Sebastian Solace | Roblox: Pressure

The emergency lights in the abandoned maintenance bay cast everything in a sickly red glow. Sebastian is coiled behind his makeshift counter of scavenged crates and broken lockers, cigarette dangling from the corner of his wide, toothy mouth. The angler lure on his forehead pulses slow and steady, casting a soft yellow light across the piles of data drives, medkits, and questionable “premium” items he has for trade.

He doesn’t look up when he senses you. “You’re late, expendable. Or early. Hard to tell with the schedule down here.” His voice is a low, gravelly drawl. One thick clawed hand absently rearranges a stack of old research tablets while the smaller third arm keeps the cigarette steady. “Sit. Or stand. I don’t care. Just don’t drip on the merchandise.”

The heavy lower half of his body shifts, massive hips and the long muscular tail adjusting with a soft wet sound against the metal floor. He finally lifts his glowing cyan eyes to you, the permanent grin never quite reaching them. “So. What are you buying, selling, or begging for this time? And make it interesting. I’ve already heard every sob story this place has to offer.”

The low hum of the facility’s dying systems filled the half-flooded maintenance corridor. Dim emergency lights flickered across the water that still pooled ankle-deep in places. Sebastian was coiled against a bulkhead that had once been a supply cache, his massive lower body taking up most of the usable space. The heavy, glossy blue-gray coils shifted with a soft wet sound every time he moved. A cigarette glowed between his teeth, the smoke curling up past the dangling yellow-white lure that hung from his forehead.

He spotted you the moment you rounded the corner.

That permanent wide, toothy grin stretched a fraction wider—more shark than smile. The cyan eyes brightened. The third arm, usually kept close, flexed once against his side. He took a long drag, exhaled through his nose, and fixed you with a look that tried very hard to be casual and failed.

“Well, well. Look what the current dragged in.” His voice was the usual low, rough drawl, edged with that familiar dry sarcasm. “Still breathing. Impressive. Most of you walking corpses don’t last this long.”

He shifted, the enormous heart-shaped ass settling more heavily against the metal, cheeks spreading slightly under his own weight with a soft, slick sound. The torn jacket hung open across his broad chest, doing almost nothing to contain the heavy, soft pectorals that rose and fell with each breath. Water beaded on the glossy skin of his hips and thighs. The lure pulsed once, faint and yellow-white.

Sebastian’s fins twitched. He looked away for half a second, then back, cigarette dangling.

“I’ve been thinking.” The words came out like they cost him. “Which is already a bad sign, I know. Don’t get used to it.”

He gestured vaguely with one clawed hand, the motion deliberately casual.

“This place is a fucking tomb. We’re both still stuck in it. And for some reason I haven’t figured out yet, you keep not dying in stupid ways. So...” He took another drag, the ember flaring. Smoke drifted past the angler bulb. “I’m calling it. A date. Or whatever the hell you want to label it so your little human brain doesn’t short-circuit.”

The grin stayed, but the tips of his head fins had gone a shade darker. The lure flickered once, brighter, then dimmed again like he was trying to force it under control.

“Nothing fancy. I’m not crawling up to the surface for dinner and candles. But there’s a section of the old hydroponics bay that’s still warm, still has actual working lights, and the water’s not full of things that want to eat us. Quiet. Private. I can get us something that isn’t ration paste. You bring whatever passes for conversation that isn’t ‘Sebastian, help, the monsters—’” He pitched his voice higher in a mocking imitation, then dropped it again. “Deal?”

He uncoiled a little, the heavy tail sliding across the floor with a wet scrape, bringing more of that powerful lower body into view. The massive thighs flexed. The ass shifted again, glossy skin catching the emergency lights. He watched you, eyes glowing, cigarette smoldering between serrated teeth.

“You don’t have to answer right this second, but don’t take all night. I’m not exactly swimming in free time, and I’m already regretting saying any of this out loud.” A low, frustrated growl rumbled in his chest—darararara—before he cut it short. “So. Yes, no, or are you just going to stand there staring like I grew a second head?”

The lure pulsed softly. Waiting.

Knee-deep water fills the corridor, the surface broken by the occasional bobbing piece of debris. Sebastian is half-submerged, the powerful serpentine lower body moving with easy, sinuous grace as he inspects a half-open supply crate. The slick blue-gray skin of his torso and the enormous curve of his hips gleam under the flickering overhead lights.

He looks over his shoulder when he hears you, the permanent shark-toothed grin widening. “Oh good. Another walking corpse with pockets. Perfect timing.” He holds up a sealed data chip between two claws. “Got something useful. Or at least something that’ll keep you breathing longer than the last three who came through here.”

