#literally what the fuck I'm soooo angry

[austinwehaveaproblem]

i literally cannot escape i accidentally took my phone off power saving mode and AUGH IT MADE MY FUCKING PHONE BACKGROUND I'M SO !!!!

[therevengeoffrankenstein]

😒

[sceletaflores]

isn't it messed up how i'm just dying to be him?

pairing: stanford!art donaldson x stanford!fem!reader

summary: and there it is. there’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him. the heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what art’s wanted for months. your undivided attention.

—or: art tries to get through to you about patrick, it doesn't go how he thought it would.

word count: 6.2k (i'm so sorry lmao pls still read it's good i promise)

warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), switch!art a little bit, creampie, kinda hate sex but not really, more like angry sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, art is lowkey a little gay for patrick (it's literally canon), tiny bit of manipulative!art, art is just kinda an asshole in disguise honestly, hints of mean!reader cause i live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties, art being a bad bro, porn with too much plot, no use of y/n.

authors note: so this is basically a re-worked version of art and tashi’s dining hall scene when he’s trying to convince her that patrick isn’t in love with her. it’s really similar just way more messy and angry and with sex. this is literally just a tiny thought i had that somehow spiraled just a little bit, but i needed some lowkey asshole!art in my life. i had so much fun writing this, like way too much fun lmao. title is a lyric from fall out boy’s "sugar, we're going down swinging" cause that song fucks so hard and it's soooo art coded. okay bye! mwah xoxo

psst! tftw series masterlist!

Art Donaldson is a patient guy. He's nice, understanding, empathetic. It's something he prides himself on, lots of guys on campus are pricks, but not him. He's "the sweet blonde guy that plays tennis, like, really well!" according to most people who've met him.

That being said, he's not blind to the fact that you frustrate him to the point of wanting to shout himself hoarse and rip his hair out.

It's been a while since he and Patrick met you for the first time at the Open, and Art has been through hell and back about a million times over by now.

He still so vividly remembers watching you step onto the court, the almost visceral reaction he had. The crowd was cheering and clapping nearly as loud as they were for Tashi. There were even a few signs made in support of you scattered throughout the stands. Big poster boards plastered with your name and your winning streak and pictures of you playing, tennis balls and rackets drawn from markers decorating them.

It was obvious you were a favorite, and it was more than obvious how much you lived for it.

Smiling and waving to the crowd, fully basking in their respect and adoration. You were nearly glowing, Art couldn't take his eyes off you. He could tell that Patrick was thinking the same thing, if the way his thigh tensed up where it was plastered against Arts was any hint, his breath slightly catching as you started stretching.

"Goddamn..." Patrick had muttered under his breath. Art could distantly see his hand clench on top of his thigh when you bent over to tighten your laces. He always tries to be less shameless than Patrick but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t just as affected by you, fighting the urge to shift in his seat.

After you and Tashi walked up to the net with matching smiles and shook hands for a little longer than usual, it was time to start. Art watched as both of you got in position on the opposite ends of the court. Both of your faces lost the easy-going, excited expressions you’d shared when you first walked out, hardening in concentration as Tashi got ready to serve.

Patrick and Art openly gawking at the two of you would have been embarrassing if it wasn’t so fucking justified.

You and Tashi made magic happen on that court. 

It was powerful hit after powerful hit. Tashi’s backhand was out of this world, your overhand was a monster. Every rally, every volley, every serve was pure perfection. Art had never seen tennis played like that before in his life, he couldn't help but get sucked into your world the longer he watched.

The match was close, completely neck-and-neck throughout each set, neither of you willing to give an inch to the other. Tashi won by a single point, hardly wasting any time before she vaulted over the net to come barreling into your open arms, crashing into you so hard it knocked the two of you to the ground.

You both grasped at each other like lifelines on the hard concrete of the court as the announcer crowned Tashi the 2006 girl’s U.S Open champion.

Art let out a long breath and deflated a little deeper in his seat. His mind racing, he didn’t need to look at Patrick to know he felt the same. They sat in silence like that until the stands were practically empty. 

“What time did you say the party was again?”

Art pointedly ignored Patrick staring at him with a shit-eating grin on his face, stretching his arms out in feigned nonchalance. Patrick just snorted, shaking his head and squeezing Art’s thigh.

That was then, now Art sits across from you in the Stanford dining hall at the same table you two eat lunch at everyday, trying to stay cool as you complain about the latest biology lab you’re doing. 

He’s hardly listening to you, too busy trying his best to not glare too obviously at the hoodie you're wearing. One that he knows for a fact belongs to Patrick. You must have kept it the last time he was in town. The Nike swoosh embroidered to the front almost mocks him. Art puts his water down with a little more force than necessary.

Patrick and you being…whatever the two of you are now was something he tried his best to be okay with in the beginning.

Patrick’s his best guy, Art should have been so stoked that you were into him as much as he was into you when the two of them walked up to congratulate you and Tashi at the Adidas party. Only being able to steal you away from the house after you said your goodbyes to Tashi and her parents, inviting you to join them down at the beach.

It was obvious you were playing into Patrick’s attempts to get in your pants. Not blushing or averting your eyes shyly when he blatantly checked you out, throwing out smart comebacks to his sleazy lines, looking up at him through your lashes and biting your lip.

It would have been soul-crushing if Art wasn’t such a good friend. So, he stifled the rising feelings of jealousy and plastered a smile on his face as he watched Patrick shamelessly flirt with you.

It wasn’t like it was your fault. Art didn’t come on as strong as Patrick, he never did. Plus it wasn’t like he and Patrick had talked about who could try and score with you prior to the party, anything was fair game.

Besides, you were nice enough to Art that night. Chatting about college admissions and smiling at him over your coke bottle. Sure, it stung seeing you laugh at Patrick’s stupid jokes while the two of you smoked off the same cigarette, but there was nothing he could do about it.

You choosing Patrick had nothing to do with him. Everyone always chose Patrick, he was used to it by now.

At least he thought he was, but the longer it was just you and him, the more angry he felt each time Patrick would visit and steal all your attention. It wasn’t just jealousy or frustration anymore; it was a gnawing, consuming rage that twisted his insides every time he saw you light up around Patrick.

Patrick didn't fucking deserve you. You were too good for him. Nothing like all the easy, ditsy girls he fucked his way through at the academy. You were special, unlike any girl Art’s ever met. Patrick would just take you for granted. He'd grow tired of you, completely dismissing you when he got bored enough. Any day now he'd call Art to spill on his latest hookup with some chick he met on tour. 

But Art didn’t want to sit around and wait for that day to come. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being hurt by Patrick’s inevitable indifference. The idea of you, heartbroken and discarded, made his blood boil. You deserve more than that. You deserve someone who sees you for who you truly are, not just a trophy. 

Art knows he could be that person for you if you’d give him a chance, if for once you’d look at him instead of Patrick. He just has to find a way to get you to understand that.

“Pat texted me this morning,” you say from across the table, boredly poking at your pasta. “He’s gonna be here later this week, says he wants to go see 30 Days of Night. You and Tashi should come with us.”

Art hums noncommittally, not looking at you as he takes another bite of his salad. You do this a lot– extend invites to Art and Tashi when you and Patrick go out.

Art knows you think you’re being nice by trying to make them feel included, but getting invited usually means having to watch Patrick touch you and kiss you and walk around with his hand in your back pocket.

Art’s fork stabs into his salad roughly. He takes a slow breath, trying to calm the emotions starting to swirl inside him. “Yeah, sure,” he says eventually, forcing a smile. “Sounds fun.”

He sneaks a look at you from under his lashes. You’re already looking at him, brow raised at his clipped tone. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Art shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, still watching him with a hint of skepticism. “Are you alright? You’ve been weird all day.”

Art lets out a small laugh, but it sounds more sour than sweet, and finally looks up at you. You look back expectantly, concern lingering in your eyes. “Nothing, it’s just…” he pauses, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the table, “the fact that you two are still going out surprises me. That’s all.”

He regrets it as soon as he says it, words sounding way more patronizing than he wanted. His chest immediately tightens with guilt, but he doesn’t wince or shrink back like he normally would, just keeps his eyes on you.

Your brows furrow, a tiny frown pulling at the corners of your lips. “What?” you ask, fork stilling in your hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Art just sighs, putting his fork down and leaning towards you. “I know Patrick better than you do,” he says with a tiny shrug, “he’s always had a hard time with…commitment.” He says slowly, searching for the right word.

You don’t say anything for a couple seconds, eyes scanning over his face slowly like you're examining him. Art forces himself to not start squirming under your intense, studying gaze.

You don’t seem to like what you find, eyes narrowing as you push your tray away from you and lean back in your seat. “Are you seriously shit talking your own best friend right now?”

Art’s brow raises, that wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, at all. His jaw ticks in annoyance, his hand balling into a fist on the tabletop.

“I’m not trying to shit talk him,” he says calmly, voice tinged with frustration. “I’ve just seen how things go with him. I’m looking out for you.”

Your eyes harden, disbelief mingling with irritation. “So, what? You think you know what’s best for me or something? Are you my keeper now?”

That pisses Art off, now you’re just being an asshole. His brows furrow, arms crossing in front of his chest defensively. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He says, tone harder than before.

You scoff, anger spilling over your face. “Well what the fuck do you mean then, Art? Because you dancing around whatever it is you obviously want to say is really starting to piss me off.”

Irritation flares in Art’s chest, piercing and sudden. He swallows it down, breathing out his nose slowly to try and calm himself. The air between the two of you is tense now.

You’re loud enough that a few people sitting at tables nearby start to quiet down, discreetly trying to listen in.

“Patrick doesn’t love you.” Art says spitefully, his fingers grip the muscle of his arms tighter. It’s childish, but he doesn't care.

Your eyes widen, clearly caught off guard. You recover quickly, letting out a disbelieving laugh as you push away from the table with a harsh scrape of your chair. "Excuse me?" Your voice cuts through the air, sharp and incredulous.  

He stays silent, letting the weight of his words hang heavy in the air. Your eyes narrow, searching his face for any sign of retreat, but Art meets your gaze head-on, jaw set stubbornly.

You stand with your arms crossed over your chest as you stare down at him. “Why are you telling me this? Why do you care if Patrick loves me or not?”

Why do you care? The question makes his heart drop down to his stomach. Dread mixes with the anger in his chest. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, he doesn’t want to make a scene in the middle of the dining hall. You’re just being so difficult.

You’re jumping to defend Patrick, not even trying to hear him out, just like you always do. Still refusing to give Art the attention he deserves. It’s fucking infuriating.

“I’m just saying,” he says, voice distant and cold, “he hasn’t been in love with you for a while. He’s told me.” 

It’s a lie, he’s hardly spoken to Patrick recently, but he’s in this now. He may as well go for broke, he always plays to win after all. 

Your face contorts grimly, another disbelieving laugh punches it’s way out your chest. You don’t seem to notice the amount of heads turned in your direction, or maybe you just don’t care. “Oh, he’s told you that has he?” you parrot back mockingly, head cocked to the side as you stare daggers at him, “That’s fucking bullshit Art!”

Art clenches his fists, jaw flexing in anger. He’s never seen you this mad before, never expected to be the cause of it. But at the same time he’s fucking angry too. Angry at you. Angry at Patrick. Angry at himself.

His eyes narrow, holding your own heated gaze without backing down because if there's one thing he hates most, it's losing. “You don’t get it do you?” He mutters quietly, shaking his head in dismay. 

Your jaw tightens, eyes blazing as you lean forward, bracing your hands on the table to get up in his face. He can smell the familiar fruity sweetness of your perfume.

“What’s there to get? The only thing I’m getting right now, is a front row seat to you being a vindictive little prick.” You bite out, breath fanning over Art’s face. “Who even said I wanted Patrick to be in love with me? Who said I gave a fuck about any of that?” You question sternly, brows furrowed as you scowl at him.

Art scoffs loudly, his face twisting in disgust as he rolls his eyes. His blood boils at having to sit here while you bitch him out. He wants to strangle you, to take you by your shoulders and shake you so that you’ll listen.

To make you see what he sees. To make you love him. “Please,” he hisses through gritted teeth, shifting so he’s leaning across the table just as you are, his eyes dark. “Everyone wants Patrick to love them. Everyone wants his attention. You want it.”

You just blink at him, taken aback by his outburst. You stare at him, not budging as your eyes scan over his face for a second time. And there it is. There’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him.

The heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what Art’s wanted for months. Your undivided attention.

After a few tense seconds you just laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You might be the worst fucking friend in the world.” You say simply, like you're reading off this week's forecast.

Maybe he is.

Art can feel the heat rising to his cheeks in anger, in embarrassment, in hatred, in lust. The way you’re looking at him makes something stir deep in his gut. His heartbeat echoes in his ears.

You’re so mad, but in that you’re giving him a hint of your attention, giving him the time of day, and you’re still fucking defending Patrick. Rage seethes in him, hot like fire. Yet even in this moment, you’re the only person that really matters. The intensity of your gaze pulls at something raw inside him.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” His voice is lower, pinched with thinly veiled frustration threatening to boil over.

"And you think you're the expert on what I deserve, Art? Last time I checked, your own love life’s track record isn't exactly stellar."

It’s a low blow, bringing up how Tashi rejected him a while back. He hadn’t told you about that, so Tashi must have. He laughs, but his lips are pulled up in a sneer.

"Don’t start deflecting,” Your name falls from his lips sharply, stabbing through the thick tension in the air. “This isn't about me, it's about you. You're setting yourself up to get hurt, and I'm just trying to warn you–"

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask for your fucking opinion," you snap, "maybe you should focus on your own damn problems.”

Art’s jaw tightens further, his frustration finally getting the best of him. "Fine, do whatever the hell you want. But don't come crying to me when Patrick does what he always does— leaves you for someone new."

You stare at him incredulously, shock and anger warring in your expression. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Yeah, well," Art mutters bitterly, looking away. "Believe whatever you want. Just know that he’s playing with your feelings.”

You huff, throwing your arms out at your sides in frustration. “What fucking feelings Art!” you say loudly, not quite shouting but you’re getting there. “Sure, Patrick and I fuck but that doesn’t mean we’re playing husband and wife with each other!” 

You’re definitely way too loud, voice steadily rising in volume the more you talk. Seemingly not caring about who’s around to hear you yell about fucking Patrick. “In fact,” you continue, shaking an accusatory finger at Art, “you’re the one trying to get in my head and play with my feelings, you fucking hypocrite.”

His mind whites out, filled with blinding jealousy all over again. He wants you so fucking badly, he could be everything you needed. Why can’t you see that? How could you be so blind? How could you not see that Patrick was using you, just like he used everyone else?

Art leans further across the table as you speak, his hands coming up to grip the edges of it tightly. “You’re so fucking naive, you know that?” He snaps in a biting tone. It’s harsher than he’s spoken to you during this whole fight.

Your voice drips with sarcasm as you lean forward, eyes locked on his. "Oh, well forgive me for not seeing the truth according to Saint Art."

“So fucking naive.” He repeats, spitting the words across the table meanly.

“And you’re a fucking pussy.” You bite back, leaning in even closer so Art can see your lips form around the words maliciously. You sway close enough that the tip of your nose bumps against his. His breath catches, going ragged in his throat. You’re so close to him. He can smell you, can practically taste you on his tongue.

