (Eurypyga helias) (image 2) is a wading bird of tropical regions of the Americas, convergent with herons. It has generally subdued coloration, but bright red eyespots on its spread-out wings. These are shown to other sunbitterns in courtship and threat displays, or used to startle potential predators. They have a long, sharp beak which is used to catch a variety of prey, with cockroaches, dragonfly larvae, flies, katydids, water beetles, and moths being favorites. They will also take vertebrate prey like tadpoles, fish, and lizards.

Sunbitterns are generally solitary or found in pairs, especially during the breeding season. During the breeding season they will make flight displays high in the forest canopy. Monogamous pairs form which will stay together for many years. They build an open nest in a tree, and lay two eggs with blotched markings. Both parents incubate the eggs, and the young remain in the nest for several weeks after hatching. Both the Kagu and the Sunbittern have a “broken-wing” display, used to fake an injury and draw the attention of a predator away from their young.

The Eurypygiformes evolved in the Early Eocene.

(source)

Propaganda under the cut:

The social organisation of Kagu has been disrupted in recent years due to attacks by Domestic Dogs. Cases where either a breeding male or female have been killed have led to non-fraternal polyandrous behaviour. Cooperative and unrelated polyandry is rare in birds.

Kagu have only one-third as many red blood cells and three times more hemoglobin per red blood cell than is usual in birds.

Kagu have been observed adopting unrelated chicks.

The Kagu had an important role in the traditional lives of the Kanak tribes of New Caledonia. Among the tribes found in the vicinity of Hienghène in the north of Grande Terre, its name was given to people, its crest was used in the head-dresses of chiefs, and its calls were incorporated into war dances and considered messages to be interpreted by the chiefs. Kanaks in the vicinity of Houaïlou referred to the species as the "ghost of the forest."

The Kagu is endangered, with between 600 and 2,000 remaining. When Europeans first colonized New Caledonia, they considered the Kagu a delicacy, and it was also fashionable in the pet trade. Domestic Cats, Pigs, and Dogs were introduced to the island, further threatening the birds. Rats, also introduced by humans, have a big impact on nestlings, accounting for 55% of nestling losses. Today, the Kagu is the subject of dedicated conservation efforts, and it responds well to breeding in captivity.

Sunbitterns are one of 12 species of birds that have been observed using baits or lures to attract fish to within striking distance. This is a type of tool use and generally seen as an example of high intelligence.

#aaaaaah I’m sorry this one is so long We have two unique species which I couldn’t really summarize as one #animal polls #round 3 #reptilia #Eurypygiformes

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bloodyrib · 4 months ago

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You and a companion explore an abandoned Valentine’s Day-themed amusement park attraction and realize that the two of you are not alone. Art decides to have some fun with you both, but it becomes an unforgettable experience for him as well. Hope you all enjoy this fic and happy Valentine's Day! (NSFW 18+, TW for choking)

♡ P.S. If you're into hands you will definitely like this! ♡

Word count: ~3300

It had rained the night before and the air had a crisp chill to it. The moon shone in at times between the tree tops, briefly lighting up the forest floor. It was February, the month of love, and the man holding your hand and leading you through the forest decided that the best way to spend the weekend before Valentine’s Day was to take you to see an abandoned amusement park attraction. His name was Mark and even though both of you weren’t dating, you two had some sort of relationship with each other. Friends with benefits? Sure? He got on your nerves often, rambling on about topics that didn’t interest you, but there was something about him that was attractive. Maybe it was his looks or maybe it was his mannerisms. You weren’t sure, but you had been with him for two years now.

“We’ve been walking for a long time now! When is Love Alley coming up anyways?” you asked, pulling Mark’s hand back a little so he could pay attention in case he wasn’t listening. He responded without looking at you, “It’s coming up soon, just hang tight!” Love Alley was an adult Valentine’s Day-themed amusement park attraction that had been popular in the 80s. It was the perfect place for couples to enjoy themselves as they sat in the large swan-shaped rides that went past various romantic displays inside. Now, instead of being full of people, it was full of overgrown plants and decay. Mark was fascinated with abandoned buildings. After high school, he spent time in Europe with his friends and explored many places lost to time. You weren’t into urban exploration, but the way Mark talked about Love Alley and how his eyes lit up when he realized he could show you for himself, you couldn’t say no. And besides, you didn’t really have anything better to do on a Saturday night.

