All Mine

❝ 𝒫ull 𝒪ut 𝒢ame ! ❞ ― pjo/hoo boys !

— 💬 a/n: It's 3:12 a.m., I haven't slept and I have thoughts. Like ACTUAL thoughts. DELULU thoughts.

— 𝒫ercy 𝒥ackson ;; his pull out game is so-so but it's not really a game to him. it's a tragedy. he can pull out, he really can—but the second you clench around him and moan his name all breathy and wrecked? gone. he’s staying inside and apologizing for it while still twitching. “fuck, sorry, you just felt too good.” no self-control. man is one tight hug away from giving you triplets.

rating: 4/10

— 𝒥ason 𝒢race ;; textbook perfect. clinically correct. he’s the honor student of nut control. always pulls out with time to spare, wipes you down with a warm towel, kisses your forehead, and asks how you’re feeling. BUT—if you beg him not to? if you whimper a little and say “please”? he folds like a lawn chair.

rating: 9/10 when in control, 2/10 if you say “inside” in a pretty voice

— ℒeo 𝒱aldez ;; boy has ZERO pull out game. he doesn’t even pretend to try. he’ll be balls deep and babbling about how tight and warm you are, then let out a choked moan and cum inside you without warning. immediately follows up with a “fuckfuckfuck I was supposed to pull out” and then blames you for “being too sexy.”

rating: -3/10. negative.

— ℱrank 𝒵hang ;; he pulls out with sweet, apologetic gentleness. murmurs “almost there” and actually means it. doesn’t even thrust through the orgasm—he shudders and then paints your stomach like a gentleman. but the moment you say “it’s okay, baby, I’m on the pill”? oh. he’s finishing inside with a shaky moan and saying “you’re sure? really sure?” as he fills you up.

rating: 8/10 unless you give him permission—then all bets are off

— ℒuke 𝒞astellan ;; can pull out. just doesn’t. he’ll be like “what’s the point?” while holding your hips down and staying in deep, whispering “take it. you can take it.” he moans like it’s a religious experience and you’re lucky if you get a warning before he fills you up and says “mine.”

rating: 1/10. he’s breeding on purpose

Stormy's asks games ! :: I think we can safely say that a new section of "Stormy's asks games" is opening. Basically, You can send me "Games" either nsfw or sfw to the inbox and we can be delulu together 👭

example: this post

Reqs closed, asks games always open.

+ I saw it on Twitter and had to make it a pjo version, I lost the post, but credits for that one <3

First Steps

Pairing: Elliot x Reader

Word Count: 429

Warnings: Sexual Undertones and Discussions of Last Night's Activities,

A/N: Hey guys! I hope you enjoy this fic. I definitely see Elliot as the type to push someone's buttons, but in a cute way like in this.

Love you darlings, xx Lilac.

Our night's previous events definitely weren’t already forgotten. Elliot and I had spent the evening playing truth or dare and smoking a shit ton of weed. Eventually, we started making out and the last thing I remember was him nudging my thighs open and breathy moans leaving the both of us.

He was definitely a little higher than me but he still made me feel so good. Who knew?

The morning after was when I could finally feel my legs again. I thought for a second about how I could get up without waking Elliot. But as I tried to walk over to the bathroom, the sore feeling became all too apparent and he was already up.

“I fucked you that good?” Elliot chuckled, laughing as he watched me try to walk over to the bathroom.

“I can’t fucking walk, Elly,” I groaned, heading back to the warm sheets as I accepted the ache in my core.

He just played with my hair as I watched the grin on his face get even bigger.

“It’s not funny,” I groaned, as I heard him soon explode into laughter, trying to form words as to what was so funny.

“It’s just that you looked like you were just learning to walk back there,” he said, as he continued to giggle.

“You know what, Elliot? Karma’s a bitch,” I deadpanned as I smacked his chest.

“Hey! You know you liked it so much, that’s why you can’t walk right now,” he said, continuing to giggle at my unamused face,

“You know what, Elliot? I can walk,” I said, getting out of bed to walk over to the bathroom.

“Okay, go on then, princess,” he said as he propped himself watching me walk as I tried so hard to prove it to him.

“You know what, fine. You win,” I said, giving up after five steps.

“Nah, you win. Come back here so I can make you feel even better.”

“Hmm,” I hummed, watching the way he licked his lips, “what do you have in mind, Elly?”

“I know how much you love it when I go down on you, let’s give your pussy a bit of a break.”

I laughed at his dirty word and the continuing ache between my legs.

“You’re gonna have to come and pick me up then,” I grinned as I watched him come and pick me into his arms as he laid me back on the bed.

“Ready for my fun?”

“Yes,” I grinned, reaching for his blonde curls as his head lowered down between my thighs.

ok but he’s so lame bc why NOT just the tip

her gorilla grip coochie isn’t gonna vacuum suck his dick all the way in 😭😭😭😭😭

(it might)

but like.... if he did one night? i mean, after you've done everything but that and you're a little extra pleading and... *nsfw content!*

'just the tip.'

'no.'

'c'mon, peter. sex is next so think of this as a... i don't know, a baby step! yeah, this is educational if you think about it, just another way of preparing me for the next thing!'

peter's looking over your face, he always thought it was a joke but you've thought it out. peter sees a lightbulb appear over your head.

'plus i'm all primed, if you know what i mean... i mean how you just ate me out, so i'm all wet and there's less risk of it h-'

'i know what you mean.' you grin, it was peter's turn next anyways, why not throw this into the mix first? 'cool. it's just the tip, it probably won't feel like anything, anyways.'

'thanks, cherry. that's very kind of you.' you wince, 'sorry. obviously i'm gonna feel something but it won't be like i'm being split in half. unless-'

'you're serious.' you actually want him to do it. you furrow your eyebrows, isn't it obvious? 'well, yeah.'

'i always thought you were joking, but no, you're serious.'

you shift around and tug peter's blanket down, you spread wide for him. 'so serious.' he's hesitant, you lightly kick him and lower your voice.

'don't you wanna be in me?' peter's throbbing, he's just a man at heart, he can only be so good and he's been very good up until now, he's allowed this.

'so bad.' you have no idea how long he's been waiting for this. no idea. 'then come here and give me the tip.' you make grabby hands, your heart's drumming hard, you're about to get what you want.

you almost scream out in excitement when he settles between your legs, lifting your hips to have your thighs rest on his. shifting, he's almost where you want him, you're held down with his hand on your tummy, you're gripping around nothing.

'i need a condom.' peter leans over you, you pull his arm down. 'no you don't, it's just the tip.'

'that's not how it works.'

you shake your head, 'i'm on birth control. i have been for years, it helps with my period.' peter's never done anything without a barrier, he's unsure but you know how to talk him into it.

'i just wanna feel you, don't i deserve the real thing?' if it was anyone else peter would be backing out calling for a baby trap, but with you he just falls in and can't think straight.

'you can have anything you want.' you can, peter wants to do nothing but make you happy. he loves when you're happy because you got your way.

'yeah?' your pupils are blown wide, you reach for him, begging for him to come just a little closer. 'wanna give me what i want?' peter's hot, he's about to start sweating and he hasn't done anything but rest your thighs on his and contain himself.

you hold your breath in anticipation. peter grips the headboard with his left hand as support, his right hand goes down, you startle when you feel... something collecting your slick.

his tip brushes over your clit, you bite down on your bottom lip. you can't stop from squeaking when a string of spit falls from peter's mouth, watching him softly jerk himself for a moment before lining up. it's filthy. you want all of him.

'we're not having sex.' you're not sure if peter was setting the rule for you or him, it doesn't matter, you agree with him. 'it's just the tip. that's it.'

peter nods once, 'just the tip.' his hips move, your hand slams down, you're searching for his. 'hold my hand, hold my hand, hold my-' peter has to switch, his left has control and his right has yours.

they're intertwined, it's less scary now. 'okay, i'm ready.' your lower stomach tightens and relaxes, your hips move with his, you feel him press in closer and closer and closer- your hand squeezes his- peter's back to holding the headboard.

you gasp loudly at the pressure, you melt into his sheets and throw your head back. unexpected reaction, you laugh lightly, not because it's funny, because 'it feels so fucking good.'

peter's fingers go white around the wood, he's using every single atom in his body to show restraint. the hand you're not holding his with, pulls at his waist.

'give me more.' peter feels the board bending under his grip, he's better than his, this wasn't how it was supposed to go, this wasn't how you were supposed to lose your virginity.

'it's like you're teasing me.' peter speaks through gritted teeth, all his focus was on not doing what you were asking. 'yeah, honey, that's the problem with just the tip, it's never just the tip.'

'mhm. i feel so full, oh my god.'

peter breaks his headboard.

half is ripped from the other, you go from pleasure to shock, you push at his chest while trying to sit up, pulling away from him entirely. 'oh my god! oh my god, what the fuck!'

dust floats over you, you cover your head, you're trying to figure out what happened. was it a bomb? and earthquake? an exploding manhole?

'peter, what the fuck was that? what happened?'

you. you happened. with the words and the noises and the begging and he couldn't fucking hold back anymore. his headboard paid the price, he can't believe what he just did.

'i don't... i don't know. i was just holding on and...' how is he supposed to explain this one? 'well, obviously it was a defective one! oh my god, are you okay?' you rip your arms away from your head, you sit up and stare at him.

'am i okay?' peter nods fast, his thumbs brush under your eyes, 'you're okay. i'm okay. we're okay.' you rest your hands over his, you stare at the half crumpled wood on the floor. you've held onto it many times, it was sturdy. you're questioning your theory.

'how the hell did that happen? it looks like you fucking ripped it apart!'

he did.

'i have no idea.' you stand up to grab your underwear and a shirt, you make some very clear points. 'okay, you need a new headboard and absolutely no more 'just the tip,' until you get one of quality. imagine if that came down on my head, i would be dead with just the tip in me!'

'i wouldn't let that happen, i'd give you the whole thing so you wouldn't die a virgin.' you pout softly, 'aw. you love me.' peter smiles, his fingers pinch together. 'a little bit.'

you stare at the mess on the floor, little pieces of wood splintered away on the fall down. 'hey- so do you think we're being punished for-'

'no.' 

skin | pope heyward

summary: you like physical contact and you can’t stop touching your boyfriend.

pairing(s): pope heyward x fem!reader, platonic!pogues x fem!reader.

word count: 1.82k

warnings: swearing, alcohol use, lots of touching, fluff, aged up characters, mentions of smut (I think?).

author’s note: pope’s getting the love he deserves. everyone should just love the hell out of him. no outer banks season 2 spoilers! this takes place before the show.

Keep reading

Could you do a wally Clark x reader with the prompts "i've been stupid enough to keep chasing after you." And "Feeling unwanted whenever they see their crush giving their time, attention, and affection to someone else. " I was thinking something where reader gets jealous of Maddie, real angsty but with a happy ending where wally and reader stop being stupid and confess to each other

i don't wanna dance if i'm not dancing with you

Wally Clark x Reader (3.3k)

Warnings: A curse word or two. Mentions of death (kinda unavoidable)

Author's Note: Thank you so much for sending this in. I really hope you like it. This was really fun to write, and I am so incredibly proud of it. I don't think I used any gendered terms for the reader, but if I did someone please let me know and I will relabel this. Happy reading!!

The title comes from "Holy Ground" by Taylor Swift

(divider by saradika-graphics)

Note: My work is not to be posted anywhere else on any other platforms.

MASTERLIST

It really shouldn't bother you so much, seeing Wally, seeing everyone except for Rhonda, really, fawning all over Maddie. It's normal to be excited and curious when there's a new ghost. You're curious, too. You want to know what happened to her, how she got here. There hasn't been a new ghost in a really long time, you kinda thought there may never be another one. 

But Maddie isn't like every other ghost at Split River. She doesn't know how she got here. She doesn't remember how she died. And that makes everything even curiouser.

You feel for the girl, you really do. Accepting that you're dead is hard enough when you know exactly how it happened. The only mystery you should be solving in your afterlife is how to move on, not how you got here in the first place.