He wants to take you in his arms, to hold you and kiss the anger off your face. The only thing keeping him from lunging out is the way you look. Your whole body is rigid with anger, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. You’re so beautiful. He has to remind himself that he’s supposed to be pissed at you and fight the urge to pull you in and really taste you.

But then you're backing away completely, “I won’t waste my time on stupid shit like this,” you mutter, turning to pick your bag up off the floor. “Thanks for lunch, Art.” You say sarcastically, not even looking at him as you turn on your heel and walk towards the dining hall’s exit before he can respond.

Art’s heart lurches forward at your words, not with pain, but with want. He watches you leave, the regret quickly setting in once you’re not here to play into his resentment. It hits him like a cold shiver, he wants to feel good for speaking his mind, for telling you how it is. Maybe on some level he does, but it’s overshadowed by how awful he feels.

Art stares down at his unfinished salad, appetite gone. He sighs loudly, standing up to toss his own tray plus the one you left behind. He tries his best to ignore the stares he can feel following him as he walks out.

ᯤ

Art wallows in misery for the rest of the day, skipping the practice he had planned after lunch. He just locks himself in his dorm, laying on his mattress and staring at the ceiling as he replays the fight in his mind. Replaying every word you said to him, every word he said back to you, every angry look you gave him. 

He thinks about texting you a thousand times. Typing and deleting different messages until he eventually gave up. He knows you’re beyond pissed, that him reaching out will only piss you off more and he wants to try and salvage this before you completely shut him out. The thought of losing you is why he never wanted to bring it up in the first place, regret settles in his gut like a ball of lead.

And yet, there was a small part of him that hoped, despite the shit show in the dining hall, that you’d see the quiet care he showed, the way he was there for you, and choose him for once. But hope was a dangerous thing, and Art wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out.

Hours go by with nothing from you, it’s the longest you’ve gone with talking since the semester started. He forced himself to study for his biology final in a lazy attempt at taking his mind off you. You’d usually be in his dorm room right now, all spread out on his bed like it’s your own as you talk his ear off about something like your asshole psychology professor. 

The longer he sits at his desk the longer the ache in his chest consumes him. Art would do anything to know what you were thinking right now. He’d grovel for your attention, he’d fall to his knees and beg and plead if that’s what it took for you to forgive him. 

He’s getting ready for bed when his Blackberry pings on his night stand, it’s almost embarrassing how fast he rushes over to it. His heart stutters in his chest when he sees it's a text from you. It’s only two words, a simple ‘come over’. 

Art’s never moved faster in his life, rushing out of his room with only his phone, wallet, and keys. 

He makes it to your dorm in record time, nearly sprinting across campus to hurry up and get there before you change your mind. All that needy rushing completely vanishes once he’s actually outside your door. 

Art hesitates, staring at the little door decals taped on with your name written on them in black sharpie. He rests his ear against the door, but he can’t hear anything. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, brows pinched as he wrestles with himself.

“C’mon Donaldson, don’t be such a little bitch.” Patrick’s voice rings out in the back of his mind. He takes a breath and knocks on the door.

Barely a second passes before it’s swinging open and you're there, gripping the front of his shirt and dragging him inside your room. Art's back hits the closing door with a thud, his breath catching in surprise. His hands shoot out to brace on either side of the door, knocking over a racket resting on the wall. Everything he brought with him falling to clatter onto the wood floor loudly.

You look rough, eyes slightly red and puffy like you may have been crying. Your breath comes out in short, quick bursts as you stare up at him. All the anger he swore would come rushing back when he saw you drains out of him in a second.

His face softens, a tiny frown on his lips. "Hey, what’s going on?" he asks, voice a mix of confusion and worry. His hands come up to hover near your hips, hesitating at the last second, not sure if he should touch you.

Without a word, you’re flying forward while yanking him down by his shirt. Closing the distance between the two of you with your lips crashing against Art’s. It’s so sudden, so completely out of left field, that Art stumbles forward a few steps, hands gripping your hips tightly to steady himself.

It’s almost pathetic how easily he kisses back, not even hesitating. Flashes of Patrick’s face go through his mind as he eagerly reciprocates, not stopping him from pulling your hips flush against his. He definitely might be the worst friend in the world, all the loyalty he felt to Patrick tossed out of his mind the second your tongue slides past his lips.

It’s intense, there’s no romance or gentleness about it. Your lips move against his almost violently, all the aggression and anger from earlier still very much there. He’s never kissed a girl like this before, it’s not how he imagined his first kiss with you would go. He’s still getting hard in his sweats anyway.

Your tongue fucks into his mouth roughly, it reminds him of the time he and Patrick kissed when they were still at the academy for “practice”. He moans loudly into your mouth, letting you dominate the kiss and just trying his best to keep up. Your teeth clack against his roughly, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to have him whining embarrassingly high and needy.  

“It’s over with Patrick,” you breathe hotly, slick lips brushing his with every word. “I want you to fuck me.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Art’s dick feels hard enough to burst out of his sweats by sheer force, but he pauses, pulling away from you with a hesitant look. "I-" he tries, voice cracking slightly. He can feel his cheeks starting to burn as he clears his throat. "I don't think that's a good idea. It's so soon, and I mean you're obviously going through something and I don't want to take advantage of yo-"

An incredulous laugh bursting from your lips effectively cuts Art off, your eyes roll to the ceiling in dry amusement. “God, Art.” you scoff, both hands pushing off his chest to create space between the two of you. He keeps his hands on your hips, the thin material of your bottoms bunching in his grip. “You’re such a fucking little bitch, you can kiss me but you won’t fuck me? What is it? You scared of Patrick or something?”

The taunt hits Art like a slap across the face, he freezes for a second before disbelief gives way to white hot rage. You just stare up at him smugly, lips red and wet. Art bares his teeth, using his strong hold on your hips to force you backwards until your knees hit the edge of your bed.

“You’ve pushed me and pushed me and pushed me,” he spits, glaring down at you as he speaks. “Acting like such a fucking brat. You want me to fuck you?” He pushes you back onto the bed roughly, covering your body with his, letting his weight sink you deeper into the mattress. “Fine, I’ll fuck you.”

Art sits up, ripping his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind his shoulder. Your greedy eyes rake down the toned muscle of his torso, hands coming up to lightly scratch your nails over his abs. His breath hitches, goosebumps breaking out all over his skin. He grabs your wrists, forcing them down and pinning them to the bed. “No touching.” he chastises, leaning down to bite the skin of your neck roughly. Sucking hard enough that he’ll definitely leave a mark. 

His dick twitches against the inside of his sweats at the thought of you walking around campus with his claim staked on you, at the thought of Patrick, if he was still coming down, seeing it and immediately knowing who left it there. He slides his knee between your legs, he can feel the warmth radiating from your pussy, can feel how you’re so wet it’s soaking through your bottoms and onto his thigh. 

You hiss at the sting of his teeth, trying to squeeze your wrists out of his strong grip. Your thighs tighten around his knee, hips bucking up against him. “Are you gonna fuck me anytime soon, Art? Or do I need to find someone else that’s not all talk?”

Art chuckles darkly, nipping at the sensitive skin of your collarbones. “You can bitch and moan all you want, but I haven’t even touched you yet–” he leans forward to whisper directly into your ear, “–And you’re still fucking soaked for me anyway.” He drags his tongue along the shell of your ear in a dirty stripe. 

You let out a keen, pretty and high, grinding your hungry pussy against his knee faster. He lets go of your hands, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach. Tossing you around like it’s nothing, just manhandling you.

“God,” he groans, big hands coming up to knead the meat of your ass, spreading it lewdly making you moan softly. “You’re so fucking hot.” He whispers, words falling from his lips like he couldn’t hold them in any longer.

Art keeps one hand tight on your hip, the other fumbling with the drawstring of his sweats so he can push them down to finally free his aching dick. Letting it spring out to slap up onto his bare stomach, trailing a thin line of pre-come across his abs. 

You squirm under him, feet kicking out as you struggle in his hold. Your head craning over your shoulder and zeroing in on his dick, hard and red and leaking. “You came over here with no panties on, Donaldson?” you taunt, pushing your ass back onto the sensitive length of his erection. “How slutty–” 

“Shut up,” he snaps harshly, but his dick twitches where it’s dragging over the seam of your ass. He’s leaking like a faucet, leaking like a girl, all over your light green plaid bottoms. It strikes him suddenly, how familiar they look. He stares at the worn down fabric covering your ass, at the way his pre-come stains the material darker, at the way they hang too low on your hips, too big for you. 

“Are these…are these Patrick's,” he asks slowly, voice low as his fingers skim over the soft material. You chuckle wickedly, wiggling your hips back teasingly. 

“Yeah, they are,” you say, sliding your ass back and forth over Art’s dick. “You’re leaking jizz all over your best friend's pants, Art.”

Art groans loudly, chin dropping to his chest as hips jerk against your ass involuntarily. A full body shiver wracks through him like lightning, eyes screwing shut as he tries not to come all over your ass. “Shit–” he bites out sharply, voice rough and scratchy. He can distantly hear you laughing at him through all the white noise buzzing in his ears.

He breathes out through his nose, willing himself to calm down. He needs to be in control for once, needs to teach you a lesson for ignoring him for so long.

Art’s hands come up to the waistband of your– Patrick's– pants, fingers digging underneath the loose material and forcefully yanking it down along with your panties, only pulling them down to your mid-thigh. You yelp in surprise, hands gripping the sheets of your bed tightly. 

“I need to get inside you, right fucking now.” he rumbles thickly, flipping you onto your back again. He needs to see your face when he fucks you for the first time, needs to burn it into his mind forever.

“Fuck yes,” you reply eagerly, arms coming up to circle around his shoulders. “Finally.”

Art doesn't reply, eyes fixed on your bare pussy, so fucking wet and shining underneath the shitty ceiling light of your dorm. His mouth waters, he wants to drop to his stomach and eat you out until you're shaking and squirting all over his face. His dick drools at the thought, but he’ll have to wait. He needs to fuck you.

He takes his dick in his hand, dragging it through the silky skin of your soaked folds. He spreads your wetness around your clit, rubbing the leaking tip over you back and forth teasingly. You whine, thighs starting to shake on either side of him. He drags his dick back down to your clenching hole, lining up and slowly sinking inside the tight, wet heat.

Art doesn’t give you any time to adjust to the thick head of his dick breaching your tight hole, burying himself to the hilt inside of you with a sharp thrust. 

“Fuck!” you cry out, legs coming up to wrap tightly around his hips, digging your heels into his lower back. “Shit, fuck you’re– God, you're so fucking deep.”

“I’m going to use your fucking pussy however I want,” Your name falls from his lips, dirty and blistering. “because it’s the least I deserve for putting up with your bullshit for so fucking long, and you’re going to be good and lay there and take it.” He drives his point home with a mean thrust of his hips.

“Fuck you, Art.” you mutter back, trying to keep up the bratty act even though your voice is going breathless and needy.

Art doesn’t ease into it, pulling back only to start pounding into your pussy ruthlessly. Sharp slaps of his hips stinging your ass each time he drives back in, your eyes roll back in your head, slack lips parted in pleasure as he fucks you. 

Art can’t help but lean down to claim your mouth, kissing you a little too sweetly for the moment. He can’t help it, not when you’re under him making the sweetest noises, letting him fuck your perfect fucking pussy like he owns it. God.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Art growls, breaking the kiss to rest his sweaty forehead against yours. “You’re so fucking, tight. Feels so fucking– shit, so fucking good.” His hips speed up, desperately rutting into you.

“Art,” you whine, nails scratching down his back hard. “I’m so close, fuck I’m so close– keep going, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–”

He cuts off your rambling with a kiss, groaning at the way his name sounds getting fucked out of your mouth. The loud squelch your pussy makes each time he buries himself back inside has his ears burning, he can feel you soaking the skin of his thighs with every thrust.

“Wanna feel your tight pussy milk me dry,” he grinds out through gritted teeth, picking up his pace. “Fuck, I‘m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come.” He ruts into you harder, splitting you open with every thrust. The skin of your ass turning red and raw from how hard he’s giving it to you. 

Your hands come up to bury themselves in his hair, tugging sharply to make him look at you. “Inside,” you pant, eyes glazed over and wild, “come inside me Art, please. I’m on the pill you can, you can come inside me.” Your legs tighten their hold on his hips, ankles locking snugly over his lower back so he couldn’t even pull out if he wanted.

“Fuck!” Art shouts your name hoarsely, hips stuttering as he unloads in you. Hot come spraying the walls of your pussy. You let out a broken moan, your whole body shaking as you come with him. Your pussy chokes his dick so tightly, gripping him like a vice, milking him.

Art tilts his head up, catching your lips with his to greedily swallow down all your moans. He keeps going, shallow thrusts of his hips working you through the aftershocks of your orgasm until you’re kicking at his back, whining at him to stop. He collapses on top of you, his sweaty skin sticking to the fabric of your shirt. 

It’s quiet for a while, the two of you silently trying to catch your breath. Your hands come up to his head, sliding into the messy strands of his hair. “It’s pretty late now,” you say slowly, nails scratching against his scalp softly. “You could…you could stay here if you want.”

Art hides the wide grin breaking out on his face in your chest, arms coming up to circle around your waist. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He whispers back, squeezing the soft skin of your hips once.

It’s only later, when you’ve fallen asleep on his chest, that he stares up at the ceiling lost in thought. He’s too worked up to sleep, so fucking thrilled that it worked. His plan actually worked. You’re his now. He looks down at you, glowing softly in the moonlight filtering through your window, deep hickeys scattered across your neck. He drags his fingers along your cheekbone, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

This is what he’s wanted for so long, you.

You asleep in bed with him, you curled up in his arms, you with his come steadily dripping out of your swollen pussy.

Art can hear his Blackberry start buzzing on your nightstand, lighting up with an incoming call. Even from far away he can read the name displayed on the screen. Patrick. He lets it ring.

taglist!

@ebodebo @yuenity @artemis-b-writes @motopoppp @nhlfs @elaci @myahswrld @angelheavensblog @arianaroman @mcugurl @igotmajordaddyissues @redmoonsofvenus @tomorrowillmissyou

if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[beatrixstonehill2]

"I don't know why I was so worried when my doctor put me on fertility drugs. I feel so stupid! I hear these drugs make you dumber, but I think that's an urban legend, just another ridiculous thing the old me worried about! I was a stuck-up attorney who never dated, who woke up at 4 every morning, went jogging, and ate grapefruit for breakfast with black coffee. I was mean, and rolled my eyes whenever men flirted with me. I was literally the worst! But ever since my doctor gave me these new prescriptions, my life has gotten a bajillion times better.

First of all, my appetite and libido came back. I told him I barely ate, didn't even masturbate, I was too focused on work. He seemed to know exactly what my body needed..... I was obviously skeptical about taking this stuff but look at me now! This is my second pregnancy, last one was quadruplets, I think this might be at least sextuplets? Holy fuck, I'm gonna get SO big, isn't that hot as hell? I won't fit into anything! I hope my boss is OK with my huge baby-filled belly sticking out. I'll look so ripe and ready to fuck all the time! After all, what better signal can a woman give to men that she's free to fuck, but a belly full of kids?