A light breeze came in, ruffling Mark’s short wavy chocolate-brown hair a little. He had on a crimson-red plaid flannel jacket, and you wished you had worn something like that as it was chillier than expected. You weren’t freezing, but that light breeze went into your gray cardigan and made you shiver a little. After what felt like 10 minutes, you and Mark arrived at a clearing. Mark moved to the side and you looked ahead. It was Love Alley.

The moon was so bright that you didn’t even need a flashlight to see it fully. It was a medium-sized square building with a faded flamingo-pink exterior. The name of the attraction had been spelled out on a sign on the top with frosted light bulbs. All of the lightbulbs were cracked and most were completely broken. Hand-painted ruby red and pearl white hearts decorated the grimy sides. There were two rows of extremely overgrown rose bushes leading to the attraction, and various metal heart-shaped signs and decorations were scattered about in the dirt. A set of wooden purple stairs led up to a raised platform that matched the exterior color of Love Alley, and the big swan rides that Mark had shown you pictures of sat on a track past the platform in front of the large entrance. The swans were more of a gray-black color than white, and some had their eyes missing. They sat quietly as if waiting for riders who would never show up. “Well, here it is!” Mark exclaimed. “Let’s go in and check it out!” He ran and headed to the stairs. You ran after him, glancing at your feet occasionally so you didn’t accidentally trip over anything.

You both took a few minutes to examine the swan rides before following the walkway to the left, heading inside Love Alley. Mark took out his cellphone and turned the flashlight on. It felt like walking under a bridge. The roof was higher than expected. The first few displays came into view. One display was of a love hotel. Two animatronics were embracing each other in a heart-shaped tub with fake bubbles. Another display had a blind-folded animatronic man strapped against a wall while an animatronic woman covered in leather had a whip in her hand, ready to strike him. You were taken aback a bit. Mark noticed your expression and laughed. You both kept walking until you reached a display that looked like a dental office. Two animatronic nurses, dressed in revealing nurse outfits and smiling, hovered over an empty dental chair with dental tools in their hands. You weren’t sure where the patient went and noticed the chair had straps on the arms and footrest. Mark stopped and flipped on a switch on the outside left wall of the display. The dental office lit up brightly. “I didn’t know this place still had power,” you said. Mark replied, “Only this display has power for some reason.” He turned off his phone flashlight and sat down in front of the display on the walkway. You sat down next to him.

You looked past the track and saw a display on the opposite side that was covered with a heavy dark red curtain. All the displays up to this point were uncovered. What could be behind that covered one? An even kinkier display than the 50 Shades of Grey-esque one? Mark started scrolling on his phone and you kept looking ahead. You swore you saw the curtain move a little, and just when you were about to tell Mark, he put his phone away and grabbed your hand. He pulled you to him and started kissing you. You kissed him for a few seconds before moving back. “What?” he asked. You pointed to the covered display. “I saw the curtain move a little. What if someone’s back there?” you whispered. Mark chuckled and said, “There’s no one here except us. Just relax will you?” He put his hand to your face and pulled you in again, kissing you harder. Maybe he was right and you were just worrying for no reason. You closed your eyes and continued kissing Mark. He was a good kisser, and his hands were big but gentle as he touched you all over. Making out in an abandoned amusement park attraction wasn’t something you had done before, but you were starting to enjoy it. You could feel the tension leaving your body when suddenly, you heard something that sounded like a sharp object striking a watermelon.

You opened your eyes and saw a huge clown standing behind Mark, a butcher knife jammed into the top of Mark’s head. The clown held the knife with two hands, both which were adorned with bloody fingerless gloves, and pushed it deeper into his head. Blood started pouring out of the wound and down Mark’s face. Mark’s eyes were frozen and his body was trembling. The clown’s mouth, which was painted black, was contorted into a creepy grin. His teeth were disgusting and it looked like he hadn’t ever brushed them. His eyes, also painted black, were so wide as if this was the most thrilling experience of his life. A little black hat sat on the left side of his head and there was a black dot on the tip of his nose. The clown looked at you as he took the knife out, and with a swift motion, slit Mark’s throat. The blood splattered onto you. Up until this point, you couldn’t even scream, but now you let out a shrill one. There was so much blood on Mark you could barely see his face. The clown grabbed Mark’s forehead and pushed it back, making the slit in his neck wider. Blood was gushing out like a fountain and after a while, the clown threw Mark off the walkway and down onto the track. He silently laughed and looked down, waving goodbye.