Maddie Nears is an unprecendented event. Of course she's piqued everyone's interest. It's just that she's piqued Wally's interest and you can't help but feel like it's for an entirely different reason.

You've been stuck in this purgatory for two decades, after some shithead all-star senior was so excited to take his teammates for a ride in his brand new pickup that he didn't bother to check his rearview before backing out of his parking spot. 

When you got here you weren't too different from Maddie. You had no interest in being a part of anything, you didn't want to sit in Mr. Martin's little support group and talk about your feelings about being dead. You didn't want to write your obituary or accept what happened to you. You wanted to wander the halls, keep tabs on your friends to see if they were okay. You wanted to still be alive. Not that experience of Split River had been much better when you had a pulse, but at least you were breathing.

It was weeks before you started to come around to the whole being a ghost thing. To the reality that you were never going back. That one day your friends would walk out those doors for good and you'd never see them again unless they decided to show their faces at a class reunion somewhere down the line.

You went through your own grieving process, got to the point of acceptance, and that's when Wally Clark made himself known as something more than just another ghost in a folding chair for group. 

He'd been the only one of the ghosts that you recognized when you got there. There was still a photo of him in the school's trophy case. He was still a celebrated part of the school's history. A tragedy still commemorated. Unlike the other ghosts that the school tried to make everyone forget about. Somehow, he was still larger than life. He could be best friends with anyone in what felt like the blink of an eye. And he figured that yeah, being stuck here kinda sucks, but why not make the best of it?

So you did. You got on board with his philosophy. You did field day and helped with decorations for the homecoming game. You sat at the front of the bleachers and watched Wally's yearly go at reliving his glory days. You helped make the most of the yearly class reunions. 

Without you even realizing, you and Wally kind of became joined at the hip. Anywhere you went, he was usually there too and vice versa. Everyone noticed, you know they noticed. Charley was more subtle about it than Rhonda, but they noticed. And they made sure you knew it.

The funny thing about being trapped for an eternity is that eventually you lose all sense of urgency. Nothing feels that pressing anymore. You have all the time in the world, you can wait. You thought you had a lot more time to figure out what to do with your crush on Wally. You couldn't have anticipated Maddie or Wally clearly being into her. 

You feel you've been handling it pretty well, all things considered. You barely even flinched when Rhonda made the comment about Wally having a crush on Maddie after you all found out about Simon. Wally's reaction to that comment didn't do anything to dispute Rhonda's claim, and that made your heart break just a little bit more.

So you left, followed Maddie's lead and got the hell out of there. And after that you kept your distance. Stayed out of your and Wally's local haunts, tried to avoid him at every turn. Hid out in the auditorium since he barely ever goes in there because Mina intimidates him. You skipped out on movie night and gave yourself a few days to got your head on straight. 

If Wally likes Maddie then you're going to do your best to be happy for him because that's what friends do. Turns out that's a lot easier said than done. 

You come out of hiding just in time for homecoming set up. It's one of your favorite parts of the year and you don't want to miss it. You usually do a lot of the helping because you know how important this is to Wally. Everyone else is kind of just humoring him, but you really want it to be great for him. After all, there aren't many things to look forward to in this place.

You thought maybe they would've waited for you before they started decorating. But, really, why would they? There are so many things to do and so little time. It's nothing personal. And logically you know that, but it still stings to see Wally and Maddie painting the banner together. Because every other year it's been you in her place. 

Charley and Rhonda notice you first. There's some kind of snarky remark, one-hundred percent intended to get Wally's attention, on the tip of Rhonda's tongue, but you shake your head, practically begging her not to, before she can even say it. For once, she listens.

You don't want to be noticed just because of Rhonda. It feels like a silly thing to feel so strongly about, but you do. You've been feeling like you're second best for what feels like months, but hasn't been anywhere close to that long. And you just want to feel like you matter half as much to Wally as he matters to you. 

He doesn't notice you until Maddie leaves to chase after her mom. He drops his paintbrush and a smile takes over his lips at the sight of you. But it doesn't feel good, not like it used to.

"Hey." He says, quickly getting up and trying to swipe some of the paint off his face. He takes one step in your direction and something inside of you panics. You thought you were ready, you really did. But now he's a few feet away and you realize that you're not even close to ready. So you do the only logical thing, even if it is a slightly embarrassing and patheic thing, and you run away.

You make it into the hallway and you know it's only a headstart. He's taller than you and there's no way he's just going to let you have this. He's not going to let this go when you've pretty obviously been avoiding him. 

You hear his footsteps enter the hallway a few seconds later. You don't stop, but you do slow down to a fast walk. You're not really sure where you're heading to, you have nowhere in mind, you just want to get away from him.

"Hey." He calls after you, his voice still kind and curious. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Where'd you go?"

Because you're feeling a little hurt, and a lot petty, you bite back with, "Clearly you haven't been looking hard enough."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asks, a bitter edge finally working its way into his voice. 

"Nothing, Wally." You say, shaking your head. "It doesn't mean anything."

The sound of Wally's sneakers hitting the linoleum comes to an abrupt stop, but you don't. You keep heading for the stairwell doors.

"Okay, seriously, what's going on with you?"

"Just drop it, Wally."

"No." He says it with such force that it makes you stop. "You've been avoiding everyone. Rhonda, Charley, me. We've been best friends for twenty years, you think I don't know when something's going on with you?"

"You just think you know everything, don't you?" You snap, finally turning to look at him.

"About you? Yeah, I do." There's a cocky sort of confidence to the way he says it that makes your blood boil. Because you know that he's probably right. It's been a long time. Every single day spent together for twenty years, what could he possibly not know about you after all that time?

In some ways, you're pretty sure he knows you bette than you know yourself. That doesn't feel as good as it used to, either.

"Yeah, well, maybe you don't know as much as you think you do." You think getting punched in the stomach would've hurt less than seeing the expression on his face. It's like you just shattered something priceless. And no matter how you might try, those pieces are never going to fit back together.

This isn't the first time you've pulled something like this. Said something you know you'll regret just to get Wally to back off for a bit. It's usually, scratch that, it's always when there's something you don't want to confront. It hasn't always had to do with Wally. It happened for pretty much the entirety of your senior year. You'd accepted that you were dead by then, it'd been over a year, but it was hard to watch your friends go through so many rites of passage. It hurt to see them all preparing to move on when you were stuck and you always would be.

You wanted to implode. To sabotage what little you had. So you pushed people away so they wouldn't be in the blast zone during demolition. You were protecting them, protecting Wally. And you're still doing it. Even if he doesn't understand, even if he doesn't see it that way right now. Even if he never does.

"I know you do this sometimes." He says, trying a different tactic and aiming for understanding instead of accusation. Like that might be enough to get you to just come clean. "You get in your head about something and you get scared. You kick us out of your life before we can give up on you and run."

He's walking towards you now, and every cell in your body wants to run away. You hate the way the air seems have to shifted. A few minutes ago you felt like you had control over this, but right now it doesn't seem like it. It's in his hands now, and you don't know what to do that.

"But," He says your name just as he gets close enough to touch, his hand reaching out for your arm, "I'm not running anywhere."

"You are, though." You say, almost without thinking, and quickly pull your arm out of his reach. "You're running to something and it's not me."

Wally, to his credit, looks genuinely dumbfounded by that. "I have no idea what that means."

"Don't be dense, Wally, it's not a good look on you." 

You feel like you're making a mess of this. Whatever this is. You don't know the right thing to say. You don't know how to be honest in the right way. You feel like you're ruining everything before you've even really started.

"I'm sorry." You say. "I know I'm being kind of an asshole. I, just, I'm trying to be happy for you, and I am, apparently, really bad at it."

If you were listening, you would've heard Wally ask, "Happy about what?," but you're far too wrapped up in your head to hear it.

"Because you seem really happy lately. Happier than I've seen you in a long time. And that's great, really, it is. I want you to be happy. I just need to get over myself because nothing's ever gonna happen."

Something flashes in Wally's expression. You're not sure if it's shock or maybe guilt, but whatever it is, you know you can't stand it.

"I mean, it's been twenty years. If something was gonna happen, it would've happened by now. And every time I thought something would happen, it didn't. And I've been stupid enough to keep chasing after you because I still thought that maybe something would happen someday. But it won't. And I need to get that through my head."

It was like you hyperventilated through that. Like there wasn't any time to stop and take a proper breath, not that you even need to breathe anymore, because you needed to say all of that. It needed to be out there, and there wasn't time for anything to get in its way.

Right now you kind of wish you could have that feeling back. That sense of urgency, of a timer running down. Because now it feels like time has stopped moving, like you're holding your breath. Because Wally hasn't moved. His expression hasn't shifted an inch and he hasn't said a word. 

You immediately get it in your head that you've made a fool out of yourself. That this connection between the two of you is strictly a friend thing and nothing more, and he's trying to find the right way to let you down easy. You have no interest in sticking around for that. 

Without wasting another second, you turn on your heel and take off towards the staircase doors once more. You hear Wally call your name, finally finding his voice as he begs for you to just wait. But you're not turning around. Not this time.

Okay, so, maybe skipping the homecoming game was a shitty thing to do. You intended to still go. To pull yourself out of wallowing in a darkened corner of the auditorium and find your way to the bleachers. You got halfway up the aisle before you decided you just couldn't do it.

You can't see him right now. You don't want to have to watch as he fumbles for the right way to tell you that he just doesn't see you that way. As he tries his best to not make things awkward between you two for the rest of eternity. 

So you sit this year out. You bunker down in a front row seat and try to block out stray noise from the field. You try to forget that it's homecoming at all.

You go to the field the next night, when everyone should be in the gym at the dance. You want some peace and quiet and a good view of the stars. You get a little more than you bargained for.

You hear footsteps coming up the stairway. Metal clinks beneath each step, you don't bother to look in the direction of the sound. You're hoping it's a maintenance team or one of the coaches, but you know better than that.

The footsteps stop right next to you, you watch from your peripheral as Wally sits down beside you.

"Figured you'd be at the dance." You say, still looking ahead at the field down below. He's certainly dressed for the dance. You've seen the suit before, he takes homecoming very seriously, but it is always nice to get a break from his sweatsuit.

"I was on my way." He says, fiddling with the box in his hand. "But it just didn't feel right."

You nod your head. The last thing you want to do is add to the conversation and risk putting your foot in your mouth even further.

"I've been thinking about what you said yesterday." He starts. "It's kind of all I've been thinking about, actually."

Here it comes. You brace yourself prematurely, preparing for whatever variation of 'we can still be friends' is about to come out of his mouth.

"I think our wires got crossed somewhere. I mean, I thought I was kind of painfully obvious."

You turn your head at that, you can't help it. There are a million ways you thought this could go, but this isn't one of them.

"I talked to Rhonda and Charley, and they pointed out that you've been acting so weird because you think I like Maddie." He says, watching you with a slightly amused expression. "Which was really interesting because Rhonda's been teasing me for decades about my crush on you."

You don't know what to say. You're pretty sure you see a hint of nerves creep into his expression at your hesitation.

"How, uh," You clear your throat, "For how long?"

"Pretty much since the day I met you."

You nod, looking back out towards the field for a moment. For some reason you feel like you can't even begin to process that while looking at him.

"I, uh, I didn't know that." You say, looking back towards him but quickly looking away once more. 

"Yeah, I figured." You roll your eyes, turning your head to look at him. Your stare holds for a second before the two of you start laughing. It's a small thing, short but incredibly fond.

It dies off quickly, and nothing feels funny anymore. Not with the way he's looking at you. He slides in a bit closer on the bench and leans towards you. You tilt your head up slightly to meet him in the middle.

You know it's been a long time coming, but if this is the kind of kiss twenty years can get you, you think it's well worth it. That time doesn't feel so wasted anymore. Because even if you weren't together, it was all leading to this moment. And this feels pretty perfect, you're not sure you would've wanted it any other way. If you would've been ready for it at any other time.

You pull back after a few seconds, but you don't stray very far. Your forehead presses against his as you grin into the space between you.