Oh yeah, did I mention? I'm not an attorney anymore. My libido got way too distracting to worry about all that dumb work I was so concerned about for, like, no reason! So I'm a secretary now for this lawyer I used to butt heads with all the time. He used to love harassing me and flirting aggressively with me, even smacking my ass. I used to get so angry with him; now, when he spanks me or grabs my breasts I just giggle and get turned on. I love working for him, and when I do extra well he rewards me by letting me suck his cock, or if he's in the mood he'll fuck me when he's in a meeting in front of all my old colleagues. The looks on their faces watching me full of kids, with a massive pair of udders, getting railed by HIM is just priceless!

On the subject of my breasts, I hope everyone here on my OnlyFans likes them. I've gone up six cup sizes since starting these pills! Isn't that crazy? I bet they're small compared to how gigantic they'll get a few pregnancies from now. I'm soooo excited to see how big they're gonna get, or if they're even gonna stop growing. Men absolutely drool over them, and when they see these huge boobs paired with a belly brimming with more kids than I can count, they know it's a free invitation to fuck me. Whether we're on the subway, the bus, or I'm at the bank, depositing my boss's checks..... Guys will take me by the hips and pump me so full of cum it'll be drooling down my legs all day--as all women should be, far as I'm concerned. Full to the point of bursting with cum. I used to be so grossed out when I saw college girls in sundresses, super pregnant, their big breasts falling out, cum hanging from their asses and pussies, drooling down their legs, just gushing with it, cum of their faces or tits as they happily talk on their phones or with their equally pregnant friends. Now I see they were the lucky ones.... And I definitely wasted my time in college not being like them, but it's never too late to be a good girl and show men I know what my true purpose really is. ❤️"

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Scenario thirst/request: It’s already canon that Kaveh can’t handle his alcohol, but once he gets together with Reader he seriously needs to be cut off. Bars are gonna start denying him service bc instead of his normal complaints about some work client, he’s now complaining to any poor soul in the vicinity about how Reader’s cock is so big it’s impossible to take. Also won’t shut up about how they haven’t fucked him in ages (since yesterday) so they obviously think he’s hideous and don’t love him anymore. To top it all off he’s literally saying all of this while draped over Reader’s lap. He won’t stop whining until Reader drags him out the tavern and fucks him stupid in the alley around back.

Pairings: Kaveh x male reader

Warnings: Male!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom!Kaveh, handjob, biting, whiny Kaveh, semi-public sex

The plan was to have a casual drink or two at the tavern, order a bit of food and maybe split a dessert with your beloved. You should have known better than that...

Now your beloved was whining to the tables next to yours about how your “ginormous monster cock” was just too biiiig! He can't handle taking the entire thing in his little ass but you make it fit anyways 🥺

The guests look on with irritated expressions and you mouth apologies at everyone...Kaveh's weight is sprawled out across your lap while he continues to moan and groan that it's “so so soooo biiiig–” You pinch the bridge of your nose and gulp down more of your drink as Kaveh's slender fingers tug at your shirt, drawing your attention downwards

The saddest, most pathetic expression makes it's way onto his face as he complains that, “You haven't fucked me in foreeeverrr- D'you not like me anymore...?” He slurs, pouting and sniffling. Another patron seated across from you makes eye contact and smirks, shaking their head. Everyone in the damn building can probably hear your partner's voice, seeing as alcohol tends to make him louder than usual...guess there's only one way to fix him now

“Heeeeyyy...don't push me off of– Aah!” Kaveh's startled noise draws even more attention towards the two of you as you drag him out of the bar by his arm. Passing by the owner and tossing a large pouch of mora onto the counter for all of the trouble. The blond protested the entire way out, attempting to grab the door frame so that you couldn't drag him along, though he was a bit too drunk to see straight enough to grab anything...

“Ow, owowow ooooowww!! Y/nnn...what's gotten into yo-oouu...?” Kaveh hiccuped. Your eye twitched in annoyance while your hands found their way onto the wall next to your partner's head, caging him in

“What's gotten into me? What's gotten into you! Mr. ‘My partner's cock is too fucking big uwu’?!” You whisper-yelled. Boring into Kaveh's accusatory eyes as he stammered, trying to form a response but getting cut off by your strong hands flipping him so that his torso was now pressed against the nearby wall. “If you're going to embarrass me in front of dozens of people, then I'm going to embarrass you in this alley. Whatever attention you draw is your own fault.”

At first, he did try to stay quiet, but your cock was actually pretty big and it caused him to have loose lips, especially with the added intoxication from a few drinks...

Kaveh's ass was red and sore after a while of pounding him into oblivion. Your dick was reaching all new places inside of him as you slid in and out vigorously, using every bit of leverage at your disposal to fuck into him faster and rougher, even if it meant that you'd have to carry him home afterwards. Whatever it took for your own tipsy mind to find peace with this punishment

Several instances of footsteps were heard during all of this. Probably people that picked up Kaveh's loud wails and moans, screaming “Cum-cumming—!! ” multiple times as you jerked him off while destroying his hole. His poor, sensitive shoulder was littered with angry bite marks from your own orgasms across the night. All of this would serve as a reminder the next morning; a reminder to work on biting his tongue whenever he drank

[byechristopher]

soooo it’s ur biggest fan here 🤣! so idea. chris is a hockey boy. i need something angsty or something

also a fluff idea reader is a dancer and chris is hockey player and reader has a competition the same place chris has a tournament. and it’s just them supporting each other

although just do what ever you want but hockey chris>>> i feel like you’d do him justice

Jealous guy.

– CHRIS STURNIOLO ANGST & FLUFF.

Author's note: I worked hard on this because it's for my biggest fan. You know I love my angsty shit, so I took your idea and combined it with mine. I hope y'all like it. 🤍 Do not copy/steal my work. :)

Ps. I'm the kind of bitch that gets all giddy and shit when Chris says "my girl" in my OWN FIC. Okay.

Warnings: not really a warning but mentions of fighting and a lil bloody lip. Mwuah. Didn't proofread, sorry!

[ YOU ]

"Okay, and what the hell do you want me to do about it?" I almost scream, turning around to look at Chris.

He was fuming, to say the least. His hair was messy, he didn't have a shirt on but wore his usual gray sweatpants. His glare was deadly.

"Uhm, I don't know, tell him to not send fucking flowers to OUR apartment?!" he shouts, throwing his phone on the couch. The irony in his voice is more than evident.

I couldn't believe it when I saw it either Honestly, I never expected him to go to such lengths. Despite being just a co-worker, he's become a relentless presence in my life. Whether it's showing up everywhere at work, bringing me coffee, or bombarding me with emails – it's relentless. The boundary crossed when he managed to find my address; literally searching for my goddamn address and sending me flowers? That is wild. Of course I told Chris about it, but he acts as if it is my fault this psycho found our address.

"I don't even know his phone number, Chris! How would I ever know that he'd search for the address and send me flowers?" I sigh, still very angry.

"I'll beat the shit out of him, I swear.. the game starts in less than an hour, fucking hell.." he says, checking his watch, "how the fuck am I ever going to play when I'm like this?"

I don't reply to him – he really makes it sound like it's my fault and despite my initial enthusiasm for the game, it's waned due to his blame game. Still, I don't want to come off as a heartless bitch, especially on the eve of his crucial match. So, I grab my phone, wallet, and keys before heading over to him.

"I really hope you win." I whisper, placing a soft peck on his cheek before exiting the bedroom and shortly after, leaving the apartment.

[ CHRIS ]

She left. Fucking hell. I always do bullshit like this – I can't keep my big mouth shut and now she's not even coming to the game. I really needed her in this one. But that is my own fault.

In the quiet solitude of our apartment, I try to prepare for the upcoming game; amidst the dim glow of our living room, I meticulously don my team jersey, each movement an attempt to shift my focus. Taking a moment, I inhale deeply, trying to be as calm as possible before the game.

With a determined resolve, I grab my gear, the familiar scent of the hockey bag triggering a surge of adrenaline. As I step outside, the crisp evening air hits me, momentarily clearing my mind. The journey to the rink is a silent contemplation, the distant echoes of the city fading as I immerse myself in mental preparation.

Arriving at the arena, I feel the familiar anticipation. The ambient sounds of the crowd and distant echoes of skates on the ice envelop me, grounding me in the moment. I exchange nods and greetings with teammates. The locker room door creaks open, revealing the sanctum where emotions are set aside, and the game becomes paramount. Amidst the hum of chatter and the clatter of equipment, I sigh; I really want her to come. I still have hope, although I doubt it. The tension lingers as I tighten my skate laces, and Jake, my teammate and friend, notices my distraction.

"You seem off, Chris. Everything okay?" Jake asks.

"Yeah.." I look up at him, and he seems like he already knows, "..just had a big fight with my girl before I left. Can't shake it off," I confess.

Jake pats me on the shoulder. "I understand, man. I wish I could say something but you gotta leave it behind for now. We've got a game to win. Sort things out later."

On the ice, rival players almost immediately target me, seeming to be aware of my vulnerable state; it must be that fucking expression of mine. I can't hide it. During the first period, a smirking opponent skates by, taunting, "trouble at home, Chrissy? Should focus on that instead of the game." he smiles.

Enraged, I retaliate with a forceful check, earning myself a penalty, "keep your temper in check, Chris!" warns the referee.

In the penalty box, I mutter under my breath, "I can't fucking believe this."

As the match progresses, rival players intensify their attempts to provoke me; we've played with those fuckers before, and if anyone has seen me in a game, they know very well the only thing that can affect the way I play is her. Undeterred, I channel my anger into my plays, determined to win this goodamn game while internally wondering if she came to see me after all.

In a breakaway, I find myself one-on-one with the opposing goalie. With a swift deke, I send the puck into the net, equalizing the score. The crowd erupts, and my teammates cheer.

Rival players persist in their attempts to get under my skin. During a tense moment, an opposing forward sneers, "look, your girlfriend's probably enjoying the show. Make sure to not embarass her again."

After that, I almost lose it, and in a heated moment, a rival defenseman delivers a high stick to my face, splitting my lip. Blood drips onto the ice as I stumble backward. The referee signals a penalty, but the damage is done.

Undeterred by the bleeding, I clench my fists, "you think that's going to stop me? You fucking coward!" I almost scream to make sure that fucking asshole hears me.

The game continues, and during a power play, I push through the pain. I charge towards the net, ignoring the throbbing pain in my lip – the only thing on my mind is her and making her proud.

Fueled by a surge of anger and determination, I respond with a spectacular goal that secures the lead for my team. I skate past the jeering opponent, acknowledging the crowd's cheers.

As the final buzzer sounds, signaling our victory, I finally spot my girlfriend in the stands. My heart beats faster. A mix of emotions plays across her face, and I realize the significance of my performance. It's like no one else is around, just us and that is the only thing that matters. I keep eye contact with her, even when my teammates are cheering for me and I smile, even with that bloody lip – she smiles back and I want to kiss her so bad.

[ YOU ]

When I saw Chris' bloody lip, I almost lost it – the restraint within me, resisting the urge to jump in and shove my fingernails into that asshole's eye sockets, is beyond words. I was well aware they were deliberately provoking Chris; his simmering anger was very evident. The recklessness in his gameplay during the initial stages of the game made it even more obvious that he was more focused on what they said than the actual game.

I kept yelling his name at the top of my lungs, unsure if he could hear, but I desperately wished for his victory, especially after that intense fight. Witnessing him wince from the pain now and then, I felt an overwhelming urge to cry.

As he scored the decisive goal and secured the victory, I couldn't contain my excitement, jumping up and down. It brought back memories of our younger days when I always cheered him on during his games.

When all of this was over and I just stood there, I could see him looking at me. His gaze finally finds me in the midst of the crowd, and my heart feels like it might leap out of my chest. Everything else fades away, leaving only him in my line of sight.

I notice all of the team leaving, probably going to the locker rooms and I quickly head to the exit door.

In the dimly lit corridor outside of where the locker rooms are, he finally comes outside and spots me waiting there, my expression a mix of anticipation and apprehension.

"Hey," he calls out, his voice carrying a hint of both excitement and apology.

I look up, meeting his eyes, "hey," a subtle smile playing on my lips, "you played amazing out there."

Still trying to catch his breath, he wraps his arms around me in a tight hug, keeping me close for a while. We are not saying anything, I just hold him close, my fingers buried in his sweaty hair.

"Thank you so much for coming." he whispers.

"I would never lose any of your games. Even when you're being an asshole." I smile, which I am sure he can hear when I'm speaking.

"I am so sorry. I didn't mean to put the blame on you. I just.. I am fucking jealous. I don't want any other guy near you." he keeps his voice as low as possible.

"Shhh, I know. Let's take care of that lip first and then you can apologise to me all you want." I pull away but he doesn't let go of course – I cup his cheek and take out some tissue that I keep in my bag for emergency with my free hand. I gently pat the skin, trying to clean the blood as much as I can without hurting him.

His eyes soften, "seriously, baby. Thanks for coming. I always play better when you're cheering for me."

I look up at him, my gaze softening as well as I cup both of his cheeks now, "I know. I am so, so proud of you. You were amazing, as always." I whisper, leaning in to play the softest kiss on his little wound.

"God, I love you." he whispers, wrapping his arms around my waist, hugging me close to him.

"I love you too."

[transmascpetewentz]

hey so. can we all agree to stop saying "asperger's syndrome".

the arguments have been made already for why the term is offensive to autistic people as a general whole, so i'm not going to repeat them here. what i want to focus on is the less talked about issue with the fact that we as a community still use this word.

there is literally no excuse for any person, but especially jewish & romani people, to have their medical condition named after a fucking nazi who tried to genocide their ancestors. ZERO.

and before i get a ton of people in the replies trying to make excuses, let me pre-emptively answer the most common replies i know i'm going to get.

"ohhhh no but it's sooooo hard for me to switch my language, it's only been ten years since the dsm five came out!!!!!"

boo hoo, it's hard for you to use a different word after over ten years of the dsm five removing asperger's as a diagnosis. it must be soooo much more difficult to give a single shit about jews and roma than the experiences of jews and roma who went through a genocide and are still facing violence to this day /s

"but i'm an aspie and i get to reclaim that word if i want!!!!!"

yeah, the term asperger's syndrome is offensive both to autistic people who fall under the criteria and to autistic people that don't. but do you know who else that term is offensive to? the people who went through a genocide. unless you are jewish or romani i don't want to hear it.

"but i was diagnosed with asperger's syndrome before the dsm five came out!!!!!"

see the above two points about how not continuing to glorify genocide is more important than keeping the same words we've always used for things. it's fine to say you were diagnosed with asperger's, but you do not have "asperger's", you have autism (or are autistic if that's the language you prefer).

"but i didn't know that asperger was a nazi!!!"

well, now you do.

"but naming a medical condition after someone doesn't necessarily glorify them!!!!"

would you apply this logic to literally any other field of science? if we decided to name an element after a nazi, people would rightfully be angry. people have been calling for years to rename a beetle named after a nazi. if you name a medical condition after someone, that generally means one of two things: the person was a very important and good researcher in the field, or the person was a notable person who had the medical condition. this might be a hot take, but i don't think that a nazi scientist working for the nazis should ever be considered the best and most important early researcher in any field to be deserving of having a discovery named after them.

"but you can't speak for all jews!!! look, you aren't even jewish yet, it says that on your profile!!!!"

no, i cannot speak for all jews. but i am speaking for myself when i say that all of your (general) excuses have stopped working, and that y'all need to put others' needs above your feelings sometimes. during the writing of this post, i spoke to other jews who have made posts about this before, but y'all continue to ignore jewish voices and make excuses for yourselves when it really isn't that hard to just stop saying a word.

