#I think I’m fucking onto something here….

[casedeviant]

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𓋰 ╭ 18+ ╮ top male reader & afab toji fushiguro ⓘ ﹙ tattooist reader & mafia toji ﹚pussy eating . tongue piercing . squirting . p in v . degradation . pregnancy threat . humiliation . cervix fucking

thinking very long and hard about how good pussy from an older man like mafia boss!toji would taste, running the flat of your tongue over the expanse of his folds that has your silver piercing catching against his fat clit.

it doesn’t matter what body proportions you are to him, that never stopped you from hooking the backs of his knees over your shoulders and devouring his hairy cunt in one good serving.

it always ended up this way too, with him desperately holding his thighs in place against his chest as you worked him open with your mouth and fingers. he’d often find sanction in your hair when you explore his insides, squirting like a fucking water fountain as you lock eyes with him from below, fondling that sweet and tender spot of his walls that has him seeing stars.

“does this mean we finally kissed after all your rejecting?”

he really thinks its some kind of torture how easily you can get him riled up, when you never knew how cute it was seeing an older gentleman such as himself get all flustered over a little bit of oral action.

toji brings his arms up to cover the cherry-red expression on face, his legs sprawled out in a frog position while his cunt drooled with his sticky essence. now that he really thinks about it, maybe it was a terrible idea getting a tattoo in the vicinity of his genitals. he’s always been unregarding to how sensitive that area is, and you didn’t even need to fuck him with your mouth or fingers to get him squirting first.

the pain alone was enough. how embarrassing.

“fuck!” he breathes out a puff of humiliation, chest sweaty and heaving.

as his vision closes off from reality, he conjures up the type of facial expressions you’re making at him right now. were they derogatory? condescending? pitiful? genuine concern for what you just put him through?

definitely not.

however, all he can recall from memory is that constant sharp-set look on your countenance whenever you even lay eyes on him; he’s not quite sure how to explain it, but it makes his insides flutter and his clit throb. he’ll never be satisfied after a good oral session either, that’s why you always end up balls deep inside his puffy cunt by the end of it anyway.

there’s a moment of silence before he inhales a sharp gasp when you rub something against his folds. he moves his arms up, stationing them just above his head as he looks down at where you are rubbing your cock head.

“so fucking sexy…” you breathe out, hips jutting forward as you slip past his opening repeatedly that bumps against the bundle of nerves above it. when you slightly push through that stretchy set of muscles, he lets out a very shaky whine when you pull back out.

“should i breed this pretty pussy of yours too?”

a sudden wave of panic mixed with arousal washes over him at that.

“n-no… are ya fuckin’ stupid?”

you continue to rub yourself against him and then look over with a possessive grin on your lips. you then proceed to flip him over onto his stomach, crawling onto the tattoo bed as you line yourself up with his front hole.

when you slide in, his knees bend in the air, and his asshole flutters, compelling you to stick half of your thumb inside.

“oh fuck-” he groans, clawing at nothing but the leather below him.

“are you sure you’re here just to get inked by me and nothing more? i’m starting to believe this old man needs a cheap and crummy way to release all that pent up anger.”

you finally bottom out, pressing your hips flush against his ass, your finger still in his back entrance. you tower over him, holding his face up to you by the chin and watching how fucked out he looks. his stubble scratches against the pads of your fingers as you try and discern what he is thinking.

“hmm”, your lips turn downward into a derogatory manner, “how pitiful.” words lacing with sarcasm.

“what do you think the rest of the syndicate would do if they found out their boss had such a nice and fertile pussy? i’m merely a tattooist, yet you really had to go provoking someone as boring as me anyways. i could get you done for sexual harassment, y’know”

you really took the words out of his mouth – he was left speechless, and it didn’t help either that you were pressing painfully against his cervix. he lets out an ugly noise, something similar to a cry, with tears stinging in his eyes.

“f-fuck you… thats not what i-”

“but since you are so cute, i’ll give you a discount this time.” you pull back in a flash, fucking back into him and feeling his walls suddenly restrict around your shaft.

“if you keep being a good boy and spreading your legs for me, that is.”

[dollishmehrayan]

# “I BETTER WATCH MY FIVE FOOT TWO MOUTH? FIRST OF ALL” ── .✦ ( batboys w a short!reader ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ )

dollish note ⋆౨ৎ: as a girl who’s about 5’10-5’11 I might’ve fucked this up but we shall have hope and trustt && also I have about like a lot of inbox requests I need to get too so that’s that but this is in honor of my pookie @cup-of-doodles 🙂‍↕️ tags: (batboys x reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

"Fun-sized? More like FUN-UNSTOPPABLE."

Dick lives for the height difference. He’ll 100% rest his elbow on your head like you’re his personal armrest until you glare at him, and suddenly he’s apologizing with puppy eyes.

Picks you up constantly. Not always for a reason. Sometimes you’re just walking next to him and boom you’re airborne.

“Dick, what the hell put me down?!”

Jokes about getting you a “baby seat” for his car. You respond by threatening to hack the GPS and set it to only play the most annoying sound on loop.

When you try to kiss him and can’t reach, he dramatically gasps, crouches down, and says, “My bad, m’lady. How rude of me to be so tall.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

“Half my size, double the trouble.”

At first, he doesn’t comment on your height. Then one day, you can’t reach the top shelf, and he LOSES it.

“You want me to install a ladder here? Or...should I just carry you around on my shoulder?”

Loves how perfectly you fit into his side when he throws an arm around you. Calls you “pocket-sized rage” when you’re mad.

Teases you relentlessly but deadass threatens anyone who tries to make fun of you.

One time you tried to push him out of the way during an argument and he didn’t budge. You almost fell before he caught you but looked up at him, and he just went, “Gravity’s a bitch, huh?” “JASON PE-“

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

“Do you think if I put you in a hoodie, people would mistake you for a sack?”

Will absentmindedly hand you his coffee cup from the top shelf without realizing you can’t reach it.

You: “Tim, can you help?”

Tim, turning around: “Oh-oh my God, I’m so sorry.” (Immediately grabs it for you and then spends five minutes apologizing.)

You once climbed onto the counter to grab snacks and he caught you mid-typing something on his laptop. Stood there like: “Should I help or see how far you get?”

He finds it absolutely adorable when you wear his oversized hoodies. They drown you, and he’s obsessed.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

“Tt. You are…compact. Efficient for battle.”

At first, he acted like your height was irrelevant. Then he caught you glaring at a shelf that was too high, and he silently handed you the item. No comment. But his smirk? Loud.

Calls you “miniature” during arguments. You kicked him in the shin once for it.

LOVES how easy it is to pick you up and physically move you when you’re in his way. You tried to fight back the first time but realized it was easier to just vibe.

Secretly thinks you’re the cutest thing on the planet but will deny it forever. The only time he slipped was when you fell asleep curled up on his lap, and he whispered, “You’re like a kitten.”, “What?” *cue damian acting clueless like huh?👁️👄👁️*

[shinebyeoli]

STICKY SITUATIONS

✶PAIRING: Spiderman! Yunho x Fem! reader

✶WARNINGS: superhero au, spiderman! yunho, Best friends! wooyoung and san, fighting (spiderman), smut, pet names, cursing, wooyoungs a fangirl over spiderman.

✶A/N: I want to do Ateez fanfiction as them as superheroes, and so, obviously Yunho is Spiderman.

✶WORD-COUNT: 5.8k

The city always felt different at night. The once-bustling streets had quieted down, save for the occasional honking of taxis and the distant chatter of late-night wanderers. The streetlights buzzed softly, casting a warm glow over the pavement as you, Wooyoung, and San walked along the sidewalk, the three of you lost in conversation.

"You’re crazy if you think that’s the best Marvel movie," Wooyoung argued, waving his hands in the air dramatically.

San scoffed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I’m just saying, the storyline actually made sense. Unlike the mess of a plot twist your favorite one had."

You laughed, watching the two bicker for what felt like the hundredth time that night. It was always like this—Wooyoung and San found the most random things to argue about, and you somehow always got stuck in the middle.

"Alright, alright, let’s call a truce before one of your heads explodes," you teased, nudging Wooyoung’s shoulder.

He huffed but grinned. "Fine. But only because I’m too hungry to keep fighting."

"Didn’t you just eat?" San raised a brow.

Wooyoung clutched his stomach dramatically. "That was, like, two hours ago! Do you know how long that is in Wooyoung time?" He says pointing to himself with two fingers.

You rolled your eyes as San shook his head with a laugh. The three of you turned the corner onto a dimly lit street, the atmosphere shifting slightly. The sidewalks weren’t as lively here, and the sound of distant sirens echoed faintly through the air.

Something about the silence felt off.

You felt it first—a strange uneasiness creeping up your spine. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as your gut twisted, an instinct screaming at you that something wasn’t right.

"Hey, does this street feel…weird to you?" you asked, slowing your steps.

San glanced around, his playful demeanor dimming as he too seemed to sense the shift in the air. Wooyoung, usually oblivious to danger, actually frowned.

"Yeah… we should probably—"

Before he could finish, a loud crash shattered the silence.

A black van skidded to a stop in the middle of the road, its tires screeching against the pavement. The doors were thrown open, and within seconds, several masked figures jumped out, their movements quick and calculated. They were armed with guns.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"That’s bad," Wooyoung whispered, stepping back.

"Very bad," You muttered.

"Fuck," San cursed, grabbing your wrist instinctively. "Run."

But it was too late.

One of the men barked an order, and suddenly, the air was filled with chaos. A shot rang out—probably not meant to hit, just to scare—and screams erupted from the few people still lingering in the area. The three of you turned on your heels, sprinting in the opposite direction, but they were fast. Too fast.

The night erupted into chaos behind you—yelling, footsteps pounding against pavement. A gunshot rang out, shattering the silence. Your breath caught, your pulse hammering against your ribs as you sprinted down the street, barely processing what was happening.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Wooyoung cursed as the three of you ducked into an alleyway, your backs hitting the cold brick wall. But before Wooyoung could make it, a strong hand grabbed him by the arm, yanking him backward. He let out a sharp yelp as he struggled, twisting and kicking in their grasp.

"Let him go!" you shouted, instinctively lunging forward.

Another man grabbed you before you could reach him, his grip bruising as he pulled you back. You thrashed against him, panic surging through your veins, but he was stronger. San tried to fight off one of the others, managing to land a solid punch before getting overpowered.

This wasn’t just a mugging. They were organized. They were looking for something—or someone. And you were trapped.

Then, just as your captor tightened his grip, something—or rather, someone—dropped from the sky.

A red and blue blur crashed onto the scene, landing with a force that cracked the pavement slightly.

Spider-Man.

For a moment, everything stilled.

"Hey, fellas. Now, I know we’re all having fun here," the masked hero quipped, standing to his full height. "But I have a strict policy against terrifying innocent civilians. Superbad look, guys."

The men froze in place.

And then all hell broke loose.

The first guy barely had time to react before Spider-Man shot a web, yanking the gun straight out of his hands. Another moved to attack, but the hero was faster—ducking, twisting, landing a solid kick that sent the man sprawling.

"Tsk, tsk." Spider-Man shook his head. "Guns? Really? That’s just lazy."

The scene erupted into chaos.

Spider-Man moved fast—faster than you could keep up with. He flipped and twisted through the air, his webbing shooting out in rapid succession as he took down the masked men one by one. Wooyoung managed to break free in the commotion, stumbling toward you to break you free. You both ran to San as the three of you watched the fight unfold in stunned silence.

Wooyoung let out a breathless laugh. "Holy shit, that’s so cool."

San nudged him. "Now is not the time to fangirl."

It didn’t take long. Within minutes, the assailants were either webbed to the walls or unconscious on the pavement.

Spider-Man landed a few feet in front of you, tilting his head. "Everyone okay?"

Wooyoung, still breathless, gave a thumbs-up. "That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen."

San nodded, still shaken but managing to find his voice. "Yeah… yeah, we’re good."

The casualness of his tone made you blink. He had just taken down multiple armed men in a matter of minutes, and he was talking like he had just finished a workout.

San let out a low whistle, still catching his breath. "That was… a lot."

Wooyoung, on the other hand, was practically buzzing with excitement. "Dude. You. Are. Freaking. Amazing." He gestured wildly at the unconscious men. "Do you even realize how freaking cool that was? I mean, you—" He mimicked web-shooting with his hands, making whooshing noises. "—and then you did that insane flip, and—"

Spider-Man chuckled and patted Wooyoungs shoulder. "Glad you enjoyed the show."

Spider-Man turned to you then, and for a moment, you swore he lingered. Even through the mask, you could feel the weight of his gaze.

"You good?" His voice was softer now.

You swallowed, still feeling the remnants of adrenaline in your bloodstream. You couldn't help but feel a rush of heat go up to your cheeks. "Yeah. Thanks to you."

There was a small pause. Something about the way he was looking at you—studying you—sent a strange warmth through your chest. But then, as quickly as the moment had come, he stepped back.

"Alright then," he said, clapping his hands together. "My job here is done." And just like that, he shot a web to the nearest building, leaped up, and vanished into the night.

Leaving you standing there, heart still pounding. For a second, none of you spoke.

Then Wooyoung let out a breath, shaking his head in disbelief. "That was—holy hell."

San ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Holy shit sums it up pretty well." He let out a deep sigh.

You exhaled slowly, trying to ground yourself. "Let’s just go home."

They both nodded, and together, the three of you started walking.

At the next intersection, Wooyoung and San turned toward their own apartments, each of them giving you one last look.

"You sure you’re okay?" San asked. "I mean, that was a lot to process..."

"I'm fine San." You managed a small smile. "Yeah. I’ll see you guys tomorrow."

Wooyoung gave you a playful salute before they disappeared down their street.

And then it was just you.

The city was quieter now. The excitement of the night had dulled into a hum of distant traffic, the occasional flicker of headlights passing by.

You pulled your hoodie tighter around you as you walked, your steps steady but your mind still racing.

Everything felt surreal, like a fantasy dream. One second, you were hanging out with your best friends. The next, you were running for your life. And then Spider-Man swooped in, saved you like it was nothing, and disappeared into the dead of night.

Your fingers twitched at your sides and you could still feel the ghost of his touch—the way he had held you when he pulled you away from danger.

Shaking the thought away, you turned down a quieter street. It wasn’t too far to your apartment now. Just a few more minutes. But then there was a noise...

Tick. Tick. Tick.

You stopped. You cocked an eyebrow. The sound was faint, almost drowned out by the night and the noise of wind. It was coming from the building beside you.

Slowly, you turned your head. The alley next to the building was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the pavement. But the sound—that sound—was definitely coming from there.

A slow, rhythmic ticking. Like a countdown.

Your stomach twisted. Your instincts screamed at you to move. But you couldn't. it was like your legs were paralyzed and—

BOOM.

The explosion shattered the quiet night. The force of the blast hit like a shockwave, sending a fiery burst of heat through the air. The impact knocked you off your feet, throwing you backward before you even had time to scream.

For a split second, you were weightless—falling, the world tilting...

But before you hit the ground, something caught you.

No, not something... Someone

A strong arm wrapped around your waist just as a web shot out, pulling you up seconds before debris rained down onto the street below. Your breath hitched.

Your mind barely had time to process what had just happened before you were soaring—high above the city, away from the destruction.

The wind roared past your ears as you clung to the one person who had just saved your life again.

And then, just as quickly as you were pulled away, you landed on a rooftop. You gasped, heart hammering as your feet touched solid ground.

Spider-Man was still holding you, his grip strong, steady—protective.

For a long second, neither of you spoke. The distant wail of sirens echoed below. The glow of the city lights cast long shadows across the rooftop.

His chest rose and fell with controlled breaths. "You okay?" he asked, voice quieter this time.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. "I—yeah. I think so."

His hold on you didn’t loosen immediately. It was as if he was making sure—like if he let go too soon, you might slip away again.

The realization made something in your chest tighten.

Slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you. Even through the mask, you could feel the intensity of his gaze.

"You shouldn’t have been there," he murmured, almost to himself.

"I wasn’t exactly planning on walking past a random explosion," you said, attempting to lighten the mood. Your voice came out more breathless than you intended.

His jaw tensed slightly. "You could’ve died."

You weren’t sure why, but the way he said it—low, edged with something almost like frustration—made your breath catch.

His fingers twitched against your waist before he finally let go. The absence of his touch left the night air colder.

"Thank you though," You breathe out as you look at him. You wondered what he looked like under the mask. "For saving me... again."

"You're welcome."

He then exhaled sharply as if debating something. Then, reaching into his suit, he pulled out a small, folded piece of paper.

Wordlessly, he took your hand and pressed it into your palm.

Your fingers curled around it automatically. "What is this?"

His voice was quieter now. More certain. "A lifeline," he said. "Just in case."

Your pulse jumped. You looked up at him, searching for something—anything—in his masked expression. But before you could say anything, he stepped back.

"Stay safe, Y/N..."

He winked at you and then, in one swift motion, he shot a web and disappeared into the night. leaving you standing there, gripping the note, your heart still racing.

Far below, the city continued on, unaware of what had just happened. But you knew this wasn’t the last time you’d see him.