You were paralyzed with fear. The clown dropped the knife and grabbed you by the shoulders, lifting you up and taking you into the display and to the dental chair. He pushed the animatronic nurses out of the way and they toppled over. He put you in the chair and started strapping your wrists, calves, and ankles down. “Please don’t hurt me!” you pleaded, tears rolling down your face. He ignored you and tightened the straps. When he felt they were tight enough he clapped, applauding himself for doing a good job.

You looked around trying to figure out a way to get out of there. The lights shone brightly in your eyes, and you felt Mark's blood all over your face starting to harden. The clown went over to the cabinets on the wall on the right side of the display and started taking things out. You looked to your left and saw on the wall, which was partially covered in vines, words written in what looked like dried blood: “Art was here”. Who was Art? When was he here? You thought for a little bit longer before asking yourself if that was the name of this clown. The height at which the words were located seemed to indicate only a very tall person could’ve written them, and this clown looked to be the right height. His hands had been covered in blood as well before he had killed Mark. The clown now had a rusty dental tray full of dirty dental tools. He held the tray as if it was a meal he had prepared and started walking towards you. He placed the tray down on the equipment stand connected to the chair and before he took a seat at the small office chair to your right, you asked, “Uh, you’re Art, right? You wrote ‘Art was here’ over there on the wall.” He froze before turning his head slowly, staring into your eyes for what felt like minutes. You suddenly regretted asking, feeling that you had made things much worse. The clown’s expression remained stone cold before he quickly smiled and nodded his head up and down rapidly. You let out an uncomfortable laugh.

Art put the tray on the stand and he reached across you to bring the oral lamp hanging above closer. As he was doing this, your fingertips brushed against his crotch by accident and he leapt back, surprising you. “What happened?!” you yelled. Art had a frown on his face. He pointed to your hand and then to his crotch. You saw that the area wasn't flat anymore and there was a small sharp bulge. You started laughing. Art looked down and his expression changed from upset to confused, unsure himself of why it looked like that down there. It was hilarious that a simple accidental brush made him aroused. It reminded you of your inexperienced high school boyfriend who came about a minute after you had kissed him. “I barely even touched you and you're already hard,” you said in between moments of laughter. Art suddenly became furious and placed his hands around your throat. He started squeezing tightly. You were struggling to breathe but tried to get your hands loose at the same time so you could at least try to push him off. The strap on your right hand started to loosen, and as it loosened more, your fingertips grazed against Art's crotch again, this time all the way down to the base of your fingers so you could almost grab him. He stopped squeezing and shifted his eyes to where your hand was. He let go of your throat and you gasped for air. Art cocked his head to the side and seemed to be more intrigued now by his bodily response to your action. There was a larger bulge and he adjusted himself so he was closer to you. He saw the strap on your right wrist had loosened but he decided to undo it so you could fully feel him. You now had your full palm on the front of his outfit, rubbing your hand up and down on him and watching as his mouth opened slightly. He was getting harder and harder and you had started to get aroused too, your jeans feeling tighter and warmer. It was clear that this man, or clown, had never been touched like this before, and something about this made you want to show him how much pleasure you could give him. Art had made a mark on your life, and you wanted to make a mark on his. You would never forget him and he would never forget you.