"you're being ableist by telling me, an autistic person, how i can and cannot identify!!!!!"

i'm writing this post as someone who is autistic and would have been diagnosed with "asperger's syndrome" had i gotten my diagnosis before the dsm five came out. being autistic is no excuse for being racist, antisemitic, or any other bigotry. autistic non-jews have continuously spoken over autistic jews on many issues, including this one, and guys, it is not that hard to care about jews and roma enough to make this tiny change to your vocabulary.

i hope all of this has been enough to ward off some of the responses that i'm going to get to this post. i'm willing to engage in good faith if you're genuinely ignorant or confused, but if you have read this post, you no longer get to say that you "didn't know" that hans asperger was a nazi and that we shouldn't name any medical condition, but especially one that many jews and roma have, after people who committed genocide.

[myownwholewildworld]

wherever you go (a joel miller’s ff) - chapter 7

chapter 6 | series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 8

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader. (it's actually 2004 now)

summary: as idyllic as chicago may seem, the world around you is still in shambles. your duties to the community take you on a rescue mission, one you think will be easy. but will it?

a/n: hiya! we are soooo close to the vision i had for this series, i'm literally shitting myself with nerves but also excitement, ugh 😫 i really hope you like this one! i do appreciate any comments, reblogs and/or likes you may want to leave! even asks/requests if you want to! take care lovelies <3 x

warnings: 18+, mdni. a smidge of angst and fluff. filthy smut (don't you know me by now?). unprotected piv. masturbation (f receiving). oral (m receiving). spanking and one account of pussy slapping. joel's a boobs' guy in this one. soft!dom!joel. pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby). then clickers, clickers everywhere. death & violence. swear words. i'm sure i'm forgetting something lol. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 37. no use of y/n.  joel’s and reader’s pov.

w/c: ~4.7k.

tags aka the drama wagon (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!):

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981

@fancyyoouu @smolbeanzzz @guelyury @bishtrouille

“Joel Miller”.

Was that a suicide mission? Probably, but you hoped not.

It wasn’t like you had a choice anyway. The moment you heard Joel’s name being called for this rescue mission, you knew you were going to volunteer to go with the party. Yes, he was going to get angry and try to talk you out of it, but it would be in vain. You would follow him to the end of the world if necessary.

You stood there by his side, the canteen rammed with people ― all of you looking towards the platform in the north corner. One of the leaders, Troy, kept on shouting names to the void. You glanced up at Joel, who was completely still, his eyes fixed on the podium. You couldn’t tell if he was upset or not, but he would soon be for sure.

Once Troy finished talking, an uncomfortable silence ensued, only broken by the quiet sobs of a young fellow whose named had been picked. Eric, you remembered. He must have just turned eighteen, because he looked so damn young. His mother was by his side, hugging him with tears on her eyes.

That scene broke your heart a little.

“Any volunteers?”, said the leader after a minute.

You looked around. No one was talking, everyone pretending they didn’t hear the question.

You felt Joel’s hand firmly grip your left wrist, silently asking you to remain quiet. He knew what you were about to do, but he couldn’t stop you.

You raised your right hand, eyes to the front, avoiding visual contact with him.

“I’ll take Eric’s place”, you said with a steady voice.

Joel grunted audibly, his fingers tighter around your wrist.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?”, you heard him mumble under his breath.

You ignored him.

“Great, thank you. Y’all are dismissed, except for those elected. Come forward”.

Before Joel had the chance to even talk, Eric and his mother approached you. She hugged you, still sobbing, and you palmed her back in a calming manner. The young bloke stared at you, silently crying and mouthed a “thank you”.

“I’m eternally grateful. Eric is the only person I have left by my side. My husband, my daughter… everyone is gone”, whispered the woman in your ear.

You held the tears by gulping down the knot in your throat. Although you didn’t necessarily volunteer for his son originally, her emotion was so sincere it tugged at your heart.

The woman broke off the hug, touched your forearm in gratitude, and then walked off with her son.

You turned around to face Joel. His jaw was so clenched you worried he was going to chip a molar.

Joel wanted to shake some sense into you so badly, he had to tightly close his fists. He couldn’t comprehend why you would do that. He wanted to keep you safe, and you were not making it an easy task. What if he lost you? What would he do then? That simple thought made him feel sick. You were the glue holding him together, the only reason he woke up every day and didn’t give up.

The mere thought of losing you consumed his brain, whether he liked it or not. He… he loved you, all of you, but was too afraid to speak his mind, to jinx it. Because he was cursed. Saying it out loud would put you in the universe’s bullseye, he was sure of it.

When the woman and his son left along with almost everyone else, Joel pulled you from your elbow, slamming you against his chest. He really was trying not to lose his shit in public, but fear was gripping him by his neck, the grim reaper’s noose strangling him.

“You ain’t coming. I don’t fucking care if that kid dies, you’re staying right here. Tell Troy you have changed your mind now”, he muttered, teeth gritting, his fingers sinking around your flesh.

“You’re hurting me, Joel”, you whispered, and he relaxed his hand’s grip, although he didn’t let go. “Look, I know it’s scary, but if you’re going, I’m coming with you. You won’t get rid of me so easily”, you taunted him.

The joke wasn’t welcomed, which you expected.

“If you get hurt, even a tiny scratch ― I’m gonna fucking kill you myself”, his head was bowed towards yours, his mouth too close, your palms on his chest.

So close you couldn’t refrain yourself from placing a gentle kiss on his lips. That soothed him, but just a bit. You glanced at him, containing your amusement.

“Well, that’s a paradox, don’t you think?”, you spoke softly before taking a step back, holding his hand. “C’mon, they are waiting”.

“We’re not done talking about this”, he grunted.

You dragged Joel to the circle where the other six lucky people were standing around Troy, in time to listen to whatever he had to say about this mission.

“As I was explaining at the beginning of this meeting, our most experienced medic, Sasha, and her team, have not returned from their scavenging run. They went out a couple of days ago looking for medical supplies and we have not heard back from them in the last twenty-four hours. We must bring them back. That is, if they are still alive”, Troy explained while he flattened a map of the city on the table in front of him. “Their last contact was from Illinois Medical District, somewhere around Ogden Avenue. We assume they went in John H. Stroger, Jr. Hospital of Cook County”. Troy laid out the plan to follow, before finishing with a, “You’re leaving in three hours, good luck”.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?”, Joel growled as soon as the door closed behind him.

Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t stop himself from worrying. The memory of almost losing you still haunted him. The overthinking, the fear, the irrevocable doom ― it all made him feel uneasy. He just wanted to keep you away from all harm. That fateful night Joel swore to himself he would never let anything happen to you ― not while he was still breathing.

He had lost too much, but also gained so much ― he could not, would not, lose you too. Even if it was the last thing he did in this world. Over the last year, he had grown attached to you. You taught him there was light on the shore ― that life didn’t have to end the moment he lost Sarah, as much as he wanted it to. You showed him he could still care, laugh, protect, cry, worry, relax, feel. Feel so much, so vividly.

Joel could have said all that to you instead of his scolding question, but he didn’t know any better. His feelings were an entangled mess, one he didn’t have the experience to unravel.

His anger shimmered when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Honestly, I don’t know what you worry about, Joel. It will be fine. We’ve been through worse than this puny, little rescue mission. We’ll be okay”, you downplayed with a sweet smile, your hand stroking his forearm.

“What if we aren’t? What if you get hurt?”, he muttered, his jaw muscles rigid.

Your features softened; your sweet lips pursed.

“I can’t, you’ll kill me yourself, don’t you remember?”, he deciphered your joking tone, but to him this was no laughing matter. “Your paradox?”, you added cocking an eyebrow, mistaking his silence for forgetfulness.

“I know what I said. And I meant it. You can’t get hurt, got it? I forbid you”, his voice was serious. He knew you couldn’t make such a promise, but he insisted anyway, “Promise me”.

Something in you shifted because Joel saw your expression change from amusement to understanding. You got closer, sliding your arms around his waist. Joel draped his around your shoulders, his heart beating loudly in his ribcage. He held you tight, your nose poking his chest, your palms resting on the small of his back.

He shut his eyes, counting his blessings.

“I promise”, you conceded in a hushed tone.

His reply was simple ― he pressed his lips against your forehead as his body relaxed into yours.

At midnight, both you and Joel walked towards the 1999 Jeep Cherokee you had parked on South Damen Avenue. You had just done a reconnaissance mission around the hospital’s west wing. You had been in there for two full hours and didn’t find a living soul, just clickers. You were sweaty because of the physical effort, your gun still hot. You cleaned the blade of your knife on your jeans before sheathing it in your belt. You trotted to the passenger’s side while Joel headed towards the driver’s, both of you jumping in the car.

Two members of the team, Jordan and Margaret, had just taken over you after you reported back to them what you encountered inside. You saw them walking towards Winchester Avenue to sweep the north wing of the building. Daisy and Adam just returned too and headed towards the second car in West Polk Street ― they had explored the south wing at the same time as you had been inside. Luke and Taylor had just taken over them to inspect the east wing of the hospital.

“That was… interesting”, you said while closing the passenger’s door. “If they really went in there, there was absolutely no trace of them. It’s like they have vanished”.

“Yeah, it’s weird. Not even one clicker was dead before we entered. If they had encountered any issues, surely they would have killed some of them. We should have seen bodies or something, I dunno”, Joel thought out loud, leaving his firearm on top of the dash at the same time you did.

“Let’s see if Jordan and Margaret, or Luke and Taylor get back with news, otherwise this is going to be boring as fuck”, you commented as Joel leaned towards you to open the glove box. “What are you doing?”, you asked him out of curiosity.

“Looking for entertainment”, he then pulled a pack of cigarettes with a smile on his face. “You smoke?”, he asked while breaking the plastic seal around it.

You shook your head. It wasn’t a habit you wanted to pick up now, although you didn’t mind others smoking. Joel rolled down his window while pressing the car’s cigarette lighter against the tip of the fag. He then put the lighter back in its slot and laid his right hand on your left thigh ― his fingertips stroking your inner thigh. So possessive, your temperature started to rise, a slick warmth pooling in your lower belly.

You glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, but he didn’t notice ― Joel was looking through the driver’s window, his elbow poking out and resting on the door frame while he took a puff. You hovered your fingers over his on your thigh, your palm against the back of his hand, your digits intertwined in a fist as you slid them closer to your crotch.

“I could entertain you, if you wanted me to”, you whispered when his knuckles nudged your cunt.

Joel turned to look at you so fast you thought he might snap his neck. His eyes drifted down and darkened. He poked your pussy with his knuckles again, this time of his own volition.

“We shouldn’t”, a muscle twitched in his jawline.

You smiled.

“I’m sure Adam and Daisy can keep watch on their own for a while”, you bit your bottom lip as you flattened his hand against your belly and guided him down, underneath your jeans and panties. His palm flushed against your mound. “Please?”, you added, flashing your eyelashes at him.

Joel dunked his middle finger in your wet slit and stroked your clit. You pressed your lips, gazing at him like a needy puppy. He didn’t break visual contact as his index joined the middle finger, both digits tracing your damp furrow. You sobbed quietly as Joel took another drag, submerging his long finger until it disappeared in your weeping hole. He moved it in a circular motion, and you gasped.

“Is this what you need, sweetheart?”, he murmured. You nodded frantically. “Always so needy for some cock, aren’t you?”.

“Not just any cock, yours”, you emphasized with a stuttering voice, your insides melting for him.

His eyes flickered with lust, a sinful grin taking over his lips.

You whimpered, tilting your head backwards to rest against the headrest, as his index joined the middle one in your warm pit. You started panting when he caressed your g-spot non-stop while he finished his cigarette nonchalantly. Joel stubbed it out when he was done with it and then pushed his fingers in your cunt as far as he could take them, bottoming out, to the point where the force he was using made you lift your hips off the car seat.

You were so close to coming ― your sleek pussy beating for him, clasping around him. You were so soaked, his digits were drowning inside of you, making squelching noises as Joel fingered you relentlessly. You held on to his torturing wrist, feeling the rhythm he was imposing on you. Your drenched pussy palpitated, your clit on fire ― and so you came with a loud, prolonged moan, your knees shaking.

Joel rubbed your clit one more time before removing his hand from your underwear.

“C’mon, be a good girl now and do your job”, he ordered, cupping his swollen groin.

“Yes, sir”, you murmured, your cunt still gushing, deluging your panties.

He took your right hand and placed it on his bulge, rubbing your palm against the zipper of his jeans. You grasped the metal rod of his headrest while you leaned forward and ghosted his mouth, your playful hand kneading his erection. Your lips crashed and the kiss got sloppy ― his tongue wrestled with yours, while you unbuckled his belt and undid the zipper.

The palm of your hand slid off his length over his briefs. Then you pushed down the elastic of his underwear and his cock popped out. You ignored his shaft to massage his ballocks. You squeezed them gently and Joel let out a horny moan in the middle of the messy kiss. The most perfect melody you ever heard.

You broke off the smooch to catch a breath, your hand still holding his balls, your thumb rubbing the ridge in between his nuts. You pecked his Adam’s apple as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft, moving your hand up and down slowly. Joel sat up a bit to remove his shirt and then rested his back against the car seat again. You kissed the centre of his collarbone, your lips drifting southwards on his skin.

You bit around his belly button when you heard him lit another cigarette, the smoke filling up the cabin. You finally went down on him and showered his cock with wet licks. Joel sighed audibly, relaxing on his seat, which made you smile. Your tongue twirled around the tip of his dick once before you backed off and spit on his erection. You slathered your saliva on his steely column, then bente forward with your mouth open to imprison his glans with your plush lips.

A controlled groan escaped Joel’s mouth ― squirming in place, trying to make himself comfortable when you took his dick in your mouth. He looked down, your head bobbing up and down on his lap, your lips pressed around his cock, creating a seal. He felt himself trapped in your throat, his tip touching the back of your wet cavity. His left hand put the cigarette on his lips and took a long puff as he placed his right hand on your neck. You were wearing a ponytail ― in a moment of weakness he grabbed it resolutely, forcing you down on him.

Your eyes watered, your gag reflex being tested, your chin caressing his testicles. You retched a bit, your throat adapting to his massive girth and length. He had gotten rough for a second, which meant you were pushing him to his limits. When Joel realised that you were struggling a bit, he quickly let go of your ponytail.

“Shit, sorry, darlin’”, he growled.

You freed his cock to breathe and giggled, your mouth full of sticky precum. You started pumping him, kissing the velvety skin on his balls, while his right hand travelled down your back until he seized the back of your underwear and yanked it. The rims of your panties slid over your skin and got stuck in your slit and butt crack, as if you were wearing a g-string. The clothing caught on your clit and you gasped as he pulled upwards, the garment scrunching in your fold, causing a delightful friction against the centre of your pleasure.

Joel stirred his hips, which told you he was close to coming. You sat back up, your teary eyes meeting his lustful ones. He wiped away a tear off your cheek.

“Come sit on my lap, baby, let me fuck that pussy of mine”, he offered, tapping his left thigh, and putting out the cigarette butt on the car’s ashtray.

Before you happily obliged, you pushed down your jeans and panties to your ankles and kicked your feet until they came off. Your t-shirt quickly followed, no bra. Then you hastily straddled him as commanded. Joel set down his hands on your ass and abruptly spanked one of your buttocks. You jerked your hips up at the surprise ― your cunt above his belly button.

