#Rob Sheehan fic

[salvador-daley]

Clone | Part 2

Robert Sheehan x Reader x Female!Robert Sheehan

A/N: Oops - forgot to post this earlier in the week. Forgive me, I am old and senile.

CW: No filth, just some very intense flirting. Bisexual awakenings akimbo. But the next instalment? Pure wall-to-wall smut. 🍑🍆

Words: 5.5k

IRISH STEPS forward and so does she. His mouth falls open and so does hers. He reaches out to touch her and she reaches out to touch him. Their fingertips meet in the middle and he tilts his head in awed fascination. Her head tilts in the opposite direction, but instead of looking back at Irish, her eyes meet yours.

“Aren’t you guys gonna say something?” the woman asks.

“Oh my God, she talks!” cries Irish, leaping backwards with a squeal.

“Of course I talk,” she says in the same Irish accent as his, looking a little offended. She gazes around the room, taking in the long lab benches, the cages filled with small animals, the woman in the long white lab coat, the naked man in front of her. “Who are you? Where the hell am I?”

“It’s okay, you’re safe,” you say, trying to sound authoritative and calm. “We can explain everything.”

“Can we?” Irish squeaks in your ear, staring at you now with a look of blind panic.

“Look, just fucking calm down, okay?” you hiss at him. “You’ll freak her out. And put some fucking pants on.”

“Pants… pants…” he mutters, searching the floor for his discarded clothes. He manages to find his underwear and stumbles into them.

You step towards her with your hands out, as if approaching a wild animal. “Do you feel ok? Are you hurt?” you ask the woman, whose truly striking resemblance to your boyfriend is all the more apparent the closer you get.

“I feel fine,” the woman says with a shrug, fingering the tube she just stepped out of and taking in the rest of her surroundings.

“She seems very chill for someone who was just magicked into existence,” Irish whispers.

You nod. She’s certainly the calmest person in the room at this moment. Her whole demeanour is one of zen stillness and quiet curiosity, despite being thrust into being just a few seconds ago.

“W-what’s your name?” you ask.

She thinks for a second, her brow furrowing in an uncanny way.

“I-I don’t think I have one,” she says, approaching the desk now and proffering her fingers for one of the rabbits to sniff.

“We should give her a name,” says Irish into your ear, still cowering behind you.

“We can’t name her, we’re not… we’re not qualified!” you say in a hushed voice.

“Well, we created her,” he says, insistent. He thinks for a second. “I think she looks like a Robin.”

“Robin?” you repeat.

“Ooh, that’s a nice name,” she says, apparently listening the whole time.

“See, she likes it,” says Irish.

“Robin it is, then,” you say with resignation. “Robin, sweetheart, we’re going to explain everything, okay? But first, we have got to get you out of here.”

Irish grabs you by the shoulder. “Get her out of here? You want to take her with us? Shouldn’t we call someone? Isn’t this kidnapping?” he hisses at you.

You turn to him and level your gaze at him. “Look, she can’t stay here, okay? And we can’t call anyone, I’ll be fired. And they’ll do all sorts of experiments on her and shit. We’ve got to get her out of here, right now. Understand?”

He nods, realising the gravity of the situation. “Okay, okay, w-what do we do?” he asks.

You start to shimmy out of your lab coat, going into problem-solving mode. “There’s some flat shoes in my bag under the desk, go grab them.”

He darts under the desk while you attempt to dress your boyfriend’s naked double.

“Here, Robin, put this on,” you say, holding your lab coat out for her to slip into.

She inserts her arms into the sleeves, then turns so you can do it up, watching you with quiet fascination as your shaking fingers fumble with the buttons. She tips her head slightly as she observes you, a soft smile playing on her lips.

Irish returns with the shoes and you help her to step into them.

“Hey,” she says once dressed, looking down at her body and smoothing the lab coat with her hands: “this is kinda sexy.”

Irish pauses and smiles, then looks at you: “See? Told you so.”

“Get dressed!” you growl at him.

“Right, right,” he says, searching the ground again for his scattered clothes.

“Okay, g’night Joe! See you on Monday!” you call out to the elderly security guard, hoping your voice sounds breezy but so breezy that it sounds like an invite to conversation.

“All finished for the night, are we?” Joe asks. To your disappointment, you see him moving around the reception desk, clearly looking for a chat.

“Yep, all done, gotta head on home,” you say, attempting to usher Irish and Robin through the building’s revolving door.

“Oh, I didn’t realise there were three of you here tonight? I was sure I only counted two,” says Joe, checking the sign-in sheet on his clipboard.

You realise now that despite Joe’s advanced age that it was ambitious to imagine you could smuggle out a 6ft tall adult woman wearing nothing but a lab coat.

“Nope, three of us,” says Irish, stepping in with his characteristic charm. “You’re going senile in your old age there, Joe.”

“Oh, I feel I would’ve remembered you,” says Joe, looking at Robin. He proffers a hand to introduce himself.

“How nice to meet you,” says Robin with a wide smile, shaking his hand.

“This is my friend,” you say, improvising now. “Professor, um, Doppelgänger.”

Irish shoots you a look that says: Doppelgänger, seriously?

“She’s been helping me with some research,” you add.

“A professor?” says Joe, impressed. “And what’s a smart, beautiful woman like you doing in a place like this?” he chuckles.

Robin’s mouth falls open as if to reply.

“Oh Joe, you old flirt!” says Irish, slapping him on the back before Robin has a chance to answer. “Anyway, we better be off. The, er, professor has a train to catch,” he adds.

Irish bundles you both through the door before Joe can say another word.

“You guys are terrible liars,” says Robin once you get outside. “Even I could see through that, and I was literally born five minutes ago.”

You wake up late, the excitement of the previous day having expended all your energy. The soft sounds of a high-pitched tune spread through the flat on a gentle wave, rousing you from your slumber. There is no sign of Irish - he must have gone out. You rise from the bed and head into the living room. Robin is sat cross-legged on the pull-out bed. The wide neckline of the oversized T-shirt you gave her the previous night has slipped down over one of her shoulders, her curly hair haloed by the morning light as she plays happily on a penny whistle. She stops when she sees you, flashing you that familiar smile.

“You can play that?” you ask.

She shrugs: “I guess so.”

Even Irish can’t play it that well. You wonder for a second what else she can do, then you remember you’re being a bad host to your new houseguest.

“You must be starving,” you say, heading to the kitchen. She follows you and perches on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “What do you like?”

She shakes her head and waves her hand through the air.

“Of course,” you say, “you have no idea what you like because you’ve never eaten before.”

Following last night’s escape from the facility, Robin had taken the news that she was a clone created in a lab accident surprisingly well, you felt. She didn’t panic or freak out or try to call the cops.

“So I’m… you?” she had said, pointing to Irish. “And you’re me?

“Yes, well, technically you’re female me,” he had said, foundering in his attempts to explain.

“And how did you end up inside the machine?”

“Err…” Irish’s mouth had fallen open and his eyes had darted to you in a panic.

“You know what, we can go over all the details in the morning,” you had said, stepping in to spare him the embarrassment. “I’m sure you’re tired and it’s been a crazy night. A lot to take in.”

“That’s a great idea,” Irish had announced. “Let’s all get a good night’s sleep and we can talk some more in the morning.”

You open the fridge and peer inside. Amid all the chaos, you had forgotten to buy food. All you have is gin, milk and orange juice.

“Let’s start with some coffee,” shall we?

You head over to the coffee machine and begin to fiddle with it, becoming aware of her 6ft form looming over you as you work.

“You put the water in here,” you say, demonstrating, “and then you put this in here, and press this button, and then the coffee comes out here.”