Art unzipped his black and white outfit halfway down to his waist, revealing his erect cock. You were amazed at how long it was. Mark’s cock had been big but not nearly as big as Art’s. You placed your hand around Art’s cock and it twitched a little like it was alive. You spit into your hand and started stroking it, feeling the veins on the surface throbbing in your palm. It was definitely alive. Art caressed your face and followed the trails of dried blood with his fingertips. His eyes were fluttering as you started going faster back and forth. The feeling between your legs was unbearable now and you started to squirm. Art noticed. “Put your hand there please,” you requested, nodding your head towards your crotch. He looked a bit unsure but did as you asked, placing his flat palm on the top of your jeans. “No, inside. I need your fingers inside,” you moaned. Art unbuttoned your jeans and reached in slowly. He started rubbing you. He then placed his middle finger inside and you let out a loud gasp. He looked a bit startled but you reassured him. “That's good, yes just like that.” Art placed his ring finger inside now. Both his fingers were lengthy and went in deeply. You let out another loud gasp as your eyes met Art. You noticed his eyes were a deep charcoal black, dark as night, and his scleras were as white as the moon outside. Art gazed longingly into your eyes, and you both kept eye contact as he penetrated you while you stroked him. Your slickness made it easy for him to go in and out. Strings of cum from Art's swollen head were dripping onto the arm strap, and his eyes were almost closed now. You desperately wanted to put your mouth on his cock, and just as you were about to ask him if you could, he came. Art’s body shook and he threw his head back, mouth wide open and not a single sound escaping the whole time. He almost fell back and he pulled his hand out from your pants and grabbed onto the equipment stand to stabilize himself. Thick white cum covered your hand and part of the chair, dropping onto the ground with a plop. Art collected himself before he put his fingers inside you again, going deeper and quicker than before.

Your pants had a large wet stain, and your juices had leaked down your legs and into your shoes. You could barely contain yourself as you let out moans that reverberated throughout the abandoned attraction. Art watched you as you orgasmed so hard that if the straps on the chair hadn’t been as tight, you would’ve ripped free. Your vision was full of little stars that danced around for a few seconds before disappearing. Art took his hand out from between your legs. His blood-stained glove dripped with your juices. He examined it for a little bit when you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out. Art then placed his fingers inside your mouth and you started sucking on them. Your mind savored the cacophony of flavors that swirled around in your mouth like water in a bathtub.

He took out his fingers and wiped them on your chest. Art suddenly climbed on top of you and straddled you as you lay in the chair, his body casting a massive shadow over you. You were surprised and assumed he would start strangling you again now that the both of you were done. However, he undid the straps on your left wrist and took both your hands and shaped them into C-shapes, stacking them on top of each other so they formed somewhat of a large circle. He put his hands up and gestured for you to stay that way. You could see he was still hard. Art pushed your shoulders back and the chair reclined a little. He copied what you had done but instead of spitting on his hands, he spit onto yours and rubbed the saliva around, coating the inside of your palms well. He then placed his cock into your hands and started thrusting. He pushed your hands closer together so they formed tighter around him. You didn’t know what to make of the situation. Was this clown actually fucking your hands? As if Art could hear your thoughts, he grinned at you and nodded his head enthusiastically.

Art thrusted faster and faster into your hands as if he was fucking his newlywed bride, his balls slapping against your arms rapidly. He held onto the headrest of the chair tightly, digging his nails into the fabric. His thumbs were a few inches away from the sides of your face. Art’s eyes were glazed over and his lips were quivering. You were worried that with all the motion the chair would collapse any second. After a few minutes, he came, spraying your shirt and face. Art's chest was moving up and down quickly and he was trying to catch his breath. He let go of the headrest and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Here was this ruthless killer, who not too long ago had murdered your companion in cold blood without a care in the world, gasping for air after you had not only made him cum twice in such a short amount of time but the amount of cum he had produced had been such a large quantity it could've filled the sink that was nearby. You took some of Art's cum off your face and tasted it. It was warm and tasted like coppery saltwater taffy.