You let yourself sit in the quiet for a moment, just enjoying what you have. You don't want to be the one to burst the bubble first, to be the one who throws you both back into reality. Not when this feels like such a dream.

"So, do you wanna go to the dance with me?"

You laugh at that, you can't help it. Everything about this really is so high school. It's a scene straight out of a teen movie. But you're not mad at it. You don't think you ever will be.

"Yeah, I'd love to."

Wally takes your hand and leads you towards the steps, but stops before you even get back on solid ground.

"I made this for you." He says, handing over the box he'd been holding this entire time.

You open the lid and stare down at the corsage. It's mostly paper, but that doesn't make it any less beautiful. Besides, your eyes are more drawn to the 57 right in the middle.

"57." You say, smiling up at him. "Your football number."

"Yeah, it was a tradition when I was in school." He watches as you stare at it for a few seconds longer, clearly getting the wrong idea and jumping to play it off. "Do you hate it? Because you don't have to wear it if you don't want to."

"It's perfect." You say as you slide it on to your wrist. You brush your thumb over one of the petals before you lean up and press a kiss to his cheek. "Come on." You take his hand and lead him back to the school.

Homecoming might just be your new favorite time of year, too.

15+ Mods You Need for Cozy & Realistic Gameplay By Ashley Plays

Tweaks & Fixes.

No Bad Microwave Buffs

Steady Sit & Seat Any Sim

Less or No Food Spoiling

Break No More

Gameplay Mods.

Functional Wall Phone

Greetings

Tabletop Pumpkin Carving Mat

Brand New Bedsheets

Clean House & Ask to Clean House

Food Delivery Mods.

Delivery Services

Food Shop Delivery

Zoomers Delivery Plus

Romance Mods.

Call Anytime

Road to Romance

Carry and Kiss

More Kisses

Pillow Talk

Bed Cuddle

TAKE YOUR PICK.

wednesday addams x fem!vampire!reader

summary: a werewolf attack leaves you in need of aid, though you find yourself aided in more than just your wounds.

warnings: smut (18+) — slight oral (r receiving), fingering, strap-on referred to as “cock” at one point, slight face-slapping, teasing, dirty talk, virgin!r, withheld orgasm. -> mentions of blood, wounds, werewolf attack, medical equipment, mentions of kidnapping, scarring, and dom!w + sub!r.

word amount: 6900+

a/n: yes you read that right, 6900+ words. i guess i beat you, didn’t i, my ⭐️ anon 😉.

“Our successor greets us with torture by this grouping.” Her words were dull, and as you turned to face her, you were met with her eyes boring into yours. You cocked your head to the side, easily bypassing a tree that would’ve hit anyone else. Your instincts were stressed by your venture into the woods with the murderous woman you labeled your enemy accompanying you.

Your skin itched. Badly. Though you would rather burn in the flames she created than take action for relief, you never dared to let the shorter girl win at her former pleas to have her partner switch, labeling it as having to not deal with your pollen allergy, but everyone knew of your rivalry.

It was no secret after all. You couldn’t count the number of times she tried to assist in your early death, ranging from simple pop-up attacks that your raging instincts guided you with to kidnapping you into the Nightshades library and torturing you—or more so, trying her best to—while reading latin incantations from a book that still scarred your mind to this day.

“You don’t have to tell me.” With your head shifted into it’s former state, staring straight ahead, you expected Wednesday to mirror your action. She hadn’t.

Your eyes darted all around the forest, searching for insects, animals, humans, or anything of the above that would pose a potential life-threat. Unlike Wednesday, you allowed yourself to feel fear because you actually cared for your life.  

You and Wednesday were similar, which was the root of your rivalry. She eyed you as a copycat, but you had always been who you were since the day you were born, and nobody could ever change you. You thrived in academics and sports, taking part in three education-related after school clubs as well as fencing, track, and a modernized human sport known as “soccer” to Americans during the summer.

You easily got more praise for your contribution to the school’s image, while Wednesday held the slimy silver medal praising her for being in second place, and her mind raged at the remembrance of it every time. She wanted to be number one above all else, but she could never bypass you. Hell, you even bypassed Bianca Barclay, forming a small rivalry with her when you first arrived at the academy.

“Would you like me to send you a photographed Polaroid of myself with my signature on it, or shall you continue to stare at me and soon trip over a rock?” Wednesday’s eyes furrowed at the end of the sentence, unable to hold back a yelp when she inevitably did fall over a grounded rock and faceplant on the floor.

You halted your movement, turning your head to the side to catch a glimpse of Wednesday rolling herself on her back, a hand over her knee from a wound forming due to her ignorant choice to wear shorts. “We have thirty minutes remaining to collect all we need for our botanical project. I’d suggest you get off the floor.” 

Before she could even comprehend what you said, she found herself looking up into your eyes as you towered over her. Once more, you cocked your head to the side, allowing a sly grin to form on your face at the sight of blood dousing her hand from the open wound. “And you tell me I’m the clumsy one?”

“You are.” She shot back immediately, her eyes narrowing at your facial expression of humor. You found humor in her; you always have. It was a key part of your romantic attraction to her, though that aspect had always been locked away as a secret, and your humor lied in her inability to keep up with you.

Whether Wednesday wanted to admit it or not, she had found her challenger. Someone who was undeniably better than her, someone who forced her to work harder to be the one at the top, though she knew secretly she’d always be trapped in second place.

You were better than her, and it annoyed her more than anything in the world. That’s why the discovery of her own attraction toward you scared her—the girl who dared not feel emotion. She blamed it on your well-behaved confidence and that stupid grin you flashed her from day to day. 

A grin she wanted to kiss off, she thought once, and she contemplated throwing herself off the balcony in her dorm room when she allowed that sentence to linger in her mind.

You laughed genuinely, your grin growing wider at the sight of Wednesday stumbling to get up, her face crinkling only so slightly at the pain that coursed through the entirety of her leg.

“You’re unfit.” A huff came from her, head flicking up to meet your gaze, eyes lingering on your standstill grin—your pink-lipped mouth—for a second deemed too long before she lunged forward and pushed you aside.

The force of her thrust caused you to stumble back and fall on a pile of leaves, blowing and coughing out a crisp leaf that found it’s home inside your mouth. At the force of her thrust toward you, Wednesday found herself collapsed once more on the floor, her body not correctly stabilized from her injury.

“So, not only are you clumsy, but you’re also an idiot.” You sat yourself upright, hands laid down on the floor behind your body to stabilize yourself, all the while watching the conflict in Wednesday’s eyes over whether she should shoot back or keep quiet.

She kept quiet, eliciting a small, almost unnoticeable groan that Wednesday herself didn’t catch at first. You heard it, though, your grin finding it’s way back onto your face as you practically jumped up, brushing yourself off with a flick of your wrists to your neutral- colored clothing.

You furrowed your eyebrows to see Wednesday still sprawled on the floor, expecting her to have risen up by now, even if a limp tagged along. “The big, challenging girl who fought off the reincarnation of Joseph Crackstone years ago can’t get up because of a wound on her knee.”

You spoke in disbelief, and Wednesday turned her head over to you with might. “Don’t you ever mock my accomplishments.”

“Well, we can’t even accomplish the task of finishing our botanical sciences project if you don’t take your small ass up and off the floor.” You bit back.

Fumed with rage and annoyance due to her growing short temper, Wednesday lunged up at you with all the strength she had in her body. The next second, you found your hands wrapped around her waist as you held her upright from falling again, the girl collapsing into your embrace with a snake-like hiss emitting from her.

Another groan came from her, not even bothering to hide it this time, too preoccupied with the futile stinging of her wound and the warming position she found herself in with you. “Alright, back on the floor.”

Her back met the homing place that was the floor once more, shooting daggers at your inexistent attempt to lay her down carefully, seeing as you dropped her onto the floor without care. Her hand found it’s way back to her knee, coating the skin in blood once more, and you sighed. “Move your hand.”

“No.”

“Since when did you become so stubborn?” She raised her eyebrows at you. “Actually, that’s a dumb question, but I’m not going to ask you again. Addams,” your tone became firm, seriousness rising up amidst your former face of humor, “move your hand.”

Her teeth clenched, jawline protruding out, and her eyes were in their usual wide state, as if she were thinking, but her mind was blank. You found impatience creeping up on you, not daring to alert your eyes to her dark red, bloodied hand from her gushing wound.

With a twitch of your eye, your hand shot forward and clamped on Wednesday’s wrist, pulling it away from her wound with force, and she let out a small whimper that she immediately tried to cover with a cough. Your eyes darted up at her for only a second, having heard it, before looking back down at her wound, which was open and wide.

“I will take you to the Infirmary, and then come back and collect all we need for our project.” You said your plan out loud, your eyes darting back and forth between Wednesday’s open wound and the pathway from which you and the girl had just come. “I am fine. Besides, you would only get all the wrong things we need, seeing as how foolish you are.”

“Foolish is what you claim me to be, yet you’re the one consistently in second place.” Without warning, you sank an arm under her bent knees and another under her back, picking her up in bridal style, to which her eyes drastically widened. You felt her tense under you, muscles contracting, and you groaned. 

“Oh, relax. Being tense will only cause your wound to bleed more, and before I know it, I’ll be carrying your dead weight.”

“Put me down this instant.” Wednesday fought, trying to wiggle herself out of your grasp as you started to walk back to the school grounds, leaving your grip on her to tighten. “No. And don’t presume that I care about your wellbeing either, because I don’t.”

She huffed, her leg jerking up when a low branch made contact with her wound. “Then why not allow me to continue with you?”

“If you haven’t noticed, we’re past the forest barriers that Nevermore set.” When she turned her head in response to your signal to the right, she noticed the wooden line fences that were more intended to serve as a signal for students to turn around than as a means of keeping them out.

“Throats get slit in this neck of the woods,” you continued, mindlessly drifting your eyes all over the forest in caution of any inhumane species. “I’d rather not have a Jason Voorhees copycat lunatic trying to slaughter us, and I can’t go far because you’re disabled.”

“It’d be your own death’s fault for trying to save me.” Her deadpanning words made you want to drop her and let her find her own way back to the academy, but you just let out an annoyed breath while gripping onto her thighs tighter. “Forgive me for actually having a beating heart, Addams.”

“You’re not forgiven, (Y/L/N).”

Soon enough, you found yourself back in the forest, with Wednesday’s presence long gone. You were kneeling down, collecting dirt into a small jar that you had sprayed with pesticides to clear it of any lingering bugs. You hadn’t noticed how the time flew past, the sun fading into the moon, and you took a moment to enjoy the stars, hands settled on your dirt-covered knees.

A sound rang through the forested area, causing you to snap your head in the direction of the noise. It was muffled, but it sounded too closely like the howls of the werewolves you’ve grown to make friends with, and that was enough for you to shoot up instantly from your kneeling position. With a sharp breath, you looked up at the moon, now taking on the shape of a full moon, and you gagged in growing fear.

You’re fine, right? They get locked in the Lupen cages; there’s no way one of them could’ve escaped theirs. Your mind raced for explanations as you crouched down to pick up all that you'd collected, ranging from dirt to plants, before taking steady steps in the direction of the academy.

You took precautionary halts so as not to make major noise, cringing in fear at the sound of a leaf loudly crunching under your foot, and you could hear the howls once more, closer this time. 

You took another five steps before you could hear the thudding stomps of a figure inching closer to you with every second, and you thanked nothing else but your heightened senses as you dropped all of what you held and booked it. 

You dodged tree logs and branches left and right, hands fumbling with your satchel to tear it off your body to release the weight it was holding, and your body shook at the thudding sounds ringing in your ears, inching closer and closer-

Until you woke up, spread out on the floor, and your hands dug around the surface of the floor to help you realize that you were still in the woods. Your body still shook, this time more violently as you gasped in pain, stings shooting all over your body and causing your muscles to tighten.

“Fuck!” You groaned out, clenching your stomach where it hurt the most to feel a liquid coating your skin of the same texture that dripped your hands with Wednesday’s blood hours earlier. Your eyes drooped, sullenly coming to the firm realization that you were bleeding out with a liquid you could not even view properly, the night still too dark.