She’s watching you, but you have no idea if she’s listening. Silently, she reaches out to brush a stray strand of your hair behind your ear and you catch yourself blushing.

You clear your throat. “Cereal? I have cereal.”

You grab a couple of bowls from the cupboard and begin to pour corn flakes into them.

Watching you, she rests one elbow against the counter, stretching her long body out in front of her. She seems just as comfortable in her own skin as Irish is, a quiet confidence exuding from every pore.

You fill the bowls with milk and press one of them into her hands. She looks at it, then at you.

“Spoon!” you remember. “You need a spoon.”

Her ass is blocking the cutlery drawer and you have to nudge her out of way with an awkward “‘scuse me” in order to reach inside, your hand brushing against the silky smooth skin of her hip.

“Here you go,” you say, plopping the spoon inside her bowl.

She gives you another blank look.

“See?” you say, raising your own bowl and lifting the spoon to your mouth, “like this.”

Although seemingly a little hesitant, she follows your lead and you both stand there for a moment staring at each other and eating corn flakes in silence until you hear the door opening and Irish clattering through it with handfuls of grocery bags.

“How are my two best girls this morning?” he sings, plonking his bags on the breakfast bar.

“Your girlfriend is teaching me how to eat cereal,” says Robin.

Suddenly feeling quite stupid. You turn to look at her now. “You already know how to eat cereal, don’t you?”

Robin shrugs an apology. “You were on a roll, I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” she replies. “I know how to do a lot of things.”

Before you can question her further, Irish grabs you and pulls you to one side, leaving Robin to eat her corn flakes in the kitchen.

“So, how’s it going?” he asks in a low whisper.

“Really bad, Irish!” you say. You try to keep your voice down but it comes out as a high-pitched squeal instead. “You left me all on my own and I have no idea what I’m doing!”

“Calm down, okay? I went to get food, there’s only gin and orange juice in the fridge.”

You put your hands to your temples and squeeze. “I’m freaking out, man. I mean, how does this even work? Does she have your memories? She can play your penny whistle!”

“Really?” he says. “That’s interesting.”

Irish cranes his neck back into the kitchen area. “Hey Robin, how many siblings have you got?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” she says, munching a mouthful of cereal. “I don’t think I have any.”

“How’d you get that accent?” he asks.

“What accent?” she replies, giving him a quizzical look.

He turns back to you: “She doesn’t have my memories.”

“This is so crazy. Your genetic double is eating corn flakes in my kitchen and I think I’m losing my mind,” you say, hyperventilating now.

“Look,” he says, holding you by the wrists. “Everything is going to be fine, okay? Let’s just get to know her a little bit.”

He leads you back towards the breakfast bar and you sit at the twin stools as Robin finishes off her breakfast.

“You still hungry, Robin?” asks Irish, reaching into one of the grocery bags. “Why don’t you try some of this, I just got it from the Japanese place down the road.”

He removes the lid from a small sushi platter and places it on the breakfast bar.

She selects a piece of nigiri and holds it up to her face.

“Go on,” he urges.

She pops the fishy morsel in her mouth and chews, her eyes widening as the novel mix of flavours ignite her tastebuds.

“Wow, that is amazing,” she says. “What is that?”

“Yellowtail,” he says. “My favourite. Here, have another. What’s mine is yours.” He pushes the platter closer to her and her fingers dance over it as she decides which piece to eat next.

“No offence,” she says to you, “but this is much better than cereal.”

“None taken,” you say, holding your hands up in defeat. “Okay, so we’ve established that you both like sushi. What next?”

“Ooh, I know!” says Irish, jumping down from the breakfast bar and running over to the bookcase in the living area. He returns with a book of collected poems and flicks through it until he finds what he’s looking for, passing the open book to Robin. “Have a read of this, tell me what you think.”

Robin scans the page for a few minutes, absentmindedly scratching her neck as she reads. You watch as Irish raises his hand to his own neck, floating his fingers over the same spot.

Eventually, she rests her hand on her chest with an awed expression. “That is beautiful,” she says.

“I know, it’s one of my favourites,” he says.

“So you’re both poetry fans,” you say. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but how do you know how to read?”

“I don’t know, I just do,” says Robin. “It’s like muscle memory. I can do everything he can do.”

“Can you drive a car?” he asks.

“Yes, but not very well.”

“Bit hurtful. Can you ride a bike? Can you ride a horse?”

“Yes. And yes.”

“Do you pee standing up?”

“Do you?” she returns, one eyebrow cocked.

“Fair play,” he says quietly.

You give him a look.

“What?” he says, “I like to read.”

You shake your head. “I think we’re getting way off track here,” you say. “Robin, do you have any questions for us?”

“Not really,” she says. “Although you never did tell me how you ended up in the cloning machine.”

Irish releases a nervous chuckle. “Oh, I don’t think we need to get into all that,” he says, bringing his hand down hard on his forearm to swat a mosquito. “Ah, you fucker!” he exclaims, inspecting the site for bites.

“Ow,” says Robin under her breath, rubbing her own arm in the same place.

“Guys, let me just try something,” you say, moving around the breakfast bar. You grab a cocktail stick from the kitchen drawer and return to your seat. “Stick your hand out,” you say to Irish. He puts his hand on the counter and you jab him on the tip of his thumb.

“Ow! What did you do that for?” he says, pulling his hand back and shooting you an accusing look.

At the same time, Robin shakes her hand in the air with a soft “Ah!” and sticks her thumb in her mouth.

“Ok, that’s interesting,” you say. “Let me try something else now.”

You move around to Robin and stand behind her.

“Can you lift your arms for me for a second, honey. It’s for science,” you ask.

“Sure thing,” she says, giving you a sideways smirk.

You tickle her under the arms, knowing that it’s one of his most sensitive spots.

Robin laughs and squeals, meanwhile he writhes in his seat, as if ghostly fingers were invading his armpits.

“Ah-ah! Stop! What are you doing to me?” he screeches.

“Well, that proves it. You two have some kind of weird connection,” you say, releasing Robin and returning to your seat. “It’s like a sensory telepathy or something. She feels what you feel, and vice versa.”

His brow knits in confusion, his mouth gaping. Then his expression changes and his eyebrow curls towards the ceiling as a realisation dawns on him.

“Well, that could be fun,” he says, a wicked glint in his eyes now.

“I’m depending on you not to abuse that,” says Robin, extending a finger at him and wagging it in his face.

“Well, I could say the same thing to you,” he says, turning defensive.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” Robin says. “Try not to stub your toe or anything while I’m gone.”

She pats you on the shoulder as she leaves, allowing her fingers to linger on your skin for a split-second too long. The gesture doesn’t escape Irish’s attention and he crosses his brow, watching her with a hint of suspicion as she leaves. His mouth opens as if he’s about to say something, but you interrupt his thoughts before he can articulate them.

“Irish!” you hiss at him, grabbing his attention. “Now what do we do?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs. “Maybe we should take her out, you know, let her see some of the city.”

You look at him with a baffled expression. How is he approaching this whole thing so casually? Did that bump on his head shake some of his screws loose?

“Have you lost your mind?” you say, your voice pitching higher. “We can’t wander around town with your female clone like she’s some kind of visiting relative. We’re not taking her anywhere, we are staying right here until we figure this out.”

“Why not?” he says, leaning in closer to you. “Look, she’s 34 years old and she hasn’t experienced anything of the world. We can’t keep her cooped up in here forever.”

“But she’s not 34, she’s only a day old,” you insist. “What if something happens to her, what if she gets hurt?”

“She’s 6ft tall and she can do everything I can do, right? That means she can throw a punch if necessary,” he replies.

You know deep down that he is right. Keeping her locked up in your flat indefinitely wouldn’t be feasible or fair. And Robin seems perfectly capable of looking after herself, if a little naive.