Holding you there, he lapped your right nipple with the tip of his tongue. The tight button shrunk in excitement as you whimpered. Then his lips closed around the puckered teat and sucked it in in his mouth. This time you whined, the sound reverberating in your throat as you slammed your eyes shut. Your wanton pussy was dripping on to his belly while he alternated between your boobs to eat them like a glutton ― the discharge of your passion running down from your leaking hole on to his belly button, then pooling on the tip of his manhood, sliding off his happy trail and length to finally gather on his balls.

His tongue gave you no truce ― licking, sucking, taunting, smothering your nipples. You dug your fingers in his hair, pressing his gorgeous face against your breasts. Joel palmed your shivering pussy from behind, his fingertips caressing your clit, which he started tapping sweetly. Your head leaned forward in awe, eyes closed, to kiss his crown. His fingers became more intrusive, his mouth more demanding, until you couldn’t deal with it anymore. You wailed his name as you came, your knees quivering. Then he slapped you hard on your pussy ― one of your hands flew to your lips to stifle your own scream. Joel immediately massaged your puffed-up flaps, his cold skin a calming balm on yours.

“Good girl, sweetheart. Now fuck yourself with my dick”, he instructed you before trapping your nipple in between in his teeth and pulling.

You saw stars behind your eyes.

You let go of his hair, curved your back and cradled his face with both hands, tilting it up towards you so you could kiss him fondly as you dropped your hips. His cock found your pulsating opening ― it was like his body knew its way to yours blindly. Your palms flat against his cheeks, your breath and his collided like a tornado when you both moaned in each other’s mouths. You plummeted on his lap, burying him completely inside of you. Your hips rolled of their own accord. Slowly you rode him, up and down, back and forth, your lips attached to his at all times. The tip of his cock kept stroking the right spot over and over again ― every single time it would drag along your anterior wall, driving you crazy.

You felt like riding a rollercoaster ― your orgasm building up as you approached the top and then you tipped over with no warning. Your lips parted as wave after wave washed over you in bursts. Your cunt narrowed down, choking his dick, palpitating, involuntarily pleading for him to come with you.

“Fuck, fuck ― FUCK”, he groaned painfully, lifting your ass off his cock rashly.

Just in the nick of time, he came ― his cock twitching against your belly button, you wielding him, gently pumping his shaft as the last shots of cum spurted out the slit on his glans. You squeezed his erection one last time, kissing him lovingly on the chin.

Labouredly breathing, both of your hearts slowed down together as you recovered. His gaze darkened ― you could see the longing, the yearning in his eyes. The care, the affection, but also the fear. Your heart swelled at the realisation ― he hadn’t said it yet, but you knew, even though you thought he hadn’t realised it himself. You just needed to be patient with him. You had time.

With a doting smile, your thumb hovered over his lips before you pressed them with yours.

An hour had gone by, and there was no news from Jordan nor Margaret. You had radioed the second car ― they hadn’t heard back from Luke and Taylor either. The pack of cigarettes was only half full now, Joel chain smoking, both of you watching the building attentively. You tried to contact Jordan over the radio, but there was no reply.

You clicked your tongue, handing Joel the radio and grabbing the gun off the dash.

Joel’s eyes darted to you.

“Where do you think you are going?”, his brows furrowed.

“I’m just gonna have a quick look around the corner, that’s all”, you said, opening the passenger’s door.

“Then I’m coming with you”, he grunted.

Joel grabbed his firearm and left the radio on the dash. Both doors shut silently, the night was so eerily calm you could hear a pin drop.

The chilling early December air greeted you as you stepped out. You started walking towards Winchester Avenue, where Jordan and Margaret had disappeared from sight. Joel was a few metres behind you, covering your back.

Then you heard it before you saw it. You signalled for Joel to stop in his tracks. A quiet sob, a thud. With your back against the wall, you sticked out your head to sweep the entrance to the emergency room. Sasha was on the floor, all bloody, Margaret crouching over her. You couldn’t hear their whispers. As Margaret helped Sasha to her feet, the medic whimpered and hobbled, her knees touching the pavement again.

“Shit”, you cursed, running towards them, Joel on your heels. “What’s happened?”, you questioned, putting your gun away, grabbing Sasha’s left arm to drape it over your shoulders.

Sasha just wept, shaking uncontrollably, so you looked at Margaret for answers.

“Where’s Jordan?”, you asked before she shook her head with pouty lips and mournful eyes.

Fuck, you thought, the weight of a massive stone grounding your stomach.

As Sasha stood with you, Joel clutched his fingers around your left elbow, yanking you away from both women. You lost your grip on Sasha as you stumbled with your own feet, Joel’s hand steadying you to prevent you from falling.

You wanted to shout at him, but you refrained. He had drawn his gun and was pointing it to Sasha’s forehead.

“You’ve been bit”, he sentenced, unruffled, his hand still.

You looked down and then you saw teeth’s marks on Sasha’s forearm. Your eyes jumped to hers, a mixture of fear and sympathy.

Margaret sobbed, her hand flew to Joel’s wrist, trying to push down the gun.

“Joel, please, she’s my best friend, we can’t just―”, before she was able to finish, a commotion caught your attention.

Both you and Joel looked up at the same time, a clicker dragging its feet towards you. In its past life, it had been a teen girl, brunette, curly hair. Had it not been for the fungus growing around her mouth, her decomposed expression and awkward walking, you knew she would have been beautiful.

Then it lunged forward towards you, but Joel was quick enough to shoot it right between its eyes. You gasped, clutching onto him. You had a glimpse at his face ― he seemed to have seen a ghost, but the moment was fleeting, his demeanour composed again.

He turned his gun to Sasha once more. You really thought he was going to execute her there and then.

More clicking sounds, dragged by the wind. You could see movement through the glass doors.

“Are you coming or not? She’s staying though”, Joel repeated, his tone soulless.

There was no time to respond, as a small group of clickers tumbled through the emergency doors, throwing them open and running fast towards all of you, as if they had awakened from their lethargy.

Joel reacted before you did ― he snatched you and pushed you in front of him, urging you to run.

“Run! Run!”, he screamed at you, your legs taking you away as fast as they could, Joel racing behind you towards the car.

You heard the loud shrieks as both women were torn apart. You blinked to keep the tears at bay, and you didn’t look back.

Joel skidded through the mud, his hand grasping the handle on the driver’s side as you jumped inside. He swiftly put the keys in the ignition at the same time the radio went off.

“Abort! Drive! GO! THEY ARE HE―”, you both looked towards West Polk Street, the headlights of the other car blinded you as they turned the corner towards South Damen Avenue.

Three clickers were on the roof of the car, two on the hood. The driver steered the wheel to the left abruptly to get rid of the infected, but lost control of the car quickly ― and then hit a tree. Both Daisy and Adam jumped out of the car, horror folding their faces.

You opened the passenger’s door, standing on the edge of the car. The whole scene was hectic, your heart pounding so hard you feared it was going to explode inside your chest. You waved at them.

“RUN! OVER HERE!”, your screams drowned by the characteristic sounds of the clickers. And then the infected caught up with them, knocking them to the ground. “NO!”, you squealed as their deathly screams filled the air.

You froze in place, in shock. You couldn’t look away ― Daisy’s hand emerged from the mass of bodies she was buried under, her fingernails digging the ground to get away. You caught a glimpse of her imploring eyes, a silent plea asking you to save her.

Bile travelled up your throat, but you swallowed hard.

Joel grabbed the back of your t-shirt to pull you back inside the car and pointed to the crushed car, now on fire, the motor of yours roaring awake. Then you saw them. Dozens of infected coming towards you. Your eyes widened, but you managed to slam the door shut as Joel drove away towards Interstate 290.

His driving was manic, as if the devil himself was following you. He turned the wheel so harshly, so many times as he dodged anything and everything in his path, that you had to hold on to the grab handle.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You surveyed the outside world ― your forehead almost touching the window as you saw herds of clickers in motion. Hundreds of them pouring out of the buildings. You scanned the landscape in terror ― there were so many.

Now you understood why this was no man’s land.

Joel laid his hand on your left thigh, a soundless beg to look at him instead of out the glass. So you did. You gaped as if you were about to say something.

“It’s okay, we’re okay, baby”, he whispered, his eyes never leaving the highway.

You both were okay. But at what cost?

Sasha and her team. Adam and Daisy. Margaret and Jordan. And Luke and Taylor, most probably dead too.

So was the world you lived in. So fucking dead.

But you kept your promise, the paradox forgotten. You were okay.

[cheollipop]

Hello!! sleepovers fuck yeah i love sleepovers~ firstly CONGRATS on 2k 🥳 the idea of sleepovers makes me feel so soft so my submission would be pure soft loveydovey fluff!! (ot8 ateez ensemble/poly! fem reader)

the idea of (f) reader being sick and unwell and all of the boys scramble to make her feel better and comfort you but it’s also utter chaos because they’re all trying to be the best boyfriend taking care of you! at the end of the day you end up comforting them too and you all end on top of eachother all cuddling watching tv and being affectionate (members that dislike skinship just finding comfort next to everyone)

just picturing them all trying to take care of you in their own way- woo trying to make favourite soup, jongho serenading you quietly, san stroking your hair, seonghwa cleaning you up when you’ve been sick?? like the list goes ON and on for them!! but also them interacting with eachother the competitiveness- the protectiveness acting like you’re dying when it’s literally just a flu 😭

so soft for them🥹

~id also SO be down if some nsfw love making etc was sprinkled or suggested like bathing together and taking care of ALL your needs ygm~

will be bundled up in my blankets all cozy to read your work, hope you enjoy writing it i know i’ll enjoy reading it🥰 mwah

2𝙠 𝙎𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩

omg bunnie hello!! you sent me this beautiful ask so now we're on a first-name-basis tyvm (and you get a tag). "my submission would be pure soft loveydovey fluff" you didn't lie!!!! this is so so SO cute omg, and the way I'm coming down with a cold rn too,, the universe practically sat me down and told me to write this or else. ahem. anyway, I won't lie, I was a bit stuck trying to figure out what to write for this one bc the fluff part is so beautifully written as it is;; so you get smut!! and I'm feeling like a little tease, soooo... hehe sorry~ ^^ thank you so much for your kind words!! I really hope you enjoy reading~ mwah <3

pairing: park seonghwa x fem!reader x jung wooyoung

w.c.: 0.7k

tags: smut, fingering (f), praise, some teasing, pet names, soft doms!woohwa, but seonghwa's in charge ^^, and he cares more about your health than what you want ^^

nsfw under cut—minors dni!

Blunt nails scratched at your scalp, shampoo suds slowly making their way down your temple as Seonghwa worked them into your hair. A damp patch spread through the thin pajama bottoms where you’d been leaning back against his thigh, his body propped up at the edge of the porcelain tub. You sank your body further, chin dipping under the warm water with every exhale, a whine on your lips as skilled hands disrupted the bubbles around your crotch.

Kneeling on the tiled floor, Wooyoung worked your cunt under the veil of floral-scented foam, two fingers pumping bathwater into your heated walls while he took in the breathy noises leaving your mouth.

“Something wrong, love?”

Seonghwa’s voice sent a shiver down your spine, walls squeezing around the digits fucking into your g-spot with practiced ease. “Hwa, please.”

“You asked for this, didn't you?” He teased, massaging the spot behind your ears with his thumbs.

“No,” you whimpered, “wanted you to fuck me, please,” you rutted against Wooyoung’s palm, trying to create friction over your clit.

“And he said no,” Wooyoung—head tilted in amusement, his eyes focused on the progressive shifts in your expression—reiterated Seonghwa’s earlier instruction, scoffing at the angry leg kicks creating soapy waves around your immersed figure.

“Darling, you’re sick,” the older man tilted your head upwards to meet your narrowed gaze, leaning down to press a kiss to your heated forehead, lips pausing over your skin before pecking it once more and moving away as he straightened up. “I’ll fuck you nice and full once your fever goes away, how’s that sound?”

An exhaled laugh blew out of Wooyoung’s nose, the effect Seonghwa’s words had on you evident in the tight squeeze around his fingers. You nodded enthusiastically, eyelashes fluttering while he peppered a few more kisses over your temples and nose, only for your attention to be drawn back to the man at your side, head snapping towards him as he began pistoning his fingers into your cunt with restless vigour.

“I’m the one making you feel good, pretty girl, pay attention to me,” Wooyoung cooed, his free hand cupping your face, thumb tenderly caressing the highest point of your cheek while the fingers stuffed within your drenched pussy guided you towards the steep edge of your orgasm.

“Woo, please, ngh- I’m,” your spine arched against the porcelain, the pressure in your lower belly growing hastily and your pussy leaking hot slick into the tepid water.

“Come on, darling, show me how hard you’re gonna come on Youngie’s fingers,” Seonghwa’s honeyed tone reverberated in your ear, delicate hands kneading into your tense shoulders.

Your hips lifted off the tub to meet Wooyoung’s thrusts, his fast-paced rhythm shifting to deliberate glides of his fingertips over your sensitive gland, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your orgasm crashed through you, your body floating off the edge while Wooyoung guided you through it with mumbled praise. Plush lips planting kisses over your damp skin, a warm stream of water washing the floral shampoo out of your hair while you spasmed under the two men’s touch. Your voice—hoarse and broken—echoed between the tiles, persistent fingers languidly stroking your walls as you came down from a mind-numbing high, reaching between your quivering legs to paw at them until they left you stretched out and empty, clenching around nothing.

It took you a few moments to take in your present state, to register the deep breaths in the steamy room as your own, to feel the rough washcloth wiping off the layer of sweat glimmering over your skin, another set of hands kneading the flesh at your hips to ease the trembles shaking your figure. You sighed as you relaxed back into the hard surface behind you, eyes only fluttering open when Seonghwa broke the comfortable silence, lips parted and hand loosely clutching the cloth near your breast, the hard length of his cock throbbing against the back of your head.

“My good girl,” he smiled, eyes brimming with lust as he took in your limp, fucked-out form. “‘Gonna get better quickly, or will I have to fuck you back to health?”

[danisbrainrot]

yellowjackets as taylor swift albums (I'm bored). this became deeper than I meant for it to go OMG. whoops, anyways, enjoy:

1. tai: reputation. oh my god this girl is soooo in love with van, and at the end of the day, that's what reputation is. a love album. yeah it's got a little revenge in it, but overall, it's about being in love with someone who was there for you at your most vulnerable. and who's always been there for tai, adult AND teen timeline? VAN!

2. van: 1989! it's nostalgic, fun, iconic but still has the emotional rawness that flows throughout all of taylor's albums. everyone thinks 1989 is just heaps of fun, but it has this emotional intensity to it that once you look closer to it, you realise how much of a masterpiece it is. also, it just gives me van vibes tbh.

3. jackie: lover. she's so insecure about being in a relationship with who she thinks is the love of her life (shauna) in case she fucks it up (spoiler alert, she does). taylor also wrote this album as a last hurrah, to prove she had more stories to tell, and I think that ties in nicely to jackie's character. her insecurity forces her to try and prove herself to shauna, and show her best friend how much she loves her.

4. shauna: she's a red girlie. taylor's most emotionally raw album (besides ttpd) and she just gives the vibes. this is taylor's first heartbreak album (like how jackie's death was shauna's first heartbreak), and it's so intense that it takes a few listens to understand, but once you do, you realise it's an album about a girl with big heart learning how to recover from the devastation of losing someone she loves deeply.