You blamed it all on a werewolf not properly being contained, but if that was the case, why didn’t they kill you instead of merely injuring you? The thought of the beast not being a werewolf flooded out of your mind quicker than it came in. You could see the outline of large claw slits scarring the skin of your stomach, and you yelled out the most mind-scarring shriek as you forced yourself up.

You moaned out, “Oh,” in pain as you sat yourself on a log, scanning the dark forest for any signs of life, human or not, to which there were none, and you sighed in relief. You took off your jacket first before peeling the shredded, blood-stained white shirt off your body, leaving you with just your bra and an exposed, large wound.

Your eyes closed in despair, feeling the pain dull ever so slightly in your relaxing state. You bent over, to your body’s anguish, to grab your bag with a small first aid kit tucked into it. All the items within the mini-kit were dunked out on the log space beside you, and you hurriedly grabbed multiple anti-septic wipes and shredded open the packaging before pressing them onto your skin.

Fangs bared, eyes darkening at the severe pain, you dug them into your bottom lip and swished the wipes over your wounds before letting out a loud yell of agony. You threw the wipes to the floor when they were all left coated with a dark red, grabbing the bandage roll, and with all of your muscles tightening at the pressure, wrapping your stomach with the bandage that immediately turned red before sealing it with tape.

The aftermath was almost pleasurable; the pain was still there but lessened due to the lack of blood flowing out of you. Managing to stumble up, you discarded your bag on the floor before taking a step forward, your body hunching over immediately from the inability to stand upright, and you carried on in the form of a hunchback.

What Wednesday least expected on an early Saturday morning, 3:30 a.m. to be exact, was the sound of her doorknob snapping off from the door itself. Her eyes perked up, sensing danger, and she immediately dug under her pillow to grab the knife she stored there, pointing it forward with the sharp tip ready to plunge itself into whoever dared to intrude into her and Enid’s dorm.

She had only been released from the hospital a few hours prior, so it seemed as though her knee pain had subsided, but when she put her foot on the ground, it suddenly returned. She ignored the discomfort and advanced toward the opening door, ready to strike.

“Wed-” You threw the door open, stopping immediately when the tip of her knife bore into your throat, one step away from slicing into your carotid artery. Even in the harsh darkness, Wednesday could see the fear and agony in your eyes, the way you were breathing heavily and clutching your stomach, and the skin that your bloodied jacket had now covered.

In the dim light of her bedside lamp, she could see your black jacket with a huge damp spot covering it, clamped over by bloodied hands. Her eyes met yours, and you gulped. “I didn’t know who else to come to.”

Wordlessly, she stepped to the side, inviting you in, which you limped into, and she closed the door. Her hand met your shoulder, an odd warmth coating your body despite her cold figure, and she aided you to the bathroom, choosing to disregard the blood trail you were leaving behind.

A sigh left your mouth as you collapsed on the closed-lidded toilet, leaning all your weight on the material. Wednesday pulled out a medical kit from under the sink, one much bigger than the one you had previously used, and slammed it on the countertop. “So much for not trying to wake up Enid.”

“Do you want me to help you or not? Beside, if you even took a second glance around the room, you’d notice Enid is not here, but in a Lupen cage in form.” She spoke in hushed whispers, and you shut up immediately, shrinking under her gaze. You were better than her, yes, but that didn’t mean you didn’t get scared of her from time to time.

“Take off your jacket.” She said simply, still prepping rounds of wipes with anti-septic liquids on them for your bloodied wound, as the wipes you used earlier did not have much of an effect considering the size of them. Wearily, you zipped down your jacket, peeling it off of you with a grunt or two before throwing it away at the base of the bathtub. You laid yourself back, eyes burning into the side of Wednesday’s face, anticipating her moves.

After she had finished prepping the wipes, she grabbed a sewing kit from under the counter, and you gulped at the largely-sized needles that she pulled out along with them. “All I really needed was for you to clean it, Addams. I’m a vampire; I can self-heal.”

“This is merely a precautionary measure to not leave putrid-looking scars.” She placed the items needed beside you, removing her own jacket, and you noticed how she was still in what she considered “casualwear”, seemingly not changing out of her clothes before drifting off to sleep. “Odd coming from the person who has left me with multiple scars, and why didn’t you change?”

“What?”

Wednesday turned, giving you a full visual of her in a button-up shirt and vest, black slacks tucked in and still belted; sleeping couldn’t have been comfortable for her with a belt digging into her hip. “You’re still in your clothes.” You pointed it out, and she looked down at her choice of fashion before letting out a small huff and advancing toward you, taking up position to the right of you.

“I awaited your presence. I told you before that I wanted to get a start on the project so I would not have to do much with class dealing with you and your miserable antics of getting items confused. Not only do you show up empty-handed in the dead of night, but you are also scarred through your inability to defend yourself.”

She badmouthed you, all the while untangling her sewing needles with harsh movements, but you only focused on one aspect of her words. “You fell asleep waiting for me?”

At once, Wednesday halted her movements, giving you a dead look before turning around and grabbing the large anti-septic wipes, swiftly pushing them into your wounded stomach. You let out a long, loud gasp, groaning at the pain and taking hold of Wednesday’s wrist, trying to push her arm back but to no avail. “Don’t get cocky.”

Your head flew back in agony, your hand still clasped around her wrist with a bruising grip. “I wasn’t! I was asking!”

Wednesday glided the wipes along your scars, to your dismay, until there were little to no signs of blood yet, all the while mindlessly running her eyes over the scars on your body that she created.

It was the only way she could get her mind off your exposed torso and how your muscles gallantly flexed from the pain, unwillingly showing themselves off to her.

Your eyes were squinting, still a bit sore from the antiseptics, but when you noticed that Wednesday had not made any other moves, you let them go from your iron grip. Your gaze landed on her stance, lost in thought. “What?”

"I'm in the process of comprehending an attempt to stitch you together while you remain seated, while I, on the other hand, am standing." Her eyes glanced all around the bathroom, sighing contently as she tried to determine a possible way to play surgeon in a comfortable manner.

“Well, I’m not lying on the floor. Your bed?” You inquired, and Wednesday shook her head, her mind discarded by that thought. “I would like to go to sleep tonight in a bloodless bed.”

“Um,” you gulped. The first real situation droning through your head was one anybody wouldn’t dare share with Wednesday. It's a good thing you weren’t like anybody else. “Sit on me.”

Her head snapped to meet your eyes, yours innocently boring into hers, and she squinted. “What?”

“Sit on my lap. When I lean back, you’ll be able to stitch me up or... whatever it is that you plan on doing without breaking your spine.”

You could see the conflict in her eyes, and she took it into consideration, to your surprise. With a pinch to the bridge of her nose and a long, elated sigh, as a means of balance, she placed her hands on each of your shoulders before swinging her left leg over your body and sitting down on your firmly closed legs. 

“Tell nobody about this, or more of these scars,” she said, pinching down on a drawn out scar that sat just right under your bra, “will litter your skin.” You gave her a hasty nod, eager to put your mind elsewhere while your sworn enemy found a seat on your lap.

Without a word of warning, she dug the needle into your skin, causing you to let out an embarrassingly loud yelp of pain. Your hands flew to her shoulders as a matter of instinct, and you half-expected her to shrug them off, but she prioritized her sewing techniques instead.

The further she got into sewing the deep claw marks, the tighter your hands gripped her shoulders. You’d be surprised if Wednesday woke up bruise-free, as you could almost feel your knuckles turning white.

Wednesday found... amusement? The way your eyes closed at her stinging touch, the way your hands buried themselves into her shoulders, and how your thigh muscles tightened under her ass with every swift movement. She loved seeing you defenseless and submissive to her more than anything, finding profit in the means of mocking you later on if you tried to boast about your betterness.

When she had finally finished her stitching, she found herself still lingering on your lap, her movements awfully slow, even for her, to grab a couple large medical bandages and place them over her work. 

“Stay here.” Her voice was low while she slid off your lap, turning to leave the bathroom before returning a minute later with a baggy jacket in her hands. Your eyebrows furrowed as she laid the fabric on your lap, turning to wash her hands of any remaining blood.

You had a little trouble donning the jacket, which was made of Wednesday's fashion choice's baggy material but looked a little more fitted on you because of your lean frame. Your wounds, formerly the only thing clouding your mind, were long gone. You focused on the seriousness of your enemy’s actions, and the oddly warm jacket filled with her natural scent that was now clinging to your body.

“Why?”

“What?”

“When I came here, I fully expected you to push me away.” You leaned your body up on the toilet, hands running through your disheveled hair, and Wednesday directed her attention toward you. “But you didn’t, for some odd reason, and actually helped me—hell, you even sat on me—when you’ve been nothing but the cause of my terror ever since I’ve arrived at this academy.”

It was all nothing but the truth. Two years have passed since you made your flaunting arrival at Nevermore, head held high with nothing else on your mind other than the determination to be the best student the academy had ever seen, and so you accomplished it. Two years had passed since you crossed paths with the deadly Wednesday Addams, her mind still fresh from her praiseful battle with the former overtaker of Jericho.

Two years passed since you beat Wednesday’s boat in the Poe Cup; the Black Cats determined to win their second trophy in a row, and she swore you as her enemy that day when her eyes laid upon your smirking frame with the golden cup in your hand, sending her a wink of confidence that she mentally fumed at.

Two years had passed since Wednesday Addams made the dreadful discovery that, after all, her black, unbeating heart could feel love but that her taste was awful if she found herself attracted to her enemy. Now she found herself in the middle of her last year at Nevermore, freshly 19, and still rummaging in a cat-dog chase game with you.

Two years had passed since she found herself focused on nothing but her enemy, who was in front of her now, sitting on the toilet seat in her bathroom, all patched up, and looking at her with curiosity. “Are you going to continue to stare at me or answer my question?”

“I’m not required to reply to any of your inquiries.” Swiftly, she made her exit out of the bathroom, leaving you to stumble up on your feet and follow behind her like a lost pup. Your body felt awfully tired, though your mind was wide awake and racing with multiple thoughts at once, overloading and ready to explode any second.

“Add-”

“I’ve patched you up,” She moved to close the door to her closet, and in a rut of refusal to make eye contact with you, solemnly afraid that she’d instantly jump your bones- what? “So you may leave now.”

“I’m not leaving until you’ll answer my ‘inquiry’ on why you were nice, at least in my books, to me. You’re avoiding the question.”

You could see the clench in Wednesday’s jaw as she made her way over to her desk, tidying up the workplace in an attempt to distract herself from the conversation that lingered. “I’m unsure as to what you’re saying.”

“Addams-”

“Leave before I do something I’ll regret, (Y/L/N).” She snapped, finally meeting your gaze with wide eyes, and you furrowed your eyebrows. “Since when have you ever regretted something that included me? Did you not tie me to a tree on a full moon and bait me to the werewolves last year?”

Her eyes closed in annoyance. “That’s not what I mean.” And as she rubbed her face, you could almost feel the mixture of stress and uncertainty in her stance, almost as if she were holding back from something.

“Then what do you mean? I’ve known you for two years, and you’ve never failed to reply to me with a full sentence, whether it’s answering my question or barking out a snarky remark. Tell me what’s changed in tha-”

Your eyes were opening and closing rapidly in stress, causing you to not register Wednesday’s frame hurriedly marking toward you until you felt a body collapse into you and a smooth substance on your lips.

Huh?!

Your eyes shot open and wide. To confirm your suspicions, Wednesday’s arms were thrown over your shoulder while her body leaned into yours, and her lips smashed against yours almost desperately.

That’s what she presumed to regret. 

But it was something you longed for, unbeknownst to her, and you made it known when your hands found their way to her cheeks, pulling her in deeper. You could feel her lips tremble slightly in shock, unprepared for you to be pulling her closer instead of pushing her away.

Wednesday’s legs grew a mind of their own, taking steps forward and causing you to step back until the backs of your knees met her bed, and she tore her lips away from you for a breather. You took the separation as an opportunity to sit yourself down on her bed, all while your eyes never left hers in the process, and the smaller girl hurriedly found her former position on your lap.