“That felt good, didn't it?” you asked Art. He gave you a slight nod before climbing off of you. You saw a somewhat clean rag on the floor and grabbed it to clean yourself. You thought for sure Art was going to kill you tonight, and he would've if the situation hadn’t unfolded like this. You gave him something he had never experienced before, and for that he spared you. For now. Art zipped up his costume and took the tray of tools from the stand to a cabinet near the floor. He reached in and pulled out a large black garbage bag, dumping the tray and tools into it. As he turned to leave, he tipped his hat at you. You were still a little unsure that you were in the clear, but you put on a small smile and waved goodbye to him. He walked out of the display, the bag slung over his shoulder, and onto the walkway before climbing down onto the track. You didn't feel terror anymore. You felt relief and satisfaction, until you remembered that Mark's dead body laid on the same track that Art was now on. You started to sweat. After a few seconds, you got out of the chair and ran to the edge of the walkway. You peered down and saw Mark’s mangled body lying motionless. The rising sun cast some light into the attraction, and you could see down in the distance Art's soft outline glowing slightly. Art turned his head back around to look at you briefly before walking out of Love Alley and out of your life. ♡

#art the clown x reader #art the clown x reader smut #art the clown smut #art the clown x y/n #art the clown x you #terrifier x reader #slasher x reader #slasher x y/n #slasher x you #slasher x reader smut #slasher smut #art the clown #terrifier

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whoopsyeahokay · 1 year ago

Text

October Sun

summary: Wally hadn't been able to make sense of what you'd said. How had it been possible that he and the others had been trapped for so long without knowing it? With that truth out for him to examine, Wally hadn't been sure he'd wanted to look any closer. He'd felt violated. Betrayed. Lost. What other lies had he been unwittingly a part of?

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.14

The world fell away as your words penetrated. Not even the connection between you and him could do anything to soothe him. Wally stilled, didn't breathe, didn't blink, didn't make a sound. As if he could delay the impact of that truth if he shut down critical functions.

Weakly, "What do you...mean?" Wally croaked, but something deep within himself had always known.

Known it like common sense; the feeling like looking at a green sky and knowing it was supposed to be blue. He'd known and yet never questioned it because the one person they all turned to for information regarding the afterlife, their helpful leader, Mr. Martin, had always insisted it was normal that they were confined to the school grounds.

But it wasn't. It was terribly and tragically wrong, and something deep inside Wally had known it for as long as he'd been a ghost.

In the earliest days succeeding his untimely demise, Wally had tried to leave the school.

Not to follow his mother home after she'd donated his trophies, helmet, and jacket to display in the stadium entrance. Not to join his friends in Rodney's basement to get stoned after his memorial service. Not to break his own heart by stalking Jenny to the motel where she and her second choice prom date, Gary fucking Reid, spent the night erasing the memory of Wally's hands from Jenny's skin.

Rather, to go for a walk for the sake of getting some air. Despite having been flung back to the field multiple times by then—a lesson that had drilled into him the habit of remaining perpetually vigilant of his surroundings—Wally had had this intrinsic understanding that he could roam beyond what the barrier permitted.

So much so that, one evening, he hadn't kept track of where he'd been going (partly because he'd trusted himself to veer away from the barrier, but mostly because he'd been relaxed. Not actively chasing down a loved one). It'd been an unconscious series of actions; one foot in front of the other, listening to Eddie Money's Can't Hold Back on a Lost & Found walkman, strolling into the thin smattering of trees on the edge of the grounds, and then wham—

Back to Start.

It had happened a few times after that, too. Rhonda would cackle around her lollipop du jour, roll her eyes, and tell him to, "Get smart, Jockstrap."

When Ajay had come along, he'd experienced the same thing. And then Charley and then Katelynn. Learning the lesson after the lesson had been learned. Mr. Martin had calmly and wisely informed them that they'd learn. That those instincts that led them to believe they could go farther were merely the result of not having internalized being dead yet.

But that hadn't sat right with Wally, similar to having been given the excuse of roughhousing when he'd caught his parents in a compromising position one innocuous summer-break afternoon before he'd aged into double digits.

"Babe..." Wally croaked, just above a whisper, the weight of what you'd unveiled slamming into his chest and leaving him winded, "What are you saying?"

Your eyes, marbled and bright—though not outright glowing like they had in the theater—stared right into him for a moment. You were obviously calculating what it meant that Wally couldn't leave the high school, all the hows and whys flittering like dust motes between you and him.

"Unless you're a residual haunter, like Mina or Yuri, or-or a repeater like the band kids, you should be able to go wherever you want. How long have you been stuck?"

Wally's throat clicked when he swallowed, "Since I died."

You glanced away, as alarmed as he was by the information. In a voice laced with grief, you uttered, "That's not possible."