“It’s interesting actually,” he continues, “I wonder if she can act. I’ve always wanted to play Lady Macbeth on the stage...” His mind is wandering now, indulging in some egotistical fantasy in which both his faces are on the poster.

“Irish!” you snap, nudging him back to the present.

“Right, yeah, sorry. Come on, let’s just go out somewhere, show her a good time. Everything will be fine.” He rubs your thigh as he speaks. You can already feel yourself giving in to him, once again.

“Ooh, are we going out?” says Robin, returning to the kitchen.

“Come on,” says Irish, pleading with you. “I think we could all use a little fun. What harm will it do?”

You look at Robin, those green eyes begging you to say yes, mirroring Irish’s expression. His persuasive powers are hard enough to resist at the best of times, let alone when there’s two of him.

You sigh. “Oh, fine,” you say, waving your hand in a gesture of surrender.

“Robin, my love,” says Irish, turning to her now, “how would you like to get drunk for the first time?”

Robin emerges from the en-suite bathroom in a towel, a couple of wet tendrils escaping from the nest of curls piled into a loose bun on top of her head, her wet skin glistening in the soft light of your bedroom. A light curl of steam follows her from the bathroom, wrapping around her slim ankles, caressing the tanned skin of her long legs. In her hands, a bottle of lotion, which she applies with care to her arms, allowing her fingers to drape over her skin with gentle, massaging strokes, skimming over her collarbone, the curves of her chest.

She tilts her head to meet your eyes. “Is everything all right?” she says.

In that moment, you realise you’ve been staring at her and you force yourself to snap out of it.

“Yes, er, yes. Let’s, erm, let’s find you something to wear,” you say, heading over to the closet. You throw open the doors and gesture at everything you own. “Just help yourself to whatever you want,” you say. “You are ever so tall, but I’m sure you’ll find something. We will get you some clothes of your own later, this is just for now.”

“Thank you,” she says, allowing the towel to drop to her feet and reaching up for the jeans on the top shelf. Her breast meets your eyeline and you avert your gaze, feeling the blood rush to your face. She certainly seems comfortable being naked, but then that shouldn’t surprise you - Irish seems to resist being fully clothed at every possible opportunity. You head over to your dressing table and finish applying your makeup, trying your best not to spy on her through the mirror.

“So, what kind of place do you want to go to? Somewhere lively with lots of people, or somewhere a little more chilled out and relaxed?” you say, attempting to make casual chit-chat despite the circumstances.

“Well, I don’t really have any frame of reference, so I trust you to make the call,” she says.

“There’s a great little place in town that does cocktails and finger foods. All of the drinks are named after famous… writers…” you trail off as your eyes fall on her approaching form.

She is dressed now and you take in her selection: a pair of extremely tight skinny jeans, in a shade of distressed dark grey with strategically placed rips up the legs, a tiny black bralette you can’t remember buying, over which she has chosen a sheer knitted top several sizes too big, the neckline draping loosely off one shoulder, the front tucked into her belt buckle.

“What’s the matter?” she says, observing your slack-jawed expression as she rolls up the sleeves. “Is this not ok?”

You blink hard and shake your head. “No, no, you look great. It’s just…” You bring your eyes up to meet hers and she shakes her curls loose from her bun. “You dress just like he does.”

“Ooh! These are pretty,” she says, fingering the box of bracelets and trinkets on your dressing table.

“Oh, those belong to Irish,” you say. “But I’m sure he won’t mind.”

She sits down on the bench next to you, rolling his beads and leather bangles up each arm.

“Well, he did say what’s his is mine, right?” She says, glancing at you with a smile. For a split second her eyes rest on your lips and you feel your heart pick up speed.

“Yes, yes. He did say that,” you laugh, trying and failing to hide your nerves. You go back to applying your lipstick under her watchful gaze. After a minute, you withdraw the product from your lips and offer it to her. “You want to borrow it?” you say.

She shakes her head. “That is something I definitely don’t know how to do,” she says with an apologetic smile. “You could do it for me?”

Of course, she can only do what Irish can do and he definitely can’t do makeup. The one time he tried for a Halloween party he looked like a melted Liza Minnelli waxwork.

“Okay, sure,” you reply.

You turn to face her and apply a thin coat to her lips. As you work, her sea-green eyes scan your face, the intensity of her gaze causing your hand to falter.

“Oops, hold on,” you say, correcting your mistake. For a brief second your eyes meet as your hand cups her face, your finger sliding under her bottom lip, your faces merely inches apart. Your pulse beats so loud and so hard that you worry she might hear it.

You pull your eyes away and clear your throat. “There we go, all done,” you say.

But she doesn’t move and neither do you. She holds you captivated in her gaze like a tractor beam.

“How are you girls getting on in here?” says Irish, sticking his head through the door. “You nearly ready? The cab is waiting downstairs.”

You jump as if caught red-handed. “Yes, all done here,” you say, a little too loud.

Robin rises and walks over to Irish, beginning to circle him. The two of them look each other up and down in the doorway like two wild cats sizing each other up.

She leans into his ear as she exits: “I’ll meet you two downstairs,” she says in a low voice. She pats him on the ass and gives you a wink as she leaves.

You hear the front door close behind her and throw Irish a shocked look.

“She is flirting with you!” you say, stating the obvious.

Irish scoffs: “From where I’m standing, it looks like she’s flirting with you!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you say, bending down to put on your shoes, hiding your blushing face from his eyes.

“Well, think about it,” he says. “I’m attracted to you, therefore it makes sense that she’d be attracted to you, too.”

“Yeah?” you say, standing now and facing him in the doorway. “Well, why is she apparently attracted to you too?”

Irish gives you a shrug, a guilty smirk passing over his lips. You nudge him in the ribs.

“Because you’re so fucking in love with yourself!” you say, only half-teasing.

Irish laughs, ruffling a hand through his curly hair. You roll your eyes at him and fold your arms with an exaggerated sigh.

“Look, everything’s going to be fine,” he says, holding you by the shoulders. “Let’s just go get a drink.”

“You were getting a blow job?” asks Robin, incredulous.

“The door just sort of swung open and I smacked my head on the wall. I was knocked out cold for a good few minutes. And when I woke up, well, there you were,” he says.

Robin turns to you with an open-mouthed expression.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” you say, cringing. “I wish we had a better story to tell you.”

Her face creases and she releases a high-pitched laugh. “You guys are hilarious,” she says. “Do you do that a lot, sex acts in public places?”

Irish shrugs, opening his mouth to speak.

You cut him off before he can embarrass you further. “No!” you insist. “No, we don’t.”

The more drinks that are consumed, the more the conversation veers towards sex. Irish is being his usual giddy self, telling stories and making crude jokes. Robin, meanwhile, is becoming increasingly tactile, clasping your shoulder as she laughs, pressing her long fingers into your arm as she fires questions at you.

Her displays of affection seem to be making him territorial. Every time her hand brushes against your leg, his follows. Or perhaps they are just mirroring each other; echoing each other’s movements and mannerisms. Either way, you are sitting between them and it’s starting to make you feel like a baby goat in the tiger enclosure.

The worst part, you decide, is how alike they are. Robin seems to agree with everything he says, especially his drunken ideas. Stay out longer? Great idea. More shots? Great idea. Go to another bar? Great idea. You are outnumbered. And now everything is starting to get hazy and wobbly, furry around the edges.

“So, do you both have jobs? I know you’re a scientist, but what do you do?” asks Robin, gesturing to your boyfriend.

“I’m an actor,” Irish replies, puffing out his chest. “Been doing it since I was a kid.”