“The moon is fading. Enid could come back any minute now.” You spoke between kisses, shivering at Wednesday’s cold touch on your warm skin, her hands slithering underneath the jacket you wore to rub up and down your back. “Then she’ll leave again, because she’s not going to enjoy what she’ll see.”

Your body visibly shivered at her words, or maybe it was just her fingers dancing along your spine, but either way, you found yourself completely engulfed in her and just her. The claw marks, the time, the physical confession—all of it was gone from your mind as Wednesday mindlessly pushed herself even farther into you.

She took a push too close, her body pressing up against your wound, causing you to groan and bite down on her bottom lip, fangs bared from the pain. Your lips never separated, instead pushing farther into them at the feeling and taste of Wednesday’s blood filling your mouths from her punctures, only spurring the two of you further.

“Lay down.” You obeyed immediately, finding nothing more hot in the moment than the husk in the smaller girl's voice, and manuevered from under her plushy thighs on top of you to lay comfortably on her bed. You were engulfed in her natural scent once more—the same scent you had grown accustomed to for over two years now, the scent that followed you everywhere you went.

You adored it, just as you adored her behind your hardening gaze most days.

Her eyes were narrowed, and you would have thought she was tired any other day, but you knew her look was one of need and want. Lust, to put it short, and you wanted nothing more than to fulfill her need, even if it meant submitting yourself to her in a situation you'd never thought you’d willingly put yourself in.

Just as she had earlier, she slid off your lap with a lingering touch on your hips. “Stay here.” 

And as quickly as she left, she returned, though this time with an item in her hand, and you knew exactly what it was. Your eyes widened, and your mouth drew open. Already?

“Yes, already.” Did you say that out loud? “You’d find me pathetic if you knew how long I have deferred using this. To use it on you.” Her eyes were filled with a dark, unmanageable lust that swam through her veins, and you could only imagine the scenarios that swarmed through your head. This wasn’t the Wednesday you knew, but it was one you anticipated figuring out.

“But I can’t just use this on you immediately, no.” A smug grin came across her lips—a sight that you, or really anybody else, rarely ever saw, and it was one you wanted to see more of. “No, I have to prep you, don’t I?”

“Prep me?” You asked, genuine curiosity lacing your voice, and her grin grew wider. “I’ll show you.”

Wednesday positioned herself back on your lap, putting the erotic object on her nightstand, within reach for later use, before pulling you into another kiss. It was bruising, and the kiss was ten times more harsh than before, but you would never complain about her being pressed up against you.

While you found yourself entrapped in her lips, her hands slithered down your body and toward your pants, grabbing the buckle of your belt and undoing it at a steady pace. That’s when it dawned on you—she was going to prep you for an object that withheld some... girth.

Your muscles tensed at the thought, and more so at the feeling of Wednesday pulling down your black jeans with ease, discarding your shoes in the process of leaving your bottom half in just your underwear. “Wednesday…”

She was simple. “Relax.” 

On the down low, she knew that this was your first time engaging with somebody sexually, never failing to notice your soft rejections of the girls and guys that tried to woo you on and failed miserably. It was an aspect she enjoyed even more now, and she wanted nothing more than to rub in the faces of all you rejected that they couldn’t get you to agree to a date, but yet she had you writhing underneath her, moaning her name.

Your breathing grew heavier as the seconds went by, hitching when Wednesday moved your underwear to the side with a slow itch of her hands, and you wanted nothing more than to grab her by the head and bury her in your heat. The lack of restraint you were feeling was lethal and ultimately surprising for a girl who rarely ever even masturbated.

“Such a possessing view.” She murmured in a low tone, her eyes dancing all around your core, and your cheeks flushed at her staring. Her eyes locked with yours, her mind racing at the sight of your eyes narrowed and staring down at her with silent pleads, and those pleads she fulfilled when her tongue darted out to take a swipe at your folds.

You whimpered in a tone around an octave higher than your usual voice, and your eyes widened at the sound that unwillingly left your mouth. It seemed to spur Wednesday on, allowing her to dart her tongue out once more and flick it over your clit, the nub that she wanted nothing more than to swell up with her mouth.

You let out another whimper—louder and needier this time around. “And sensitive. I can put that to use.” She dove her head farther into your heat, her lips wrapping around your clit and taking a harsh suck at the nub. Your thighs shut around her head, eyes never leaving one another, while she feverishly sucked your clit, needing to hear more of the high-pitched whines that left your mouth.

She pulled away soon after, to your dismay that you showed through your pleading whines, to allow a bead of spit to drip out of her mouth and onto your entrance, before taking her finger and rubbing her spit around the area. Your hips instinctively bucked up at the sensation, feeling yourself clench around nothing, and it made Wednesday want to elicit a laugh.

“The way I’m touching you now is a major privilege alone.” Her finger sank into your entrance, and she bit down lightly at the plushness of your thighs when she felt your velvety walls tighten around her. “I adore watching you like this underneath me; you make me want to fuck you braindead.”

She sank her finger into you until her knuckle bared against your heat, curling the bony stature inside of you and eliciting a light moan out of you. You already found yourself on edge from her husky words alone, and the curl of her finger inside of you didn’t help you from almost cumming embarrassingly fast.

“Already close? What a shame; I wanted to have fun toying with you.” Her mouth against her core made you moan from the vibrations, hands flying to grip her head menacingly and push her farther into you, almost crying out for the whole hall to hear when she slipped a second finger into you.

Her fingers picked up pace, thrusting in and out of you with force while the squelching sounds of your slick covering your walls made Wednesday feel a pit of need start to boil in her stomach, one that she desired to fulfill.

The two-on-two action on your core made you clench impossibly tight on Wednesday’s fingers, the ravenhead finding difficulty in her repeated movements. “Want to cum, yeah?”

You nodded profusely, your face growing red from your need for release and the way she released her lips from your clit with a pop. A small grin formed on her face when she pulled out of you, relishing in your whines of despair.

Eyes closed, heavy breathing—you were too blissed out, despite not achieving an orgasm from her underlying teasing, to notice Wednesday sliding off you, strapping the former item in her hand to her core. Her eyes never left your face as she strapped the item on, feeling more than fired up to make you scratch down her back with pitiful whines leaving your mouth.

And so, that’s what she achieved, eyes closing from the burning pains of your nails digging deep into her shoulders down to the middle of her back. Her own mind felt foggy watching the way her silicone became drenched in your arousal, the strap pumping in and out of you with ease, and the way you moaned straight into her ear—god, she regretted never taking your submissive state for profit more early.

Your thighs clenched around her hips when she bottomed into you, settled on her knees, and bent over slightly to curl the strap inside of you, hitting an unfamiliar spongy spot that had you sinfully whining with a hand clenched on Wednesday’s head. “If the entirety of humanity could merely glimpse you in your current state, they would swiftly recognize your rare moment of submissiveness,” her lips dove down, meeting your ear, “all submissive just for me.”

Her movements grew hard, her hands gripping your skin with a bruising force while her hips drove into you with no relent, finding a need for her own release. The so-called “devil” found herself groaning heavy breaths into your ear, all the while slipping a soft moan or two in that she couldn’t hold. The feeling of you finally beneath her, pleading and scratching at her for release, felt ethereal; all of her senses were on cloud nine, and it ignited a burrowed-down spark.

One of Wednesday’s hands removed from your skin, leaving behind darkened marks that would worsen with time to connect with your cheek, the slap making you roll your eyes back at how dirty it felt. “No connected nerves, and I can still feel you pulsating on me; you’re driving me crazy with it.” 

Your moans were muffled at the feeling of the ravenhead’s fingers shoving deep into your mouth, bypassing your uvula, causing a gag to ensue. Your lips wrapped around the digits, absentmindedly biting on them when the pit in your stomach started to burn like wildfire, making you tighten around the raven’s strap and force her to slow her movements, though still managing a speedy pace. 

“Don’t cum.”

The words you wished never left her mouth made you whine around her fingers; your body was too sensitive from your lack of sexual activity and masturbation over the years, making it almost impossible to fight your orgasm off. Her fingers briefly exited your mouth, only to slap your cheek once more before returning to their original location. “Just for a bit.”

The hold-off was tortuous; the muscles in your body tightened incredulously while your mouth pathetically sucked on Wednesday’s fingers in a pathetic attempt to tear your mind away from your orgasm. It didn’t work. 

The overloading, burning sensation in your stomach was almost uncomfortable; the fire burned longer than it intended to while you made putrid eye contact with the roof, Wednesday’s head snug to the side of yours while she drew herself closer to her own orgasm. The words that made  you sigh in relief, your body shaking after seconds of torture, finally came past the girl’s lips, and you adored them.

“Cum for me, la mia dolce metà.”

You obeyed immediately, allowing your muscles to untighten, and Wednesday’s fingers left your mouth, allowing you to spew out a large moan that, without a doubt, woke the entire hall up. Your hands dug into her shoulders, feeling her shudder over you from her own orgasm, though the only thing that left her mouth was heavy pants.

Alas, she pulled out of you after seconds of relishing in one another’s embrace, making you feel empty compared to just minutes ago. The tip of Wednesday’s cock directed to your swollen clit from her previous oral actions, pushing down with enough pressure to make your toes curl and a breathy sigh leave your mouth.

Wednesday had pulled herself up by now, and it was only then that you noticed the girl taking a mental screenshot of your body, more specifically your core and the way your cum leaked out of you at a snail's pace. She licked her lips at the sight, her eyes flickering up to meet yours, and you gulped.

“La mia dolce metà,” she whispered, hands running down your body and to your hips, “I’m not done with you just yet.” The edges of her lips tugged ever so slightly when she dipped her head down to meet your core, leaving you to moan with delight as your hand found it’s way back to her hair.

serving up suds!

parings: patrick zweig x fem!reader / art donaldson x tashi duncan

word count: 3.9k

summary: you and the rest of the girls on the tennis team need to figure out a way to earn money for new uniforms. your boyfriend suggests the best idea.

contains: SMUT 18+ with lots of cute boyfriend patrick plot, fluff, only contains art and tashi as side characters (sorry), suggestive language between art and tashi, oral (m receiving), inaccurate numbers probs, if you think anything else should be added, please let me know!

note: wrote this simply because i love and miss pookie patrick zweig so enjoy… i planned to post i choose you but wanted to post this instead! also, not edited – will be doing so shortly.

You stood in front of Coach Williams, arms crossed and brow furrowed, your frustration barely masked. “We don’t even have proper uniforms,” you said, voice tight. “They just told us to wear red tank tops and the shortest white shorts we could find. It’s ridiculous. No one takes us seriously.”

It had been a minor irritation at first, something you could almost shrug off as a small injustice. But when you found out that the boys' team, including your boyfriend Patrick, had crisp, matching uniforms—with collars and the school logo stitched on the chest—your irritation curdled into anger. They looked like a team. They looked respectable. And you? You and the other five girls on the team looked like a mismatched afterthought.

A few of you had approached Coach Williams, hoping she’d understand, hoping she’d do something. You told her how embarrassing it was to stand on the court, mismatched and disheveled, while the boys walked by in their pristine gear. She’d just sighed and said the school didn’t have the funds. “Those boys raised the money themselves,” she added, almost proud. “If you girls want uniforms that badly, you’ll have to do the same.”

You groaned. Right, like it was that simple. You had done the math in your head—the cost would be at least a thousand dollars to get anything decent, something that would make you all look polished and cohesive. You wanted sharp collars, the school name embroidered in neat white stitching over your hearts, maybe even matching skirts. But there were only six of you, and $200 each was a lot to ask from college girls already juggling tuition, textbooks, meals, and a list of other expenses that never seemed to end.

The thought gnawed at you for days, and finally, you did something you never would’ve considered before. You went to Patrick. The two of you were sprawled out on the campus quad, the grass prickling your skin, the sun warm on your back. Patrick was fiddling with a Rubik's Cube he’d picked up from god knows where, twisting it clumsily, his focus entirely absorbed. You were trying to study, your math textbook open in front of you, but the thought of those damn uniforms kept distracting you. You sighed, louder than usual, trying to get his attention. He didn’t look up.