"I mean, maybe it is?" Wally tried to reason, slumping back in his seat and staring at the 5-yard line as he stitched together his own theories based on what he'd learned as an actual dead person. "It's not like ghosts wrote those books you read. Maybe whoever wrote them got it wrong."

Shaking your head, "Actually, they did. Not the physical copies, obviously, but those authors collaborated with ghosts to write those books."

"I thought the living weren't allowed to talk to the dead. Like you."

You shook your head, "Different rules for different connected people at different times in different places." You explained, "A lot of people were told not to around the Witch trials. Some families maintained the rules, others broke it when Occultism got popular." A long, weighted moment of silence and then, "Wally, are you telling me you haven't left the school since 1983?"

Wally didn't answer. He didn't know if he could answer a lot of things anymore. He didn't know what think. Did he even know what it actually meant to be dead?

You seemed willing wait him out as he turned everything over in his head, one hand on his shoulder, the other lifting the one he'd had on your calf so you could cradle it on your belly, your thumb rubbing soothing patterns between the bones.

"What does it mean?" He asked, distant.

Wally could feel himself slipping away, the revelation frosting him from the inside and making him numb. He'd had a similar experience when he'd been fourteen and had broken his collarbone. The pain so intense that his brain had immediately severed its connection to the feeling.

Shock.

"It means that there's something unnatural here keeping you stuck." You answered once he'd returned his eyes to yours.

Wally felt that statement like a nail through the chest. "How?"

You stared at him helplessly, caressing his cheek and then tilting forward to press your forehead to his. The connection between you and him fell over him like a blanket, worked to ground Wally and reeled him back from the edge of an existential crisis he wasn't ready to have.

Regretfully, "I don't know, Wally. But we'll figure it out, okay?"

He nodded against you. Closed his eyes and absorbed the warmth of your nearness, the solidity of your touch. Allowed those things to calm him.

"At least we can rule out Mr. A having anything to do with that, right?" Wally snorted in an attempt to lighten the mood.

You pulled back, smiled gently, and nodded, "Right. But he could've used it to his advantage."

Being Andrew's best friend, it was possible that Mr. Anderson learned things he shouldn't have about connectedness. He might've garnered enough about ghosts and unnatural barriers hexed into the land to use that information for evil.

"With her ghost stuck here, Maddie wouldn't be able to get back into her body and then go to the police. It also means that Mr. Anderson could've safely stashed her body anywhere, so long as he has access to life support."

"You think he dropped her at the hospital?"

"Not here." You said, "Split River isn't big enough to pull that off without someone knowing who she is. He could've driven her to another state? Dropped her off at a big city hospital as a Jane Doe?"

Wally grimaced, shaking his head at the depravity, "That's messed up."

"God, her body could be in Detroit for all we know and it wouldn't get back here until someone in the hospital there made the connection. Unless Sheriff Baxter decides to widen the search."

"Couldn't you ask him? It's like you said, Xavier's your brother from another mother. Wouldn't the Sheriff listen to you?"

You didn't seem convinced, reciting in a satire of an upbeat tone, "Hey Austin, I think my teacher knocked Maddie out of her body and took it to another state all so she wouldn't tell you about the money he's hiding in his classroom. We should totally look into that."

Wally responded in a responsible manner, "That sounds like an awful idea, let's not do that."

Curling against the back of your seat, voice slightly strangled, you said, "So, Maddie's stuck in an In Between 'til I can find her body and bring it back to her."

Wally sensed the granite mass of pressure you were already putting on yourself. He felt bad enough, he didn't want you to as well, so he tried to steer you out from under it by diverting the conversation, "Still haven't told me what an In Between is, by the way."

It did the trick, at least for the time being. Your lips quirked up at the corners and the wrinkle between your brows smoothed as you informed him, "It's exactly what it sounds like. A plane between planes."

"Yeah, pretty girl, you're going to have to dumb it down more." Wally said, willing to sacrifice his dignity for the sake of making you smile.

Grinning, you set the stage, "Think of planes like different worlds. I'm in the living world, you're in the dead world, right?"

"Got it."