“Wow, that sounds like so much fun,” says Robin, her eyes widening. “I’d love to do something like that.”

“Of course you would,” you mutter under your breath.

“Did I say something wrong,” asks Robin.

Her brow furrows in the middle. You can see Irish glaring at you out of the corner of your eye. He thinks you’re being rude. You instantly feel bad for being crabby.

“No, honey, I’m sorry,” you say, reaching forward to clasp her knee. “It’s just… well, you two are so damn similar! It’s actually kind of infuriating.”

They both laugh at the same time, then look at you: “What’s the matter, are you feeling left out?” they say in perfect unison.

Realising their thoughts have synched, they immediately turn and point at each other: “Oh, we both said the same thing!” they say at the same time.

“Ok, stop that, it’s freaking me the fuck out,” you interrupt, not wanting to find out how long they can do that for.

They share a look, synapses firing at the same time, cogs turning in synchronicity. The chemistry between them, between the three of you, is palpable and it terrifies you as much as it excites you.

Robin looks at you, then at him.

“You know what I think, Irish?” says Robin, leaning her head towards you. “I think your girlfriend…”

“Our girlfriend,” he corrects.

“Our girlfriend,” she says, walking her fingers up your thigh, “needs to lighten up.”

Robin’s face is centimetres away now. Her eyes, at first locked on yours, float down to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze again. She tilts her head slightly and you feel your breath deepening, your heart beginning to race in your chest.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

She shushes you gently as she cups your face, allowing her thumb to trail over your cheekbone.

“Just relax,” she whispers, bringing her mouth down on yours.

As her plump lips part yours, you are struck by how similar the experience of kissing her is to kissing him - only softer, gentler. And as her tongue inches across the inside of your lips, you feel him join in, trailing a string of delicate kisses down the side of your face, down your neck.

They each wind an arm around your body and you suddenly remember that you are in a public place, giving the patrons of this bar something to stare at. And they are staring - you feel their eyes boring into you as two hands belonging to two separate owners begin to pass over your legs.

Robin lifts her head, moving to your neck, and her mouth is replaced with his.

“Guys,” you say in between deepening kisses, your voice trembling, “we have to get out of here.”

They lift their heads and look at each other, then at you. “Great idea,” they say together.

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#the green velvet tux #klaus hargreeves #robert sheehan #the umbrella academy #tua #tua s3 #the hottest rob #ded and gonne #ded & gonne #green velvet tux #location wedding #image bank klaus #image bank green velvet tux #luther’s wedding #location luther’s wedding #robert sheehan character fic #mine #my photos

[sheehalloween]

A huge, huge thank you to everyone who has made this event so successful. Checking the tag every day to see all the incredible things you’ve made has been such a joy. From Joz and Salv, we love you so much. ❤️❤️

We’ll be posting everything again over the coming days, so please keep reblogging and sharing all these beautiful fanworks - your friendly neighbourhood creators will thank you for it. Xx

#robert sheehan #sheehalloween 2022 #klaus hargreeves #the umbrella academy #robert sheehan character fic #robert sheehan fanart #robert sheehan fanfic #tua #rob sheehan #umbrella academy

[fantasticwolfpenguin]

Sheehalloween Day 5: Free Space Rob Makes Me Curious about Carlos: A Vignette

NOTE: So I started this like months ago, but I myself identify as asexual. Carlos WAS PROBABLY NOT ASEXUAL, but because of his infertility kind of messed me up a little bit. Like now there's like access to therapy, and men talking about that stuff is less taboo. But over a hundred years ago it wasn't and learning about how he felt so isolated in that in being unloved in that way which lead to his suicide and attempt of murder. Like part of it I see as like his obsession with this one woman, but also the lack of just the fact that he wasn't alone. Robert kind of brought it out, and he himself has mentioned going to Parisian grave to just make sure he wasn't alone for awhile. That made me feel deeply. That's death work. On to the fic.

Je entre las maison de tolérance. Je vois Carlos Casagemas, il se pecnchait au mur. Je m'approche de lui.

>>Non, je ne voudrais pas de c’est pas de…&lt;<

J’ai menti >> Mon père etait un sèxologist, je connais sa problème, qu’est que si parle à la café de bas? Son ami déjà payé.<<

“So why do you want to talk to me, miss?” He sipped lightly on his coffee.

I blurted out in a whisper, "There are plenty of women with the same problem, for example me.”

“You said your father sent you out here? Alone?”

“He heard through the grapevine that you just sit and paint for hours while your ‘friend’ has ‘fun’.” My air quoting only made him more confused. “ You know not being able to satisfy their partners the rest of society wants too.”

“Alright how the hell did he know.”

“People talk of course and the paintings are quite nice though blurry.”

“Then why doesn’t your father buy any?”He took out some color pencils and some paper and started sketching. “You look like maybe you may know some people import Chinese molasses.”

Oh yes ol’ 19th century microaggression. Fun. “Haha. You’d think I’d be lying, but your best friend and your crush, have sex after you die and for them it’s nothing—“

“After I die?” I assumed he assumed I misspoke.“Regardless…No, he barely even talked to her why would she.” He crumples the piece of paper dissatisfied and shoves it in his pocket.

“Je sais, je sais.” I raise my voice. “Just I’m here to say dump your friend and talk to other women Jesus!”

“First time a whore would talk to me in this way.”

“I’m not a whore! And man, has your friend given you bad perception of sex workers. This was stupid.“ I was already really sweaty in the big hat which the Renoir paintings made it look to easy.

“Wait!” He stops me. “Do people remember me? Even all I have done and what I’m going to do?”

“Yeah, I guess, despite what you do, you were brought back by someone who saw you as human. Take that as you will.”

Carlos and his wreck of a future I can’t change. In his life and fame, he gives it to another. In the end he didn’t survive a world dominated by sex and success. And some days I think I wouldn’t either.

I wonder what poetry Sheehan read to him on that cold day in Paris.

#sheehalloween 2022 #talking to the dead #carlos casagemas #robert sheehan #ficlet #dunno what else to call this #character analysis #historic figure #genius 2018 #death work #asexual awareness week

[badsext]

Prompt: “I wish he’d teach me how to play mine.”

I found ⬆️ as a random tag related to I don’t know what, and it just made me blush with all the mental images of things OC could be requesting Rob teach them how to play.

Character: Anybody but Roland and Ivan, cuz they’d be too easy and where’s the fun in that. Also, I hate the theramin. And 80s fashions.

* This is not my gif and I could not locate the gif maker for proper credit*

How to Play: Rob x Fem!Reader

Thank you for the request.  Your requests are the best! :)

Warnings ⚠️ Public Smut, Food, Puns, Fluff

——————————————————————————

Rob had a penchant for quirky restaurants. Over the past few weeks he had already taken you to an Asian fusion bistro with live performing aerialists and a farm to table establishment that encouraged diners to help with a few farm chores before being seated at their table.  This place was tame by comparison, merely specializing in themed soups.  

There was a lull in the conversation and Rob started giggling.  

“What is it?”  His laughter was contagious.  

“Listen,” he said leaning in.

“What,  I don’t-“

“That’s the sound of fifty people trying not to slurp their soup.”

You smiled, noisily consuming your noodles in defiance.

“Enjoying the ‘PHOMO?’”

“It’s pretty good.  How’s yours?  What did you order again?”

“I’ve got ‘Won Ton Desire.’”

“These names. I swear.”

Rob continued to peruse the menu.  “Tomatotally Awesome? Chick Send Nood(le)s?”

“Yeah, some of these are really stew-pid.”

“Are you proud of yourself for that one?”

“This restaurant was your idea, remember?”

“If you’d told me where we were going, I might have reconsidered.”