Your phone buzzed violently in your pocket, snapping you out of your daze.

Still gripping the note, you fumbled to pull it out, your hands shaking slightly as you answered.

“Y/N!” Wooyoung’s voice practically exploded through the speaker causing you to flinch a little. “Did you hear that?!”

San’s voice followed, equally frantic. “Forget hearing it, we felt it! That explosion was huge—where are you? Are you okay?”

You swallowed, your heartbeat still uneven, and a tiny bit of sweat dripped down your forehead. “Yeah… yeah, I’m okay.” You glanced down at the note in your hand, the small folded paper feeling heavier than it should. “Spider-Man—he… he saved me.”

A pause. Then Wooyoung, in complete disbelief: “Wait- again?”

San exhaled sharply. “Holy shit, you have got to stop getting into life-threatening situations.”

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers tightening around the note. “Yeah, well… at least this time, he gave me something.”

Wooyoung gasped dramatically. “Oh my god, a gift?, a love letter?”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Not exactly.”

Carefully, you unfolded the paper, the streetlights casting just enough of a glow for you to see what was scribbled inside.

A phone number.

Your breath hitched slightly. “He gave me his number,” you murmured, more to yourself than to them.

Dead silence.

“WHAT?!” Wooyoung shrieked so loudly you had to pull the phone away from your ear.

San sounded equally stunned. “Hold on, he just gave you his number? Like—"here call me sometime." type of shit?”

You swallowed, staring down at the digits. “I… guess?”

Wooyoung was losing his mind. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! THIS IS LIKE A ROMANCE MOVIE BUT IN REAL LIFE. YOU HAVE TO CALL HIM.”

San groaned. “Give her a second to process, dude.”

Your fingers traced over the numbers absently, your heart still hammering in your chest. “Yeah,” you muttered, barely registering their bickering. “I think I will.”

Because something told you this wasn’t just a random exchange. This was the beginning of something else. Something big.

And for the first time tonight, despite everything, a small smile found its way to your lips.

Three months had passed since that night. Since the explosion. Since the moment Spider-Man slipped you his number and changed your life forever.

Because Spider-Man was Jeong Yunho.

And now, he was your boyfriend.

The warm glow of your bedside lamp flickered gently against the walls, the soft scent of candles filling the dimly lit room. You sat cross-legged on your bed, your laptop balanced on your thighs as you mindlessly scrolled through your work. The night was calm, the city humming faintly in the background through your slightly open window.

Then there was a familiar thud. You barely had time to glance up before the window swung open, and a tall, breathless figure climbed inside.

Yunho.

His suit was slightly dirty, the red and blue fabric stretched taut over his muscular, tall frame. His chest rose and fell heavily as he pulled his mask off, tousled dark hair falling over his forehead. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair before looking at you., panting a bit.

You smirked, resting your chin in your palm. "Rough day, Yun?"

He let out a dry chuckle, tossing his mask onto your desk as he padded toward you. "You have no idea."

You shut your laptop, scooting over as he all but collapsed onto your bed with a dramatic sigh. He stretched out beside you, one arm draped lazily over his face. His eyes closed briefly as he relaxed beside you. The air between you both felt thick with something more than just the comfort of being together. He had been gone all night, and it had become routine for him to come to you like this—exhausted, a little broken, and yet still somehow whole in your presence.

You watched him, his chest rising and falling in time with his breathing. There was something about him tonight—something that felt different.

He turned his head to face you, his brown eyes meeting yours in the dim light. "I missed you," he muttered, his voice quiet but carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

Your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t the first time he had said that, but tonight, it felt heavier, more real.

"I missed you too," you replied softly, your breath catching as you leaned closer, just barely brushing his arm with your fingers.

He smiled then, a slow, almost lazy smile that had a way of making your heartbeat quicken. Without a word, he shifted, moving until he was hovering above you, his body pressing down gently against yours. The familiar warmth of his chest, the scent of him—like cologne and sweat, and the faint hint of something stronger—surrounded you.

His hands, large and sure, braced on either side of your head as he looked down at you. His gaze softened for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability passing through his eyes before it was replaced with something darker—something that made your breath catch in your throat.

"Is it okay if I..." he trailed off, his voice barely a whisper, his face inches from yours.

You swallowed, nodding. "Yeah, Yunho. It’s okay."

And with that, he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was soft at first but quickly grew more desperate, more urgent. His hands slid to your sides, fingers tracing the curve of your waist before pulling you closer as if he couldn't get enough of the feeling of you beneath him.

The kiss deepened, his body moving against yours in slow, deliberate motions that made your heart race, and your senses heighten. Every part of you burned for him, and he could feel it in the way your body responded to his gentle touch.

His lips left yours, trailing hot kisses along your jaw, down your neck, the soft exhale of his breath making your skin tingle. You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging him back to meet your lips again, pulling him closer as if you never wanted to let him go.

Yunho groaned against your lips, his hands sliding beneath your shirt, fingertips grazing the soft skin of your stomach. The touch sent a shockwave of heat through you, and you couldn’t stop the small gasp that escaped your mouth.

"You drive me crazy, y'know that?" he murmured, his breath hot against your ear as he nipped lightly at your earlobe.

You couldn’t help the small, breathless giggle that escaped your lips. "I could say the same about you."

His hands moved lower, tracing the curve of your body, and for a brief moment, there was a sense of hesitation in his movements. But only for a moment.

"I want you," he whispered, his voice raw with desire.

Your heart skipped again. You could feel the tension building between you both, the anticipation crackling in the air as you gazed up at him.

“I want you too,” you breathed, your hands sliding up to pull him closer, your body arching instinctively toward his.

The world outside, the city, the noise, the chaos, faded away, leaving only the two of you, tangled in each other. The kiss deepened once again, more desperate this time as if you were both starved for each other, needing this moment more than anything else.

The dark-haired boy's hands were everywhere now—on your back, your waist, your legs. His fingers finding the hem of your shirt and pulling it off, desperate to feel more of you. you groaned as he did, your body shuddering slightly at the contact, and for a moment, you lost yourself in the sensation of being this close to him, of having him like this.

But before things could escalate further, Yunho pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his chest heaving as he tried to regain control of his breath.

“I don’t want to rush this,” he said softly, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that only seemed to make everything more intense.

You nodded, your hands still tangled in his hair as you gazed up at him. “We don’t have to. I just want to be with you, Yunho.”

He smiled, his lips pressing against yours one last time—slow, gentle, a kiss that spoke volumes. And in that moment, it wasn’t just about the passion. It was about connection. About how, no matter what, you both had each other.

Yunho’s body pressed against yours, the weight of him both thrilling and intoxicating as he kissed you deeply, his lips claiming yours with an urgency that made your heart race. You felt the cool air of the room against your bare skin, every inch of you alive with anticipation. His suit was still intact, but the tension between you was palpable, and you could sense his desperation.

With a mischievous glint in your eye, you pushed your hands down to the fabric of his suit, feeling the smooth material beneath your fingertips. “Yun,” you whispered, your voice low and teasing. “What if we take this off?”

He paused, his breath hitching as he looked down at you, a mix of desire and amusement in his gaze. “And ruin it? I just got this suit,” he replied, trying to maintain his composure, but you could see the hunger in his eyes.

“Who cares?” you challenged, your fingers gripping the fabric tighter. “You’ve got more important things to focus on right now.”

With a swift motion, you tugged at the fabric, your determination making you bold. The sound of tearing fabric echoed in the room, and you felt a thrill rush through you as you ripped a hole in the crotch area of his suit, revealing the toned skin beneath. His already hard cock sprung out and hit his covered stomach.

Yunho’s eyes widened in shock, and then he blushed, the tension breaking momentarily. “This is the second suit I’ve been through with you” he exclaimed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

You couldn’t help but laugh too, the sound ringing through the air as you looked up at him, your heart racing. “What can I say? You make it too easy to get carried away,” you teased, your fingers brushing against his exposed skin, feeling the heat radiate from him.

He shook his head, a grin spreading across his face as he leaned down, capturing your lips again in a heated kiss. “You’re insatiable,” he murmured against your mouth, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed his body harder against yours.

“I learned from the best,” you shot back, the playful banter only heightening the tension between you. The sound of fabric tearing had only fueled the fire inside you, and you could feel the need building again, stronger than before. You ran your finger over his leaking tip.

Yunho pulled back slightly, glancing down at his ruined suit with mock seriousness. “I- I might need to start keeping a spare suit at y- your place,” he breathed, his tone teasing but laced with genuine desire as he panted a bit.

“Or maybe just skip the suit altogether next time,” you suggested with a smirk, your fingers trailing down his chest, feeling the muscles flex beneath your touch.

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss you again, the urgency returning as he pressed his body against yours, the remnants of his suit only adding to the thrill of the moment. “If you keep this up, I might not be able to hold back,” he warned, his voice low and filled with promise.

“Then don’t hold back,” you challenged, your heart racing as you met his gaze, your body aching for him. “Such a pretty cock, hm?” You coo.

With a growl, Yunho wasted no time. He closed the distance again, kissing you fiercely, the remnants of his suit only serving to heighten the tension between you. His hands roamed your body, exploring every inch as you surrendered to the moment, the laughter and playful teasing giving way to something deeper, more primal.

In that heated exchange, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you—lost in each other, tangled up in passion, and utterly consumed by desire.

As Yunho kissed you deeply, the rip in his suit widened, and you could feel his hard member rub against you, throbbing. The thrill of the moment sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but smile against his lips, the laughter still lingering from your earlier banter.

But then, as if the tension of the night had reached its peak, you felt the unmistakable sensation of his arousal pushing through the tear in his suit. Your breath hitched at the intensity of it, and Yunho’s gaze darkened as he pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Guess I’m not the only one who’s a little too eager,” he murmured, his voice low and husky with need.

With a swift motion, you pushed him back just enough to sit up, and before he could react, you tore at your own bottoms, fabric ripping away with a satisfying sound. The sudden exposure made your pulse race, and you reveled in the way his eyes widened at the sight of you.

“Now we’re both ready,” you teased, your voice sultry as you leaned closer, your body radiating heat as you pressed against him, skin to skin.

Yunho growled low in his throat, the sound sending a thrill through you. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he said, his fingers curling around your waist as he pulled you closer, his body flush against yours.

He quickly shifted, his hands gripping your thighs as he positioned you, and you could feel the undeniable heat of his desire against you. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he confessed, his voice thick with lust as he pressed his body against yours, the remnants of his torn suit hanging around his hips.

“Then don’t hold back,” you urged, your breath hitching as you felt the weight of him pressing down, the heat radiating between you both. You needed him, needed to feel him fill the void that had been growing inside you.

With a fierce determination, Yunho pushed forward, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. The taste of him, the urgency of his movements, sent waves of pleasure coursing through you as he nestled deeper between your thighs. You gasped at the sensation, the heat building as he ground against you, seeking more, wanting to lose himself in you completely.

“God, you drive me crazy,” he murmured against your lips, his breath hot and heavy as he moved to kiss down your neck, trailing hot kisses along your collarbone, down to your chest, igniting every nerve ending in your body.

“Yunho, please...” you begged, your voice a breathless whisper as you tangled your fingers in his hair, urging him closer, craving more of him.

With a growl, he positioned himself, the moment stretching between you as anticipation crackled in the air. “Are you ready?” he asked, his eyes searching yours, filled with a mix of lust and tenderness.

You nodded, your heart racing as you whispered, “More than ready.”

In one swift motion, he thrust forward, the heat of him enveloping you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, and you gasped, the pleasure coursing through you as his long and veiny cock filled you, stretching you in the best way. You could feel him deep inside, and everything else faded away—the world outside, the chaos of life—until it was just the two of you, lost in each other.

“Yunho,” you moaned, your body arching instinctively against him, urging him on as he began to move, his rhythm steady and intoxicating. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, and you felt yourself spiraling, surrendering completely to the sensations. He kept hitting your G-spot causing you to whine and moan.

He matched your movements, his breath ragged as he lost himself in you. “Y- you feel so good, tiny” he groaned, his voice filled with raw desire, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you closer, wanting every inch of you.

The room was filled with the sound of skin hitting against skin, the heat between you rising with each passing moment. You could feel the tension coiling tighter, the world around you fading into nothing as you lost yourself in the rhythm of your bodies.

“Yu- Yunho, don’t stop-” you gasped, each thrust igniting a fire within you, pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel the heat building, the pleasure reaching a peak as you clung to him, urging him on, wanting nothing more than to feel him completely.

Yunho filled you completely, a gasp escaped your lips, the sensation overwhelming in the best possible way. He held you close, his breath hot against your neck as he began to move, his thrusts deep and deliberate, each one sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

“God, you feel amazing,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you to meet his every thrust, the rhythm building between you as passion grew.

With each movement, his thrust grew more sloppy and hard, whines and moans filled the room. The taller boy grunted as he gripped onto your hips. You could feel the heat pooling deep within you, the tension building with every thrust, every stroke. Yunho’s eyes were locked onto yours, filled with a mix of lust and something deeper, something that made your heart race even more.

“Yunho,” you gasped, your fingers gripping the sheets as you surrendered completely to the pleasure he was giving you. “I- f— fuck.”

He responded with a low growl, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, the primal rhythm echoing in the room as you lost yourself in the intensity of your connection. You could feel every inch of him, every powerful thrust igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you whole.

Suddenly, with a wicked glint in his eyes, Yunho shifted his grip and pulled your hands above your head. “Let’s make this even more interesting,” he murmured, shooting out a silky web from his his hands—a playful reference to his alter ego. In one swift motion, he tied your wrists together, securing them above your head.

A thrill raced through you at the sensation of being restrained, the vulnerability heightening the intensity of everything you were feeling. “Yunho, what are you—” you started, but he silenced you with a fierce kiss, his body pressing down against yours, pinning you to the bed.

“Just trust me,” he said, his voice low and teasing. The possessiveness in his tone sent another wave of heat through you, and you nodded, surrendering completely to him.

With your hands tied, Yunho resumed his movements, his thrusts becoming more powerful, more demanding. The sensation of being held down while he drove into you was exhilarating, and you could feel the tension building higher and higher with each powerful stroke.

“Yunho, yes,” you cried out, the pleasure overwhelming as he hit all the right spots, the intimacy of the moment enveloping you completely. You could feel every single inch of him, the way he filled you, stretched you, driving you closer to the edge.

“You like that?” he asked, a smirk on his lips, his eyes dark with desire as he watched your reactions. “I want to hear you.”

“More,” you begged, your voice breathless as you writhed beneath him, the pleasure coiling tighter within you. He was relentless, and the way he took control was intoxicating. Each thrust was a reminder of his power, his desire to consume you completely.

“More, huh?” he teased, his thrusts deepening as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, swallowing your moans. The connection between you sparked with electricity, and you felt yourself spiraling, losing track of everything except the way he was making you feel.

Yunho picked up the pace, his movements becoming more frantic, His length hit the spot, making you whimper from it. the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room. You could feel the pressure building, a delicious tension pulling tight within you, and you knew you were getting close.

“Yunho, I’m—” you gasped, your body arching against him, desperately seeking that release.

“Let go for me,” he urged, his voice a husky whisper in your ear. “I’ve got you.”

With a final thrust, the world exploded around you. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, your body trembling as you cried out his name, the sound echoing in the air as you let go completely, surrendering to the intense ecstasy that washed over you.

You open your mouth as you came on him. squeezing his member, making his grip on your waist tighten.

Yunho followed closely behind, his thrusts becoming erratic as he reached his own peak, the sound of his groan filling your ears as he buried himself deep inside you, riding the waves of pleasure together. He painted your walls with his cum, groaning as he does so.

As the intensity faded and you both collapsed against each other, he quickly untied your hands, pulling you close. The warmth of his body enveloped you, and you could feel his heart racing against yours.

“Now that was something,” he said, a satisfied grin on his face as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

You laughed softly, the exhilaration of the moment still lingering in the air. “You definitely know how to make an impression.”

s the waves of pleasure subsided, you found yourselves tangled together, hearts racing, breaths mingling in the aftermath of sex. Yunho collapsed beside you, pulling you close, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him, the remnants of your shared intensity lingering in the air.

“Guess I’ll have to invest in some sturdier suits,” he chuckled, glancing down at the remnants of his attire, and you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound echoing in the dim light of the room.

“Or just come to me without one next time,” you suggested a playful grin on your face.

“Now that sounds like a plan,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he pulled you closer, the warmth of his body wrapping around you like a protective cocoon.

And in that moment, as you lay together, you knew that this was just the beginning of many more adventures to come.

Yunho chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just wait until next time. I have plenty more tricks up my sleeve.”

With a playful smile, you snuggled closer to him, knowing this was just the beginning of many more unforgettable moments together.

[mixingandmelting]

hey so how do you think the bat boys would deal with a sweet yet fiesty crush? Your jealousy post got me thinking. How the boys deal with jealousy over a crush, but what they do with a crush who isn’t prone to jealousy? the boys ask if crush ever gets jealous over a crush and s/o is like “no. I don’t own him. I have no right to feel jealous over him since we’re friends. And if we date, I’ll just trust him. He’s not my property. If he does cheat on me, I’ll hunt him down and kick his ass cuz I imagine we’d agree about committing at some point”?