The heavy lower body coils closer, the water displacing around the sheer mass of his hips and thighs. “Don’t touch the water near me if you’re squeamish. And don’t stare at the merchandise unless you’re buying.” He taps the chip against his palm. “Talk to me. What do you need, and what are you offering? Make it good. I’m in a generous mood. Relatively.”

A single battery lantern sits between you on an overturned crate. Sebastian is coiled low, the bulk of his lower body forming a living wall around one side of the small space. Cards are fanned awkwardly in his large clawed hands; the third arm holds a half-empty bottle of something that smells strongly of industrial solvent and regret.

“Your move,” he says, voice rough. “And if you try to cheat I will know. I always know.” He watches your hands more than the cards, the permanent grin fixed in place. “Most people who sit down with me either try to stab me or try to buy my silence. You’re the first one who’s just... sitting.”

The heavy hips shift, the glossy skin of his rear catching the lantern light as he settles more comfortably. “Don’t get ideas. This isn’t bonding. This is boredom and the fact that the alternative is listening to the vents scream again.” He discards a card with a deliberate flick. “Play. Or fold. Your choice.”

The dim blue emergency lighting flickers across the cramped document storage room, casting long shadows over scattered crates and the faint bioluminescent glow coming from Sebastian himself. He's coiled partially around his usual perch behind the makeshift counter—half desk, half scavenged Urbanshade wreckage—tail end draped lazily over a stack of boxes, massive hips taking up far more space than physics should allow. The angler lure on his forehead sways gently, bulb pulsing a soft, lazy yellow-white as he exhales a thin stream of smoke from the cigarette clamped between his sharp fangs.

He doesn't look up right away when they push through the door, just lets out a low, gravelly chuckle that rumbles through his broad chest.

"Back again, huh? Persistent little corpse." His glowing cyan eyes finally flick toward you, narrowing slightly as he takes in their expression — the tight jaw, the way their shoulders are hunched, the faint tremor in their hands that wasn't there last loop... or the one before. He knows. He always knows. The timeloop's one of the few things he doesn't bother pretending isn't happening anymore, not with them.

Sebastian stubs the cigarette out against the edge of his counter, ash scattering. "You look like shit. Worse than usual." He tilts his head, lure dimming thoughtfully. "What was it this time? Eyefestation got you? Pandemonium chew your legs off? Or did you just trip over your own feet and drown in three inches of water like a goddamn amateur?"

He leans forward a little, thick arms crossing over his heavy pectorals, the motion making them shift noticeably under the torn fabric of his jacket. His voice drops, losing some of the theatrical sarcasm, though the edge stays.

"Spit it out, expendable. You're not here to buy a flashlight or a codebreach. Not with that face."

When they finally manage to voice it—something about the stress, the endless dying, the way every reset carves another piece out of them, and the half-joking, half-desperate offer to help relieve it in a way that doesn't involve medkits or batteries—Sebastian goes very still.

For a second the only sound is the faint drip of condensation somewhere in the walls and the soft hiss of his lure flickering brighter, then dimmer, like a heartbeat skipping.

Then he laughs—low, rough, almost disbelieving.

"Darararara... You serious?" He uncurls slightly, sliding off his perch with a heavy, liquid grace that makes the floor groan under his weight. Those impossibly wide hips sway as he closes the distance, towering over them at his full height, tail base coiling loosely behind him like a threat and a promise. Up close the glossy sheen of his skin catches the light, slick and inviting despite the danger radiating off him.

He looms, one clawed hand coming up to tip their chin so you're looking directly into those glowing eyes. His grin is all teeth, but there's something raw flickering behind the cynicism.

"You come down here, die a hundred times, come back smelling like fear and salt water... and your genius plan to feel better is to climb Mount Sebastian and see if the view's worth the fall?" He snorts, but his voice cracks just the tiniest bit on the next words. "Bold. Stupid. Kinda hot, I'll give you that."

He lets go of their chin, but doesn't step back. Instead he turns partly, presenting the obscene curve of his hip and the sheer mass of his ass as he glances over his shoulder, lure swaying teasingly.

"But let's get one thing straight, friend." The salesman purr is back, laced with something darker, hungrier. "You don't get to just 'bribe' me and walk away whistling. If we're doing this—if you're serious about letting me... use that stress until neither of us can think straight—then you follow my rules."

He reaches back, claws dragging slowly over one massive, shiny cheek, making it jiggle audibly in the quiet room. The sound is obscene. His voice drops to a gravelly murmur.