“Take Our Broth Away is the hottest spot in town right now.  There’s a waitlist a mile long.  I had to pull some strings.”

“I’m gonna pull your strings!,” you quipped back.  

“Ooh, Please elaborate.”  Rob smirked, resting his chin in his hands.

The waitress came up to your table.  “I just wanted to check on you two.  Enjoying your soup?  Can I get you anything else?  For dessert we have a lovely cold strawberry and fresh mint gazpacho.”

“We’ll take it!  Two spoons, please.”

The dessert, essentially a fruit smoothie in a bowl, was heavenly, the best part of the meal.  Your spoons clinked as you scuffled over the elegant portion.

“I heard you play the spoons.  It’s like an Irish folk music thing, right?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, passing the silver utensil between his lips and pulling it out clean.  “Bet you think I wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I know you would.  I’m counting on it,” you teased.

Rob collected another spoon and licked that one clean as well.  Then he stood up, rolled up his sleeves and put one leg up on the chair.  This was getting serious. 

He threaded the instruments between the fingers in his right hand.  He slapped them rhythmically against his jeans, his dominant hand alternating between cupping them and gently tapping them together.  It was an oddly pleasant sound and he looked hot as hell doing it.  This man could make anything look sexy.  

Other couples started checking out the strange music coming from your table.  He couldn’t resist improvising a few cheeky song lyrics.  His singing voice was average, but his charm could make a herd of stampeding buffalo stop and swoon.  

Rob signed a few autographs and posed for a couple of selfies.  After a while the fans dispersed, returning to their tables.  Alone again, you settled back into your secluded table against the wall.  “Well, now.  That was entertaining.”  

“I aim to please.”

“Mm.  I wish you’d show me how to play.”  You brushed your skirt away from your leg and parted your knees just enough to give him the message.  

“We’re not talking about music anymore are we?”  Rob leaned in and stroked the length of your bare thigh.  You shook your head coyly.  He cradled your face in his hand.  Nuzzling your cheek into his palm, you stared up at him, your eyes posing a challenge.  

Rob quickly adjusted the tablecloth to give you a few more inches of coverage on the side facing out.  Then he brushed his hand over the little strip of cotton which held your forbidden fruit.  

“Is this what you want?, he whispered.  

“Ah...ha.”  You inhaled nervously.

He hooked his finger under the fabric and rubbed his knuckle against your clit.

You bit your lip to suppress any sound from escaping.  You were normally not this sensitive, but just the possibility of getting caught electrofied your senses.  Every clink of plates and distant muffled voice raised the intensity.  It was masterful the way he remained so poised above the table and angled your bodies so it just looked like an intimate conversation to the casual observer.  

“The waitress could come round the corner any second with the check,” he said, slipping a finger inside you.  You gripped his shoulder to steady yourself.  He used his thumb to roll your clit in a slow and steady circle.  

“Ahh.”  Your head tilted back.  Rob gently guided it back.  “Look at me.  Focus on me,” he said.

He held you in his green eyed gaze, encouraging you.

He added another finger and together they curled and flexed inside you, his thumb bearing down, relentlessly manipulating your swollen aching clit.  You sat there helpless, a dribbling mess.  “Oh fuck,” you whispered as the flood endorphins erupted from your core.  You shuddered and sighed, clinging to Rob for stability.  

“So, how are we doing?”  The waitress returned.  She noticed the overwhelmed look on your face.  “Oh, hon are you okay?”  You didn’t know what to say.  You hid your face with your hands.

“She is just a little overwhelmed and I haven’t even gotten to the big surprise yet.”  Rob winked at you.  

“Oh, well, I’ll give you some privacy.”  She smiled, probably assuming you were flustered by some big romantic gesture.  She left the check, then disappeared.  Rob paid for the meal, tipping generously.

“Nice cover, but now you’ve got me wanting another surprise.”  You went in for a kiss.

“Oh but there is another surprise,” he assured you.  “Now, let’s go home, so we can do the weird stuff.”  You laughed.  “Wait, you forgot your key,” he added, jingling the thing a few inches from your face.

“That’s not my...Oh.  Rob, what did you do?”

“I got a little place.  I’ve decided to stick around for a while.”  

You lunged at him and threw your arms around his neck.  It was a surprise, one you had been hoping for.  You held the key triumphantly.  “This night just keeps getting better.  Now, tell me more about the weird stuff…”      

@salvador-daley @super-unpredictable98 @bubblyani @helena-way07 @chipster-21 @punknatch @zombiedixon89 @ringpopdust

#rob x reader #robert sheehan x reader #robert sheehan fanfic #fic request #robert sheehan smut #Robert Sheehan request #funny Robert Sheehan fic #Robert Sheehan imagine

[feed-davis-and-steve]

Robert Sheehan and Dean Devlin at New York Comic Con for Bad Samaritan. Photographer: Luigi Novi

#that last one kills me #robert sheehan #rob sheehan #dean devlin #bad samaritan #sean falco #new york comic con #ny comic con #comic con #i see you #despite the fact that you’re another journalist I still see you and appreciate what you bring #would like to see rob play tennis with this one #you know he wants to #I’m so totally going to put down my phone this minute and start writing m|m fics #honestly hannah

[robertisaworkofart]

Look at his lines!

Klaus has such gorgeous lines: His jawline is not too sharp, but it's sharp enough to beautifully frame his face alongside with his hair, all messy, those beautiful shiny curls I love to run my finger through. His lips are delicate and have a nice outline, his cheekbones seem to be sculpted by angels, his nose is so pretty with not a single bump or imperfection, his neck is long like a swan's, not to mention his Adam's apple... 

By @super-unpredictable98 from The 8th Child (TUA AU), Chapter 8: Academy Under Attack.

Read it from the beginning. Totally worth your time and eyeballs 👀 Until then, here are his lines...

Image (detail): @knifecatklaus

Lines: @alf-ii

#look at his lines #robert sheehan #klaus hargreeves fanfiction #tua au #the umbrella academy #tua #fave fic writers #super-unpredictable98 #the 8th child #read it #eyeballs #fave fics #klaus hargreeves #klaus fanfiction #tua fanfic #rob sheehan #fic writer #knifecatklaus #alf ii #alf ii photo manipulation #klaus hargreeves fanart #tua fanart #the umbrella academy fanart #fanart #robert sheehan’s perfect lines #robert sheehan’s perfect face #robertisaworkofart #robert sheehan is a work of art #robert sheehan fanart

[robmesheehan]

Sometimes you have to flip a scene on its side

#sexy times with Robert Sheehan #fuckyeahrobertsheehan #sometimes you have to flip a scene on its side #you’re welcome #if only I could add sound #and yes I am that pervy #demons never die #arch eden #robert sheehan #rob sheehan #rob x reader fic request #fanfic request

[misskittysmagicportal]

Anyone with access to the BBCOne Player will be able to watch "Three Summers" starting either tomorrow after it airs OR the coming week ☺️☺️☺️ So watch it, lovelies!! THEN GIMME THOSE ROLAND FICS!!

You will inevitably fall in love with this pretentious asshole 💖💖

#robert sheehan #three summers #roland #rob needs to do another rom-com #it's not really a rom-com it's a comedy with a tropey delightful rom side story #but cmon gimme that cheese filled chick flick where the woman falls WILDLY and STUPIDLY in unrealistic love with an Irishman #like leap year and ps I love you #take one of our fics and make it a movie ok Robbie

[salvador-daley]

Dead Sexy 💀😵🩵 Updated!

An Umbrella Academy AU feat. Pathologist!Dave + MorgueRegular!Klaus

A/N: Yo! This fic just hit 50 subscribers so I figured I should probably update it. 😬 Apologies for being the world’s slowest writer. I humbly offer this chapter as restitution for my tardiness. If you like it, please leave me a comment. If you don’t, well, just keep that shit to yourself. 😘

Summary: Dave is a pathologist working at the city morgue. And Klaus… well, Klaus just keeps turning up.