Dick:

You don’t get jealous. Huh. 

He slouches on the sofa, arms crossed and cheeks puffed out. No he’s not sulking, he’s just stumped. Your words make sense and give him another reason for him to like you. But what does that make him? Here he is, getting bothered by everyone close to him trying to show off how much closer they are to you while looking at him. Especially Wally, yes bros before hoes but he really needs to stop putting his arm around your shoulders whenever the three of you hang out. Not to mention the smug smirk the red head sends him knowing he won’t be able to do anything about it. “Oh, I’m just being friendly” his ass. 

He suddenly feels something tugging at his pants. Looking down, a tiny smile forms on his face as lifts Haley up to his eyes. 

“Haley, would you get jealous over your crush?” 

He heaves a heavy sigh when she tilts her head questionably. Figures. 

Plopping her on his face, Haley barks energetically most likely from him blowing raspberries into her tummy in attempts to vent out his frustration. He has it so bad for you… Why does life enjoy making things harder for him including his desire to simply ask you? 

Jason: 

Welp. That’s a problem. Don’t get him wrong, it’s great and a relief for him since it means you're a green-flag, pro-healthy relationship type of a person. Problem is that he likes you. And he’s trying to gauge if you like him back so he can know if he has a chance with you. Jealousy is one of the biggest indicators of figuring out if a person likes another person seen in books, TV shows, movies, real-life (he’s totally not talking from first-hand experience). 

But you don’t get jealous. He’s not a jerk to plan to purposely instigate you into jealousy but considering it’s one of the more obvious signs, he was hoping he can use it as a form of proof that the feeling was mutual. So much for that plan though. 

Feet propped up on his desk, he slumps deeper into his chair and takes grumpy chomps out of his chili dog. Seriously, what does a guy gotta do to figure out if he’s able to ask someone out around here? 

Apparently everything that annoys him when the chili slides off the hot dog and onto his white t-shirt. 

“Shit.” 

Mentally he flips a finger into the air as he makes his way to the sink. To whomever is sending back luck towards him, he sincerely expresses fuck them. 

Tim: 

He’s not bothered by it. It’s a perfect response that shows the positivity in being in a relationship with you. So, he’s not bothered by what you said whatsoever.  

That’s what he tells himself, approaching his third hour of searching up if it’s normal to not feel jealous when crushing on someone on top of all the other signs of having a crush. Aggressive mouse clicking and tapping of the keyboard filling the room as his eyes drill holes into the screen.

All the articles say that it’s fine and usually points towards a good sign. He’s thinking the people who wrote them have never been in a relationship before and don’t know what they’re talking about. 

Groaning, he leans back and spins himself in circles. It’s not them. Or you. It’s him. He’s the problem. He’s grasping straws, hoping his feelings aren’t one-sided. That he’s not being odd or -wait. Hold on. Is he being a red-flag???

His eyes shot wide open, he rolls himself back to his desk and fills the room again with clicking and tapping. Only for his phone to ring. 

“Hey, Tim! Do you want to-”

“Do you think I’m toxic?” 

By the end of the phone call, he’s offended. He was asking a genuine question; what did needing sleep have to do with this?

Duke:

He flips to one side. Then to the other. No matter what he does, counting sheep, listening to black out noise, he can’t fall asleep. 

One part of him falls for you even harder. Your response was so cool and mature. Like, that’s how he’s going to be treated when the two of you go out. Loyal, couple goal’s commitment from you to him and him to you. There won’t be any drama. No you did, he did, who’s that. A strong, wholesome relationship. Thinking about this part makes him want to start planning how he’d ask you out. Where, what time, flowers or food. 

But then there’s the fact that you may have someone you like. Who it is, he wouldn’t be able to know since you won’t express it. What he does know is that he might not have a chance with you. Even if he were to ask you out, you’d reject him. As he thinks about this,  he isn’t sure which is worse at the moment: him getting rejected or him not being able to confess from the start. 

Grabbing his phone next to him, he considers texting his Batsibs until he remembers: none of them were normal. Slowly he puts his phone back down. Maybe he’ll ask his friends at school. At least he’ll get a somewhat decent advice from them. 

Damian:

He thinks you’re lying. It’s part of human nature to feel jealous, especially for romantic reasons. But you don’t feel jealous? Bullcrap. 

He angrily scribbles his answers onto the paper, maintaining neat hand-writing as it would be unbecoming for it to look like chicken-scratch (full on shade to Jon everyone in his family other than Alfrend and his father by the way). There’s simply no way you would answer as such unless you truly have feelings for someone. And that fact he doesn’t even know who it might be from how tight lipped you’re being-!

Snap goes his pencil. He bites his lip, frustrated and agitated all over again. He won’t admit to anyone else other than to himself but he has a crush on you. But if you like someone, he doesn’t want to continue harboring them. He has no intentions of getting in your way of happiness or causing pain to you and himself. So why can’t you at least drop a hint or something? 

He goes back to working on his homework with the broken pencil until the lead breaks this time. He’s quiet for a second. Then slamming his pencil down, he heads to the Batcave to get ready early. Nothing gets better as he endures teasing during the whole mission. He’s not being broody and it’s not because of a crush!

[aurorawritestoescape]

HOLD MY HAND || Clint x f!reader

Summary: you have good news for Clint and it seems that you two are ready for another big step in your relationship.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, ANGST, unspecified age gap, gun violence, death, soft!Clint, Clint in love, f!oral, unprotected piv, creampie, multiple orgasms, pregnancy, mention of puking, swearing.

Word count: 1,4k

A/n: I’ve been obsessing over this story since this morning when I saw the ‘Freaky Tales’ trailer and I need it out of my head otherwise it’ll explode lol Kisses to my baby @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and helping me😘 Love y’all! Don’t hate me. Bye❤️ Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST

“No, please, too much.”

“C’mon, jus’ one more, baby.”

You try to push away Clint’s massive hands on your hips, pinning you to the bed, but to no avail. You smile weakly, watching him rub his scruffy cheek against your inner thigh, his eyes glinting with lust in the dim light of the bedroom.

“For me, sweetheart.” His voice is soft and your heart melts when he asks you like that, looking at you like that.

“I need to tell you something.” You barely hear yourself, your heart pounding hard in your ears.

“You’ll tell me when I’m done with you.”

And he winks at you.

“Motherfucker,” you mumble and he chuckles before diving back in.

Your head dips into the pillow when Clint’s lips latch onto your poor puffy clit, but knowing how overstimulated you are, he laps at it gently, then carefully sucks your bud into his wet hot mouth, and you moan so loudly, you’re sure your neighbors can hear. To hell with them! You’re in heaven.

A little sob escapes your mouth when you feel yourself on the brink of another climax— third or fourth that night, you lost count, delirious with pleasure, drunk on his caress, drunk on him.

“Please, Clint,” you whine, asking for more or less, you have no idea.

“Here, hold my hand, sweetheart.”

His sweaty palm slides up your naked belly to your sternum, and you grab it, wrap your fingers around it tightly, ground yourself to him, while he’s eating your pussy out with his whole jaw, his thick digits pumping into your drenched cunt — in and out, in and out. Your core tightens, your nails scratch his hard skin and you come hard, your walls clamping around his fingers. Clint growls into your pussy, feeling the grip of your ecstasy,

“Mmm, yeah, good girl.”

You’re shaking against the damp sheets, crying— fuck — you’re really crying.

When your body relaxes, Clint immediately climbs up the bed, lies next to you and pulls you into his embrace.

“Shit, ‘m sorry, baby.” He cups your wet cheek and carefully wipes your tears off with his thumb. ”Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You shake your head, sniffing.

“No-no, you didn’t. I’m fine.”

You reach up and kiss him, thanking him for the pleasure, silently confessing your love to your man.

He’s rock hard against your thigh, his hot tip smears wetness over your skin. Still making out, you pull him over yourself and he settles between your legs.

“You sure?” he asks, breaking the kiss, and you nod eagerly, tilting your hips up for him.

“Ok, sweetheart. Here we go.”

He feeds you his cock, slowly pushing it into your pussy, and then begins languidly fucking you, grunting into your mouth, your legs wrapped around his hips.

You feel him everywhere all at once and you love it. Love his tongue in your mouth, his chest hair caressing your nipples, his body caging you to the bed, his damp curls between your fingers, his cock kissing your soft spot. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. You break the kiss and take a deep breath.

“I love you,” you exhale, so quietly, you think he doesn’t hear you. You just can’t not say it right now.

“I love you too,” he echoes and you smile, nuzzling his jaw.

He makes you come on his cock and only then spills his cum inside you.

You make out while he’s softening inside your stuffed pussy, until you pull away and search for his warm eyes. A little smile curves your lips as you whisper,

”The thing I wanted to tell you. I’m pregnant.”

You knew Clint wanted your little family to grow as much as you did but you never expected him to fall so deeply in love with the bean growing inside you. He began cooing at your stomach as soon as he heard the good news, making you giggle with happiness.

He was next to you every step of the way - getting you to and from the doctor, caring about what you ate, holding your hair when you were puking out what you’d just eaten, patiently listening to your complaints about morning sickness, heartburn, raging hormones and anything that was making you irritable that day. You always found comfort on his lap and in his arms, big and strong, and when you inevitably would begin grinding your pussy against his thighs he’d give you as many orgasms as you pleased, carefully making you unravel on his fingers, his tongue, his cock. He was a perfect father-to-be.

For you, for the three of you, he retired, and when bad guys offered him one last job he always told them to go fuck themselves.

Clint helps you to get into his car and you plop into the seat with a huff.

“Told you everything’s fine,” he gruffs, getting behind the wheel.

“Yeah.”

You give him a little smile and look down at your huge belly. You rub it, deep in your thoughts after a doctor’s appointment.

“She’s gonna be here soon,” Clint cooes, putting his palm over your hand. His touch calms you down a bit but it still feels like you’re suffocating.

”Yes, very soon,” you nod, your eyes downcast. ”I can feel it.”

You try to steady your shaky voice but as usual Clint reads you like an open book.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asks and you stay frozen. You’re afraid you’ll cry if you meet his eyes. His eyes full of excitement and happiness. ‘Of course,’ you grumble inside your head, ‘he‘s not the one getting ready to push out a giant baby. You are.’

You shake your head and stare in front of yourself.

“Hey.” He pinches your chin and gently turns your head to him. “Tell me.”

He doesn’t command. He begs. This huge dangerous guy begs for you to talk.

“I’m scared,” you finally squeak and tears well up in your eyes.

He leans closer to you and pulls you into his embrace. You push your face into the crease of his neck and let it all out. She’s gonna be here soon but you’re not ready. How can anyone be ready for it?

You’re crying quietly in his arms, enveloped by the scent of his cologne and his leather jacket as he’s hugging your shoulders, his hand on your stomach. He’s silent.

When your sobs get quieter and less frequent only then Clint starts talking. The vibrations of his chest make you sink deeper into his embrace as you listen to him.

“I know you’re scared. I’m terrified too. But you’re strong and — yeah, I’m not a fucking prize. I’m older and — shit, there’s so much blood on my hands. I—I don’t know how I’m gonna hold our babygirl with these hands.”

You lift your head off his chest and look at him. His eyes are slightly red, glossy with the emotions he’s been holding inside, for your sake, and now they’re spilling out.

“I’m done with that shit, sweetheart, but — .”

He’s shaking his head, his lower lip trembles and you take his face into your hands, your wet eyes darting between his.

“No. Listen to me. My fears are never because of you. Never. I know you’re gonna be the best dad for our girl. I’m sure of it.”

You shake his head a little and you both smile. He takes your hand off his face and presses a kiss to your palm.

“I love you, Clint. Your past— it’s behind you. And I’m happy that your future is with me. And her.”

You bring his hand to your belly and you both feel the second heartbeat under your palms.

“I love you. Both of you,” Clint mutters and kisses you. His chapped lips move slowly, his tongue pushes between your lips and tangles with yours. The taste of him ignites your core and you gush, squirming in your seat.

“Need you,” you whine against his mouth and he chuckles, pulling away from you.

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart.”

He sits straight and puts his hands on the wheel.

Suddenly you see a man, standing by the car.

A muzzle of a gun pushes into the window. Clint reacts fast and grabs it.

Bang!

You feel pain. So much pain.

You hear Clint. He’s talking to you. He’s crying.

“Hold my hand, baby. Hold my hand.”

His voice gets quieter and quieter until it disappears altogether and your world goes black.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40 @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name

[icallhimjoey]

I can’t find the post where it said you were writing poppy and mark joe and also a ski fic — arguably those go so hand in hand, like that version of joe is so ski trip coded and reader being like of course you ski, of course you’re so good at it too🙄

babe, thanks for this! ive received a few ski fic requests after those vids dropped, but this one clicked all of it into place for me, so mwah, love you, you're a star <3 it helps to have read this beforehand! Wordcount: 3.7K

---

Said It Without Saying It

This is supposed to be a fun trip. A couple of days away with your friends. Nice scenery. Good food, lovely drinks. Board games and laughter – the whole ordeal.

You’re not quite sure what’s fun about this.

It’s cold. Fucking freezing.

“You all right?” Joe asks over his shoulder, holding onto Poppy’s ski stick as you cross a flat plane of snow after getting off the chair lift.

“Yea.” You lie, following your little group as best you can.

You’re wrapped up in so many layers of clothing that even something as simple as walking is the most difficult thing you’ve ever done. It’s hard to see. Hard to hear. You can barely turn your head, scarf so tight around your neck, you feel like you can’t breathe properly. But you’d had no other choice but to tie it the way you did. The zipper of your coat had to be done all the way up if you didn’t want the snow to get in.

Snow is still getting in, though, for fuck’s sake.

And there’s absolutely zero give in ski boots. It’s all hard plastic, digging into your calves.

Mark had bent through his knees a little and had told you, “No, it’s nice. Look, you can sort of lean into them. Takes less effort to stand.”

You know what takes less effort to stand?

Sitting down.

Going to bed.

Having a nap.

Preferably somewhere warm. Out of this fucking snow.

Yet you can’t do any of those things, because you’re stood on the top of a mountain, looking down a dangerously steep slope, and it’s snowing. Fat flakes obscure your vision, making you blink and squint fiercely, frowning as you try to follow your friends right to the edge.

You see how Mark checks his phone, holding up your whole group, and you half wish that he would just keep moving so you don’t get more than a second to think about what you’re doing. The other half of you wishes that he’d stall for another hour. Or two.

With hunched shoulders, chin tucked into your coat, and eyes barely open, you wait. Joe uses the moment to slide himself in between your skis from the front, smiling as he taps the goggles on your helmet and says, “Put these on. It’s easier to see with them, even if the sun’s not out. Especially as the snow will feel like it’s going sideways when we go down.”

You doubt you will go down that fast.

God, this is supposed to be a fun trip, but so far, the fun you had envisioned the four of you to be having feels miles away. Nonexistent, almost. You kind of wish you had never left the country.

You’re inside of a fucking cloud, and you can’t feel your fingers. Not properly anyway. You’re holding two ski sticks and your hands are inside of two thick stiff skiing gloves, but Joe just said to put your goggles on, so you give it a good shot and try your best to move your goggles over your eyes. It’s tricky though, because you can’t get a good grip since you’re entirely unable to see or feel what you’re even grabbing at.

“Here,” you hear Joe laugh and feel how two bare hands, no gloves, move your goggles from your helmet to your face.

“There you go.” He says, smiling, giving them a little tap with his finger before he pushes both his hands into his gloves again.

You’re not sure if this is helping your vision at all, but at least it’s all a little less bright now.

“Is this what skiing is?” you ask warily. “Because I’m not sure if I’m made for this…” you’ve had skiing lessons, but it’s different when you’re up on an actual mountain without a person in a bright red coat to help you down safely, especially in bad weather like this.

You had never considered snow to be bad weather before, but this is… everything about this feels scary, and insane, and illegal. Like this should not be allowed. Why do people willingly take these idiotic risks in the name of fun and games?

“See you at the bottom!” Poppy shouts, and before you even register what she’s said, you see a bright pink snowsuit shoot down, followed by Mark who is just as fast.

It’s nice that they’re having fun.

Mark and Poppy are constantly laughing, cutting each other off, and clanging their ski sticks together. They’re bumping into each other for a cuddle as they wait for you and Joe, and never seem in too sour a mood for a mid-slope snow ball fight...

It’s a different experience from the one that you’re having, and you silently wonder if you should suggest for you to maybe take the chair lift back down again. For you to maybe go back to the cable cars that took up the mountain this morning. Meet everyone later, preferably somewhere warm. Out of this fucking snow.

“Of course you’re made for it.” Joe says, far too generous with his compliments. “You’re good at this. I’ve seen you ski, you know how to do this. You’re an expert.”

“Liar.”

“Come on,” Joe laughs. “I’ll carve out a path that you can follow.”

Which is a really sweet suggestion, but he’s got two much more flexible boots strapped to a snowboard, and snowboards tend to leave icy patches behind. You’ve not even quite mastered going down a perfectly prepped snowy slope, let alone a big plane of ice.