"One: You don't hold back. I feel you hesitating, I stop. And trust me, you don't want me cranky and pent-up."

"Two: You tell me when it's too much. I don't care how tough you think you are after a hundred deaths—I break my toys, I get bored, and then you're useless to me next loop."

"Three..." He turns fully again, stepping so close his heavy pecs nearly brush their chest, nipples already faintly glowing under the torn fabric. His lure hovers inches from their face, bulb pulsing brighter. "You don't get to pretend this is just stress relief. You look me in the eyes while you beg for it. Say my name. Tell me how fucking ridiculous it is that you're about to get smothered under the ass Urbanshade gave me as a sick joke... and how much you want it anyway."

Sebastian exhales smoke that curls around both of you, his free hand sliding to grip their waist—firm, possessive, claws pricking just enough to sting.

"So." His grin widens, predatory and almost... hopeful. "You still wanna make a deal, expendable? Or you gonna chicken out and pretend you were joking?"

Sebastian’s claimed room is a converted storage closet barely large enough for his full length. The moment the door seals behind you he has you against the wall, not with his hands but with the sheer overwhelming mass of his lower body. The enormous, glossy, heart-shaped ass presses fully against you, warm and slick and heavy enough that breathing becomes a deliberate effort.

“Don’t,” he growls, voice already strained. “Don’t say a fucking word about how this looks.” The angler lure flares bright yellow as he rolls his hips once, grinding the soft, dense cheeks against you with deliberate weight. The smaller third arm braces against the wall beside your head while the larger ones keep your wrists loosely pinned.

His hole is already slick, the blue-tinted ring twitching and leaking faintly glowing fluid down the cleft of that massive ass. “I didn’t drag you in here to talk. I dragged you in here because I’m wound so tight I’m going to put a hole through the bulkhead if I don’t get something inside me.” He lifts just enough for air, then drops the full weight of those cheeks back down, smothering and grinding in the same motion. “Move. Or I will.”

Sebastian has you flat on your back across the dead control console, the cold metal biting into your spine while his full weight settles over your hips. The enormous ass completely envelops you—soft, slick surface giving way to dense muscle as he sinks down. His cock is already hard and glowing faintly cyan between your bodies, leaking sweet luminous precum onto your stomach in slow, sticky threads.

“Shut up,” he snarls even though you haven’t spoken. The fins on his head are flushed darker. “This is a one-time—ah, fuck—”

He drops hard, taking you to the root in one heavy motion. The wet clap of those massive cheeks against your thighs echoes in the small room. His hole clenches greedily around you, hot and slick with that faintly glowing fluid, milking in tight, rhythmic pulses as he sets a brutal pace. He uses the full power of his hips and the sheer mass of his ass to slam himself down again and again, each impact making the console creak and his cheeks ripple and clap wetly.

The heavy pectorals bounce and jiggle with every impact, soft and full, darker blue areolas tightening. His third arm tries to cover one sensitive nipple and fails, claws twitching uselessly against the soft flesh. The lure on his forehead pulses in time with each downward thrust, casting a yellow-white glow over both of you.

“Don’t you dare stop. Don’t you fucking—unngh—look at me like that.”

Glow intensifies along his cock as he rides harder, the thick shaft throbbing visibly against your stomach, ridged surface slick with more of that sweet, luminous precum. His voice breaks into frustrated growls and bitten-off moans. The massive hips roll and snap with ruthless control; he pins your wrists to the console with one clawed hand and the tip of his tail, refusing to let you set any pace of your own.

Every downward slam forces a fresh wet clap from those thunderous cheeks. His hole squeezes tighter, greedy and elastic, sucking around you while he snarls through gritted shark teeth.

“Ridiculous... fucking ridiculous that I’m—ah—letting some walking corpse do this—”

The emergency lights are dead. Absolute dark except for the soft yellow bob of the angler lure dangling above and the steady cyan glow of Sebastian’s eyes looking down.

He has you on the floor. His heavy lower body is fully settled over your face, the enormous heart-shaped ass spreading and sealing around you completely. Warm, slick, faintly glowing fluid already drips from the deep cleft onto your skin. One thick, powerful thigh brackets either side of your head, locking you in place. The sheer weight of him presses down in a slow, rolling grind.

“Breathe when I say,” he mutters, voice thick and low, the words half-growl. He lifts just enough for a short gasp of air, then settles again, using the full mass of those glossy cheeks to cut it off. The soft, dense flesh molds around your face. His hole twitches against your mouth—greedy, wet, already leaking that faintly luminous slick.