Snippet from Chapter 4:

It sometimes takes a little while to rouse him. A breakfast burrito waved under his nose (Dave has started buying an extra one during his Monday morning commute) normally does the trick.

But then eventually Klaus’ eyes will blink awake and he’ll be back on the mortal plane; yawning, stretching, scratching and subjecting Dave to more of his incorrigible flirting.

It’s strange, really, how quickly they’ve fallen into a kind of routine.

Klaus exhausts the supply of wearable items amid the sparse and ancient offerings of the lost and found box during his first few visits. Dave invests in a multipack of cheap white t-shirts and picks up a dozen pairs of sweatpants and some worn shoes from goodwill so that he can at least provide Klaus with something halfway decent to walk home in.

Not that Klaus always turns up naked; he doesn’t. Sometimes Dave will unzip the bag to find the guy still wearing the outfit in which he met his end: a leather gimp suit with straws poking through the nostril-holes (breathplay accident at an orgy), rainbow ice skates (pond not fully frozen), purple parachute pants (parachute not included).

The more Dave learns about Klaus, the more of a mystery he becomes. He doesn’t appear to have a permanent address, but then never seems to be strictly homeless either. Klaus apparently exists in a perpetual state of couch surfing and bed-hopping - without any shortage of couches to surf and beds to hop into.

Klaus’ sexual exploits are one of his favourite topics, the stories all delivered with a nonchalant hand wave but punctuated with a knowing glimmer of the eyes, as if told purely for Dave’s benefit.

Dave would never admit that he occasionally feels the prickly fangs of something green-eyed when Klaus is sat cross-legged on the autopsy table, delivering yet another tale of naked debauchery. But he does sometimes give Klaus the smaller burrito as a form of punishment.

Read the rest on AO3

Tagging because you haven’t told me to stop: @badsext @yeah-klave @softforklave @anglophile-rin @falloutby @merry-melody @neist @purblzart @maerenee930 @firstpersonnarrator @super-unpredictable98 @wcrmboy @spookyfbi @squishitude @courtneytarynofficial @mokolataddict @pickledbeefwastaken @love-is-dirty-baby @jender123 @vonkimmeren @narnianaos @sylvertyger @merrilark @faceache111 @rob-private @pietro-t1me @not-oscar-wilde @thislovelylife @falafel14 @allisoooon @kawaiic0mmunism

#robert sheehan #the umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #tua #umbrella academy #klaus umbrella academy #rob sheehan #tua fic #klave #klaus x dave #klaus and dave #dailytua #klaus Hargreeves x Dave katz #dave katz #cody ray thompson #tua fanfic #tua fandom #tua fanfiction #tua netflix #tua klaus #klaus tua #klaus Hargreeves fic #klaus Hargreeves fanfic #klaus & dave #umbrella academy klaus #umbrella academy fanfic #umbrella academy fic

[dreyf]

i no this is an rp blog but i hope its okay to ask because you really seem to love the movie, do you have any good sway lake fic recommendations or people besides you to follow for content?

Hello, Nonnie! I apologize for taking so long! I've been giving some of my other muses more attention lately and Nik's been pushed to the backburner. But I plan on bringing him back soon. c:

Anyway, yes! It's always totally cool to ask me questions about anything. I'm happy to chat!

Unfortunately, I haven't actually read any fanfic for Sway Lake, but AO3 has three Nikolai/Reader fics. As for general content, I'd suggest checking out a few Sheehan-centric blogs! @robscloset, @robertisaworkofart, @seanfalco, @robsclan, @salvador-daley, @robmesheehan, and @badsext all are exclusively rob or have heavy focus on him and his characters, though there's prrrobably not a lot of Sway Lake content specifically? TSoSL is pretty underrated and not very well known, it seems, so there's not too much fanstuff floating around out there for it, I'm afraid. :c

You could try following the official Instagram at @swaylake!

#out of time [ooc]; #strangers in the night [anons];

[sheehalloween]

Sheehalloween approaches!

The festivities begin THIS SUNDAY so be sure to get your posting fingers ready for nine days of spooky sheenanigans! Muahahahahaa! 👻👻

Go here for more information

#robert sheehan #sheehalloween 2022 #robert sheehan character fic #robert sheehan fanart #robert sheehan fanfic #rob sheehan #klaus hargreeves #the umbrella academy #tua #sean falco #bad samaritan #mortal engines #the mortal instruments #the song of sway lake #me and mrs jones #the messenger

[seanfalco]

Positivity Fic Recs

Yesterday I asked people to tell me what some of their favourite fics of mine were, today I’m gunna be posting some of my favourite fics by other writers and spreading some positivity to help counteract the hate that has been going around lately. 💖💖💖

@imagine-you — Mel’s Klaus fics were what inspired me to start writing for him as well, which led to writing for Robert’s other roles. Without her I probably wouldn’t be sharing my fics with you today.

Look Alive, Sunshine (Klaus Hargreeves x Reader/Danger Days crossover)

More Than Just a Dream series (Klaus Hargreeves x Reader)

@the-novel-on-the-left — Shye’s been with me since pretty much the beginning when I was writing for The Witcher & Valdo Marx & then I was lucky enough that she followed me further into Robert Sheehan Hell.

Parties (Valdo Marx x Reader) - written for my birthday!

Break My Heart Right series (Luba x Reader)

Fake Dating: Rehab Visit (Klaus Hargreeves x Reader)

@super-unpredictable98 — Flor is another one who writes for all of Rob’s characters and I’m in love with her oc, Lydia, who I have been having a blast rp-ing with 💖

Irresistible Trouble (Spiller x Reader)

@bisexualnathanyoung — Ry’s Nathan is always spot on and I love their oc, Mel and how real she feels. I’m also lucky enough to be able to have collaberated with them on our Misfits ot3 verse.

Community Blowback (Nathan Young x oc)

@seancekitsch — Bonnie’s portrayal of Klaus is so perfect and I love how wonderfully flawed he is. Plus she depicts addiction and mental illness in such an accurate and respectful way.

Prize Buck series (Klaus Hargreeves x Reader)

@robertsheehanownsmyass — Shay is another wonderful writer that provides content for our smaller roles & I’m super excited to see what else she has in store for us from her Valentine’s event.

Champagne Buzz (Nathan Young x Reader)

Mo Shíorghrá (Darren Treacy x Reader)

Pop! Goes the Prosecco (Vincent Rhodes x Reader)

@elliethesuperfruitlover — A ray of sunshine and positivity and one of the biggest cheerleaders in this fandom. Her Luba fics are always spicy and sweet.

Walk with a Limp(ay) (Luba x Reader)

@badsext — Another writer whose Nathan fics I really enjoy and a super sweet person as well!

A Comedy of Errors (Nathan Young x Reader)

Masquerade (Nathan Young x Reader)

There are many other talented writers in this fandom and I haven’t been the best at reading fic lately, so if you have any others to recognize, link them in the comments! We’re here to support each other and lift each other up, not tear each other down. And I for one am so thankful for all the wonderful friends I’ve made and for all the support of my fellow writers. I love you all. 💖💛

#joz talks #fic recs #robert sheehan #robert sheehan character fics

[elliethesuperfruitlover]

One Year Fic-Aversary

  It’s been a year since I published my first fanfic on here! So, I’m writing a bit of a thank you letter, and my feelings about everything that’s happened this past year. Get comfy.