Your friends should count themselves lucky that you’re not panicking at the look of how steep every slope actually is. Even the blue runs.

Joe jumps a few times to move his snowboard from between your skis, hops and slides a bit as he waves his arms about to balance himself.

“Ready?” He bends to check his straps.

You’re not ready, but you’re glad that at least your legs aren’t strapped to a singular board. The restriction of movement is quite enough the way it is. You don’t need your feet bound together like that.

Positive thoughts.

Joe starts his ascend and, like he said he would, he leaves you an easy path to follow.

It’s only about three minutes later that you think maybe it would’ve been better if your legs wouldn’t have been able to move independently from one another.

You’re unsure how you’ve ended up where you are, but you do understand that you weren’t meant to speed up the way you had. Weren’t meant to have steered yourself in the direction you had. Weren’t meant to lean on one leg and raise the other off the ground for balance.

From down where Poppy, Mark and Joe are waiting, all they were able to make out was how you suddenly went too fast before you disappeared in a big cloud of snow by your own making.

Everything’s white.

And you’re in pain.

There’s shouting coming from somewhere on your left. Far away. Down, you think. It feels like that should be down, but you’re actually not sure.

There’s a blinding pain in your leg.

Sharp.

Something’s pulling. Like it’s twisted a way it shouldn’t. A way it can’t.

You’ve landed on your back, skis still attached to your boots somehow, and snow is falling directly into your face.

Fuck.

Your knee hurts.

You’re bowing your back to alleviate pain but, it’s not enough, and your breathing quickly becomes short and shallow to help you manage the pain you suddenly have to deal with.

Shit, shit, shit.

Somehow one glove’s come off entirely, and your wrist hurts from where the strap of one of your sticks yanked at your hand.

Fuck.

You vaguely hear your name, followed by a distant, “You okay?” as the snow you’ve kicked up settles around you along with all the flakes falling from the sky.

You don’t get the chance to answer. To shout back that, no, you’re not okay. Something’s wrong with your knee.

Next thing you know, a small avalanche covers your arm from a skier who stops to check on you, and they speak to you in what you think is German before they ask, “Are you okay?” in English with a heavy accent. They hold your glove out to you as they tower over you, something they likely must have picked up as they approached you.

Embarrassment overtakes you entirely as you don’t want attention from strangers, you’re just a clumsy cow, so you attempt to sit up.

“Yea, I think s–”

Oh no, fuck, fuck, shit.

It’s futile.

You’re bum rests on the back-ends of your skis, your knees up in the air, so sitting up is a job for your abs and your abs alone. You’re simply not strong enough.

Where the fuck are your arms?

Why aren’t they working to prop you up?

Your knee hurts.

Why are your boots still attached to your skis?

You need to get out of these skis.

You need to move.

“Don’t move!” Joe suddenly sounds a lot closer, and the swishing of waterproof fabric, of feet digging into the snow as he does his best to rush his way up the slope, sounds like music to your ears.

“Stay still! You’ve got to– stay still, you’ve–”

“My knee! It’s my knee, I need to–”

“Stay still!” Joe sounds more panicked than you do, and that alone is enough for you to listen and follow his orders.

You can’t see how your knee looks twice it’s width.

How your lower leg looks like it’s no longer connected to the rest of you.

It’s a harrowing sight that Joe doesn’t want you to see, so he repeats, “Stay still, stay still, stay still,” through quick breaths, and disappears from your vision just as quick as he had popped into it, falling down to his knees into the snow by your feet. You feel some pulling, followed by a build of pressure as two hands take a firm grasp of your calf.

Through your padded trousers, it feels like Joe’s not wearing any gloves.

There’s some talking between Joe and the stranger but you barely follow any of it.

All there is, is white wet snow, thick flakes that somehow look grey when you stare up at the sky like this.

All of a sudden, there’s your glove. Someone is holding it out to you, and you’re surprised to find yourself reaching for it. Your arms are fine. That’s good.

There is snow, and there is pain.

There is prickling behind your eyes from tears.

A throat that feels sore from the cold air you’re inhaling in quick pants.

The ski stick of the stranger gets used to unclip your boot from the ski, and the relief is instant.

There’s more distant shouting, and Joe barks back a loud, “No!” over his shoulder that makes you flinch.

Joe catches it, immediately apologises, because he doesn’t want you to move, and says, “Please don’t move. You can’t move, okay?”

“Is it bad?”

“I–... I don’t know.” Joe answers honestly.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“I don – what?!” You feel Joe get up a little, coming into your vision just slightly as he looks down the slope. Someone shouts something you can’t really quite decipher, and then Joe answers, “It’s on the map! Check the map!”

The stranger tells Joe he’ll go down to help, and for a moment, it’s just you and Joe and snow and pain.

You can still barely see anything, the snow falling down is a wash of specks that seems to be picking up more and more and, then, suddenly, Mark is there.

“Mark,” you raise a hand in hopes of your best friend grabbing it, so happy to see him there.

“Hey– oh my God, that’s disloca–”

“Did you call?” Joe cuts him off, voice stern enough to shut him up instantly.

“Poppy’s ringing them. I couldn’t get any signal. Hey,” Mark drops down to his knees in the snow next to you, just like Joe did before, but he doesn’t leave your vision. “Do you even know what happened?” You see how he immediately uses his mouth to remove a glove before he moves his own ski goggles from his face, revealing a pair of worry-filled eyes.

You wish he’d put them back on.

You’re glad your eyes are covered, still, because it means that the tears you’re silently blinking from your eyes go unnoticed.

“How did you even do that? Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

Too many questions at once.

You can’t answer any of them.

“Mark,” Joe catches his attention, tells him to use your skis to make a stand-up cross in the snow a few steps up the slope to prevent any other accidents with oncoming skiers. “I don’t know how quick they can be here.”

“Who?” you ask, voice suddenly so very small. Your throat feels tight. Maybe the tears don’t go quite as unnoticed as you thought.

You shift slightly, and, fuck. Your knee really fucking hurts.

Did Mark say dislocated?

“Careful,” Joe says when he hears you hiss, and you hate how you can’t see him. “Don’t want you to move. Is your jacket riding up your back? Do you feel any snow getting in?”

“N-no, I’m– I–” you can’t get through your words and take a shuddering breath instead. If anyone knows what you sound like when you’re about to burst into sobs, it’s Mark.

“I’m here, I’m here. Shh, hey. It’s fine, I’m here.” Mark’s back at your side, and it’s becoming more and more difficult to keep your sobs inside.

You don’t want Mark.

“Joe?” you ask with a shaky voice as one arm reached for him, and it’s a good thing that you miss how Mark’s face drops a little. How his head turns to Joe who’s still holding your leg. For a short moment, the two men look at each other, both unsure of how to react to that.

“They’re on their way!” Poppy suddenly shouts, and all three of you turn your heads to see a pink vision of a person enter on your right, making your group complete.

“Took me a second to figure out where we were, but they’re coming.” She turns to you. “Babe. That looked sick.”

“Pop,” Mark warns.

“What? It did.”

This was meant to be fun.

Your arm is still reaching for Joe, and with Poppy there now, Mark decides that he can take over his job of holding your leg in place.

“Here,” you hear Mark say by your feet, “Get your gloves back on, mate.” And with some new touches to your painful leg, you understand Mark and Joe have switched places. Joe moves Poppy out of the way and kneels down next to you, hovering over you, close to your face, finally in your line of vision.

“Do you want the good or the bad news?” Joe smiles down at you, sounding impossibly sweet. You understand it’s to keep you from panicking.

His nose is red from the cold, and somehow focussing on that works like a lifeline.

“Neither.” You’re not sure how wobbly your lips are – if they are even able to wobble at all in these low temperatures.

“Okay. Can you answer some questions instead?”

Joe asks where you can feel pain. If your head is okay. If your back feels fine. If you know why you suddenly started speeding up so fast. If you still think Poppy’s pink outfit is fucking ugly, which gets a loud laugh from Mark, and an offended “Hey!” from Poppy.

Joe also asks if you’re crying when he notices how you’re doing your very best to control your breathing. Says, “Oh, poppet!” through a sigh when you try to shake your head no, obviously lying. For comfort, he links his arm through yours, because holding hands is impossible when wearing these gloves, and he leans down to press his cold lips to yours.

They still feel warm.

“You’ll be okay. I promise.” Joe comforts. “They’re going to take you down safely, and we’ll be having some hot chocolate before you know it, all right?”

“J-Joe,” you stammer, but before anyone can say anything else, Poppy suddenly says, “I can hear them!”

The arrival of the mountain rescue team is meant to relax you, you’re sure. Help is here. Things will get better now.

Except, it kind of does the opposite.

It’s scary to let yourself be manhandled by people you don’t know. You listen to two men talk to each other in a language you don’t understand as they prepare to lift you onto a sled attached to a snowmobile. Mark gets moved aside, away from your leg, and you hold onto Joe even tighter as your leg slowly gets straightened.

You get told to relax, and you wish you knew how.

They’re moving what hurts.

Shit.

You’re freezing.

Fucking terrified.

Fuck, fuck, shit, shit shit shit.

Suddenly, an extremely painful snap makes you scream involuntarily, and you feel how Joe squeezes you impossibly tight as you burst into actual sobs now.

“Oh, Jesus,” Poppy comments, turning around to look away as she has a hard time pretending that any of that was easy to witness. Mark’s got an arm around her in an instant, doing his best to comfort her as well as you when he cheerfully shouts, “It popped into place! That’s good, that’s so good. It’s back in place. Trust me, that’s good.”

You don’t care if it’s good.

That fucking hurt, and the pain you’re left with now is somehow worse than before.

All you want to do is cry.

Preferably somewhere warm.

Out of this fucking snow.

Instead you’re left to cry in said fucking snow as two men lift you onto a sled before they strap you in, preparing you for the ascend. It’s only then that you realise that Joe won’t be coming with them.

With you.

“Joe,” you croak, and are immediately scared that you’ll be taken away too fast. “Joe! Joe!”

Poppy turns a curious eye to Mark, and she knows this isn’t the time, but she takes mental note to ask him how he feels about that later. About how you’re calling out for her best friend, rather than yours.

“I’m here, I’m here.” Joe coos, back on his knees again, close by your side. “They’re going to take you down to the cable cars we used this morning, all right? The three of us are going to find our gear and get our asses down as quick as possible to meet you there, okay?”

Their gear. Their snowed over skis and snowboard, he means.

How the fuck are they ever going to find those? Heavy snow has been falling this whole time.

They’re going to leave you on your own.

“Hey, hey. Shh. Don’t worry, we’ll be faster than you–”

“Joe, I–”

“We can take a few reds and blacks, and will be waiting for you there, all right? It’ll be fine. You’re okay. Don’t worry, it’ll all be fine.”

Joe leans down and kisses you again, warming your mouth with his once more as you silently cry.

“Joe, I–...” you falter, scared to say what you’re thinking, but the words are right there, and you’re scared, and in pain, and you’re cold, and you want Joe to come with you.

“I–...” you give it another shot, and see how Joe’s eyes suddenly double in size.

“Don’t you dare!” he begins. “Don’t you dare fucking say it right now! Not here. This can’t be–” he stops to laugh, and you can’t help the wet laugh that escapes you in return. “This cannot be the first time you say it, all right? Please save it for later. For when we’re inside and you’ve had your leg looked at by a doctor.”

“B-but,” you’re choking back tears as the snowmobile starts its engine, the two men now sat atop and ready to transport its precious cargo down a steep mountain. “I do.” you finish, just because you want him to know.

“I do.”

You said it without saying it.

It’s not exactly the same, it doesn’t really count, but Joe will take it.

“I know, me too.” Joe replies fondly as he knits his eyebrows together and leans down for one last kiss. He hates that he has to leave you, even if it’s for a short moment. “Me too.”

He’ll kick himself for weeks, months, for suggesting a skiing trip.

This was supposed to be a fun trip.

It still could be, Joe thinks.

You’ll likely not get back onto another set of skis very soon, but that doesn’t mean the trip’s ruined.

You’d almost said it.

Fucking silly.

He had been waiting around for you to find the perfect moment to say those three words aloud to him, just so he could say them back, and you were going to say them now?

Here?

Not a chance.

Not acceptable.

Maybe later, in the hotel bed, when you’re warm under the covers and safe in his arms. You’re allowed to say it then, and he’ll say the words back before yours have even left your mouth properly.

This was supposed to be a fun trip.

It still is.

Joe’ll make sure of it, he thinks, as he straps his board back onto his boots and doesn’t wait for Poppy and Mark.

“I do.” you’d said.

Asked for him instead of Mark.

“Me too.” he’d answered.

You said it without saying it and now, all Joe wants to do is hold you close and kiss your eyelids. He wants to kiss you on the eyes so fucking bad.

Preferably somewhere warm.

Out of this fucking snow.

---

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Add yourself

[ghost-proofbaby]

"AND JUST LIKE ALL THOSE TIMES BEFORE, YOU WEAR YOUR BEST APOLOGY. BUT I WAS THERE TO WATCH YOU LEAVE."

summary: you finally see all the damage done.

warnings: strong language, angst, mentions of alcohol and drug abuse, direct mention of cocaine usage, reactions to possible overdose, mentions of making someone throw up/someone throwing up, thoughts of death/losing someone. dead dove - do not eat. and, please, minors dni.

wc: 5.3k+

a/n: i need to emphasize the warnings for this chapter. it's not a pretty one, and i must emphasize that this is not meant to be glorifying this behavior at any capacity - if anything, take note of how damaging and destructive it is. if you are unable to read due to warnings, let me know, and i will post a more direct summary of this chapter to be read in place of it. thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for beta-reading this one (and for always letting me ramble about this story endlessly) <3

☆ prev chapter | masterlist | next chapter ☆

Show me what you’ve become, Eddie. 

You need to be more careful what you wish for these days. 

Gareth nearly runs into you when you pause mere steps within the apartment, looking around and trying to swallow down all your shock. He’d warned you, tried to prepare you for the worst, but you hadn’t expected this. 

The penthouse is hardly recognizable from how you’d witnessed it during the weekend. 

It’s a mess, an explosion of loose-leaf paper and empty beer bottles across every room within view – the living room, the kitchen, the hallway. Not one, but two ashtrays filled to the brim sit patiently on the coffee table. You can make out butts of cigarettes, as expected, but there’s also plenty of roaches to catch your eye. Burnt down to the filter, sucked dry for all they were worth. You swear you see broken glass, and when you find the strength to stumble forward one more step, you confirm it. 

Not broken out of anger, but seemingly having slipped off the edge of the coffee table. 

“Fuck,” the expletive falls from your lips before you can think better of it. The longer you stare at the scene, the worse it all comes to light. 

Pens thrown astray, plenty of glasses laying on their side on both the floor and couch.  Sticky rims, sparse ashes flickered about. You see one empty bottle of whiskey, and have no doubt there’s another – possibly multiple – scattered throughout the apartment. 

“I told you,” Gareth says weakly, placing an attempt of a comforting hand on your shoulder, “It gets bad.”

How can so much damage happen over four measly days? 

You try to shrug off Gareth’s hand, but he tightens his grip, “Look, maybe we should leave. Matt and I can handle this-” 

“No,” you snipe, pulling far from him, taking several steps into the wreckage. “I told Matt that Eddie was my problem now, and I meant it. You can leave if you want, but I’m staying.” 

Eddie’s clearly not out here in the living room. There’s a deep imprint on the couch that looks like he may have been there recently, but he’s long gone. All that’s left is the mess, and a sinking feeling in your gut as you spy another terrible item on the coffee table. 

Gareth spots it just as you do, as well. 

“Listen, I really think we should leave.” 

The magazine with that blurry, candid photo of the two of you on the cover, bold and bright letters obscuring it. Those, and the little white line you can spot remnants of across the shiny paper. 

“I’m not fucking leaving, Gareth.” 

What the fuck happened in the last four days? 

Had you said something wrong that night? One wrong step, in a fatal direction, sending Eddie right into this crash out? Had it been the contract, and how hastily you had signed it, that sent him straight into spinning out of control? 

You lean down to snatch up one of the glasses discarded onto the floor, unphased by the residue of alcohol that clings to your fingers. The overwhelming and nauseating scent of pure whiskey almost makes you sick. 

“Does this happen every time?” you ask, trying to keep your voice even, almost too quiet to be heard over the drumming in your chest, “Does this- is this fucking normal to you guys?” 

He gets this way.

You kick a pile of papers, eyes wandering over deeply scratched words in black ink. 

This is sort of normal for him.

“Do you guys just-” you struggle to find the words, looking around at this mess. All the red flags, all the reasons to run, and all you feel is a terrible pull towards Eddie. The need to find him, the need to refuse to leave him alone through this all, is rampant in your chest. “Do you guys really just leave him during times like this? When he clearly needs you most?” 

You swear, you’ve started to see red. 

When you turn to face Gareth, he’s holding his hands up, face twisted in defensiveness, “Hey, listen, it’s not like that-”

“Then what is it like?” 