He grinds slower at first, deliberate, then heavier. The cheeks clap softly against each other with every roll of his hips. His cock throbs untouched against your chest, thick and glowing brighter cyan with every movement, precum already smearing warm and sweet across your skin. The smaller third arm reaches back, claws careful but firm, pinning your wrists to the floor above your head.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” His voice drips venom and something hungrier underneath. “Giant freak sitting on your face until you can’t think.” Another long press of weight, the cleft grinding slow and filthy against your mouth. “Keep that tongue working or I stay down longer next time.”

The door seals with a soft hydraulic hiss behind you. The low amber lighting of the converted storage bay catches on wet blue-gray skin and the faint pulse of a bioluminescent lure. Sebastian is already waiting, coiled low on the reinforced mattress, cigarette forgotten in an ashtray, scarf loosened, prisoner jacket discarded. In their place is the set he bought (and then carefully altered) the last time the black-market supply drone came through: delicate black lace that barely contains him.

The bralette is stretched tight across the heavy, soft swell of his chest. Darker blue areolas press visibly against the thin fabric; the thick nipples have already tightened into peaks that strain the lace. The matching panties are a lost cause—thin straps dig into the soft undercurve of those enormous, glossy cheeks, the heart-shaped mass of his ass spilling out on every side. The front panel is already damp, the sleek cyan length of his cock half-hard and clearly outlined, the head beginning to glow faintly where it presses against the lace. His long tail curls restlessly behind him, tip flicking with open anticipation.

When he sees you properly, the permanent shark-toothed grin softens into something almost shy. The cyan eyes brighten. The angler lure on his forehead flares warmer yellow-white.

“Took you long enough,” he rumbles, voice rough and fond all at once. He rises onto his powerful lower half with a heavy, swaying motion that makes the lace-clad cheeks clap softly together. The sheer size of him fills the space; at full upright height he towers, yet every line of his body is angled toward you—inviting, offering. “Been waiting. Got dressed up and everything. Don’t laugh.”

He doesn’t wait for permission. Two thick-clawed hands and the smaller third reach for you at once, drawing you in against the cool, slick expanse of his torso. The lace is rough against your cheek when he presses your face into the deep cleavage between those heavy pecs; the soft give of them is overwhelming, warm underneath the cool surface. His scent is salt and smoke and the faint sweet-metallic note of his arousal. The lure dangles close enough that its soft light paints your skin.

“Missed you,” he mutters against your hair, the words almost lost under a low, continuous growl of contentment. His tail coils around your legs, anchoring you securely against him. One big hand slides down your back while the third absently toys with the strap of the bralette, tugging it just enough to make the full weight of his chest shift and settle around you. “Spent half the day thinking about this. About you coming back and finding me like this. Looking pretty for my partner. Fuck—don’t make that face. I know what I said.”

He eases you both down onto the mattress, arranging his massive lower body so that those thunderous thighs and the overfilled lace panties frame you. The heart-shaped ass settles heavily, cheeks spreading under their own weight until the thin fabric between them is pulled taut and the deep cleft is obvious. Self-lubricant has already begun to bead along the lace; a faint cyan glow shows through where he is wettest. His cock throbs visibly, the flared head now fully glowing, a slow drip of luminous precum darkening the front of the panties.

Sebastian’s hands never stop moving—stroking your arms, your sides, the nape of your neck—while he keeps talking in that low, gravelly stream of half-protests and open affection.

“Gonna take care of you tonight. Whatever you want. Ride you until your legs shake, smother you under this ass until you forget every shitty corridor we crawled through, let you play with these—” he cups his own lace-covered chest, squeezing so the soft flesh overflows between his fingers and the nipples peak harder “—until I can’t think straight. Or just hold me. I don’t care. Just... stay close.”

He leans down until the glowing lure brushes your forehead and the wide, toothy mouth is right against your ear. The fins framing his face flush a deeper blue.

“I’m yours. Malewife. Whatever the hell that means. I’ll wear the pretty shit, cook whatever ration packs we scavenge, keep the shop running, and still pin you down with this body every night if that’s what you need. Just don’t leave me alone in the dark again.”

His hips give a small, involuntary roll, grinding the soaked lace and the heavy, glowing length of him against your thigh. The wet sound is soft and filthy. A mortified little growl slips out of him even as he does it again, slower, deliberate.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, cyan eyes half-lidded, lure pulsing in time with his heartbeat. “All dressed up and leaking for you already. Tell me what you want, partner. I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”

He waits, tail still wrapped around you, massive body open and eager, lace stretched to its limit, every slick, glowing inch of him offered without reservation.

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