Another sigh, this one practically a groan. Patrick smirked, eyes still fixed on the colored squares in his hands. “Something on your mind?” he asked, voice teasing, as if he was enjoying your distress.

“Actually, yeah,” you said, sitting up and crossing your legs. “The girls’ tennis team needs uniforms.” He finally glanced up, confusion flickering in his eyes. “And I was wondering…” you trailed off, giving him a mischievous grin before reaching out to tickle his side. He jerked away, laughing, and caught your wrist. “...if you could, you know, maybe donate a little to help out.”

“You’re cute,” he said, kissing your cheek. “But I’m broke. Spent my allowance for the month already.”

Your head slumped against his chest, and you whined, letting the sound drag out, like a child who didn’t want to go to bed. “C’mon, Patrick. We need this.”

He chuckled, but you could sense his patience thinning. “Why don’t you do a fundraiser or something?” he suggested. “I don’t know, a bake sale?”

It was a simple idea, but it sparked something. You sat up straight, eyes bright with sudden inspiration. “A car wash!” you said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “We could do a car wash! Who wouldn’t want to donate to a group of girls in bikinis?”

Patrick’s smile faded. “Wait, I meant like selling cookies or something, not—”

But you were already on your feet, packing your things, a plan forming in your mind. Oh you’ll be selling cookies all right. “Thanks, babe! I’ll call you later,” you said, barely looking back as you headed off to find the other girls.

Patrick’s voice trailed after you, a mix of amusement and resignation. “Great. This is going to end well, I’m sure.” But you didn’t care. For the first time in days, you felt a thrill of hope. If it took a little shamelessness to raise the money, so be it. At least the girls’ team would finally have the chance to be seen.

You stood outside Art Donaldson’s dorm room, tapping your foot impatiently, half-wishing you didn’t have to do this. You were almost certain Tashi was hooking up with him. Everyone on the courts could sense the weird tension between them, the way they eyed each other during practice. It wasn’t admiration for his technique, that was for sure. Art was talented, sure, but he played like a baby deer—deft, but awkwardly loose, stumbling into his own brilliance.

Your knuckles rapped softly against the door, and when it finally creaked open, you caught sight of Art’s glassy eyes and his half-buttoned shirt. You had to stifle a laugh. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, and not because he was taking a nap. “Uh, is Tashi around?” you asked, already guessing the answer. Art glanced over his shoulder, almost as if he was checking to see if she was still there.

“Yeah, but she’s busy,” he said, with a casual shrug that didn’t quite hide his irritation.

“I’m sure,” you replied, tilting your head with a knowing grin. You leaned past him, raising your voice. “Tashi, come out here! I’ve got an idea!” Art winced, his expression morphing into a tight-lipped smile, the kind you give when someone’s overstaying their welcome. “She’ll be out in a minute,” he muttered, stepping back to let you linger in the doorway.

You could hear the faint sounds of shuffling before Tashi appeared, her hair tousled and her expression caught somewhere between glee and annoyance. “What are you doing here?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“Patrick gave me the best idea,” you said, ignoring the way she rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. She didn’t even try to hide her skepticism—those words didn’t belong in the same sentence, and she knew it.

“No, really,” you insisted, giving her a playful shove. “We should do a fundraiser!”

Tashi’s face softened slightly, but her arms remained crossed, a single brow arching. “A fundraiser?”

“Yes! Think about it—tight bikinis, soapy cars, a bunch of frat boys with too much cash to spare. We’d make bank!” You bounced on your toes, grinning, your excitement spilling out uncontrollably.

She scoffed, but you caught the flicker of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Maybe she was amused, or maybe it was just the sheer absurdity of the situation. “I’m not selling my body to a bunch of frat boys,” she said, shaking her head firmly.

“You’re literally in there with Art Donaldson,” you shot back, your shoulders slumping with exasperation.

Tashi’s eyes narrowed, and she folded her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “So, what’s that supposed to mean?”

You let out an awkward laugh, waving your hands. “Oh, nothing. Just making an observation.” You could see her jaw tense, but you pressed on, undeterred. “Anyway, I’m telling the other girls. We’re doing this, with or without you.” You winked, trying to keep things light, but Tashi’s expression was unreadable as she watched you turn and leave.

A week later, you found yourself in your dorm room, sorting through an array of colorful bikini tops. The whole plan felt like a gamble, but you were determined to make it work. You wanted it to be fun, at least, if you were going to be out there scrubbing cars for spare change. Patrick was sprawled on the edge of your bed, watching with a bemused expression. “You’re seriously going through with this?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

“You suggested it!” you argued, as you adjusted the lettering on a handmade sign with your glitter gel pens.

“I suggested you bake cookies and sell them on campus,” he corrected, waving his hand as if to swat away the absurdity of your plan. “This is not what I meant.”

“We’re just washing cars,” you said, shaking your head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And besides, it’s for a good cause.” You added a few more swirls and hearts to the sign, mockingly repeating his earlier words in a high-pitched voice before tossing a pink towel at him.

Patrick caught the towel and laughed, shaking his head. “You’re something else.”

Grabbing your keys and the finished signs, you turned to him, flashing a grin. “Walk me over there,” you said, already halfway out the door.

He groaned, dragging himself to his feet. “I better get a free car wash out of this,” he muttered, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. The two of you headed down the hall, and as you passed by, you could almost imagine the scene—the sun beating down, water glistening, and a line of cars full of guys willing to fork over their cash just to see a group of girls make a splash. Maybe it was shameless, but you were desperate, and desperate times called for bold, glittery, bikini-clad measures.

The sun was barely up, but the day was already heating up as you and a few of the girls set up the buckets of sudsy water, sponges bobbing in the foam, and wrangled with the nearest hose. Patrick stood nearby, scanning the growing crowd like a bouncer at a club, his eyes narrowing at any guy who dared stare a little too long when you bent over to dip your sponge. He was protective like that, and maybe just a bit possessive, but you couldn’t deny it felt good having someone in your corner, even if he looked ready to body check anyone who ogled you.

You were just about to yell something smart at him when Tashi strolled up, the sound of her flip-flops soft on the concrete, and every head turned as she made her entrance. She was all long, tanned legs, glistening in the sunlight, a tiny bikini peeking out from under her daisy dukes, and she moved with a sort of effortless grace that made you want to both envy and applaud her. You let out a sharp whistle, catcalling her as she approached, unable to resist. She rolled her eyes.

“Careful, those eyes are gonna get stuck back there one day,” you said with a small smile on your lips, and you could tell she was enjoying the attention.

“You look so hot!” you squealed, bouncing on your toes. Tashi flicked her hair over her shoulder, pretending to be exasperated, but she knew she was killing it, and so did everyone else.

Hours passed, the sun climbing higher, scorching the asphalt, and the music thumped from the speakers you’d set up, loud enough to echo down the block. You and the girls took turns yelling at passersby, daring them to get their cars washed, and you couldn’t believe how fast the line grew. It felt like every guy within a five mile radius had suddenly remembered he needed a wash, and they queued up, engines idling, windows down, some leaning out just to get a better look.

Your bodies were practically spilling out of your clothes, skin glistening, slick with soap and sweat. You pressed up against car windows, sponges swirling over the glass, your laughter and chatter floating above the music. “Thank you!” you sang out, flashing bright smiles as you took crumpled bills from hands reaching out of car windows, a parade of faces you didn’t even recognize. You skipped over to where Patrick was standing, collecting the money, and tossed the latest stack of bills into the box he was holding.

The pink, glittery box which you wrote ‘Stick something in me!’ on. It was heavier than you’d expected; you were actually making bank.

Before you could turn back to the cars, Patrick caught your wrist and pulled you close, his hand warm and firm. He cupped your cheeks between his fingers, smushing them slightly, and before you could even register the movement, he kissed you hard, right there in front of everyone. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t soft. It was a claim, a brand, like he was marking his territory for all to see.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low, but loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. He wanted to remind you.

You blushed, caught off guard, but then a grin spread across your face. “I’m yours,” you repeated, just as firmly, before pulling him down and planting another kiss on his lips, making sure the message was clear. As you pulled back, you saw a few guys in line avert their eyes, and you laughed to yourself, a mix of pride and relief swelling in your chest. You had Patrick, you had the girls, and if things kept going this well, you’d have those uniforms too.

"Six-fifty… seven-fifty," Patrick counted, his voice low and steady, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in soft pinks and purples. You were sprawled out across the lawn, grass tickling your bare arms, and you watched him with a warm, tired smile, the kind of smile you give when everything feels just right for once. It had been a long, sweaty day, but now the breeze was gentle, like a cool kiss against your skin, and you felt almost weightless, your body thrumming with a sense of accomplishment.

“Okay, that’s great!” you said, grabbing his arm, a burst of giddy excitement surging through you. Around you, the girls broke into their own cheers, hugging and high-fiving each other, still buzzing from the success of the day.

“And $100 from me,” Patrick said, pulling out a crisp bill from his wallet and tossing it into the box with a casual flick. The girls swarmed him, shaking his shoulders and showering him with thank-yous, calling him sweet, generous, the best. Even Tashi, who’d been leaning coolly against Art, broke into a grin, and she nudged him with her elbow. Art, who’d been half-pretending not to care, rolled his eyes but couldn’t resist. With a reluctant sigh, he parted with another $100, mumbling under his breath as he handed it over.

“Fine,” he said, almost as if the word hurt, but he was grinning a little, too, when the girls shrieked and patted his back. Rich people, you thought, shaking your head with a smirk. They always made it seem like giving was a struggle when it barely scratched the surface of their wallets.

You took a breath, pushing yourself up to your feet and looking at the small circle of girls around you, their faces flushed and glowing under the dimming sky. "I just want to say… thank you," you started, your voice slightly hoarse from yelling all day but still earnest. "I know this wasn’t exactly easy, but we did it. And I’m really proud." You reached into your own wallet, pulling out a $50 bill, twirling it between your fingers, and held it up like a trophy. “Here’s to us. And new uniforms!”

The girls erupted, their cheers echoing across the lawn, loud and jubilant, as if they’d just won a championship. For a moment, it felt like they had. The line between a football team scoring a last minute touchdown and a group of college girls hustling for their dignity had blurred, and you all basked in the glow of it, even as the day faded into night.

Later, you stumbled back to your dorm, too exhausted to think but too exhilarated to sleep. You flopped down on your bed, sinking into the mattress, letting out a long, satisfied sigh. You barely had time to close your eyes before Patrick followed, landing on top of you with a playful thud, his chin digging uncomfortably into your stomach.

“Ow,” you laughed, swatting at his head as he tried to adjust, mumbling an absent apology. He shifted, then propped himself up, and you cradled his face in your hands, tilting it up so you could look into his eyes. They were the soft blue of summer berries, glinting with mischief and tenderness, and you felt a sudden rush of affection that made your chest ache a little.

“I have the best boyfriend in the world,” you said, the words coming out soft, almost like a secret you were finally ready to admit. Patrick’s cheeks flushed a faint pink, something he did so rarely it was almost a treat to see. He gave you a shy, crooked smile, and you could tell he was savoring the moment, letting it hang in the air between you.

Then he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, slow and careful, his mouth tasting faintly of your pomegranate chapstick. It was gentle at first, then firmer, like he was memorizing every bit of sweetness. When he pulled back, his eyes were still half-lidded, and his lips curved into a teasing smile.

“So, what’s the reward for being the best boyfriend?” he murmured, his gaze flicking over your face, taking in every detail as if he hadn’t already committed them to memory. His eyelashes fluttered, casting a silhouette across his cheeks, and you felt a shiver of warmth spread through you.

His reward for enduring the humid, sticky air all day, the sun beating down relentlessly on his already sunkissed skin, was right here, pressed against him. He had been patient, sitting there with the box of crumpled bills, sweat glistening on his forehead, eyes darting protectively every time someone lingered a little too long on you. He deserved something for putting up with the heat, the endless chatter, and the occasional, awkward guy who looked like he wanted to challenge him just for standing there. And this was it. You, warm and pliant under his hands, your fingers tangled in his hair, lips brushing his, teasing, like you were savoring every second as much as he was.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head in mock contemplation. “Hmm, I guess I’ll have to think of something…” you said, running your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer until your noses touched. “Maybe a little more of this,” you whispered, your lips brushing his as you spoke, letting the promise linger in the space between you.