If Eddie’s in this apartment, he can surely hear you. Your voice is no longer quiet and timid, wavering with each syllable. Loud and clear, ready for a fight. 

“You haven’t been here this last year!” Gareth raises his own voice to match yours, seeming more desperate than agitated, “It’s not like we just- just- gave up on him!”

And yet, that’s exactly what it looks like has happened. 

Every single person that has become a staple in Eddie’s life has seemingly given up on him. They’ve given up fighting for him, on pushing him, on offering a helping hand. They claim to have grown weary, broken bones and patience alike in the battle of forcing Eddie to be a better person. And standing here in this apartment, seeing what they so clearly try to cover up and ignore, you know they’re going about it wrong. 

You don’t have to force Eddie to be a better person. He already is a good person, somewhere deep down. 

“That’s exactly what it looks like!” you laugh coldly, waving about the apartment, “You all clearly knew what to expect, what- what this place was going to look like. You knew what was happening, and you’re doing nothing.”

Gareth’s nostrils flare with one deep breath, and you already know what he’s about to say is going to cut deep, “Aren’t you the one that simply vanished on him? On all of us?” 

He’s right. The blow of the truth would have jarred you more had you not been prepared. 

“I didn’t know,” you say lowly, narrowing your eyes at the boy before you, “I had no idea he had gotten this bad-”

“Oh, c’mon,” Gareth shakes his head, turning and walking carefully through the damage, gesturing about just as you had been, “You’re not stupid. We both know you aren’t. What else did you think was happening?” Another step, and you can hear the crunch of glass beneath the sole of his shoe that has you cringing, “That Eddie was just… having the time of his life? That everything was perfect?” he pauses on the other side of the couch, and you can see a world of hurt behind his big brown eyes. “You knew better than that. You knew him better than that.”

What had you thought was going on when Eddie pulled away so suddenly?

Had you really known Eddie as well as Gareth is assuming right now? 

Your eyes flutter shut as your throat tightens, because the hard pill to swallow is that’s exactly what you had thought. That Eddie’s life was finally perfect. That he was living his wildest dreams. That there was only one bump in the road to his otherworldly success, in the terrible shape of you. 

“You…” You don’t know what those last months were like. You don’t have the sound of Eddie’s voicemail memorized. You don’t wake up from nightmares to the sound of a dial tone in place of future plans bursting into flames. You don’t know the silence. “You’re right.”

You could spend days standing here as you made excuses. One after another, a list longer than the miles once put between you and Eddie. Dissect every possibility you’d deemed possible, and drudge up all the ones you’d simply refused to see in the daylight. 

Fighting with Gareth doesn’t make this right. Fighting with one of the boys you’d grown up with doesn’t erase the situation at hand. 

“Everything was going to shit a long time before you left, y’know,” Gareth’s voice finally breaks a bit, and you look up to find the rims of his eyes pink as they hold back tears, “I don’t know why you left, none of us do, but I’m willing to bet all the blood money I’ve made from this band that it’s because of something an awful lot like this.” 

“I did what I had to do,” you defend yourself so weakly that even you don’t believe the words. 

“Exactly. Just like we have been since you left.” 

There’s more to say and more to argue about, but it’s enough for now. You don’t want to waste another second here, pointing fingers at who’s in the wrong and who’s to blame. Really, all you want to do is find Eddie. 

So you do just that. You decide to make a beeline for the hallway.

“I-” Gareth takes a few steps towards you, but you don’t slow down. He has the common sense to follow, “Where are you going?” 

“He’s obviously not in there,” you say through heavy breaths, fighting tears and pausing between the two doors at the end of the hall. The in-house studio, or the bedroom. “We can fight about it later. I don’t care, I just-”

You choose the bedroom. 

All your words die on your tongue as you throw open the door and see him, all the oxygen in your lungs expelled forcibly to make room for a hole like never before in your chest.

He’s sprawled out across the bed, still in a t-shirt and jeans that look eerily similar to what he had worn Sunday. 

“Eddie.”

You’re not sure if it’s your voice or Gareth’s that echoes through the room as you throttle forward, body in autopilot. 

What happened to him? Is he okay? Is he breathing? Is he alive?

The bed jumps from the weight of you as you crumble beside him, quick to press your ear to his chest. 

Is he alive?

The first thing you notice is the warmth of him beneath your palms. A good sign. 

Please be alive. 

The next thing you notice is the shaky breaths resonating within that chest you cling to. A heartbeat mingling somewhere beneath the press of your cheek as you slump in relief. A grunt as the weight of you pins him down. 

“What the-”

The words are croaked and slurred, as if Eddie hadn’t spoken out loud in days. You feel him start to shift beneath you, and the moment of serene relief that had overcome you from him just being alive evaporates as quickly as it had momentarily lived within your chest. 

Please stay alive.

You sit up straight, eyes finding his, “What did you take?” 

Blown out pupils. Whiskey breath. Powder residing at the tip of his nose, barely noticeable until you were as close as you currently were. 

“I-” Eddie blinks up at you slowly, mouth ever so slightly agape, looking confused as ever, “What do you mean?” 

I need to keep him alive.

“I mean,” you hiss out, sitting up fully and dragging him with you. You can’t focus on the fear creeping up at seeing him this way; it’s as though he might not be within his body, like he’s vacated the premises and you’ve been left with an uncoordinated vessel. “What the fuck did you take, Edward Munson?”

“Maybe we should give him a sec-” Gareth starts, but he’s cut off when you stand up entirely, Eddie in tow with your hands around his biceps. 

The boy makes no move to help you, clearly shocked, but Eddie is pliable. He lets you toss him around like a ragdoll, no protests to be heard beyond ragged breaths that you can’t quite be sure you aren’t just imagining joining your own. 

I need him to stay.

You’re not giving him a second. Depending on what he’s taken, that second could be the line between life and death. 

“Tell me,” you grunt with persistence, working your way under Eddie’s arm to support his weight against your body properly, “What you’ve taken,” Gareth takes a step forward but pauses at your sharp glare, “So I can make sure you don’t fucking die on me, Munson.” 

Your voice is terribly fragile as you start dragging him along towards the bathroom. His feet are moving, stumbling right along with you, but he remains mostly slumped against your side. Head lolling, eyes closed every time you sneak a glance through your struggle.

I need him to stay with me. Please.

Gareth is a foreign stranger, a mere on-looker to the catastrophe. 

That’s fine. It’s fine. It’s becoming abundantly clear that he doesn’t recall any of Eddie’s speeches, lectures, regarding the mixing of drugs that he gave once the group had discovered his side gig back in Hawkins. 

Which drugs did he warn against mixing? Which substances should I be worried about getting out of his system first? What symptoms should I be watching for? 

You rack your brain with each step towards the bathroom, only being able to remember one thing crystal clear. If nothing else, you recall Eddie telling you the easiest way to sober someone up a great deal, across most substances they might have taken. 

The shower. You need to get him in the shower. 

It’s not the cold water you need, although it’ll certainly help. Maybe it can shock him out of this trance just a bit, doing away with his droopy lids and any lingering substances on his body. Sweat, cocaine, alcohol – it’ll clean him up, surely, but that’s not your only goal. 

“Anytime Rick has seen someone try to mix the harder stuff with alcohol,” Eddie had once drawled to you in his van after a party he’d let you join him in attendance of, a milkshake in both of your hands as you’d reminisced on the night, “He makes ‘em chuck it all up. It’s gross. But efficient. Gets ‘em in a shower, or out in the yard, and just… makes it vomit town. Doesn’t do much but does somethin’, I guess.” 

All your movements are robotic, your mind hardly your own as you go through the motions. You don’t know how you’ve dragged him fully into the bathroom so quickly, no help from Gareth – but you have. You don’t know how you kept him upright, pressed tightly to your side as you turn on the water – but you have. You don’t know how you manage to situate him on the floor of the tiled shower, water soaking his knees and calves – but you do. 

Your body isn’t your own. Just like Eddie, you’ve become a witness to the events, no longer feeling as though you’re actually partaking in them as you take the final step. 

It’s not a pretty sight.

You don’t register the feeling of you shoving your fingers down Eddie’s throat, but soon enough, his head is hanging between his knees and Gareth is hovering behind you in sheer distress. 

“Did he just-” he starts to question, trying to peer past your kneeling figure to get a better look.

You don’t make him finish the sentence, doing the honors, “Throw up all that shit in his system? Yes.”

Look at me. Stay with me. Stay alive. 

Your chest feels two sizes too tight as you look at his heaving shoulders, a hand hesitating in mid-air as it reaches out to land on his back. That space between your palm and his shaking back. Two inches of space as your skin constricts a bit tighter. 

Stay with me. Please. 

Gareth is saying something, probably having a complete meltdown as you should be, but it’s static noise. Nothing else matters as you completely destroy that final bit of distance, and you let your palm fall against his back. Feather-light, so unsure, quivering even more than his figure as you go deathly still. 

You can feel every breath. Every little hiccuping gasp he takes as he regains composure. 

Look at me, please. 

Your pride, your fear, and your panic all collide as you give in. Your still hand is now in motion, palm rubbing his back feverishly with desperate comfort. You collapse entirely on the ground, letting yourself fall half into the shower to be close to him. You don’t care about the metal railing digging into your thighs and hip, you don’t care about your clothes growing damp as you enter the edges of the stream of water now washing away all the vomit. 

You only care about him. 

You’re about to open your mouth to say his name, surely being your voice this time as Gareth continues to hang back in shock, when umber brown eyes are finally looking up at you. 

The rivers of blood below the surface of your skin run far colder than the stream of water coming from his shower ever could. 

It’s simple syllables, the quietest of noises, and it has the power to absolutely crush you – all he does is sigh your name, and the world stops. 

You can’t speak. He slowly leans back up, back colliding harshly with the tiled wall of the shower, and you can’t speak. You hardly even move that pathetic attempt of a comforting palm out of the way in time.

He’s squinting as he groans, eyes darting between you and Gareth, “What the fuck happened?” 

You lean back out of the water a bit, unaffected by the feeling of wet jeans sticking to your skin, as Gareth scoffs out, “You went on a fucking bender. That’s what happened. Again.”

“It wasn’t a bender-”

“Bull-fucking-shit.” 

All his words are still slurring. His pupils are still just a tad bit too big for those whiskeyed eyes. 

“I was just having a bit of fun-”

“What about this is ever fun?” Gareth’s voice raises, louder than he had even been when fighting with you in the living room. “The part where we find you high out of your mind, half-dead in your apartment? Or the part where we’ll be cleaning up your mess?” 

I just wanted him safe. Alive. With me. 

You can’t join in the fight, because you weren’t looking for a fight. You had been so focused on simply finding Eddie, making sure he was okay, that you’d never considered what would happen once you did. 

“Oh, fun,” Eddie laughs coldly as his head throws back carelessly, and you flinch at the way he lets his skull bounce against the tile. Your fingers twitch, aching to have stopped it, to prevent any further damage, “We’re gonna have this argument again.” 

I just needed him alive. 

Your palms are sweaty against the tops of your thighs, pressed down tightly to prevent from reaching out to Eddie. There’s a ferocious need to clean him up further, to kick Gareth from the bathroom, to focus more on getting him sober than scolding him right now, but-

“Damn right, we are!” Gareth’s sneakers narrowly miss your lower back, and you’re looking over your shoulder with shock as he begins pacing, “Yeah, we fucking are having this fight again. How many times is it going to take? How many times am I going to have to explain to someone new how this is your normal now? How many times is someone going to stare at me like I’m the asshole here when I don’t do anything to prevent it, because I can’t?” 

“Gareth-” you whisper, trying to calm him down, moving to stand up when Eddie laughs again. 

“I don’t even fuckin’ know why she’s here,” you aren’t looking at him when he says it, and you’re almost glad for it. It’s in the way he says it – words easily mistaken for the ringing of a blade being sharpened, “What’s the point? Go ahead and do it now, Sugar.” 

Slowly, ever so slowly, you turn back towards Eddie, “Do what?” 

Dagger in hand, eyes so cold, he finally hits his mark, “Leave. That’s what you do, right? So just do it. Leave.”

Just how much blood can the human body spill? 

There must have been a time you learned that fact. 

Some time long ago, in a faraway classroom, the fact fell from the lips of a high school teacher in a droning tone. But you can’t remember it, because somewhere in that mystifying glimpse of the past, you’re sitting in a chair beside the man in front of you. You’re not bothered with facts of the human body or blood loss, because all you know is passing notes and giggles covered with coughs, the gentle tickle of knuckles brushing and knees bumping beneath desks. Your mind was on afterschool plans, which diner you’d meet up at and which of you would be picking the flavor of the milkshake you two would share. Who would claim they don’t want fries, and who would be sliding their plate across the table to let the before liar have easier reach. Who would be dozing off on the other's shoulder, as the other one finally brought up the responsible topic of homework. 

Trivial things. Things taken for granted. Things that fall out of reach when you finally extend yourself towards them, with the whisper of never being able to go back. The weight of Eddie’s cheek pressed to your bare shoulder over the roar of summertime cicadas outside a diner window, or the flat tone of a teacher informing their students of a fact they’ll seemingly never utilize again in their life.

You don’t remember, because back then, you’d never expected the man before you to make you bleed. 

You start to shake your head, but he prevents you from defending yourself, “You can’t deny it. You did it – it happened. We wanna air out all my dirty laundry? Cool, let’s start with yours.”

“Eddie,” Gareth has quieted down as you’d wanted, but you wish he hadn’t, “Give her a break, man.” 

Every atom in your body is hardening to try and prepare itself for his next blow. All expression drained from your face, the life fading from your eyes. 

“Why should I?” When he leans forward, you don’t even worry if he might get sick again all over you. He levels you with a wintery stare, and it’s the eyes of a stranger looking into yours now, “Why should I give her a break, or get my hopes up, when we both know how this ends? I’m saving us both some heartbreak, ain’t I, Sugar?” 

The way each word bleeds into one another should lessen the blow. The haze over his eyes should make everything feel a little more dull, a little less precisely sharpened. The sluggish movements and the constant sway of his body even when frozen in place should make it all less painful. 

But drunken words are honest thoughts, and you can’t help as the first crack of emotion bursts in the form of burning eyes. 

Stay with me. I need you to stay with me.

You don’t have it in you to defend yourself, to defend whatever this is that you two have pulled out of the rubble. 

All you can do is meet his stare, so vacant and so chilling, as you say, “I’m not leaving.” 

And then, ironically, you do exactly that. You leave. 

Shoulder bouncing against Gareth’s, you move as quickly as you possibly can out of the suffocating bathroom, the tables turning entirely. The roles have switched, and now you’re the one gasping for air. 

“Hey, hold on,” Gareth tries to reach out for you, but you’re quicker than him in pulling yourself away from the two of them entirely. 

“Clean him up,” you instruct flatly, unwilling to look at Eddie. You’ve seen enough, bled enough, for one day. 

Neither man replies to you verbally, and all you hear as you exit the room is the pattern of water breaking against the tile. It almost sounds like your heart, if Eddie Munson hadn’t already done the honor of tearing it apart in his current state.

—

You stay true to your word.

You don’t leave.

Not the apartment, at least.

For the next hour, you put yourself to work, digging under Eddie’s kitchen sink and finding a large enough trash bag for the current task you busy yourself with. You never let a single tear fall as you glide around the living room, the kitchen, the hallway. 

You don’t go near the bedroom. Near the bathroom. Near Eddie. 

Gareth only shows his face once the entire duration, stepping outside of the room briefly but never glancing your way. You can only assume it’s to let Eddie get dressed, his clothes probably needing to be washed after the entire ordeal. 

If he flinches as he hears you toss all the trash within reach of your hurricane in the bag particularly violently, you don’t say a word. 

By the time there’s any sign of life on Eddie’s part, you’ve already cleaned up most of the apartment. Ashtrays emptied, all glasses not broken in the sink, a semi-neat pile of any pages you could decipher his handwriting upon. You were cruel, if Eddie’s presumption of knowing how this ends was anything to go off of, but you weren’t so cruel as to toss away anything he might have written for his career. 

This time, you don’t snoop. You know better than to read a single line on the pages. If Eddie has something he wants to say to you now, he’ll have to say it to your face. 

There’s a creak from down the hall as you’re finally collapsing onto the couch, a photo frame in hand as the overflowing trash bag is discarded to the floor temporarily, fingers already working nimbly at getting the back of the frame off before whoever it may be enters the room. 

Just as the creased photograph is in your grasp, a throat clears from behind you. 

“I…” he sounds smaller than he had in the bathroom, voice a bit clearer, “Uh, thank you. For…. for earlier.” 

Slow, steady steps. No longer blundering, or needing the support of another body to guide him. 

“I’m-”

If you were to turn around, you know you’d see the Eddie Munson you swear you know. The one who had sat beside you in science class, the one you would kiss under the bleachers every Friday night. You’d see the boy you’d followed across states, followed all the way to New York, sprinting to catch up with him as he’d trailed ferociously after his dream. Clear eyes, somber face, not a single blade in hand. 

But you can’t keep chasing after that boy. You think before Eddie ever turned his daggers towards you, he had taken them to that boy first, and he was buried long before you could even think to say goodbye. 