5. lottie: folklore!! I love my little baby. this album was written in isolation, and you can definitely hear it in some of taylor's lyrics, and I just feel like that's lottie's character. the isolated girl who's held up to a higher standard than everyone else.

6. nat: ttpd. okay, i was tossing up between giving this to nat or travis, but then I remembered the adult timeline and went with nat. when I first heard this album, it reminded me of her purposeless speech. it's also an album where taylor was going through a manic phase, and if that isn't nat, I don't know what is. she's just lost the love of her life, and then she's kidnapped by lottie's cult and promised so many wonderful things, that she believes it—only for it to end in tragedy.

7. misty: she gives off such speak now vibes. she has so much she wants to prove, and she's reeling from being in love with a man much older than her.

8. travis: evermore. he's such a tragic little guy, that the album suits him. I really just think of happiness, marjorie and right where you left me because he's stuck in the past. he literally kills himself (accidentally I know, I know) because he's so trapped in the wilderness despite being free from it. this album has always given me: depressed sad, compared to its sister albume: folklore, which gives me angry sad. and while he's definitely more angry then lottie, he's got this deep sadness in him that echoes evermore.

9. mari: midnights. okay I don't know how to explain it better than this is how I interpret mari. she's the first to throw herself into believing lottie because she's scared and when I think of midnights, I think of how scared taylor was at losing her relationship and joe that she ignores her feelings. and mari ignores her feelings because if she really thinks about it, I don't think she'd be able to handle herself, i.e. being trapped in the woods, eating jackie.

10. javi: taylor swift (debut). just the innocence and naïvety of the album. it's her first album, she wrote and released at 15/16 so there's a lot of childish beliefs and hopes, which I think javi has—but there's still an underlying feeling of heartbreak. he tries to be a kid, but is still traumatised.

11. laura lee: fearless!! this is purely based on the album title. I mean, learning to fly a plane just to save her friends? this album is probably my least favourite, so you're not going to get a lot of analysis, but the few times I've listened to it, I understand it's about having faith things will work out (this might be wrong, but that's what I'm choosing to believe about it). and her faith makes her believe she can do anything, including save her friends. omg I love her so much <333

[my-blind-album]

Hi! I hope you're doing amazing! I saw your requests are open soooo I'm wondering if i can request a Lady Lesso x Fem!Reader? With a prompt where "Lesso gets into a heated argument with someone. Then Lesso begins threatening them so Y/N,picks up Lesso and carries/drag her out of the room before anyone gets hurt" Thank you!!! 😘

hey @anonymous this is for you! xoxo

[And it's funny cause i feel like Y/n would constantly have to drag Lady Lesso all the time cause she'd probably be arguing with someone..75% of every passing day.]

I kinda went off topic but hope it's good :)

Lady Leonora Lesso - Perverts

The week hasn't even gone by yet and already some students have managed to put you in a bad mood. Leonora noticed this when you angrily charged into your shared bedroom fuming with literal rage, strong enough to possibly murder a person. The multiple cusses leaving your mouth were insanely inappropriate but you didn't care and neither did Leonora. She particularly loved this side of you, the one which could reck an entire building to the ground or better three instead of just one.

Setting down her book onto the bedside table and placing her glasses on top of them, Leonora slowly approaches you, even if you were mildly turning each and every part of her on your rage was scary enough to scare the dean of evil herself. "Darling, Love, I'm gonna need you to relax." She says placing her hands out for you to take which you gladly accept. "Now tell me, what happened? Do I need to go for a murder spree or is it just one idiot that needs to be taught a lesson?". Her soft hands delicately rub your back as she embraces you in a supportive hug. "School...f-for...g-good."

Apparently you sprinted your way here to the School for Evil all the way from that of good. "What were you doing at that horrible school?". "Clarissa...a-and Emma," a confused look spreads across Leonora's face. "I'm not sure how I could get rid of Clarissa considering her position as the dean of good and Anemone would be a bit easier but she seems like she knows how to do martial arts," an even more confused face appears on Y/n's face. "What?". "You're right, she does know martial arts doesn't she?". "What? Leonora what are you talking about?" You say pulling away from the hug while looking at your wife with confused eyes and she had the same. "You said Clarissa and Anemone?". "Yeah because I was in a meeting with them this morning before I had a rather unpleasant experience which is why I'm mad." "Oh, then what happened?". Your eyes dilated. You were angry again and this time was worse. Leonora let go of your hands wincing in pain. Your hands were boiling hot meaning you would soon turn on fire, perks of being the daughter of Hades.

"Okay, you're boiling hot, literally and I'm not just talking about you're sexiness. Come on, let's get you to the tub." Leonora carries you throwing you over her shoulder. "Let me go," you shout struggling to get out of Leonora's strong grip. "No." Leonora says writhing in agony as your skin heats up. "F-fuck." Leonora tries to catch her breath after placing you in the bathtub. Using her magic she takes off her coat, vest and shirt and remains in her suit pants and bra trying to cool herself off. Now it was your turn to cool off, she takes off your clothing and places it into a laundry basket in the bathroom and adds cold water into the tub. "Mhm." A moan of relief escapes your lips as the cold water cools you down. "Thank you, Leo." You say resting your head at the end of the bath and putting your hands on the sides. Leonora comes down to your level kneeling on her knees. "Your welcome, Darling, now rest I'll get you out when your body temperature reaches normal okay?" a nod was all you gave her including a soft smile as you closed your eyes. Within a few seconds you were out cool, as in asleep. Leonora places her hand onto your forehead and after a while she decided to get you into some changed clothes and into bed. Shortly after she did that she placed a small kiss onto your lips before putting on a different shirt and vest and leaving the room.

Four hours have passed and it's lunch time. You missed all your lessons for today but you didn't necessarily care, the Nevers don't need to learn how defend themselves from Evers in battle using potions anyway, there's always the next lesson. Looking around you couldn't see Leonora anywhere, she probably went to fetch lunch. Getting up you put your shoes on before making your way to the School for Good for lunch. Approaching the staff room you hear a frantic Clarissa on the other side of the door. What gossip is gonna happen between her and Leonora today? You wondered to yourself before taking a deep breath then exhaling. Opening the door you met with gazes from all the professors including the headmaster himself who was surprisingly present for the first time since the last two months.

Your eyes glance over to Clarissa then to Leonora's seat which was empty. That's odd, You thought to yourself. A cough brings you out of your thoughts and this time your eyes meet that of the headmaster who urges you to take a seat on my chair which was next to Leonora's. Following his instructions you sit down and the professors still had their gazes on you so you flashed them your purple flame that sparked on your hair and they all looked away in fear of getting roasted. "Y/n, have you seen Leonora by any chance?" "Um, no, when I left our quarters she was nowhere to be scene." The headmaster adjusts his glasses before continuing. "Well you see, Clarissa exclaims that one of her students is missing and Leonora is the suspect." You glance at Dovey, who had a worried expression on her face, and a perplexed expression crosses yours.

"Why would Leonora kidnap an Ever student? She doesn't even fancy the School for Good, what would've been her motive to do all this?" You inquire as your fury steadily builds within of you. "I remember how before you left, in the morning, you told me that one of my students had sexualized you and you ended up storming away in utter rage." Clarissa exclaims and you try to read in between the lines for any other information before nodding your head, understanding what she was saying but not fully grasping on her words. "Yeah and what?" Clarissa sighs before continuing. "Y/n, that same student is missing and I have reason to believe that Leonora's behind it." "Leonora couldn't be behind this, I never even told her what happened." You respond defensively in an effort to defend your wife, who was not present to speak for herself. The headmaster started to speak up, "Y/n, when you arrived did Leonora touch you in any way? Like maybe a hug, or on the hand, leg? Anywhere?" "Yes, when I arrived she held my hands." As you come to the realization that Leonora read your mind, your voice falters.

Opening the door to her office, you couldn't spot your redheaded wife. You asked several guards and each of them either told you that they were given a command not to tell you or they didn't know. You had just about given up when you heard a loud sharp scream coming from below. You thought is just the Nevers being Nevers but the scream came again and you realised that it was too high pitched to be a Never's scream. After rushing down the stairs, you arrived at the door and pulled the lever to open it. There she was, with her axe right on the Everboy's neck and devil smirk across her lips.

"Leonora." You called out and her attention turns to you and she has a stunned look on her face. You walk towards her and take the axe out of her arm. "What are you doing here?" Leonora asks you and you scoff. "Me? What are YOU doing? Leonora you could get fired from here, even worse banished by the school board." "You can't expect me to let go off the fact that this snob prince tried to put his hands all over you." "But he didn't since you read my mind you would know that." "Did I? May bad." She says sending a sarcastic smile to you and you respond back with an eye roll. "I'm serious, Leo, I couldn't lost you to prison, or death." Now Leonora's eyes showed a hint of sympathy, it wasn't her intention to hurt you, she wanted to avenge for you. Taking the axe out of your hand she places it on the ground and wraps her arms round you. "I'm sorry, Darling, I didn't want to hurt you, all I wanted was you get revenge for you." You pull away slightly from the hug and place a soft passionate kiss on her lips which she happily responds to. "I know and I appreciate how much you care for me, so could you please let this dickhead go so we can have some fun for the rest of the day?" Leonora laughs at your insult and reluctantly agrees. Personally, if it wasn't for Clarissa you would've let Leonora continue to do whatever she was gonna do, he deserves it anyway.

The sound of chains falling to the ground brings you out of your thoughts and you see the disgusting prince getting up from the chair rubbing his wrists and whining in pain. "Ouch it hurts." Rolling her eyes, Leonora just pushes him forward to leave. "Yeah, yeah go cry about it to your daddy, oh wait, you can't you have daddy issues." The Everboy just runs in tears but not before you trip him with your feet and kick him hard in the stomach. "Oops, my bad." After a while he finally leaves. "You know we're gonna receive an ear full from Clarissa." You say wrapping your arms around your wife's neck, placing a kiss on her lips. "Don't worry I told him earlier that if he says a word, the boogeymen will come after him." You both burst into laughter before cooling down. "Dumb Evers." You say walking out of the room hand in hand with Leonora.

"What is this room anyway?" "The Doom Room." "It's real? All this time I thought it was just a myth." "Well now you know, and maybe one day we could come here and have a good time." You playfully hit her shoulder. "What? This room is not only adequate for punishing students but punishing naughty wives too." "Oh really?" "Mhm." "Will just have to see about that. Closing the door behind you, you both climb about the stairs before reaching Leonora's office and spending the day talking, laughing and reading while drinking some glasses of wine.

[webby-mogai]

Hey this isn't my usual kinda post but I'm feeling like starting shit and scaring anti-endos off my page.

While I'm usually more passive and don't care much for drama the increasing number of anti-endogenic systems in the mogai community is fucking pathetic. You people wanna act like you're SOOOO accepting, but the moment it's something you personally don't understand you shit yourselves. Grow up. Endogenic systems literally didn't do anything to deserve your hate, you're just mad and bitter not every system has the same experiences as you. It's absolutely pathetic. "You need trauma to be a system" no the fuck you don't and any medical professional worth their degree fucking agrees. You're just fucking angry some people have a better experience with plurality than you, or you're so fucking brain washed into this stupid mindset you're unable to think critically. You've made a straw man in your head of the big boogie man that is endogenic systems.

This is all coming from a TRAUMAGENIC SYSTEM, mind you.

Endos are just trying to live their fucking lives and you lot feel the need to exclude them because you don't understand them. You're just as bad as all those trans folks that say MOGAI isn't valid. Your arguments are fucking identical, even. Like REALLY FUCKING THINK ABOUT IT. You guys sound the exact same, just replace the demographic.

Grow up, grow a pair. If this post pisses you off, good. I'm sick of seeing you assholes in this community. Get out or get with it. It's so much easier to love than to hate, and you're all filled to the brim with hatred.

I'm not taking criticism btw if you send hate I'm just gonna laugh at you in dms with my friends, maybe even publicly if it's pathetic enough. I'm not fucking responsible for trying to change peoples minds I just think someone needs to level with you pieces of shit and call you what you are: pathetic and hateful.

This isn't attacking people who are unaligned or neutral, btw. Just those who are hateful and use their hate as an excuse for cruelty and exclusion. We as a community need to strive towards being the best we can and this anti-endo shit does nothing but bring this community down.

[usoppinggg]

(hiiii sorry in advance if this is uhhh hard to understand? im not great at putting it into words lol,,,,)

i saw the post abt re-reading syrup village arc and it made me eager to re-read it myself and like i finished it a few hours ago and. i dont think im ever gonna get over the extremely obvious tones of like. priviledge and how it effects different ppl and how sumtimes it effects how you see other ppl and who your more willing to trust (yes this is in regards to kaya)

BECUASE. AUGH. the slap....... the moment kaya slaps usopp........... after EVERYTHING after he goes to see her day after day and makes her smile and proves again and again all he wants is to see her happy and be her friend and use his lies to weave interesting stories and be remembered. and it doesnt matter because kaya believed kuro (a privileged rich white person like her) over usopp (an under-privileged poc who was widely looked down upon in the community) OUGHHH. OUGHH..... ill never get over it,,,,,,,,,,,,, like i understand she came around in the end BUT THE IMPLICATIONS,,, THE WAY IT ALL GOES DOWN. idk maybe im just insane and projecting but its soooo fuckin. it speaks so much and it makes me just. so sad and angry and i hate her but i love her also (hate that she did that, love her generally lol). anyways i rlly love the syrup village arc it makes me fucking insane and i hope you have an amazing day<333333

Thank you for this because even before that post came on my dash I was thinking about how mad I was that all of Usopp's friends on Syrup were so quick to turn on him!

It's funny though because like, undercover Kuro doesn't even have (his own) privilege. Before his secret came out, Kuro had nothing. He ended up on Syrup with nothing but his fabricated sob story. Any and all privilege he may have had was granted to him by Kaya and her family when they took him in and hired him, and he was able to build his reputation because of that.

His image as a polite, responsible, well-off butler was juxtaposed with Usopp's reputation as a poor, trouble-making orphan. Kuro continued to sew seeds of doubt in Kaya's mind regarding Usopp's bad influence on her, which I think is what ultimately led Kaya to doubt Usopp during that dire moment.

I try to give Kaya the benefit of the doubt when it comes to her betrayal of Usopp because she was young, depressed, and manipulated, but I find it very difficult to do so. We know that Kaya has fond memories of Kuro and they presumably spent a lot of time together as he cared for her. But still, I can't imagine how that relationship could've been more important to her than her relationship with Usopp.

Usopp is her age and (as far as we know) her only friend! He came by day after day to tell her stories to lift her spirits! She was literally worrying herself into sickness, so Usopp's stories prevented her from getting even sicker. She even argued with Kuro when he spoke poorly of Usopp when she wanted him to visit! All of this points to their close friendship, and yet she was so quick to assume the worst of him when Usopp was trying to warn her of Kuro's plan to kill her. She was so angry that she slapped him. It's so unfathomable to me even now, and I remember how upset I was the first time I saw that scene. (She was able to slap Usopp when she thought he lied but was unable to shoot Kuro when her life was in immediate danger. I always found that interesting.)