  My first fic came from an idea I had and I was like “hmm this could be something”. So I bit the bullet, and decided to upload it on here! It’s called Sensual Soliloquies, go check it out :). I wasn’t really nervous to get it out there either! I looked at it and went “This is good.” and I was happy with it. Plus, I tend to write a lot, like 5 pages on a google doc, so length wasn’t an issue. It was good though! I’m extremely happy to have decided to write again, and it’s brought me a lot of luck and happiness through this past year.

 Fun fact, this isn’t the first site that I’ve published fanfiction on! I used to write on Wattpad, as well as Quotev. (not leaking the username, that shit can NOT see the light of day lol). I had a good amount of reads on them too! Which was amazing for me to think about. Having thousands of people seeing my works is wonderful. Or even just one person, honestly, is good enough for me. I also hand-wrote Harry Potter fics back in 5th grade too! I never uploaded those, but I always wrote in class, and edited things. Even then it was wonderful to have, even if they were smutty and somewhat poorly written. They were just for me, and written by me, and I loved that. 

I stopped writing it for a few years, and didn’t have the urge to really pick back up writing them for myself. I didn’t stop reading it though. Fanfiction is a constant thing for me, although it hasn’t always been. It’s a form of my own self-expression, and different fantasies and feelings, and it’s wonderful! Now, I made my tumblr account for good omens and good omens ALONE. I didn’t really come on here much, but when I found out about Robert Sheehan, and his different characters (specifically Klaus) something clicked, y’know? So I started coming on here more frequently, and reading through the tag, and one specific person kept coming up.

the *wonderful* and talented @badsext​

I put a request in, and everything blossomed from there! She’s actually one of the biggest reasons as to why I started writing as well! She encouraged me, and I took the leap of faith, and I seriously don’t want to look back from it. I’m so thankful to still have her in my little circle of people, and she’s an extremely dear friend. I really don’t know what I would’ve done without her kind words and interactions with me! I’m very grateful to call her a pal. She also happens to write some great stories too! So go check her out!

More people started popping up, and everything just seemed so nice. I watched more series, and began writing for a lot of characters. (one in particular) Mr. Luba. I feel like I’m most known for my Luba fics, which is fine by me, but kids, remember, do things in moderation. I burnt myself out writing him, but I still really like Luba as a character, and how Rob portrayed him. 

I’m really, very grateful for every single like, and reblog I’ve ever gotten on here. I will never take that for granted. It means a lot to me that people see my works, even if it’s just in a small glance, or a look at a title of mine. It seems so weird that people see my thoughts, or weird ideas and go “Yeah, I’ll give it a try”. Like?? That’s so nice, that someone wants to share an idea with me. And spend their time scrolling through my words, and feeling things, and comprehending what I may have just put them through. (sorry) You’ll never find me fussing over notes or anything because it’s out there. Someone will see it, even for a fleeting moment. I will really, absolutely never just forget about that.

It also means a lot to me when my pals see my works, and I read their tags and everything. (I always read the tags in my notes.) I want to hear your thoughts, and opinions and what made you go “One moment, I need to sit down.” and all that. The pals that I’ve made on here are some of the most wonderful people. And I mean that. They could’ve just thrown my thoughts away, and disregarded me, but they didn’t! They kept me around. I am endlessly appreciative of everyone on here. I read all the nice things y’all say about me in asks, and tag games and all that. It just makes me so happy. To know that someone out there has my back, you know. Someone out there has got me. It feels good to know that someone’s rooting for me, and that they care about how I’m doing. And how proud they are of me. They’ll listen if I need to talk, they give hugs in the form of animal gifs. And I’ll be there just the same for them in return. I’m surrounded by nothing but love and pure goodness here. Everyone here is nothing but supportive of not only me, but each other. It may be a really small circle, (with a venn diagram here and there) but there’s nothing but love here. I’m forever grateful of that.

Now that I’ve cried, um, yeah. This is a wonderful journey, and I’m happy that I, myself, stuck around, and did what I wanted to. I stuck by my “I do what I want, and won’t write unless I feel like it.” rule, and somehow it’s worked! I just...I am feeling a lot of good things, and it is so wild that it’s been a year. It, oddly enough, feels like it’s been that long, even if it usually feels like the opposite. Somehow. If I look at everything else around me, time seems to just pass by, but on here, it’s as real as can be. I enjoy so much time on this website, with my friends, just chatting, and I really wouldn’t have it any other way. So again, thank you, to all my pals, for being nothing but welcoming and loving. And thank you to my anonymous readers, and requesters, who give me fresh ideas and thoughts. I really appreciate it. I wouldn’t be simping over fictional characters as openly if it wasn’t for you. Really though.., thank you so very much.

You all deserve all the love and goodness that the world has to offer. So go drink some water, order something nice for yourself. Get rest, if you need, feed your pets.

                                            Thanks for coming in, and staying a while. ~Ellie

[badsext]

I know this is a non-Halloween related one, but could I get a robbie x reader fic where the reader isn't cleanly shaved anywhere, and when it's time to get intimate, she gets insecure. he reassures her, and fluffy smut ensues. 👉👈

Natural: Robert Sheehan x (Fem) Reader

Thank you for the request! I hope you like it.

⚠️ Drugs, Alcohol, and Smut including unprotected sex

————————————————————————————————

“It’s not a party. Niki takes one last toke on her vape. “It’s just a small group of friends getting together,” she says on the exhale. She offers you some, but the contact high inside the car is more than enough. Your anxious mind doesn’t want you too relaxed.

“I just think it’s a little weird that we had to park in the cul-de-sac.”

“I’m just being polite.”

“And you know someone at this party?”

Niki scowls at you playfully. “I know, I know, not a party.” You hold your hands up in mock defense.

You follow her on foot through a very nice neighborhood and up a steep incline. Suddenly Niki stops at what you assume must be your destination, a huge modern six bedroom house. She grabs your wrist. “Come on.” Breaking into a trot, she circles you around to the back of the house. “Now just blend in.” You look around. There must be thirty people in the backyard alone. You shoot Niki a look of betrayal, but she has already struck up a conversation with an attractive group of strangers. She winks. You slink off to find the bathroom.

The line stretches down the hall. “God, you’d think with a house this size there would be more available bathrooms,” you say somewhat rhetorically to the stranger next to you. You see him only in profile. “There are actually four bathrooms in this house,” he says. “The two upstairs are being used for some kind of intervention and ritualistic bathing.” His voice and his accent sound familiar.

“Really, okay,” you laugh. “What about the fourth one?”

“Oh, that one is for the cats. There’s a sign on the door.” He turns to get a better look at you and you recognize him. It’s Robert Sheehan. Your mind suddenly goes blank and you have to remind yourself to blink.

“Cats, yeah,” you mumble. You’ll have to snap out of it if you want to continue this conversation. “I’m y/n.”

“Rob.” He bobs his head in greeting.

Suddenly the bathroom door opens and its occupant emerges, holding the door for Rob to take his place. “You wanna go first?,” he offers.

“Thanks, it it’s not that serious. I actually just got here and I’m nervous about meeting new people so I’m stalling.”

He smiles. “Cheers, then.” The door closes behind him.

You stand there berating yourself for the 2.5 minutes he is in there pissing and washing his hands. He opens the door with smile and a gleam in his eye. “Will you come meet me in the kitchen for a drink when you’re done?”

“Um, yeah,” you respond happily, but with a hint of skepticism.

You look in the bathroom mirror just long enough to psych yourself up and not out. Then you head trepidatiously to the kitchen. Rob sees you from across the room and comes over with two bottles and an opener.

“Y/N, you made it! Beer?” Your name sounds so good in his voice.

“Sure.”