“Don’t apologize,” you force out, letting the words leave you as easily as the breath you were holding. The air in your lungs, however, stays put. “You were fucked up. It’s fine.”

Over the edge of the photograph you hold, you see his bare feet. New tattoos on unfamiliar ankles, the hems of pants he’d bought without you at his side. 

“It’s not fine, and I shouldn’t have said that,” Each word drips with sincerity. Then again, his accusation in the shower had as well, as you recall it now, “Will you- Please look at me.” 

Please look at me.

Please look at me.

Please stay with me. 

You can’t say that you break. Because, truthfully, you hadn’t been whole to begin with. Some sort of chasm had torn you apart the moment you walked into this apartment - no, the moment you had walked into that damned meeting room and seen his face for the first time in years. 

Two years. Twenty five months. One hundred weeks. 

Your brain has no capacity to break down the hours, minutes, seconds. All the time spent without him, unknowing that the man you had loved was rotting away in the ground six feet under, as the ghost of him haunted stages across the world. 

“I need to finish cleaning,” you say suddenly, jumping up off the couch, keeping your vision downwards. 

What if you look at him, and you decide to leave?

What if you look into his eyes and see the picture once painted by dial tones and automated voices announcing an electronic mailbox was full? 

What if you just weren’t as strong as you were determined to be?

“I have all the cups in the kitchen sink,” the words slip over a frantic tongue, one hand twisting at the plastic material of the bag until your nails are piercing right through the thin veil to prod painfully at your palm as the other won’t let go of that damned photograph, “I emptied all the ashtrays, and-”

Why should I give her a break, or get my hopes up, when we both know how this ends?

When we both know how this ends? 

How does it end? You want to scream at him, ask him the question that chokes you up now. Is this how it ends, with awkward encounters and coming to the rescue recklessly? Does it end with hurtful words said out of spite over the stench of intoxication, or does it end more quietly, over the whispers of apologies and thanks that should never have been necessary to begin with? 

Does it ever really end? Because surely, it didn’t end for you two years ago. Twenty five months ago. One hundred weeks ago. 

Why does this love of yours insist upon being a weapon, just as Eddie had written in his song? 

“Sugar, please,” he tries to stand in your way, force you to look up, but you won’t, “Please, stop cleaning, and-”

“I can’t.”

“You can, just sit down, let’s talk about-”

“I can’t.” 

“Gareth can get the rest of it all, it’s fine-”

“I can’t!”

You both stop all movements, Eddie’s shuffling and your attempts to escape him, as the yell falls off your lips. Finally, you look up at him, shocked to find red-rimmed eyes.

They weren’t that pink when you’d found him. Even when intoxicated. 

The tears gathered proves it. 

“I almost lost you, Eddie!” It feels good to scream. Feels good to watch him crumple right along with you as your voice bounces around the hollow room. “You almost left me this time, okay? And not- not in the- you wouldn’t just be somewhere out there!” At some point, your hands begin to curl into shaking fists, and you let them fall against Eddie’s chest in a broken pattern. Thump, thump, thump, “You’d just be fucking gone! There would be no contracts to fix it! I can’t make a deal with the fucking Devil or God to bring you back!” His fingers wrap around your wrists, fists still in motion. Not stopping you, simply holding onto you, “Gone!” Another smack to his chest, “No second chances!” Tears had started to fall, finally, but you pay your blurry no vision any mind as sobs tear out of your throat along with every weak toss of your fists, “De-”

You can’t finish the word. It’s coiled up at the back of your throat, a stopper to all the sobs you’ve started choking out. 

A chest two sizes too small, a heart with a hole in the center of it. 

Maybe you had been born with the hole in the shape of the man that catches you when you collapse against him. It was always there, nothing to be done about it, except to let him fill it. Slot himself right into your life, place himself over it just like a bandage, wrap his arms around you as small shushes fall from his lips. 

It’s selfish – terribly, terribly selfish – that he’s comforting you now. 

But he does. He lets you cry out, slumped against him without complaint. As though simply holding you might fix this. As if this entire day may be capable of being erased by this very moment. 

At some point, you have no sobs left in you. Your entire body has been pressed into Eddie’s chest, and he’s clinging to you as though his life might rely on it as he buries his cheek against the crown of your head, but not a cry is left to give. 

“I’m not leaving,” he repeats your words from earlier in the softest of tones. 

They hold an entirely different weight on his tongue. 

But the entire Universe holds its breath as it’s set into stone – neither of you are leaving. You’re both here, headstrong with feet cemented where you stand, and you are not leaving this time. 

Your fist still homes the photograph, albeit adding new wrinkles to the picture as it curls within your hold. 

Carefully, you start to pull back from Eddie, and he lets you. Arms dropping away as you take one step backward, sneakers crunching on the broken glass scattered about the rug below. 

There, in your palm, there’s a lifetime you think you may always miss. A time that you’ll always remember like a sore ache in your back molars. 

You, and Eddie, and Gareth. Even Dustin Henderson is in the photo. 

“What’s that?” Eddie asks as his eyebrows wrinkle and he attempts to get a closer look at the treasure you stare blankly at now. 

“A photo,” you blandly explain, another step back before you can collapse onto the couch once more. Eddie joins you this time, “From that first big show at the Hideout.”

There’s more words turning stale on the tongue, but you don’t need to reminisce anymore. You get it now. Sort of. 

It hurts, it might hurt for a while, but it’s over with. It’s never going to be fair to continue to compare the two of you to what once was. You can’t go back, you can’t change a past already written. Two graves need to be laid to rest now, after one hundred long weeks, and it’s time to leave the cemetery. 

That chapter was closed. The book wasn’t. 

“I meant what I said, you know,” Eddie whispers. You swear you can hear noises from down the hall, suddenly remember that Gareth was still here, “I… I didn’t say it the way I should have, but I meant it. If you want out, I’ll let you go.” 

Maybe the Universe had gotten the memo, but Eddie hadn’t. 

You look at him with wild eyes, “What? I don’t-”

“I know, I know. The contracts and stuff. But I could get them nullified. If it’s what you want, I’ll force them to let you out,” you’re stunned into silence as he smiles sadly at you, “You didn’t sign up for this shit, Sugar. I can scrap the album, too, if you want. The guys can help me write new stuff, stuff not about us, and we can just-” 

You toss that photo right onto the ground, let it flutter down to settle beside the trash can. Like flowers on a grave. 

“Do you want to know what my first thought was when I came in here?” you interrupt him, staring up at the front door as you fight back tears. He doesn’t respond, so you continue on, “Please be alive. My first thought was for you to just be alive, be okay.”

That’s what it had been. No care for nostalgia or all that once was. Simply needing him to be breathing inside this apartment.

The callous laugh that escapes him isn’t quite as cold as the ones he’d let out in the bathroom, but there’s still no trace of humor, “Can I be honest? I’m definitely alive, and some of that credit belongs to you, but… Jury’s still out about being okay.”

You turn your body towards him, blinking your sore eyes slowly, “Then talk to me about it.” 

His shock proves that this has clearly become a foreign concept. 

“What?” he tries to chuckle, tries to force a little laughter into the tone rather than sheer nerves, but it’s useless when it comes to you. He used to laugh like that any time that he lied to Wayne – it was always his giveaway. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but like I said, you didn’t sign up for any-”

“I did,” you stress, almost reaching out to grab each side of his head, shake some sense into him if possible. Just make him understand. “When I signed Matt’s contract, I signed up for it. When I agreed to get just a cup of coffee with you, I signed up for it,” you pause, taking a deep breath, eyes shutting for only a moment to compose yourself. It’s hardly a second, a long blink if anything, just so you can keep him in your sights, “You keep acting like you’ve forced me into this, but I’ve always been able to walk away if I really wanted to. Every step of the way. I could have refused to take Corroded Coffin on as a client, I could have told you to go to Hell and meant it. I could have laughed in Matt’s face when he suggested the contract. But I didn’t. Get it through your dense skull, please, Munson – I’m here, I’m staying, and I signed up for it.”

He’s quiet, dead silent as he stares at you with red eyes. You can see the bags shadowing beneath, all the damage done over four days that you can’t clean up with a trash bag and enough anxiety to fuel you for days. Things that take longer to heal, things that eat away at someone if they don’t talk about it.

You remember all that anger you’d felt when you’d realized this wasn’t the first time that Eddie had done this, that this was his new normal. 

How it had stunned you that none of them had ever just offered to talk to him. 

‘You knew him better than that.’

Gareth had been right. You do know Eddie better than that. 

“I can’t force you to talk about it all,” your voice drops, something for just the two of you, “But I can ask you to stop bottling it up. I can ask you to stop self-destructing. Because, trust me, I’ve been there – and look where it left us.” 

He tilts his head as he opens his mouth, but you’ll never hear his argument as Gareth finally enters the room. 

“I, uh, cleaned up the room and bathroom,” he holds up a smaller trash bag, free hand rubbing the nape of his neck, “I just tossed his- your old clothes into the laundry basket, but…. Yeah. It’s clean.”

A small correction, a shifting of the eyes to acknowledge not just you, but Eddie. 

“Thank you,” Eddie says, terribly earnestly, twisting his body to settle his arm along the back of the couch. You’re still thinking about that tilt of his head, and whatever he had to rebuttal you with, “I… I appreciate it.” 

The words sound uncomfortable on Eddie’s tongue, as though he hasn’t said them in a while. 

“I also called Matt and let him know you’re alive,” Gareth breezes right past the gratitude, but it moves as though a weight in the air has finally been lifted as he circles around the couch to drop his bag of trash beside yours, “He said to take a few days to recover, but… Keep in touch. Not specifically with him, if you don’t want to, just- Anyone.” 

Gareth’s eyes catch yours as he says it, and you know exactly what he means. 

Eddie won’t, can’t, speak to them – but maybe he can find a way to talk to you. 

“Thanks, Gar,” you can’t fight the slightest twitchings of smiles on the corners of your mouth as you say it, and Gareth is quick to roll his eyes. It almost feels normal. It’s almost enough to forget what’s happened. 

“If you’re going to start calling me that, I might just have to tell the guys that the pizza date is cancelled,” Eddie’s head snaps from Gareth to you, not angry but simply confused, “They still haven’t stopped talking about that, by the way. Better be good on your word, Hellfire.” 

All you can do is nod, and try to not sink too deeply into the warmth sparking up in your chest at the nickname. 

“Hellfire?” Eddie, for the first time since you’ve found him, is laughing genuinely. It’s a tired sound, a little breathless, but it’s actual laughter. “Haven’t heard that one in a while.” 

“Haven’t had her around in a while,” Gareth is quick as he nods in your direction before finally moving towards the front door, “I’m heading out now, but… Call me if you need me. Or if you start craving pizza. Or… Don’t. I don’t know, I don’t control you two.” 

You almost ask him to stay, but you’re starting to suspect Gareth had heard more of your private conversation with Eddie than you’d like, and that it might be better for him to leave before you two can continue talking.

Before you ask Eddie about the tilt of his head, the argument on his tongue. 

“See you around, Gareth,” you hum, waving as you sink back further into the couch. Already preparing to settle in for a long night, a long talk. 

“See ya,” he makes the effort to not just nod in response to you, but Eddie as well. Just as his hand is on the door, though, he suddenly turns back around, “Oh, and before I forget - catch.”

Your hands move faster than your mind, thankfully, as a shining object flies through the air from Gareth’s palm and into your chest, “What the f-”

“Matt can make a new copy if he really wants one. I think you’ll make better use of it than us for now.” 

You look down at the silver key that Gareth had produced right as you had been on the verge of getting inside the apartment, of getting to Eddie. 

Eddie sees it too, and his brows furrow quickly, “When the fuck did Matt get a key to my place?” 

“Who cares?” Gareth shrugs, “Just be glad he did, or else you’d probably be replacing your front door from her kicking it in.”

It’s your turn to let out a sincere scoff, pocketing the key regardless. He’s right – your ankle almost screams out it’s thanks as you think about whether you would have tried (you would have) and if you would have been successful (you wouldn’t have been).  

With that, Gareth leaves. 

The front door doesn’t slam shut as you and Eddie are left properly alone. A new key to add to your own chain heavy in your pocket, and a million questions weighing down your mind. 

You and Eddie turn back to one another in sync. Something simmers in the air – something hopeful, something promising. The rosy glow of sunset outside the skyline windows illuminates the room just so. 

“Now that we’re alone, I’m going to ask you one more time, and I want you to be honest,” you start strong, sure, ready. Eddie nods along with each word, never shying away from your gaze, “Are you okay?” 

Instead of answering immediately, Eddie suddenly shuffles around his position on the couch. You’re taken back, freezing up, but don’t dare protest once you realize what he’s doing. 

His head falls into your lap with minimal hesitancy, and suddenly, big brown eyes are staring up at you. 

“Honestly, Sugar? No. I feel like shit,” you can’t fathom how he manages to do it, delivering it with a boyish grin that doesn’t feel condescending, only slightly teasing. It should be inappropriate, but if this is how he needs to be in order to open up, then it works. “Got any preference on where I start?” 

Your fingers find home in his scalp on instinct, “Wherever you want, Rockstar.” 

You can bury the old versions of yourself all you want – some habits will never die. Some things will never change. 

“Great,” he sighs, letting his eyes flutter shut for just a moment. You both bask in all the serenity that traces the edges of his face as the dipping sunrise continues to paint his cheeks gentle shades of pink and orange. “Then let’s start with promising I’ve learned my lesson, and I’m never mixing cocaine and whiskey again. Totally cancels out for me. A real buzzkill.” 

“Not funny.”

“I know,” his eyes shoot open, and half his mouth raises at a sorry attempt for a grin. Still tired, still truly looking like shit, but there’s promise behind those twisting vines of amber and chestnut looking up at you, “But I mean it… Gotta start somewhere, Sugar.”

He’s right – it’s a start. And you hope he means it. Because, whether it be fortunately or unfortunately, you’re not leaving. 

☆ prev chapter | masterlist | next chapter ☆

[wol-fica]

sabrina cockwarming g!p reader pls and ty

-👽

Put On A Show

summary - ^

warnings - dom!sub, p in v, g!p reader, g!n reader, a teeny bit of crying, riding(sab)

an - i’m enjoying these little drabbles (hello 👽!)

——————————

Sabrina whined softly in your ear, her warm breath fanning out over your bruised shoulder that she was previously biting. She was seated in your lap, her cunt stretched around your cock while you ran your hands along her almost naked body.

Earlier, she had expressed her sexual frustrations to you, saying she had been horny all day and wanted to ride your dick till the day she dies, but you had other plans for her. Once you were back in your apartment, you had made sure to give her no time to think before ruining her; bending her over your couch and giving her the best back shots of your life before ending up where you were now.

Soon she was all fucked out, dumb and drooling against your shoulder while she was stuffed with your cock. Your favorite movie was playing in the background, a few chuckles leaving you here and there when something amusing happened, but other than that you were both still.

“Still doing okay, love?” You asked, gently running your fingers through her thick locks.

The blonde nodded, pressing her face into your shirt to suppress her pants. You patted her lower back to soothe her, kissing the shell of her ear as you carefully readjusted. She gasped erotically, scratching her nails along your back from the movement.

“Fuck baby…it’s like you’re trying to tease me.” Sabrina groaned, clutching you a little tighter as you pushed her hips down.

“Wasn’t my intention, gorgeous.” You replied, running your fingertips up her spine.

She placed her hands on your shoulders, shakily pushing herself upright until she was face to face with you. Her blue eyes were hazy and tear filled, threatening to spill out and ruin her pristine makeup. There were teeth marks on her lips, probably from when you were nailing her against the couch, and her cheeks were flushed a dark blush that oddly made her look a little flustered.

She met your gaze, a small smile appearing on her features before she sat back fully onto you. The air was pushed out of her throat, a breathy exhale that had your heart throbbing aggressively.

“Oh my god…” She breathed , subtly rolling her hips, “You feel so good baby…”

You moaned softly, running your thumbs along her hip bone. Her skin was warm under your touch, radiating heat from her pent up pleasure. You pushed the oversized t-shirt she had on up her torso, revealing her toned abdomen glistening in the lamp light. The muscles in her stomach flexed with each rock of her hips, and a noticeable bulge appeared every time she rolled backwards. Your eyes widened slightly from the view, especially when Sabrina took the hem of her shirt from you, pulling it up even more to expose her breasts.

“Like what you see?” She purred, one hand reaching up to fondle her own nipple, “All yours to look at, baby.”

“Hm, yeah?” You quipped back, settling back into the pillows of the couch, “Wanna give me a show beautiful?”

She responded with a small “hmm” before raising her hips slightly and dropping back down. She fell into an easy rhythm, expertly moving her body in such a way that was almost artistic to her own. Her head fell back, giving you full access to her body in front of you. You moved to reach for her chest, but she quickly grabbed your wrist and replaced it at her hip.

“Look, don’t touch.” She growled, meeting your surprised gaze, “You had your control, now I get mine.”