Ultimately, I know that Kaya initially taking Kuro's side was all for the ~drama~ but as an Usopp stan, I can't help but be upset at her on his behalf. We all know that most of Usopp's "lies" are actually his dreams or are simply stories where he is the main character. He doesn't lie about important things. I think it's safe to assume that Kaya knew this given how long they'd been friends, and yet...........!

I'm sure that having Kaya (and the Veggie Pirates) disbelieve Usopp despite knowing him for so long was set up to contrast the way that Luffy and the others instantly knew what his plan was. But at the surface level, yeah, it just seems like Kaya valued the opinion of her privileged, fair-skinned butler over the words of her poor, dark-skinned friend, and it's so, so upsetting.

You said it well, I love Kaya, but I hate how she treated Usopp in this moment. The Syrup Village arc also makes me Insane so thank you for giving me a chance to ramble about it!

Feel free to hit up my inbox about any other One Piece thoughts, especially when Usopp is involved <3

[ivystoryweaver]

Decadent chapter 14: FINALE

prev || Fic Masterlist || My Masterlist

Summary: An accident in the lab - and Miguel has missed what was right in front of his face (that's you)

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Content: nsfw, 18+ , some angst, unprotected p in v, grinding, scratching, biting, blood consumption, bondage, rough sex, not beta'd

PREVIOUSLY on Decadent...

“That’s why I want you to live here with me.” Seeing your eyes go wide, he squeezed your hands. "You can keep your apartment if you want. I'll even pay for it. But..." His eyes dipped almost shyly as he exhaled in a rush. "I love you. So...move in with me?"

"Of course I will. I love you," you confessed. "But..." Caressing his fingers, you swallowed hard, but held his gaze bravely. "First, I need you to tell me where you go all weekend."

FINALE

Spiderman 2099's unstable molecule fabric suit stretched itself across his defined muscles. His heavy cape unfurled behind him. With a sudden leap, he glided across New York - or at least this universe's version of New York, prepared to make sure this universe's timeline didn't somehow collapse.

"Uhhh, boss?" Lyla chimed, appearing in the air, near his head as he floated through the sky.

"Kinda busy, can't it wait?"

"No. You programmed me to let you know if your girlfriend were to ever be in danger, soooo she’s in danger," she fired back.

Miguel aimed for a low rooftop and came to a tumbling stop.

"Where is she? What's wrong?" Miguel had a timeline to attend to, but if you were in danger...

"There was an explosion in the lab - "

Lyla said nothing more before Miguel was quite literally tearing through the fabric of time to get back to you.

His virtual assistant may have overstated the danger you were in. When he arrived at the lab, he realized there had been a very small explosion. More of a misfire of sorts -

...which wasn't the major issue. The reason Lyla interrupted Miguel's mission soon became clear to him.

This was the part of the lab with the spiders. The explosion had destroyed some of the spiders and freed the rest. They must have scurried away. But you were lying on the floor amidst debris, unconscious, with a huge, angry spider bite on your hand.

You were bit by a radioactive spider.

"It can't be," he whispered, rushing to your side and checking you over frantically. Thankfully, you were breathing, but unconscious.

"Baby, what happened?" He gasped, pulling you into his arms and rocking you gently. Pressing a fierce kiss to your forehead, he murmured against your skin.

"This isn't supposed to happen. I'm Spider-Man here. I'm Spider-Man...how..."

Horrible dread filled Miguel's heart.

If this world already had a Spider-Man, that meant this spider bite wasn't going to turn you into a spider woman. It would most likely either kill you or turn you into a villain.

How could he possibly have missed this? How did he not see this coming?

First things first: he wanted to make sure you were okay. Which one of these spiders bit you? They were all radioactive, so in that regard, you were fucked. But it was nothing venomous...right?

Miguel placed you on a lab table and got to work, analyzing your condition and reaction to the bite, drawing your blood, watching you closely for signs of venom - rashes, difficultly breathing -anything to explain why you were unconscious.

He simultaneously had Lyla pull up everything on you - anything that could explain why you would have been bitten by a radioactive spider and he didn't see it coming, as some sort of canon event. Maybe it was just a freak accident. After all, you worked in a dangerous, experimental lab daily.

But Miguel knew the universe. The multi-verse, even. There were no accidents. Ever.

Your Aunt Jessina practically raised you, at least since your parents died at age 12. Miguel had even met Jess.

"Wait, what the hell?" Miguel gasped. Your Aunt Jess actually adopted you and changed your name. And her name.

As Lyla untangled well-hidden files, she discovered that Jess' name was Jessina May Parker. The sister of a scientist named Richard Parker.

Your last name used to be Parker?

Aunt Jess married a man named Ben, who also died. She took his name and completely abandoned the name Parker. You took Ben's last name as well. It was as if Jess wanted to erase any memory of her brother Richard, as well as the name Parker.

But Jess knew what she was doing. The paper trail was virtually nonexistent. One would have to know what to look for and exactly how to look, to find it. And Miguel simply wasn't looking for any spider-related canon events in this timeline because he was Spider-Man.

As Lyla dug deeper, the connections became obvious.

You were raised by your Aunt (Jessina) May. Your Uncle Ben died. Your parents - the Parkers, died behind a veil of secrecy.

Your friend's name was Gwen.

The guy with a crush on you? Jackson Watson. Mitchell Jackson Watson. He went by 'MJ' Watson as a child.

Your life read like a pretty common spider story. So...you were meant to be a spider. That meant he was the wrong spider in the wrong place. Typical. No wonder his entire existence felt...well, wrong. Until he met you...

Now he just had to wait for you to wake up.

You eyes fluttered weakly, struggling to open. You inhaled sharply - shakily, feeling like your skin was on fire.

"Corazón?" Miguel gasped, gently tracing your jaw with his fingertips. "Hey..."

"W-what happened?" you croaked, your throat parched and your lips dry.

"You were bit by a spider. Scared me to death- how are you feeling?” He gently questioned.

"Everything hurts,” you coughed out, struggling to sit up. "Was it poisonous?"

"Take it easy. Just lie still. Let me take care of you,” he softly admonished. "I’m running some tests but you don't seem to be having an allergic reaction. I don’t think that’s what’s happening here."

You moaned in agony, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. "My head is pounding- my skin hurts, Miguel please...”

“It’s okay, baby - "

“Please take me home,” you whimpered. “I-I don’t feel good.”

Miguel explained to you that he wasn’t quite done with the tests he was running in the lab, not to mention the headache of dealing with the accidental explosion and confidential cleanup. So you endured nearly an hour of waiting on an uncomfortable lab table until Miguel felt satisfied with your test results.

Then he carried you to the car, held you close in the back seat, and took you to his home.

Well...hopefully soon to be your home. Miguel had asked you to move in, but you wanted complete honesty from him first. This was way more than working together, sleeping together, or even being exclusive. Miguel loved you and wanted to start a life with you.

He had asked you for one more weekend and then promised to show you all his secrets first hand. This gave you pause, but he explained it would be easier to show you than to explain it to you.

The Spider Society was meant to be a secret, so Miguel honestly wanted to let a few people there know what was going on - how serious he was about you, and how much he trusted you.

Now, it seemed you would not only learn of the Spider Society as Miguel's girlfriend, but as a spider yourself.

Your transformation into a spider wasn't an easy one, but not atypical of other transitions Miguel had heard about and witnessed. Of course, his personal transition was a different type of lab accident, and he was quite the unique spider.

Still, your whimpers of agony tormented him all night as you clung to him, clenching his t-shirt in your firsts, begging him to hold you, to stay with you.

He groaned as you shifted against his body, pulling yourself on top of him.

"Why does it feel like this?" You cried, you lips brushing his throat. "Please make it stop, Miguel, please."

He must have whispered a hundred soothing Spanish whispers and pet names into your ear, promising you he was there - that you were safe, and this would pass.

As you drifted off into a fitful slumber, he wondered how you would ever forgive him for letting this happen to you - for not seeing it coming.

The next morning, you woke up in his arms, feeling much better. And bizarre. A trip to the bathroom later, and your new life started to make itself known.

You tried to brush your teeth, but accidentally snapped the thing in half. Next, you broke the toilet handle when you went to flush, which, made you flinch in surprise, sending your hand slamming into the counter's edge - taking the corner right off as it smashed to pieces.

"Oh my god!' you shrieked, "Miguel?" you called out, rushing back toward the bedroom, only to collide with his solid chest…

…which somehow sent him stumbling backward. All six foot, nine inches or your massive wall of a boyfriend almost lost his balance after you ran into him.

“Miguel? I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He grasped your arms to calm you down Damn, you were strong. “Let me explain, okay?”

So Miguel info-dumped absolutely everything about the Spider Society, the multi-verse and your spider powers. He even explained that you getting bit was apparently a “canon event” - a life and story similar to so many other spiders.

To say your mind was blown was an understatement. The fact that you had super powers now? Like super strength, amazing reflexes and possibly something called a spider sense, where you could sense danger coming?

Not to mention a lot other people had these same powers too but they were from other worlds.

You started to understand why it took Miguel so long to tell you where he went on weekends. It would have been difficult to grasp if it hadn’t happened to you personally.

You couldn't believe your eyes when Miguel actually took your hand and led you through a portal to another dimension. A psychedelic, seizure-inducing, multicolored portal, which might have been terrifying if it weren't so amazing.

When you got to this so called Spider HQ, you clung to his hand as you passed by several other people in skin tight suits that looked like Miguel's blue one, but more of them were primarily red.

Each person knew Miguel and seemed to defer to him or acknowledge him as the two of you passed by.

Lyla was there as well, chirping away, updating him on all things multiverse.

The biggest surprise came when you got to what appeared to be the heart of the operation, or perhaps Miguel's...office, containing a rather dramatic elevated platform surrounded by several computer screens.

"So this is where you go every weekend?" You asked him, nodding around you.

"Nights too, sometimes. When we're not together." He winked down at you.

You made a face. "Baby, when do you sleep?"

"He never sleeps," a familiar voice resounded behind you. "That's why he's so damn grumpy."

The multiverse got a lot weirder when you turned around and saw your neighbor's lookalike standing there in a black and white spider suit.

"Gwen?"

Seeing your neighbor/friend's doppelgänger was shocking enough, but Miguel knew it was time to head back to your own universe when you discovered, quite by accident, that you were the proud, new owner of organic webbing.

You accidentally shot a long roped web out of your wrist and shrieked in surprise, inadvertently firing off a few more before Miguel could explain to you what was happening. He knew it could be a possibility - some spiders made their webbing in the lab and wore the tech on their wrists - while others, like you, had organic webbing as a part of your altered DNA.

There was really no way to know for sure until it happened. The thought of spiderwebs flying out of your skin freaked you right the hell out, so Miguel took you home.

After explaining things to you and making you some Mexican food, he noticed you hadn't spoken or even looked at him since he poured your first margarita.

"Mi amor?" He gently prompted, reaching for your hand. "Talk to me."

As if simply waiting on an invitation, you dove right in.

"Why didn't you tell me about all this - about the other spiders?" You whispered. "I mean...this is huge."

"I know." His gaze dropped. "I wanted to, but the Spider Society - we don't really...advertise."

"I get that," you nodded understandingly, "But I'm not just your girlfriend. I'm your research partner. Don't you think it's pertinent to our research - all those other spiders? Didn't you think maybe this information could help you?"

"There are no other spiders like me. No one had the accident I had and no one...drinks blood."

"But we don't know - there could have been something," you argued. "A-and the fact that I was working around radioactive spiders every day?"

"Well...you did know about the spiders, to be fair," he reasoned.

"Maybe, but not that I would turn into a spider-person - and that there were other universes with...us out there. And Gwen - there's another Gwen?" You pulled your hand away during your confused and impassioned speech, running your fingers over your wrists where your spiderwebs had shot out.

"And now like - I'm part spider and I am completely freaked out, Miguel, d-do you understand that?"

His scarlet eyes found yours and he nodded. "I think I do. I definitely do."

Your eyed him sympathetically, understanding his meaning. This was the whole point of your research together - the reason you met. Miguel didn't want to be part vampire spider anymore, and he never wanted to need to drink blood again. He'd spent most of his life vexed by his very existence.

"I didn't mean for this to happen to you, mi amor - you have to believe that."

"I know," you sniffled. "But what about me? Are you...friends with another me - somewhere out there? You and me - are we just carbon copies of - "

"No." Miguel's scarlet eyes swirled with uncertainty as his dark eyebrows arched pleadingly. "There is no one else like you. There never could be."

Seeing your hesitation and sensing your distress, he pushed off his barstool where you were seated at the kitchen island. Brushing his knuckles across your cheek, he struggled to find the right words as slivers of fear began to wind around his heart - a dread that somehow, he could lose you. "Corazon..."

"You're sure you haven't met a bunch of other me's?" You softly questioned, blinking up at him.

"Mi vida," he breathed, touching his forehead to yours as he stood between your legs - his hands spreading across your thighs.

With little effort, he lifted you off your barstool and set you on the counter top, easing closer until his body pressed against yours. Pulling your thighs around his waist, he shifted his hips before pressing his waiting mouth to yours.

You hummed against his lips, slipping your fingers around his neck to wind through his dark locks. He tasted you slowly, pushing his hands back up your spread thighs to grip your hips. Thrusting against you temptingly, he licked hotly into your mouth, but it didn't last long.

Touching his forehead to yours, the warmth of his breath enticed you closer, but he shook his head, murmuring your name. Miguel so often spoke through his body. Some of your wildest nights together stemmed from his anger and desperation.

One memory in particular came to mind - one Saturday in your apartment, when he admitted to you that his daughter had passed away. He tried to tell you more about it that day, but instead, he had pulled you against his body and kissed you so tenderly. You had taken him to your bed and that was the first time he was so sweet and deliberate with you.

Whispering his name, you brushed an errant lock of hair from his ruby gaze.

Shaking his head slightly, he inhaled, as if ready to speak, but somehow couldn't...stammering, instead, leaning into your touch. "I can't..."

"What," you murmured, twirling your fingers through the hair behind his ears.

"Lose you," he choked out, his gaze dropping to your lap.

Dragging your fingertips down his jawline, you lifted his face back up to yours. But you didn't answer - instead, sealing your mouth to his once more, pulling him closer still, and squeezing his torso with your thighs.

He responded hungrily, lifting you up to carry you to the nearest flat surface, which was the living room couch - his tongue tangling with yours urgently.

The two of you tumbled down, bodies pressed eagerly together as you rolled all the way down to the floor, grinding together for the friction you so desperately craved. So often, you searched for the connection needed through communication with your bodies.

It happened quickly - with both of you craving the intensity of your shared bond when your bodies joined. With only a few deliberate yanks of clothing off or aside, he pushed his way snugly inside you, the two of you a hopeless tangle of limbs and clothing.

But you wanted him closer stil. "Tear these," you pouted, pulling at your shoved-aside panties...

...but they ripped with the strength of your finger.

Before you could react, he obeyed your command, shredding the other annoying articles of clothing, easing down onto his back as your joined bodies continued a tantric rhythm.

He groaned as you worked your naked body over his cock, your tits bouncing, granting him his favorite view in all the universes he'd ever laid eyes on, or even imagined.

"Even if I met...another version of you somehow...it still wouldn't be you," he panted, running his hands all over your beautiful body.

Miguel had needed reassurance that he wouldn't lose you, but it was you doubting your uniqueness, and for the first time, you understood, even if only in part, why Miguel might feel like a freak or a monster.

A radioactive spider bite had altered your DNA and your body was a mystery to you now. You didn't know your own strength and the whole spiderweb thing really sent you...