He opens it for you and clinks his bottle with yours. “To meeting new people...Shall we mingle?” You nod. He leads you back to the patio. There are a cluster of chairs facing one another. You take the one closest to Rob. Rob waves and greets the others “Dan, Steve, this is y/n.”

“Hey. We were just talking about strip clubs,” Dan admits.

“What do you think of them?”

Rob laughs. “I’ve been dragged to a few. I prefer burlesque.”

“How about you, y/n?”

“You don’t have to answer that.” Rob senses this topic might make you uncomfortable.

“No, it’s okay. I’ve only ever seen them in the movies.” You want to blend in, make friends. “It’s funny, I’ve always been curious what happens in a real strip club after they cut away. Do they take off their bottoms?” You regret the words as soon as they come out of your mouth, a misguided attempt to be ‘one of the guys.’

“Depends on the club.”

“Wow, ok.”

“They do the splits and you can see everything.” The guys make faces at each other.

“Do they like move the hair?”

“The hair? What kind of fucked up 1970’s strip club are you talking about? No, they don’t have pubic hair!” Dan laughs. “Everybody shaves. Pubic hair is gross. I don’t know anybody who doesn’t shave.”

“Yeah.” You respond looking into your beer.

Rob turns to you and says loud enough for all to hear, “Let’s go somewhere else. I didn’t realize these guys were such assholes.”

It was a sore subject. You had very sensitive skin and from the first time you tried it shaving caused painful, visibly red irritation that never seemed to go away. You tried every razor, lotion and depilatory cream in existence, but it was no use. Finally a few years ago you decided you were better off with the hair than enduring such extreme measures to remove it. Fuck society and their beauty standards. Accept you hated the judgement whenever your hairy skin was exposed. When the weather got warm you started wearing long bohemian skirts to hide your legs and sheer coverups to hide your underarms. Draping yourself in long loose delicate fabrics became your signature look. It made you feel magical.

“I’m sorry about those guys,” Rob says walking away. “For the record, I do not share those opinions.” He tucks a few stray curls behind his ear with a smile. “Do you want to go somewhere less crowded, get something to eat? I’m already sick of this party.”

“I thought it wasn’t a party.”

“What?”

“Sorry, it’s an inside joke I have with my friend, Niki. She brought me here. I should tell her I’m leaving.”

“Where is she?”

“God only knows. I’ll text her.”

Rob pointed to the door behind him. “This is my room. I’m going to change and charge my phone.”

“Wait, your room? You live here?”

“No, I’m only staying a few nights in the guest room. Want to meet me back here in ten minutes so we can go?”

“Perfect.” As you go to find Niki, you realize that Robert Sheehan essentially just asked you on a date and walked you to his room.

Niki is found in the living room singing and playing the piano. An audience has gathered to watch. From across the room you give her the signal that you are leaving. She smiles and flashes a thumbs up between piano chords. That is when you notice the butterflies in your stomach. Rob is waiting for you.

You dash down the hall, footsteps speeding up to match your elevated heart rate. Your free flowing garments flutter behind you as you approach the guest room. Rob answers the door, looks at you and smiles. “Are you ready?” You stumble forward into his arms for a kiss. He responds, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you inside. At this proximity you become aware of his scent, thick and sweet. You part your lips for him, the feel of his tongue gliding against yours casting sparks down to your core.

He pulls his lips from yours and grasps your hand. “Would you like to see where this goes?” He searches your eyes for doubt. Your doubts are not for him but for yourself.

So he is not grossed out by a woman who doesn’t shave her pussy, but what about a woman who doesn’t shave at all? There is no way to be sure if you don’t ask, but asking might kill the mood.

He can sense you are conflicted about something. “We can still go out now if you-“

You sit down on the edge of the bed. “Before this goes any further, I think I should tell you that I don’t shave...anywhere.”

“You don’t?” His voice is soft.

You shake your head.

“Anywhere?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Nope.”

He looks down at your feet. “May I?”

You slip one foot out of its sandal and place your heel in Rob’s open palm. He rests the sole of your foot against his chest. The angle of your leg causes the fabric of your skirt to ride up. Your breath gets caught in your throat as Rob glides his hand slowly along your unshaven calf. He smiles deviously before tickling you right behind your very ticklish knees. You giggle and thrash around, pulling him on top of you in the process. Once the laughter subsides you hold each others gaze for a moment. You always thought he was gorgeous on film, but now, experiencing him in the flesh...You are spellbound.

Both of you start to undress. You instinctively cross your arms over your chest to hide the hair under your arms. Rob reaches up to cradle your face in his hand. “You don’t have to hide this with me.” He kisses the top of your shoulder while his green eyes stare. “I fancy you.” Your arms relax and a little smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “There you are.”

You kiss him hungrily as your hand slides down to grasp his hard length. Rob inhales a shallow breath at the sudden presence of your touch. You start to work him up and down a little, but he stays focused on you. He boldly plunges his long fingers into your fuzzy little nest of curls. Rob rubs your clit in little circles while his mouth finds your nipple. You whimper and moan at the sensations building inside you. Then you are shocked by the sudden absence of his mouth on your breast. You open your eyes to find him nestled between your legs with his long hair tucked behind his ears.

“Oh, Rob you don’t have to-“

But his fingers are already gently separating your labia and his tongue is already licking you in perfect rhythmic strokes. He looks up at you and smiles. His licking turns to gentle sucking. It feels so good you grind back against his face. He slides his hands underneath you to draw you closer and squeeze your ass. Your body convulses into a powerful orgasm. He slides back up to gage your reaction, his lips coated with your essence. He picks a stray hair off his tongue.

“Fuck me, Robbie. I want you to fill me.”

Robbie grabs your hips and buries his stiff cock into your slick opening. He stretches you just right, grinding on your swollen clit. Each thrust bringing you closer and closer. Your muscles contract around him as this orgasm flows through you like waves crashing on the beach. Rob gets such pleasure in watching you cum it triggers his own release. He moans softly and kisses you as he pulls out. Then he throws the blankets over you both to shield you from the excessive air conditioning. “Weren’t we going out somewhere? What would make a good first date?,” he asks.

“‘First’ date?”

Robbie laughs. He is nervous a moment, but you smile and wrap your arm around him. “In a minute. I have to find out where you are ticklish.”

#robert sheehan smut #Robert Sheehan x reader #Robert Sheehan fan fic #Robert Sheehan request #robert sheehan imagine #unshaven #unshaven Reader

[super-unpredictable98]

MadLibs Ask

Dear [adjective] fic writer, who [insert benefit of reading their work],

When you write for [character name], are you picturing [actor name] + [verb] + [other kinds of words containing your question]

Here’s mine…

Adjective: extraordinarily talented and frequently naughty

Benefit: keeps me from drowning in my tea out of loneliness and a sinking awareness of the futility of existence or whatever

Character Name: Rob’s characters

Actor Name: Rob Sheehan

Question: When you write for Rob’s characters, are you picturing Rob playing the character you’re writing for? Or is the character an actual living, breathing human who exists irl? Like, if you looked your [Klaus] in the eye, would you see Rob’s spark somewhere back in there, or is it 100% Klaus Hargreeves who just happens to look like an actor you like?

Question inspired by @iamsexytrash ‘s very real Klaus Hargreeves. I never realized I always read Rob’s characters as Rob’s characters, rather than real people.

First of all, that's an amazing question, I never stopped to think about it until now.

Turns out each character is their own person to me. They look alike, but they have their own way of talking, mannerisms, and personalities. That's mostly Rob's merit, I think if he wasn't such a great actor, I wouldn't be able to see his characters like that.

I think the only time I really picture Rob as Rob is while reading RPF, or writing it (yeah, I write it once in a blue moon, but as of now I don't have plans to post it).

Thank you so much for that question XD

#fic writing