You rolled over, his back sinking into the worn mattress. You let your lips graze his jaw, then drifted down to his neck. He shifted under your touch, laughter mingling with a nervous squirm as your breath tickled his skin. “You’re so good to me,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his earlobe. “So supportive,” another kiss at his temple. “And so, so handsome.” A faint smile broke across his face, eyes closed, lost in the moment.

You let your fingers glide over the cool, metallic buttons of his shorts, tracing each engraved design as if it were spelling out something only you knew. You helped him pull them off, giggling as you threw them across the room. Your hand dipped into the dark mouth of his boxers, rummaging past his trimmed bush of curls, until your fingers closed around the smooth, familiar shape.

His hard cock slid out, catching the light above, precum gleaming, almost tauntingly. You held it up to your mouth, breathing in the faint trace of scent that lingered, delicate but intoxicating.

You stared at it for a moment, feeling a slow, subtle warmth unfurl in your chest. It was a tiny, almost imperceptible smile that tugged at your lips, like the beginning of a secret, and you could feel the tension building under your skin, pooling low in your stomach. Something about holding it in your hand made you feel powerful, like you were in control.

The head was your favorite color—deep, cherry red and glistening like a polished gem when you pulled back his foreskin slowly. You slid it between your lips, supple and sweet. Your tongue circled over his tip, feeling the tiny slit. His sap dissolving against your taste buds. You closed your eyes, savoring the taste.

His arousal melted on your tongue, sweet and syrupy. A thin string of saliva stretched between your lips and the tip when you pulled it away, snapping when you moved it too far. It was deliciously wrong, like sneaking a piece of forbidden fruit.

"You’re so sweet," you murmured, almost to yourself, but loud enough for Patrick to hear. He glanced up, his expression lustful and high.

“Wanna taste it?” you asked, slightly lolling your head to the side. The way you said it was innocent, almost playful, but there was a glint in your eyes, a subtle edge to the offer. You leaned up to him, grazing your tongue over his lips. He moaned at the contact. You grabbed his jaw, letting the glob mixed of your saliva and himself fall onto the heart of his tongue. He groaned, letting it slide down his throat. “I love you.” he whimpered, sloppily inhaling your lips.

You furrowed your brows, mocking the desperate look in his eyes. You watched him, a slow smile curling on your lips. You hadn’t realized how much you’d loved being in control. It reminded you that, for once, you weren’t following the rules, and that felt more delicious than anything you’d tasted in a long, long time.

You pumped your hand up and down his shaft, practically begging him to release all over your pretty face. “You wanna come for me?” you asked with a sweet, honey tone. “I’m so close,” he panted, fingers tangling between your strands of hair. “Fu– please,” he cried, mouth gaping open while hips desperately bucked toward you.

Taking him in mouth again, you slapped his stiff cock against your tongue, the familiar sensation flooding your mouth as saliva pooled in your cheeks. His fluids mixed with spit, oozing down your lips and pooling on your chin. It felt disgusting, the wetness creeping along your skin, but deep down, every drop was a small victory for making him feel good.

With each stroke, you watched the fizzy mixture drip, the mess clinging to your hand and wrist as you pumped vigorously. You squeezed him in your palms, watching him sputter. Come painting across your face. You bit your lip, trying to steady your hand, hoping you milked him empty. His slit deflating a little more with every squeeze. You could see the droplets peeking through, mocking you.

He threw his head back, catching his breath. “Feel good?” you teased, sucking your fingers. You slid your body up his, his bare cock still hard, brushing against the skin of your thigh. His body jolting at the touch.

"Thank you for your help today, baby," you murmured, letting your lips brush gently against the tip of his nose, a soft, affectionate kiss.

“Anytime,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes. “And don’t hesitate to bring me any other problems you’ve got,” he added, only half-joking, clearly savoring the reward you’d just given him. “I’m always glad to help.”

You laughed, the sound light and warm, as you slipped off the bed. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you teased, padding across the room toward the bathroom to shower. You glanced back at him once more, a smile still tugging at the corners of your mouth, “You coming?” you ask, disappearing into the bathroom.

He slid off the bed in a hurried, awkward motion, the springs letting out a sharp, staccato creak that echoed through the room. His feet barely touched the floor before he was shuffling off, making his way into the bathroom behind you.

Bubblegum

summary: Zed has a bad day and needs an outlet before he goes on a rampage. guess who has to save the town from a possible Zombie attack? yep. it's you or no one.

pairing: Zed Necrodopolis x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - canon doesn't exist here. zombies being zombies. biting. this is not your Disney's Zombie.

💌this is a little bday surprise for @therosietoesy 🩷 i'm still working on your request, my dove, fret not. i just wanted to actually gift you something 🥰

bonne fête, ma belle

___________________________🫧

Bubblegum

The thing about Zombies, you learned, is that they need to bite. The Z-Bands keep a lot of things in check, basically slow-release sedation to tamp down those violent urges, but if their heartrates rise above a certain level, the technology is about as useful as a chocolate teapot.

And Zed's heartrate? Well, in the wake of the Prawn's devastating loss—that he shoulders the blame for—and another infestation of creepy creature that wants to whisk Addison away forever, Zed is on the brink of a total meltdown. To put it mildly.

His sockets are already black as the abyss when he finds you behind the school, snarling and spitting as he tries to ask for help, for an outlet; need you, now. He grabs your wrist as soon as you get to your feet and tugs you against him. Red lips curled back, yellowing teeth bared, the monster inside him clawing its way out faster than you'd ever seen.

You give him a pretty smile, "You wanna take this somewhere private, big guy?"

And, no, he fucking doesn't. Can't. Too consumed by thoughts of beating his fat cock into you until you scream. At this point, he can barely string together a sentence, words reduced to throaty animal noise. You giggle, sweet as sugar, and raise one hand to cradle his jaw and boldly sweep your thumb across his bottom lip.

"You're in bad shape, huh?" You comment, not surprised when he snaps his teeth at your thumb.

Breathing labored, eyes boring into you as you gaze so fondly up at him, "Want," he manages to growl. You don't consider it an attack when he grabs you roughly and pushes you against the wall, brittle nails digging into your flesh as he lifts you by the backs of your thighs. A long pause wherein he just pants against your neck and then, "Please."

Such a courteous beast.

His Z-band is practically wailing, the sound reminding you to cast that neat little spell you've been using since you and Zed started this thing.

You mutter the incantation between stinging kisses before he savagely shoves his tongue in your mouth, fucking it in and out as he tries to taste every tooth and ridge and soft piece of tissue. God, you live for these moments. When he's completely at the mercy of his darker side. The side he tries so hard to smother outside of Zombietown. The side you love.

Not to say you don't love the whole package. It's just that you're more exclusive with the monster than the man. Person Zed isn't as...upfront about what he wants with you. Less demanding, more cautious. Meanwhile, Zombie Zed is a lot more decisive and has sunk his teeth into your neck to claim you more times than you can count. Hence the rubber-skin spell. Keeps your skin intact and the Zombie cooties from spreading.

He finally releases your mouth, biting and kissing a trail from your jaw to your pulse point. He pins you to the wall with his hips as his hands claw under your shirt, fisting into the fabric before, without warning, he tears it open. Needy. Desperate. Fucking hungry for you in his ragelust.

You can feel him through his jeans, huge and growing as the Zombie takes over completely, and your mouth waters. This is going to hurt in the best way. He grinds himself against your pussy; sharp, vicious strokes a threat of what's to come, all the while panting and snarling into your skin as he chews chunks of flesh that don't tear away from your throat.

Witches and Zombies really do make the best match, you think greedily, equally as frenzied as you yank his shirt over his head. Then it's skin on skin, your bra in pieces at his feet; his big, calloused hand groping your tit just this side of painful. He grunts, hips moving harder, faster, blunt teeth grazing the soft underside of your chin.

"Want," He rasps again, long fingers teasing under your skirt and pressing insistently between your pussy lips through your panties. In a brief moment of clarity, Zed leans back, expression pleading, "Baby, let me—fuck, I can't—" And then it's gone, the green mist rushing back in, making his eyes wild and his movements stiff as rigor mortis.

You don't even have the chance to give him permission before his fingers dig under the edge of your panties and plunge into you, corkscrewing deep as he growls in delight at how wet you already are for him.

"Mine," Zed bites into your throat, and you don't disagree, moaning as his fingers snap in and out, drilling your sweet spot. "Only mine."

There's no point echoing his sentiment, Zed so far under that he doesn't actually care to hear your thoughts, just wants to make sure you're aware that you're owned. He removes his fingers long enough to rip a hole in your panties, then to get his fly undone—the button flying, zipper torn—and his jeans pulled down enough to free his dribbling cock.

His free hand clenches a chunk of your hair and he angles your head, presses his brow against yours, demanding, "Tell me." He teases the fat head between your lips, pushes in the barest fraction, and smirks when you keen.

For a second, you have no fucking idea what he's asking until you remember, "I want it, Zee."

"Again."

Louder, "I want it, please, Zee."

Zed leans in, nips your earlobe and breathes, "Good girl...perfect little prey for me..." and then, fuck, he spears inside you, the feeling like being split in two. He has one hand on your ass, the other tangled in your hair, his teeth deep in the join of your shoulder and neck.

Every thrust is brutal, punching sighs and whimpers from your chest. He doesn't care if it hurts. He needs this. Needs you like this. And you lose yourself in it as much as he does, your nails mauling welts across his back. The sensation coaxes him to move faster, harder, both hands on your hips now to guide you on his cock exactly how he wants. Your tits bounce as he fucks you with everything he has, your brain scrambled from the sheer fucking strength he has at his disposal.

"Close," He grunts. He sinks to his knees, keeps your back against the wall, and fucks up into you with abandon. His head thrown back, lips parted, eyes clamped shut in ecstasy. "Fuck, baby, gonna come."

He slams into you a few more times and then roars his release, biting into your neck with the intention of ripping flesh from bone. Zed stays like that, his cock pulsing inside you as he spills an ungodly amount of Zombie seed, so much that some oozes around his cock. He hitches his hips three, four, five more times before going still.

The wailing soundtrack of his Z-band finally stops. You don't actually need that to tell you he's slowly returning to normal. His muscles loosen marginally, his skin warms; popped veins shrink and his skin adopts a less sickly hue. Still grey, just less dead. It takes a minute for him to calm all the way down, and when he does, he removes his teeth from your neck and lifts his head.

You smile at him, gentle, fond, "Hey, big guy. You with me again?"

Zed swallows. Nods. His gaze falls between your joined bodies, and he licks his lips at the sight before glancing back up at you.

"Did I hurt you?" He has to know, his concern palpable.

"No." You promise, "You never actually do."

He doesn't look like he believes you, but he doesn't argue. Not today, anyway. You watch him take in your torn shirt and basically disintegrated panties and bra. With a cringe, he hands you his shirt.

"You know, one day I'm going to bill you for everything you've shredded," You say playfully in an effort to prove you're okay.

It works, "You'd think by now you'd start bringing an extra set of clothes with you." He teases back, smirking. It's the first time that he's acknowledged how he gets when the Zombie takes the wheel, and you almost miss it because you can't get your brain to get your mouth to work fast enough.

"You keep saying 'this is the last time, cutie, I swear'," You parody his voice as you roll your eyes. "So, why would I prep for something that isn't suppose to happen?"

And Zed looks utterly confused—still cockdeep inside you, mind you, hardly softened at all.

"I mean the last time I'll be rough. You know that I've claimed you, like, eight times," He says, again acknowledging for the first time what happens when his inner Zombie comes out.

You're almost stunned at how casual he's suddenly being about everything after months of ashamed side-eye and stilted aftercare.

"I think that's a pretty convincing argument to be prepared, babe." He tacks on, his expression telling you that you should've known.