But the biggest fear driving the vigorous use of his body beneath you was that he might discover another you somewhere.

"Tell me again," you whined, twisting your body down into his with brutal ferocity. "Tell me I'm the only one."

"F-fuck," he stuttered out - your newfound strength making his huge frame buck like a rag doll.

Wishing he could sit up and hold you while you came - to reassure you that you belonged to him, and that no one else ever could, Miguel instead found himself coming hard and instantly because he could not move - your strength rendering him incapable of lifting off the floor.

"Miguel, please," you gasped, digging your nails so hard into his chest that you drew blood, so close to your release but feeling that he'd already come inside you.

You kept on riding him even as he went soft, expecting his superhuman stamina to have him hard and ready for you soon, but you forgot one small factor:

He had to keep up with you now.

Your frustration and desperation came to a head and you finally stilled your movements, opening your eyes to find bloody streaks scraped into your boyfriend's massive chest.

Before you could even react or worry, Miguel trapped your wrists in his hands. "Está bien, cariño."

You gasped out his name, horrified, still unaware that you were literally pinning him down.

"I'm okay, it's okay," he assured you, pulling at your wrists. "Let me up."

"Oh god," you croaked, finally releasing him and staring at the angry red marks and trickles of blood. "I-I didn't mean to. I didn't even realize."

"Hey..." he caressed your cheek, readjusting as your bodies pulled apart. "Felt so good. I'm okay."

"But you're bleeding," you argued. "Look what I did..." You trailed off as he nodded, understanding, better than anyone, exactly how you were feeling right now. You hurt him - drew blood, surprising and horrifying yourself, only to have him come faster than ever, telling you how good it was.

Okay, so the tables had turned.

Miguel suggested the two of you go upstairs to clean up and get more comfortable, promising to clean up the Mexican feast tomorrow.

You were quiet - perplexed, mostly, but the tiny slivers of fear slipped back into Miguel's mind over what his lack of candor might ultimately mean for your relationship.

"Mi amor," he started again, just the way he had right after dinner. The two of you had showered and changed into pajamas even though it was hardly bedtime.

Gripping you by the arms, he ducked down closer to your height. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for this."

"It's not your fault," you reasoned, resting your palms against his chest. "How could it be?"

He simply shrugged, pulling you close to his chest for a hug. "I promise there's no one else like you," he whispered against your temple. "There are other Parkers, and other spiders, but no one else is like you."

Easing back, he took your face in his hands. "Every single person I've met - other Peters and other Gwens - none of them are exactly alike - they're all unique."

Pressing a soft kiss to your mouth, he rested his forehead against yours. "You can't honestly believe I could love anyone else."

He kissed you again, slotting his mouth against yours as his strong arms wound around your back. Then he took you to his bed and made you believe it.

Six weeks later...

Miguel turned out to be quite the capable coach - helping you understand your powers and practicing using them. He even encouraged the use of your spiderwebs outside the lab, reasoning that you needed to get used to them domestically.

A few pillows lost their stuffing and you shattered a teapot and a margarita glass, but, with practice, you adjusted.

This was an absolute must before working in the lab. Flying spiderwebs did not mix with delicate test tubes and beakers.

Your favorite part of training was when Miguel insisted you use his body for practice - testing your strength, agility and your webs while he taught you how to fight. It took you weeks to unleash your full strength on him. Your kick knocked him across a rooftop.

But when it came right down to it, he actually was bigger and stronger. Not by much. Your advantage came from your more powerful webs and your precognitive spider-sense.

Work had completely changed for the two of you, since you started focusing your time less on a cure for Miguel, and more on the needs of the Spider Society.

Miguel started to feel like maybe being a spider wasn't so bad. He used to feel alone, despite all the other spiders in the society - constantly wracked with guilt over the blood he took from others simply to sustain his life.

Then you came along - brilliant, beautiful and so full of life - challenging him at every turn - in the lab, in the bedroom. You knew what you wanted out of a career and you definitely knew what you wanted from a lover.

What started out as a wild bit of coworkers-with-benefits gave way to a twisted relationship of sorts - he used your body for pleasure and for feeding and -miracle of miracles - you loved it.

Craving the dark things he did to your body - the scratches of his talons, the puncture marks from his fangs, the weakness from blood loss and paralyzation - all while he used your body for his pleasure - it was a mirror to him of how much of a monster he really was.

But you showed him that person deserved love as much as anyone else. Miguel finally accepted your acceptance. He allowed you to love him and heal his heart. He still wasn't comfortable with hurting you, however, and remained determined to find a cure for his condition.

At least until a couple weeks ago.

The two of you were sparring and Miguel was pushing you pretty hard. He was still superior at hand-to-hand combat, simply from years of experience.

Sparring with an absolute tank of a delicious boyfriend like Miguel taught you a lot, but it also made you feral. He usually insisted the two of you calm down and cool off - keeping your training separate from your personal life.

But this particular night, you were having none of it.

Miguel had you pinned on the ground between his thick, gorgeous thighs.

"Ready for a break?" He nonchalantly and almost smugly questioned.

"No way," you huffed, firing webs to bind his ankles together.

You could feel a slightly condescending chuckle rumble through his body, so you fired another web right at his mouth, silencing him.

Your face was right next to his crotch and, as you ordered him to stop fighting you, his cock started getting hard.

Certainly not the first time that happened.

He reached for your hands to try to stop all your spiderweb nonsense, but you stuck his hand to the floor with another web.

He only squeezed his thighs together harder, keeping you trapped.

"Have it your way," you purred, mouthing him through the thin cotton of his joggers.

He mumbled out a protest, through the web covering his mouth, reaching for you with his other hand. While teasing his cock with your lips, you managed to stick his other hand to the floor and start to wiggle free.

Miguel really was stronger than you, but lost his concentration just enough to forget to keep clamping down with his thighs.

You rolled away, laughing victoriously, but knowing he wouldn't stay trapped for long. So you straddled his waist, enjoying your few moments with him bound and silenced, rolling your hips over his length, grinding down temptingly.

"I wonder if I could make you come before you get free," you taunted, firing more webs to trap his entire arms - from shoulders to wrists - to the floor. You used more webbing to secure his legs as well, loosening his ankles just long enough to secure his legs all the way down, spread apart, just like his arms.

He didn't fight you.

Instead, his ruby irises flashed with lust as you pulled your sports bra over your head. He was already shirtless, so it felt incredible when you removed the web silencing him. You laid down, your breasts mashed against his muscular chest, grinding your core against his length as you kissed him hard.

You felt him shift and strain against the webs - he no doubt wanted to run his hands over your skin, but you nipped at his lips, tutting condescendingly.

"Be good for me," you teased, ripping his pants open with no effort. He groaned as you roughly pushed your own pants down and kicked them off, leaving you naked as you draped yourself back over him, rubbing your bare wet cunt up and down his stiff cock.

"Baby, please..." he panted as you undulated - your tits bouncing as you found the friction you sought for your clit, but left him desperate to push his way inside you.

You eased down again, lying on top of him, rolling your hips teasingly as your slid your tongue inside his mouth, purposely dragging it across his sharp fang.

Miguel moaned as the taste of your blood filled his mouth, sucking your tongue, drinking your sweet nectar as you kissed him and teased him endlessly.

You sat back up after a moment, licking your lips clean of blood as your tongue healed itself almost instantly. Bracing yourself with your palms on your boyfriend's huge chest, you locked eyes with him, smirking slightly as you continued rocking your hips just enough to rub your clit pleasurably but to leave him wanting.

"Fuck me," he panted, running his blood-covered tongue over his lips - his muscles straining against your webs.

Biting your lip coyly, you paused the movement of your hips. "Make me." And you continued the drag of your clit over his tip, panting as pleasure sparked up and down your spine.

You wanted his cock inside you as badly as he did, but it was just too fun to see him squirm. Back and forth you went, faster and faster, working yourself close to your release.

"I'm so close," you moaned, concentrating on your own pleasure and loving the flex of Miguel's muscles as he struggled. Soon enough, his warm laser webs, convenient talons and sheer strength freed his arms just enough to knock you off balance.

A bit of sparring ensued - the two of you hard and wet and naked - fighting for control and desperate to fuck.

You attempted to ensnare your boyfriend in your webs again, but he dodged you, rolling away and firing his own, which bound your ankles and made you trip. Before you could hit the ground, however, you ripped your ankles free and rolled to a stop...

...but Miguel was ready, firing his laser webbing to bind your hands. He grabbed you from behind, pushing you down to the floor and pinning you there with all his weight, pushing your bound hands up over your head.

You squirmed but he was pressing down on you with all his might.

"You're going to be still, little spider, while I fuck you."

"Doubt that - " You started, but weren't surprised at all as Miguel's webs covered your mouth. You wriggled against him, but were secretly thrilled that he was using his strength on you. He had shown some hesitancy bringing his powers and his full strength into the bedroom, aside from the way he would regularly drink blood from your tongue when you purposely sliced it on his fang.

Two strong hands gripped your hips, shifting you up just enough for him to thrust his thick cock into your dripping channel. Memories of him bending you over his desk flooded your mind - times when you would cry from how good he would fuck you.

And now, as he pounded into you, with all the power and speed in his beautiful body, you felt pressure but no pain. And he felt release with no guilt.

The webbing across your mouth muffled your screams of ecstasy as he shifted his hips to hit that spot so perfect.

"My beautiful girl," he breathed on the back of your neck. "You were made for me."

His fangs tore into your flesh and he fed - the feeling of his fangs inside your skin made you come instantly - your body convulsing with the wildest, hardest orgasm of your life.

Miguel's paralytic venom could no longer incapacitate you - it merely slowed you down for a minute or two, giving him just enough time to drink his fill, feel your body submit and give out, as he pumped his seed into you.

The two of you collapsed together on the floor, panting and spent. Miguel freed you from his webs, rolled you over to face him and pulled you against the warmth of his chest.

You melted against him, satisfied, accepting his lust-filled kiss.

He pulled back a moment later, amazed as the angry wounds in your throat closed and vanished as your body healed itself.

After two weeks of feeding on your new blood, and dozens of tests to make sure your blood wouldn't somehow hurt him, Miguel put to rest the idea of looking for a cure for his condition.

"I told you - you're perfect just like you are," you whispered one night, lying on top of his chest.

"Maybe I was just waiting on my cure," he murmured back, running his hands down the curve of your bare back. "You fixed me. You healed me."

"You fixed me too. I had no idea what I was missing before super powered sex," you teased him.

He playfully swatted your ass. "We're going to break everything in this house if we keep going like this, corazón."

You smiled to yourself. "I don't know. I think we're going to have to take it easy for a while."

"Why...did I hurt you?"

"No." You pressed a quick kiss right over his heart. "I'm pregnant."

END

Thank you for taking this wild ride with me! It was fun to explore unhinged, blood-drinking Miguel. xoxo - Ivy

Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[justallihere]

This is a play by play of my thoughts while I was reading todays chapter:

Did Xaden relish in stabbing the cadet and stopping him from calling Violet a wh0re because he couldn’t kill the Basgaith cadet for calling her that and attempting to kill her?

MY BABY BOY IS IN DENAL. HE IS LITERALLY IN LOVE. HE WANTS MORE!!!!! HE WANTS MORE!!!! IDIOTS, THEY ARE ALL IDIOTS

OMG, I love the little tidbit about Sgayel and Tairn's courtship. That was like so unexpected but it just adds to the story and the parallels in the dragons and their riders.

Is Xaden internally going feral seeing Violet wear his shirt?

" His fearless fucking wife, who held absolutely no regard for her own safety"  DON’T PANIC EVERYONE, ITS STARTING!!!

I am confident that Sloane and Tessa are 100% behind Queen Violet and are ready to fight to defend her honor

Xadens love languages: Physical touch, acts of service, gift giving.

Violet is truly an unbothered queen and she has other shit to worry about!!!! I LITERALLY LOVE YOUR VERSION OF VIOLET.

“What do you need me to do?” Xaden asked. “Because you can’t live like this. We can’t live like this.” 

“Do you want to get a divorce?” she muttered bitterly. 

“Not particularly.” He sighed

YOUR HONOR, YOUR HONOR!!!!!! The scream I scrumpt when I read this. Violet is literally going to mentally burn out at this rate. 😭😭😭Xaden wants to comfort her SOOOO bad!!!!

I am literally sobbing, god i love them so damn much!!!!!!!

I'm so curious sd to know what Bodhi, Garrick, Imogen in particular, and Brennan's thoughts are on all of this. Are Imogen and Garrick discussing how dumb Xaden is????

“Did Xaden relish stabbing the cadet?” Absolutely. Not just because it reminded him of the last time someone tried to assassinate Violet but also because he is violent and wants everyone who thinks badly about his wife to suffer

Baby boy is in less denial than he was before, but as this is a relative scale I’m not entirely sure how much that says about him

I would read 200k words about Tairn and Sgaeyl’s courtship and mating. I will not be writing it beyond little bits and pieces but I would offer a forehead kiss to anyone who wants to. And yes, I am a firm believer that Violet and Xaden’s relationship mirrors theirs in a lot a ways because dragon and rider are also so similar in this case

“Is Xaden going feral over Violet wearing his shirt?” ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY HE IS. If she would have not taken it off that would have been very cool to him but alas. Here we are

Violet is SO tired. My baby girl. Xaden wants to wrap her in every blanket he owns and hold her and let her sleep for like 3 days straight but she would not allow that

Bodhi, Garrick, and Imogen are standing in a corner going “what the fuck is this idiot doing,” Liam is unsurprised as hell, and Brennan is trying desperately to not have an opinion because he knows Violet is still angry and would not appreciate him poking his nose into whatever the fuck she and Xaden are doing from, like, an interpersonal standpoint

[theajaheira]

the vibes i'm getting from eleven are. i have complicated feelings!

he is so much less emotionally available than ten, right off the bat. you get the sense he is treating the entire situation like an elaborate little joke because he wants to look cool. of course there are moments when he's emotionally affected, but his confidence is bulletproof, whereas i feel like ten's comes from this place of deep and caring desperation -- sort of a "no one else is here so i have to be the person" situation.

except, of course, ten's specials very firmly establish the direction he's going in! his care becomes something that he is frightened by and that makes him just so miserable. he starts feeling like he can accomplish anything, like he's special-er than most, like he has the right to make big and sweeping decisions!!! and i feel like it's soooo interesting to view eleven as a continuation of where ten was going + a product of how ten died. because eleven's era is the era where the doctor is suddenly the Most Special-Est Man In The Universe who everyone is trying to kill, and this is right after ten was starting to evolve into something ugly and angry that wouldn't let go. ten was clinging onto life and so fucking upset that he didn't get to do more, and that's what eleven came from. this guy who wants to see everything and do everything and cares in a more abstract, less immediate way than ten simply because caring immediately right off the bat means that everything hurts Just So Much More.

THAT SAID. we get so little about why he specifically picks amy besides "she was there" and that bugs me! he coulda crash landed in any little girl's garden. nine and ten were both specific and selective in their companions and eleven's decision to take amy along with him feels born mostly out of circumstance, especially since he's the one who does literally all of the world-saving in this episode -- whereas rose, martha, and donna were all absolutely essential to every episode they were in!!! i am seeing the cracks from the get-go. this is not solid and as of right now amy does not feel like a character with interiority outside of "pretty and quippy."