"Now, pretend there are doorways into those worlds. In Betweens are the spaces between the doors." You nibbled your bottom lip and Wally's attention immediately slipped, the urge to lick into your mouth making him twitch. Sweetly unaware, you backtracked and tried a different avenue, "Not doors...maybe glass walls?"

"The door thing made sense. I mean, I think I get it. In Betweens are those places that anyone can access, whereas the living world is just for the living and the metaphysical world is just for the dead. Am I close?"

"Yeah, you got it." You praised and Wally had to stifle the desire to puff out his chest. "Well, not anyone can access In Betweens, but if you're in a coma or you can Travel like me, that's where your ghost ends up."

"So, when you astral project, you're in an In Between." Wally stated, though he was hedging for clarification. "And I can see and touch your because I'm dead and in the metaphysical world."

"Exactly. Only a ghost can be in an In Between or the, what do you call it? The metaphysical world?"

Wally nodded, "That's what Mr. Martin always called it."

"Everett Martin. The Science teacher." You stated it like a question.

Wally was impressed with your knowledge of the ghosts he haunted the school with and wondered how you'd learned so much about everyone without alerting them to your presence. It felt to him like it would take a lot of observation. A documentary cameraman observing wildlife.

Back to the topic, "You said Maddie's stuck in an In Between, too, right?" He asked. Wally saw the moment you clocked where he was going with that train of thought.

With a lamenting sigh, you said, "Unfortunately, In Betweens are complex. They're unique to all kinds of things like bloodlines and soul-ties—" Wally opened his mouth to ask, but you got there first, "—incredibly deep bonds you make in life with another person." He closed his mouth and listened as you elaborated. "So, me and my great-aunt enter the same In Between and can see each other. But Maddie..."

"Isn't blood?"

"And she and I weren't close enough to form the type of bond you'd need to Travel the same In Between. Either she'd have had to invite me into hers or I'd have had to invite her into mine. It's extremely intimate. Not something you do with someone you only hang out with in a group. Which is why I think it makes sense if Simon can see Maddie."

Wally snickered, "Big 'if' there, baby."

You flapped a hand in dismissal, "I know, I know, you don't think Simon's like me. But it's worth looking in to, no?"

Wally shrugged, still smiling, willing to give you what you wanted by agreed, "Yeah, it's worth looking in to. And how would you like to go about that?"

"With your help, actually." You grinned. "I'll think of something. Maybe similar to what you did to me in my sophomore year." At Wally's gleeful expression, you pointedly said, "But less dramatic."

Wally wilted slightly, though admitted less drama might be better than what he'd had in mind: Doing jump-scares and shouting at Simon while the guy ate his lunch. Of course, he couldn't risk Maddie figuring out what he was doing lest she discover his connection to you and Wally was determined to keep his promise to you. No one would know you and him were speaking. Not until you gave Wally the green light.

"Yeah, I can do that." Wally said with a fond look. After spending a quiet moment tracing your features with his eyes, memorizing them for when he was alone, he asked, "So, can you go anywhere when you Travel?" And then, brighter, "Can you fly? Like in A Christmas Carol?"

"Okay, firstly, I don't think Ebenezer Scrooge was Traveling, just F-Y-I. It was all a dream. Secondly, no. I can't do anything I wouldn't be able to do in my body. It's a lot more limiting than being a ghost."

Which, again, Wally had difficulty understanding. There wasn't a lot he could do as a ghost that he hadn't been able to do in life. Except fall of the roof and eat a thousand pounds of metaphysical food and stay awake for days at a time. Is that what you meant?

Before he could ask, you said, "Actually, I made you some notes since you wanted to know about In Betweens yesterday." Big, proud smile on your face.

"Really?"

The fact that you'd taken the time to put together notes for Wally made him swoon. He could picture it: You scribbling away on your bed, kicking your feet like a schoolgirl, all so that he could study the twisty, twiddly secrets of the universe as they were and not how he'd been taught.

No, he didn't blame Mr. Martin for not knowing better, the man as stuck as Wally and the others. However, Wally felt a black seed of resentment sow in his belly.

Whatever, he had you now and you'd help teach him what it really meant to be a ghost, and then, maybe, he could teach the others, including the regrettably misled Mr. Martin.