Gaping at him, "Wait, I thought all of that was heat of the moment stuff?" You blink wide eyes at him, almost falling back on your ass when he dislodges you and helps you to your feet.

"Heat of the mo—You know I'm still me when I'm Zombied Out, right?"

Actually. No. You didn't know that. You assumed up to this point that Person Zed and Zombie Zed were completely separate entities with conflicting views on what they want from you.

Oops.

"So, when you say I'm yours...?" You ask slowly, not quite able to believe that this whole time you've possibly been Zombie married.

Zed scoffs, hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you into his body, his gaze turning dark and heated. "It means your mine, baby girl." And then, "Why the fuck do you think I come to you when I'm having a meltdown?"

"...because I don't scream in terror and run away?"

"You're an idiot." Zed snorts as he presses a soft kiss to your lips.

You shrug, "Apparently, I'm your idiot."

In playful retaliation, Zed nibbles your neck, bites and pulls the skin, chuckles, "Definitely mine." Then, dangerously, "but it looks like I gotta make sure you really understand what that means," he murmurs right as his Z-band beeps its first alert.

fin.

🫧___________________________

also on AO3!

Please I love your Wally smut

What about like giving Wally head for the first time as he watched you already before you died

And either a first time blow job or Wally fingering you for the first time (ifykyk) whatever you feel like writing moreee

Thank you for the compliment Dear Anon. Enjoy. You can check you my other Wally Clark x Reader fics on my masterlist on @jadegreywriting

As always 18+ ONLY

*Not my GIF*

Wally had watched you for the longest time. He'd love watching your meets as you would dive gracefully into the pool. As an athlete himself he was in awe of how fast you were once you hit the water. He didn't know if the Olympics were your dream but he knew you could make it if you wanted too. But that wasn't in the cards for you, instead it was a drunk driver, who pulled out of the school too fast and didn't see you as you were walking out to your car after a game.

You couldn't understand what was happening as you watched the ambulance pull away from the school, kids huddled together and crying.

Wally watched as you tried to get anyones attention. But no one could hear or see you. He was nervous as he first approached you, putting his hands up like you were a wild animal and he was trying to keep you calm.

At first you were relieved someone was talking to you, but then he broke the news. You had been hit and you were already dead when the ambulance pulled away from the school.

You were in denial for a long while, and Wally watched as you would just sit on the curb for hours, watching as everyone pulled away from the parking lot. Watching as the flowers that were laid down on your school parking spot, slowly rotted and blew away.

Wally would spend those days, sitting right next to you, and he waited. Waited until you were ready to talk, and when you finally did, you felt the damn break loose. You told Wally everything you were feeling, how sad you were, how angry you were at how unfair this all was. You told him about your life that he didn't get to see outside of school. How much you loved to read, how going to the lake every summer felt like a recharge for the rest of the year, when you first knew you loved swimming.

And in kind Wally told you about his life, what kind of music he listened to, how he wanted to travel when he got out of highschool and that he wasn't a big reader when he was alive; which made you chuckle.

After that day, you and Wally felt inseparable, being with him felt like the sun. Warm and comforting, he always made you laugh and you did the same to him; surprising him with how funny you were, he didn't know that about you.

You still like going to Group; Mr. Martin was a bit creepy and you always had issues with authority figures. But Wally liked coming to the group so you sat there and participated here and there. You never shared anything personal with the group, well anything that was real. You saved that for your time with Wally.

Which often felt like this one, where you would go into the pool and do laps, or float on the surface of the water, while Wally watched on the edge of the pool. He loved watching you do flip turns, amazed at how fast you were, how fast you could cut through the water.

You came up from under the water and smiled at Wally, who was floating in the pool next to you, watching as you would flip and do handstands in the shallow end of the water. When you came up again, you saw Wally had made his way over to the steps of the pool, he sat there and watched you. His smile was contagious as he watched you.

"What are you looking at, Clark?" You asked, flicking water towards him.

"I think it's some kind of pool nymph." He teased.

"A pool nymph?" You chuckled.

"Yeah, and she's mesmerizing."

"Mesmerizing huh?" You asked, as you swam closer to him.

"Oh yeah. Just one of the many adjectives I'd use to describe her."

"Oh? And what are these other adjectives that you'd use? I know you're not a big reader, so this will be fun to see how many you actually know."

"Hey! I think my vocabulary has increased immensely since I met you."

"Thank goodness for that! I don't think I could handle you saying "Rad" for the rest of eternity."

"As if, "Cool beans" is any better!" He huffed before flicking his fingers in the water, splashing you in the face. 

"Hey!" You scowled, grabbing his bare thighs and bringing your face close to his, but stopped inches in front of his face.

Wally tilted his head, his brown eyes holding yours. "Hey what?" He smiled. His eyes moved to your lips.

"I-" You stuttered, feeling your cheeks heat as you remembered where your hands were. “I don’t actually remember what I was going to say.” You chuckled, before leaning in and gave Wally a quick kiss on the lips, intending to give him a quick kiss and then swim away. But Wally had other ideas on the matter, before you could turn your body away he grabbed your hips and placed you so you were sitting on his lap. His large hands wrapped themselves around your waist bringing you back in for another kiss. 

“I wasn’t done telling you about the beautiful pool nymph I saw.” He smiled against your lips.

This wasn’t the first time you and Wally kissed, not by a long shot, there were so many times where the two of you would sneak off when Wally was supposed to be in Group, kissing in the locker room. Sometimes you two would get really hot and heavy, but before anything could happen there was always something that had you two breaking apart. Whether it was Charley or Rhonda catching you two in the heat of the moment or someone else barging in, sometimes it was really hard to get a moment alone with your hot boyfriend in your own afterlife. 

But, you had a feeling that this time would be different. 

You let out a small little moan as you felt Wally’s tongue dance with yours. His large hands roaming down to your backside and giving you a little squeeze. You pulled away from the kiss, earning a groan from Wally. “You didn’t finish describing this pool nymph to me.” You grinned. 

“Well I told you that she was mesmerizing and beautiful. I would dare say graceful as well.” 

“Graceful huh?” You smiled leaning in to brush a kiss to the edge of Wally’s soft lips, before pressing another one to his jawline earning a low moan from him. You made sure to pocket that reaction for that spot in particular for later. 

“Y-Yeah graceful.”

“What else Wally?” You teased, sucking on that spot at his jawline, before moving down to his neck, placing a soft kiss to his carotid, before sucking on the spot where his pulse point would be. You chuckled as you heard Wally stutter, losing his words and losing them fast as you sucked and kissed your way down his neck. 

“Breathtaking.” He moaned out.

As you kissed Wally, making sure to pay attention to the other side of his neck like you did the first, you could feel him grow hard underneath you. “What else Wally?”

“Baby. Please.” 

“Please what Wally?”

“Stop torturing me.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just listening to all the ways that you’re describing this beautiful pool nymph.” you mumbled against his skin, taking your tongue and dipping it into his collarbone, before taking that golden chain necklace into your mouth and sucking on the pendant there. 

You looked up at Wally’s face and smiled. He looked so tense, his hands were gripping noticeably harder on your ass as he looked down at you. 

“Unless you want me to stop?” You asked, placing a quick kiss to the center of his chest. “Do you want me to stop Wally?” You asked and placed another kiss on his chest. 

“No.” He ground out. 

You gave him a wolfish smile. “I didn’t think so.” You purred, leaning your head back down so you can trace your tongue around his nipples. Wally leaned back, letting out a low groan. 

“You’re so sweet to me Wally.” You said softly against his skin as you traced your tongue down his stomach, and dipped in his belly button, earning another deep moan from Wally. You looked back up to him, your body now on the step just below him, your hands poised on top of the waistband of his boxers. “Can I be sweet to you?” You asked him innocently. 

Wally’s eyes went wide. “Baby.” He said his voice came out breathy before he let out a small cough to clear his throat. “Baby, are you sure?” He asked his hand coming out to brush a small piece of hair out of your face. 

“Yes Wally. I want to do this for you.” 

Wally let out a breath that seemed to be a mix of desperation and relief. His hands were reaching for the waistband of his boxers and you took that as your sign that he wanted this as bad as you did. You helped him pull his boxers off and let them float off in the pool, before leaning back down to Wally. Running your tongue down the soft “V” on each side of his hips, earning a low whimper from Wally. 

You looked up at Wally, as you ran your hands up and down his thighs, while taking in how hard he was for you and you smiled up at him. “All this for me?” you teased. 

“Yeah baby.” He said breathily. “Only for you.” 

You were in control in this situation but you grew wet at Wally’s words, surprising yourself at how just those simple words of admiration had you growing slick in between your legs. “Only for me huh?” You said reaching for him, giving his cock a slow pump with your hand, earning a stuttering lift of Wally’s hips for you. 

You smirked, biting your lip. “So sensitive.” Leaning down to run your tongue around the head of his cock. Wally let out a low moan, as you took him deeper into your mouth letting your tongue trace around the head of his cock, and relaxing as he slid deeper for a moment before having your hand join the efforts of your mouth. 

“I love it when you make those little moans, Wally.” You whispered, before continuing to pump his cock with your hand as you took him back into your mouth. 

You didn’t have a lot of experience doing this, but you were an avid reader and Wally seemed to love it when your tongue did this particular motion. You smiled to yourself as you felt Wally’s hands find their way into your wet hair, gathering the wet strands in a messy clump and fisting it in his hand. You felt Wally’s hips jerk every now and again as he fought the urge to pump his hips and thrust his cock deeper into your hot little mouth. 

You hummed in satisfaction against his cock, and that seemed to have Wally taking a ragged breath. 

“Baby.” He breathed. “I’m really trying here.” 

You hummed again, the vibrations seeming to send Wally closer to the edge. You popped your mouth off of his cock and looked up at him, taking in the tensed way he pulled his eyebrows together and how he bit down on his bottom lip, making it a darker pink. 

“Trying to do what?” You asked innocently, as you rested your head against his strong thigh, your hand still pumping his cock. 

“Trying to not, fuck your mouth.” He breathed out. “I know you haven’t really done this before and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You hummed again, he really was the sweetest boy you’d ever met. You’d never thought you actually like sucking dick, but with Wally, as he whined and moaned above you, letting you bring him closer and closer to orgasm. You didn’t think you could actually get enough of this, of him being this vulnerable for you, you felt drunk off of the way his puppy eyes looked down at you, awestruck. 

“Wally.” You said breathily. “I have your cock in my mouth and I am so fucking wet for you right now. And if I’m uncomfortable, I’ll just give you a little nip.” You chuckled and leaned back down and licked up the shaft of his cock before taking his head back into your mouth. 

His hands, delved deeper into your hair, and his hold felt a little tighter, as he bucked his hips to your mouth still holding back, but not as much as he was before. 

“Oh baby.” He moaned. “God you look so pretty like this. Your pretty mouth wrapped around my cock. I wish I could take a picture of you right now.” 

You moaned, at his words, feeling yourself grow wetter between your legs, and started to pump him faster, your mouth and hand working in time together to bring Wally closer to release. 

“God damn it, baby.” Wally groaned, his hips increasing their speed, just enough that you started to feel water in your eyes, but you didn’t want to stop not when Wally was so close. 

“Fuck, baby. I’m not going to last much longer if you keep that up.” 

That was your cue, you squeezed Wally’s cock harder with your hand before sucking him down again and felt him come inside your mouth. You pulled away, unable to fully swallow Wally’s release, and continued to pump him through his orgasm. You watched his hips shake as he finished coming, Wally’s moans were audible enough for anyone who was walking past the double doors of the indoor pool could definitely hear him. 

You dropped your hand away from him and looked up at the totally ruined expression on Wally’s face. His hair that was usually so well kept, was sticking up in places he ran his hands through and some of it still stuck to his forehead from when he was swimming with you. 

“Such a good and sweet boy.” You smiled, pulling yourself up by his thighs and giving him a kiss. Wally seemed to preen at the compliment and deepened the kiss; tasting himself on your lips, earning a low satisfied moan from the both of you.