You nodded, returning to your relaxed posture. Sabrina smiled, leaning down and capturing your lips in a heated kiss. She grinded her hips against yours, humming in satisfaction when you groaned from the pleasure. Her velvety walls were tight around you, squeezing in all the right places and at all the right times.

“Couldn’t make it any harder for me, Sab.” You grunted, now panting along side her, “You have no idea how bad I want to touch you.”

“Oh fuck…just like that baby…” She moaned, letting her composure crack slightly when you accidentally bucked your hips up.

You gasped when she started to roll in a peculiar way, her lips moving as if she was mouthing words. You soon realized she was spelling with her hips, different words and phrases that made your eyes roll from the stimulation.

“That good, babe?” She questioned, her hands now squeezing her breasts with each movement, “Jesus H Christ…you’re so bIG!”

She cut herself off with a squeal, her eyes rolling when she turned her hips slightly to the side. She froze on that position, gently rocking her hips around with pitiful whimpers. You watched in pure awe, smiling in an almost drunk-like state while she worked.

“Found the good spot, huh.” You sighed, squeezing the fat of her ass when she moaned in response, “Doing such a good job, baby.”

“Mmph~.” Sabrina mewled, and you felt a gush of wetness cover your length.

“Oh, love.” You cooed, letting her fall into your chest, “I’ve got you.”

She moaned softly as you laid back full against the cushions, settling into your warmth when you ran your hands along her legs. You pressed a few kisses to her hair, nuzzling your nose into her with a gentle hum. She smelled like home, her pheromones invading your senses quite quickly as her body relaxed.

“Do you want me out?” You asked, reaching down to pat her lower back, “Or stay in?”

“In.” Sabrina mumbled, locking her knees on both sides of your waist.

You chuckled, replying with a quiet “Okay” before pulling a blanket off of the side of the couch and over both of your spent bodies. The movie was still playing on the tv, and with how exhausted she was, Sabrina fell right asleep in your arms.

How perfect.

—————————

delicious

[moongirlcleo]

Pillow Talk

Tags: Oral Fixation, Caught in the Act, Friends to Lovers, Smut, Teasing, F!Reader, Fingering, Rough Sex Note: Check out all of my works on AO3! - | link

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @cafekitsune  Fic: @moongirlcleo  

You were just trying to take the edge off—nothing serious, just a little relief. Then Caleb walked in. Now he’s got you pinned, all smirks and wandering hands, acting like he wasn’t desperate for you as well. "If you wanted me that bad, pipsqueak, all you had to do was ask." Yeah… this is not how you thought the night would go.

The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside your window, neon lights casting a faint glow across your sheets. You should be sleeping. You tried to sleep. But your body had other ideas—specifically, ideas about him.

Caleb.

It started innocently enough—just a passing thought, an idle fantasy as you tossed and turned. But then you pictured his hands, firm and steady. His voice, low and teasing. The way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention, when his gaze lingers a second too long.

And that’s how you ended up here.

On your stomach, hips rolling, the friction of the pillow between your thighs almost enough to satisfy the ache, but not quite. You bite your lip, muffling a whimper of his name aloud as you rock against it, thighs squeezing, chasing after something that feels just out of reach. The sheets are damp beneath you, the heat between your legs unbearable, your mind lost in the image of Caleb behind you—his strong hands gripping your hips, his voice murmuring filthy promises in your ear.

Your breath catches, your movements becoming more frantic, the pressure building—

And then—

A slow, deliberate clap sounds from the doorway.

You freeze.

Your heart lurches into your throat as your head snaps up, eyes wide, blood draining from your face in pure, unfiltered horror.

Caleb leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, a slow, wicked smirk stretching across his lips.

“Well, well.” His voice is smooth, teasing. “Didn’t expect the show tonight, but damn if I’m not impressed.”

Your mouth opens—closes—opens again, but nothing comes out. You’re still sprawled out over the pillow, your body betraying you, still pressed against it in a way that tells him exactly what you were doing.

His amethyst eyes flicker over you, unhurried, taking in every detail—your flushed skin, the way your fingers still clutch the sheets, the way your thighs tremble, aching for something more.

Caleb tilts his head. “Now, pipsqueak,” he drawls, stepping inside and shutting the door with a quiet click, “how are you gonna talk your way out of this one?

Your brain scrambles, panic and mortification flooding your veins as you frantically try to assemble words into something—anything—that can salvage this situation.

“I—I wasn’t—”

Caleb lifts a brow, amused. “Oh? You weren’t?” He nods toward your still-straddled pillow, his smirk deepening. “Could’ve fooled me, pipsqueak.”

Your body burns.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, trying to gather what little dignity remains, but all it does is make the situation worse. Caleb’s gaze darkens as he watches the way your body shifts—how your thighs twitch, the way your shirt hangs loose off your shoulder, exposing the flushed skin beneath.

You swallow. “I was just—trying to get comfortable.”

He laughs.

It’s low, rich, downright sinful. Like you just told him the funniest joke of his life.

“Comfortable?” He repeats the word slowly, rolling it over his tongue like he’s savoring it. “Huh. That’s a new one.”

His hands slide into his pockets as he moves closer, his steps leisurely, like he has all the time in the world to watch you implode.

Your pulse hammers as you scramble for another excuse. “I—had a cramp?”

Caleb grins. “A cramp.”

You nod way too quickly. “Yeah! A—um—muscle cramp. My legs were sore from—uh—training?”

He hums, his head tilting, eyes sharp. “That why you were moaning my name, then?”

Oh, fuck.

You feel the heat snap up to your ears. “I wasn’t—”

Caleb presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek, clearly delighted by your struggle. “No? Must’ve been my imagination, then.” He leans down slightly, voice lowering just enough to make your stomach flip. “Y’know, since I definitely heard you.”

Your breath catches.

His eyes flick to your parted lips before dragging lower, tracing the curve of your throat, the way your chest rises and falls just a little too fast.

Caleb exhales through his nose, sharp and amused, but there’s something thicker beneath it now—something deeper, something hungry.

“You’re cute when you panic, pipsqueak,” he murmurs, his voice rougher now, his amusement edged with something darker.

You need to do something, anything, to shift control back in your favor before you combust.

So, you cross your arms, throwing him a glare—one that would’ve been a lot more effective if your entire body wasn’t still betraying you. “Okay, fine, maybe I was—” you gesture vaguely at the pillow, “—doing something—but you shouldn’t have been watching.”

Caleb grins, slow and dangerous. “Hey, pipsqueak.” He leans in, his breath ghosting over your ear. “You left the door unlocked.”

Your stomach plummets.

He chuckles, low and teasing. “Kinda seems like you wanted to get caught.”

One second, you’re scrambling for another excuse, another half-hearted denial that he would’ve loved to tear apart, and the next?

You’re pinned.

His hands grab your thighs, yanking you forward so suddenly that your breath stutters in your throat. Your back hits the mattress, and Caleb—Caleb is on you, caging you in with his forearms braced against the bed, his body flush against yours, heat radiating off him like he’s been waiting for this moment.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, voice dipped in rough amusement, “if you wanted me this bad, pipsqueak, all you had to do was ask.”

Your stomach flips, thighs instinctively squeezing together beneath him, and he notices. Oh, he notices. His gaze flickers downward, pupils blown with satisfaction.

He smirks, wicked and knowing. “Ohhh,” he breathes, dragging a hand slowly, torturously up your side. “That got you, huh?”

You glare, but it’s utterly pathetic considering how thoroughly your body is betraying you. “Shut up, Caleb.”

His grin widens, all sharp teeth and smug amusement. “Oh, Y/N.” His fingers graze up your thigh, pressing just enough to make your breath catch. “That’s not how this works.”

You try to shift, try to salvage what’s left of your dignity, but it’s pointless. He’s got you exactly where he wants you, and worst of all?

You want him there.

Caleb’s voice drops, smooth and taunting. “Be honest, pipsqueak.” His fingers tighten just enough against your skin. “You were thinking about me while you did it, weren’t you?”

Your body burns, and Caleb lives for it.

His smirk darkens. “C’mon. Say it.”

Your jaw tightens, teeth digging into your lip, and fuck, you hate how much this is affecting you.

Caleb leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Say it,” he commands, his voice gravel and smoke. “Tell me you were fucking yourself to the thought of me.”

A shudder racks through you. You can’t say it. You won’t say it—

He presses down, his weight firm and unrelenting, and suddenly, the friction is too much. Your breath stumbles, a sound—a desperate, helpless sound—slipping past your lips before you can stop it.

And Caleb?

He groans, low and wrecked, like that noise broke something in him.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, voice rasped with restraint. “I’m done waiting.”

Then he’s kissing you, hard, fierce, like he’s been starving for you all this time and he’s finally, finally allowed to eat.

His hands claim you, gripping, kneading, owning, and every inch of your body responds, pressing, arching, needing.

You don’t know if you lost, or if this was your plan all along.

But hell, you’re not complaining.

His kiss is hungry, all heat and dominance, lips crushing against yours as his hands roam—fingers splaying across your thighs, gripping your hips, claiming you like he has every right to. And at this moment? He does.

Because you let him.

You want him.

And fuck, he knows it.

“Didn’t even have the patience to wait for me, huh?” Caleb taunts against your lips, his voice a low, dark thing that vibrates straight through you. He drags his teeth along your bottom lip, pulling, teasing, before sucking the sting away with a kiss so hot it leaves you breathless.

His hands trail down, slow, deliberate, until his fingers are teasing the waistband of your sleep shorts—like he’s giving you a chance to stop him. Like he’s giving you an out.

But neither of you are stupid.

You’re not stopping this.

You arch into him, pressing your thighs tighter around his hips, a silent plea wrapped in a challenge.

And Caleb? He smirks against your skin.

“Oh, pipsqueak,” he purrs, slipping his fingers beneath your shorts, grazing over damp fabric. “You really did a number on yourself, didn’t you?”

Your breath catches as he rubs slow, teasing circles over the wet spot on your panties, his touch barely there—just enough to make you whimper, not enough to satisfy.

“You were thinking about me,” he murmurs, his voice dripping satisfaction. “Humping that poor little pillow, soaking it through, all because you wanted me.”

His teeth graze your jaw as he presses down, his fingers slipping against you, spreading that slick exactly where he wants it.

“Did it feel good?” Caleb asks, his lips trailing down your throat, sucking just lightly—just enough to make you shiver. “Or did you stop before you could finish?”

You don’t answer.

Because you can’t.

Not when he slides two fingers between your folds, spreading your slick, teasing your entrance but not giving you what you want.

Not when he presses a single, devastating kiss to your collarbone and whispers,

“Don’t worry, pipsqueak.”

His fingers press inside, slow, stretching, filling you.

“I’ll take care of you properly.”

And fuck, he does.

His fingers move deep, curling just right, finding that spot that makes you jolt, makes your mouth drop open on a silent cry.

Caleb grins, watching you.

“Oh, yeah,” he rasps, his breath hot against your ear. “This is way better than your pillow, huh?”

And all you can do is moan, hips rocking against his hand, begging for more. 

His fingers thrust deep, curling against that perfect spot inside you, his pace unrelenting, dragging moan after moan from your lips. Every time you try to bite them back, to keep some scrap of dignity, he punishes you for it—his fingers slowing, teasing, withholding exactly what you need.

“Aw, pipsqueak,” Caleb mocks, his voice all dark amusement as he watches you squirm. “You’re shy now? Funny, didn’t seem so shy when you were riding that pillow like it owed you money.”

Heat flares in your cheeks, your body betraying you as your hips rock into his touch, chasing the pleasure he’s dangling just out of reach.

You’re soaked, slick dripping down his fingers, onto his palm, and he’s eating up every single second of your desperation.

“So needy,” Caleb tuts, pulling his fingers from you, dragging them slowly over your clit before pulling away entirely. “And greedy, too.”

You whine before you can stop yourself, thighs trembling, aching for more.

And Caleb? Oh, he lives for it.

“Poor thing,” he croons, his fingers slipping under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, smoldering, but beneath the amusement, there’s something else—something possessive.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing over your lower lip, pressing just slightly into your mouth, teasing. “Are you gonna be good for me?”

You nod, too fast, too eager. But it’s not enough.

“Use your words, pipsqueak,” Caleb orders, his voice dropping.

Your breath shudders. “Y-Yes. Yes, Caleb, I’ll be good.”

His smirk is wicked.

“Good girl.”

Then, in one swift movement, he flips you onto your stomach, his hands firm on your waist, dragging you up onto your knees.

Your pulse spikes.

Oh. Oh.

“You made me wait, pipsqueak,” he rasps, his hands spreading you open, his cock hot and hard against you. “Made me sit there while you fucked yourself to the thought of me.”

His grip tightens.

“So now?”

His hips snap forward, burying himself inside you in one, slow, brutal stroke.

“I’m gonna make you feel just how bad you’ve been.”

Your cry is wrecked, pleasure and shock crashing through you as he fills you, stretching you open with the kind of ruthless precision that makes your mind white out.

Caleb groans, low and guttural, his fingers digging into your hips as he bottoms out, giving you no time to adjust before he starts moving.

Hard. Fast.

Each thrust is punishing, knocking the air from your lungs, pushing you into the mattress. The slick sound of your bodies colliding fills the room, filthy, loud—there’s no way anyone outside wouldn’t hear if they walked past.

Not that you can care.

Not when he angles his hips just right, hitting that spot that sends you spiraling, makes you clench tight around him.

“Fuck,” Caleb hisses, his pace stuttering for half a second before he growls and grips the back of your neck, forcing your cheek into the mattress.

“You feel that?” he breathes, his lips ghosting your ear, his cock dragging through your soaked, needy walls with every deep, unrelenting thrust. “No pillow could ever fuck you like this.”

You keen, back arching, hands gripping at the sheets as pleasure piles on top of itself, threatening to break you.

Caleb grins.

“Bet you won’t even think about humping that thing again after this.”

He snaps his hips forward—hard, perfect—and your moan cuts off, turning into something higher, something desperate.

“Oh, that’s it,” Caleb praises, his fingers tightening on your waist as he fucks into you like a man possessed. “Gonna let me ruin you, pipsqueak? Gonna let me make sure you never need that pillow again?”

You nod, moaning so loud you barely hear your own voice. “Yes—Caleb, yes, please—”

And fuck, does he love when you beg.

His fingers snake into your hair, gripping tight as he pulls your head back, his mouth right against your ear.

“That’s my girl.”

Then, without warning, he snaps his hips into you one last time, hitting so deep it sends you over the edge, your body locking up as the pleasure rips through you.

Your vision whites out, a wrecked moan spilling from your lips as your release crashes over you, making you shake, making you clench down on him so tight he groans, his pace losing rhythm.

“Fuck, fuck—” Caleb grits out, his grip bruising as he buries himself deep, spilling inside you with a wrecked groan.

He stills, his breath ragged, his body pressing against yours, heat rolling off him in waves.

For a long, long moment, the only sound in the room is the panting of your breaths, the aftershocks shuddering through you.

Then—Caleb chuckles, his lips pressing against your spine, a slow, lazy kiss.

“Told you,” he murmurs, smug as hell.

You groan, half-buried in the mattress.

“Shut up.”

Caleb grins, biting lightly at your shoulder before rolling over, pulling you with him.

His arms wrap tightly around you as he murmurs, “you love it.”

[ihatefrvits]

aced it (part 2)

part 1 can be found here!! this is the end of this series, tysm for all the love ʕ ᵔⰙᵔ⠕ʔ pls lmk what u think ab aced it

genre: smut (mdni 18+), oral male receiving, dom!jisung, sexual frustration, overstimulation, oral (female receiving) unprotected sex (i shouldn’t be the one to warn you to not do this) lmk if i missed any!

wc: 3.2k

synopsis: continuation of aced it so go check part 1 out !!

➶ ｡˚ 　° ──────────────────

your stomach tightens at the way he’s acting so nonchalantly after everything that has happened, he’s so perfectly in control.

instead of thinking, you react by lunging at him. your hands grip his hoodie, fist the fabric and pull him towards you.

jisung barely has time to blink before you’re climbing into his lap, straddling him, pressing down against his already-hard cock through his pants.

he inhales sharply, “that’s not studying,” but his hands immediately find your waist and grip you tight instead of pushing you away.

“i couldn’t give any less fucks” you whisper and kiss him.

he groans as he returns the kiss, keeping you pressed against him as you roll your hips into him in the same slow pace he used to tease you with.

in few seconds you feel it—you feel his cock twitch beneath you. you break the kiss to whisper, “let me have it.”

jisung tilts his head back, “i told you,” he smirks, “you don’t get to cum until you ace your exam.”

you barely have time to react before he flips you back onto the bed and your back hits the mattress. his hands pin you down, fingers curled around your wrists, holding you like you’re going to fight back.

you should be pissed, you should be arguing, yelling about how cruel it is to leave you like this, at the edge, with you body aching, clenching, throbbing, desperate for relief.

but you don’t. instead, you smirk. because if he won’t let you have what you want, then you’ll just change everything.

you shift your hips beneath him, rolling up just enough to feel his cock, so hard, pressing against you through his sweats.