And then his brain ticked back a few frames to you on a bed. The collar of the oversized t-shirt Wally hoped you owned bearing one shoulder, and the smooth skin of your legs on display.

He couldn't care less about the state of his deadness now, and what he did and didn't know. Instead, he let a slow, devilish smirk slant across his mouth, emboldened by the connection.

He slid his hand from yours and placed it on your thigh, "Gonna let me copy your homework, baby?"

"Gotta get those grades up before the big game." You played along, receptive and sweet, "Don't want you kicked off the team."

Without hesitation, Wally struck, halfway out of his seat, hand gripping the armrest behind you to hold himself up. He loomed over you, little thing that you were, squished into your seat and completely caged in by him. He hovered, heard your breath hitch, and watched your gaze go hazy.

"Lucky to have a girl like you on my side, then, huh?" Wally said, voice rough, tightly controlled, closing the distance between your lips in increments.

You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, "Damn right, big shot," then leaned in.

A throat cleared somewhere over Wally's shoulder, from behind and moderately above, and drove him back into his seat at Mach speed, his hold on you resituating to a socially acceptable place on your ankle. The interruption was accompanied by that arcing of gravity that emitted from a living body which meant Wally was once more on the outside looking in.

"Okay there, hot shot, time to get moving. Students aren't s'posed to be up here outside'a game time." The maintenance worker said, illicit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

Wally noticed the man wasn't quite looking at you, and, for the first time, he questioned what the hell people saw when you and he were together while you were still in your body.

You pulled yourself up as fast as the angle allowed you to without injury, foot still tucked in Wally's lap. As soon as your head peeked above the back of your seat, the maintenance worker clutched a hand to his heart and plucked the cigarette from his lips.

"Jesus, girl, you can't do that to folks." He scolded you, southern accent thickening, "Lookin' like a zombie comin' out the grave or what."

"Sorry," You said and sounded as puzzled as Wally was by the man's overreaction.

"Just hurry up and get goin'." His eyes swept in a strange pattern, away from you then back then away, fixing on a point that would have been Wally's nose if he weren't invisible. "You kids these days thinking you can be wherever you wanna be, huh? Ignoring the rules, like they don't apply to you..."

God, this guy. "Can it, asshole. Give her a minute to get up." Wally snapped, bolstered by the fact that the man couldn't hear him. "Bet you're bent outta shape because all that nicotine makes your dick about as useful as a wet napkin."

He heard you choke on a laugh that you quickly masked under a cough.

The man squinted, lips pursed in aggravation. Surprisingly, he departed with no more than a gruff, "Get gone!" and stuck his half-burned cigarette back into his mouth.

Wally glared after him as the man marched up the stairs toward a ladder open beneath a curtain of cables and metal that spilled from the ceiling. Clearly, the man had been in the middle of fixing something when he'd seen you.

"Fucker." Wally grumbled. He patted your leg, pressed a kiss to your knee before he released you.

"I appreciated the support," You giggled, "Even if it doesn't do much on my side of things, it's nice to know you have my back."

"I've always got you, baby." Wally vowed as he unfolded himself and rose to his feet. He couldn't help tacking on, "Every bit of you," with a wink that made you pink up so prettily.

You wetted your lips, ducked your face into your shoulder; shy after you'd been caught in what might’ve been a very awkward position. "I'm starting to get that."

Wally let you take the lead, enjoyed how you brushed up against him as you shuffled out of the row and onto the stairs. He shot the man one last angry look as he grabbed his jacket and then turned to trail you across the field and out of the stadium.

At the top of the grandstand, feet from the ladder, the man examined his cigarette through a profoundly grim expression.

With a grunt, he dropped it to the ground and crushed it under the thick sole of his work boot, simultaneously pulling the crumpled, two-from-empty pack out of his breast pocket and whipping it into a nearby trashcan.

💀___________________________

PART THIRTEEN - PART FIFTEEN

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

#Milo Manheim #Wally Clark #Wally Clark x Reader #fem!reader #Wally Clark smut #Wally Clark fanfiction #Milo Manheim fanfiction #School Spirits #zed necrodopolis #Disney Zombies #October Sun

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