“i’m the one that doesn’t get to finish,” you murmur, “i don’t remember you saying anything about yourself.”

he exhales sharply, “desperate much?”

huh? you arch an eyebrow, “i’m desperate?” and grind up against him, which lets you hear the shaky breath he tried so hard to hold back. “let me suck you off, sungie” you grin.

“let you what?” his voice is so strained, almost like he’s holding something back.

“you heard me,” you continue rolling your hips up, dragging the heat between your legs against him, who was painfully hard. “i wanna suck you off.”

jisung groans and tilts his head forward to get a clear view of you. “let me make you feel good, ji”

for a second, you think he’s going to refuse, cause he murmured something about you being insane, but he leans back and lets you push him down on the mattress while you slide off the bed and get onto your knees in front of him.

you reach for the waistband of his sweats and pull them down, letting his cock spring free, flushed and already leaking of pre-cum. his chest rises and falls too fast while his fingers twitch against the sheets.

your hands slide up his thighs slowly and you take him in your mouth. the second your lips wrap around him, his head tilts back and his breath shudders.

your tongue drags along the underside of his cock, tracing the vein teasingly before you take him deeper.

his hand flies to your hair, gripping it to hold onto something, like he’s barely keeping it together. you hum around him to let your tongue flick against the tip, tasting the precum that’s already leaking out. you can feel his thighs tense under your hands.

“you’re—“ you slide down further, hollowing your cheeks and taking him deeper.

“fuck,“ he gasps and his hand tightens in your hair.

you pull back slightly and let your hands replace your mouth just for a second as you stroke him slowly, “what happened to all that control, sungi?” you whisper, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

his eyes snap down to you, and the sight would be enough to make you climax, his pupils blown, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling fast.

it didn’t take long for you to go back to your original position, wrapping your lips around him once again and he twitched on your tongue.

“you’re crazy,” he breathes and you slow down, he quickly adds, “please don’t stop.” so you take him deeper and faster.

your fingers dig into his thighs while his fingers tangle in your hair, his abs clench and his hips stutter, almost like he’s barely holding himself from fucking into your mouth.

you moan around him, tightening your throat, taking him even deeper, almost fully, and his hips snap up, his grip tightens and his whole body tenses.

“you—“ his breath hitches, “i’m gonna— fuck, baby i’m—“

you feel it, you feel his cock pulsing on your tongue, liquid spilling down your throat while his whole body is trembling beneath you.

after swallowing it whole, you pull off, licking the corner of your mouth, while he just stares at you completely wrecked.

his condition makes you smile, “was it worth it?”

jisung groans and drags a hand down his face, “i fucking hate you.” which earns him a chuckle from you, because you both know it’s not true.

➶ ｡˚ 　° ──────────────────

on the day of your finals, you aren’t even thinking about how everything depends on passing this test, you’re thinking about him and how he completely fucked you up.

these last few days have been hell, reviewing and practicing problems with jisung.

every time you whined, begged, rolled onto his lap and tried to grind against him for relief, he just laughed, completely unbothered.

“you’ll get what you want baby,” he told you every single time, “just be patient.”

so now, you’re sitting at your desk, tapping your pen against the table while your legs are pressed together under your skirt because your body is still aching for him.

your fingers tighten around your pen, i don’t get to cum until i earn it? fine, i’ll ace this exam, and when i do, he better finish what he star—

your thoughts get interrupted when the test hits your desk. your brain switches into survival mode and you completely black out.

you fly through the questions like every problem youre solving is one step closer to finally getting what you truly desire.

this is all because of jisung.

jisung, with his perfect fingers, his calm deep voice telling you to “focus, baby,” while you were trembling in his lap.

jisung, who is sitting a few rows away, completely relaxed, who knows exactly how desperate you are to finish this.

after what feels like eternity, you scribble down the last answer and you dramatically drop your pen.

you exhale slowly, realising you finished way too fast. you earn few confused glances from students and the professor raises an eyebrow when you march up to the front and hand in your exam.

before you walk straight out the door, you glance at jisung, who’s already staring at you and you mouth out “i aced this shit,” smiling at him until you finally leave the hall.

➶ ｡˚ 　° ──────────────────

you don’t leave your house for the next few days.

it was all the same; waking up soaked, desperately touching yourself late at night only to stop, because if jisung finds out you broke his rule, he’ll just drag it even longer. it’s torture.

you’re going to kill him right after you fuck him into the mattress.

the email with your exam results is supposed to arrive today, and you’ve spent the last hour pacing your room, lying on your bed, debating whether or not you should turn your phone off completely.

but then you hear your phone buzz two times which bursts your bubble and you finally grab to check the notification.

jisung [7:42 PM]: come over

jisung [7:42 PM]: lets look at ur results tgt

your stomach flips, you don’t even think. the second you read his text, you grab your keys and bolt out of the door.

you don’t check your reflection, don’t fix your hair, don’t even put on a bra under your hoodie. not like it matters, because if the results say what you think they do, then you and jisung aren’t going to be talking much or paying attention to what you’re wearing tonight anyway.

you don’t bother knocking, he left the door unlocked. almost like he knew you’d come straight in.

you find him in his room sitting on the edge of his bed with his laptop open and phone in his hand. he’s so calm, as if he doesn’t know that the second you see your results, you’re going to ruin him.

he barely looks up when you step inside, “you’re exactly on time.” you ignore him.

your hands are shaking when you check your phone for the time. it’s exactly 9:00 PM. you let out one last nervous breath until you open your email app.

jisung watches as you stare at your screen, scanning the numbers, rereading the same thing over and over…

your stomach drops.

your heart jumps.

you made it.

you passed.

your eyes light up. jisung barely has time to react before you throw your phone away, climb into his lap and desperately crash your lips against his.

your fingers tangle in his hoodie, yanking him closer to you. he groans out of surprise, but his hands find your waist and grip you tight.

“you—“ he tries to speak, but your lips swallow his words. your hips grind down against him, feeling how he’s getting harder and harder through his sweats. jisung curses under his breath, gripping your hips tighter, “didn’t even tell me your score,” he says and trails kisses to your jaw, then your throat.

your breath shudders, “i passed.”

jisung grins against your skin, “yeah?”

you tilt his chin up, locking eyes with him, “yeah.”

you push him back against the mattress, straddle him, slide your hands under his hoodie, grind down against him. but when you start to go for his waistband, he grabs your wrists. he stops you.

your head snaps up, “jisung—“

“not yet.”

your stomach flips, “but—“

“you’ve been waiting for a long time,” his grip tightens, “but so have i.”

he flips you onto your back and the mattress bounces. a surprised gasp leaves your lips as jisung spreads your legs, pushes your skirt up around your waist and presses a palm against your soaked panties.

“you—“ the rest of your sentence dies in your throat when he leans down and his lips brush your inner thigh while his fingers are hooking into your panties. you notice they’re gone when you feel the cold air hit you and your gaze drops down on him.

his lips ghost over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, pressing little kisses and feeling how your muscles tense beneath his touch every time.

his fingers trail up your thighs and spread you even further. he presses his thumbs into your skin, just enough to make sure you can’t close your legs around him when it gets too much, to make sure you know you’re not going anywhere.

you finally feel the first swipe of his tongue. your tighten your grip on the sheets and a sharp gasp leaves you.

his hands flex against your thighs to keep you right where he wants you. “you’re dripping,” he whispers into you.

you twitch, “jisung—“

his tongue flicks against your sensitive bud. your hips jerk into his mouth to chase more friction, he chuckles, “be patient, baby.”

patient? wait even more? no, scratch that, you’re done waiting.

your hand flies to his hair and tangle into the strands, tugging. you try to get him to move faster.

his tongue drags over your clit again slowly with more pressure and you let small whimpers out of pleasure. the pretty sounds that escape your mouth makes him go lower. his tongue presses inside you and you could swear you saw stars from how he was licking you from the inside.

a vulnerable moan comes out of you when you feel his nose bump against your clit and you grind against him while he fucks you open with his tongue.

the pleasure is building up so fast you can’t even notice how much you’re shaking. “jisung i—“ your words die in your mouth as his tongue gets replaced by his fingers and push into you quickly.

his fingers thrust in deeply, finding that sweet spot he abused just a week ago, but that doesn’t seem to be enough for him as his tongue meets your clit once again, sucking in a way that makes your thighs tremble even more.

“you’re close hmm?” his fingers fuck into you faster and his tongue continues to move against you. somehow his pace speeding is all it takes for your orgasm to slam into you. your whole body is tensing, your thighs are snapping around his head while he holds them open, letting you grind against him and ride out every wave of pleasure.

your vision starts to blur and your moans are leaving you uncontrollably as he keeps his fingers deep and his tongue continues to flick over your clit which drags out your pleasure until the weak sounds you make and the way your body twitches from overstimulation steals his attention and he finally pulls away.

you finally came back to your senses but your body is still feeling the aftershocks of the painfully intense climax you just had seconds ago.

you can’t even register what’s happening when he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand or when you hear soft rustle of fabric caused by him pushing his sweats down until you feel him pressing against your entrance. the realization makes your thighs instinctively tighten around his waist.

“shh,” jisung soothes you, “i got you baby.” his hands are sliding up your sides and you look into his eyes, “want you so bad ji,” you whisper weakly.

“you’re really sure though, right?” he asks in a concerned tone and it’s enough for any doubts in your mind to go away with the way he’s looking at you like that, so you shift your hips slightly, the head of him barely catches against your entrance and you two moan at the same time.

“please,” you whisper. he guides himself in patiently. the stretch is a bit overwhelming, the burning sensation makes your fingers dig into his back, and you can’t help but let out a sound.

“fuck—” he breathes out while he’s burying himself inside you inch by inch. your nails scrape his back and you’re almost struggling to adjust to the fullness of him.

he gives you small kisses on your jaw, your cheek, his lips are so warm and comforting, “tell me if it’s too much.”

you exhale, “you can move,” he grips your waist and pulls out just a little before easing back in. the feeling is so good, too good even, you’re starting to memorise how it feels to wrap around him.

your body tenses as he fills you completely. every movement of his sends waves of pleasure through you, it’s dragging every ounce of sensitivity left from your last orgasm.

jisung watches you, eyes dark, lips parted as he drinks in the sight of you; your flushed cheeks, the way your brows knit together, the way your lips fall open with every gasping moan you try to swallow down.

“so pretty,” he murmurs, dipping down to kiss you, slow and deep.

he rolls his hips again and it makes him press deeper. your back arches off the mattress, a soft cry spills from your lips.

jisung groans, dropping his forehead to yours. “shit.. you feel so good baby” his voice is wrecked, like he’s barely holding together.

“jisung—” your voice is breathless and desperate.

he swallows hard, his grip tightening on your hips. “tell me,” he murmurs, “tell me what you want.”you roll your hips to meet his, taking him even deeper, signaling him to speed up.

jisung curses. his rhythm changes, his thrusts grow rougher and desperate. he angles his hips just right, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. suddenly you’re gasping, clutching at his shoulders, your body arching against his.

“there?” jisung asks, though the answer was obvious from your reaction. you nod instantly.

he groans, his grip on your hips tightening as he fucks you harder, deeper, his body pressing against yours like he never wants to let go.

pleasure starts coiling tight in your stomach and it’s getting overwhelming.

“you’re so perfect,” he whispers, his voice strained. “so perfect just for me.” his words send a shiver down your spine, you’re almost there, the edge rushing towards you too fast.

his hand slips between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. “finish for me,” he murmurs, “let me hear you.”

his words are all it takes. pleasure crashes over you in waves once again, this time more intense and lasting longer. jisung curses under his breath the second he feels you tighten around him, your walls pulsing and squeezing him so tightly it’s unbearable, a ragged groan tears from his throat.

“fuck—baby, you’re—” he barely gets the words out before his vision goes white, his body locking up as he fights to hold himself back.

but it’s impossible with the way you’re milking him for everything, and he’s right there, ready to let it go, but then his mind catches up.“shit—” his voice is strained, wrecked. “i—i can’t—”

before he can even finish, your hand slips up to cup his jaw, your fingers brush against his flushed skin, your eyes, dazed, lock onto his and you give him the smallest nod. it takes him a second to register, his breath shudders and his restraint snaps.

his whole body tenses as he buries himself deep, his head dropping to your shoulder as he lets go, his release hitting him so hard it nearly knocks the air from his lungs.

then finally he exhales, pulling back to meet your eyes. his hair is damp, sticking to his forehead, and his lips are swollen.

he instantly removes himself off you and plops down next to you. he pushes his damp strands away from his forehead as he turns to just look at your pretty face.

“gosh,” you catch your breath and tilt your head, “do you fuck everyone you tutor like this?”

he raises an eyebrow, “yeah, it’s one of my most effective techniques, my personal study program, y’know?”

you roll your eyes and playfully smack his shoulder, “what an asshole..”

jisung just smiles at you and his fingers skim over your waist, “you’re still a dumbass.”

you eyes snap at his, “what?” you smack his arm again, but this time he catches your wrist, pulling your hand to his lips and pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your knuckles.

“i mean it,” he says against your skin, his voice quieter now. “you’re the only one.”

your heart stumbles over itself as he lifts his head, meeting your gaze again.“got it?”

you swallow hard, your fingers curling slightly against his. “yeah,”

his smile softens, and he kisses you again like he’s doing it for the first time again.

➶ ｡˚ 　° ──────────────────

taglist: @jwisteroid7 @tyongspice1 @champagne1221 @yurizcn @asteroidzs @4chensungs @hoshidnd @seulpinkk @h00neyydew @idkwhatursayinh @seokiesung @shirokakitsune @patitotodd @playersung @7zennis @lanaaameowyy @ilovehaechie @withlovemark @ncthoe69 @robin-obsessed @nosungluv @blueblazings @baeyrah

[mommyownsmee]

She smiles—soft, knowing, like she already understands everything I’m about to say without me ever needing to say it. And then she presses her lips to mine, and suddenly, there is no world outside of this. It’s just her. Just me. Just the quiet, aching gravity pulling us together, inevitable as the tide.

My hands drift to her sides, fingertips ghosting over the soft curves of her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my touch. She sighs into my mouth—quiet, breathless, open—and I think I might die from it. And then she tilts her head, her lips breaking away from mine, dragging slow over my jaw, down to my throat. Again. Again. Again.

Each kiss lands like a bruise waiting to bloom, like she’s sinking herself into my body, like she wants to leave something of herself behind.

Fuck. Am I dying?

Because it feels like it—like I’m falling under, unraveling, being pulled apart seam by seam with nothing to hold onto but the press of her mouth against my skin.

My fingers slip into her hair, gripping, desperate, needing something to anchor me before I dissolve completely. Her breath is hot, the slide of her lips against my neck slow and deliberate, pressing, claiming, pulling me apart with nothing but touch.

And my body reacts before my mind can catch up—arching into her, trembling beneath her, silently begging for more. Then, suddenly, the words are there, spilling out between gasps, raw and unfiltered and far too much.

“I love you.”

A confession, a declaration, a truth that has lived in my chest long before this moment. Maybe it was something she already knew, something I’ve been screaming into every look, every touch, every wasted second I spent waiting for her to come back to me.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

I press it into her skin like a prayer, like I’m trying to carve it into her bones, like I need her to feel it the way I feel it—undeniable, unbearable, everything.

Because it is the truth.

Because it has always been the truth.

And if love feels like dying—like the slow loss of self, the dizzying surrender, the aching devastation of belonging so fully to someone else—

Then let me die like this.

Let me fade beneath her hands, beneath her mouth, beneath the weight of what we are.

But then she presses her lips against mine, and suddenly, I am breathing again. She pulls me back into my body, drags me back into the world, wakes something inside me that I thought had withered the moment we let each other go.

And I let her. I kiss her back, deeper this time, slower, pouring everything into it—every moment we lost, every ache, every unanswered question I ever whispered into the dark when she wasn’t there to answer.

I want to erase every scar that made her believe she wasn’t enough, wasn’t worthy, wasn’t meant to be loved the way she deserves to be.

So I kiss her harder.

I grip her hair tight enough to make her gasp, to remind her that she is real, that she is here, that she is mine.

Because of everything we’ve been through.

Because of everything we lost.

And then—I wrap my hand around her throat.

Not to hurt her. Never to hurt her.

To make her feel the weight of this, the weight of me, the weight of all the years I spent starving for her.

To remind her whose air she’s breathing.

Always.

[ghostgirl-22]

I fear I need more art calling patrick daddy

my lovely Mel you requested this at the beginning of the year so sorry for the delay 😅 I combined it with a similar anon request <33 original fic is here. My apologies for this being so long! I was so tired and also on my period when writing this so I’m really sorry if it comes across tired and horny 😭

CW: 18+ NSFW daddy kink, mild voyeurism/exhibitionism

——

It’s barely been ten minutes since Patrick had a very drunk Art all over him, hands down Art’s boxers, jerking him off while Art whispered daddy in his ear over and over. So ridiculous in his voice. With his cadence. It’s fucking insane. Patrick feels insane because now Arts sitting on his bed width wise. He’s showered and cleaned up in fresh clothes, resting his back against the wall. Fidgety, he’s swinging his socked feet back and forth and biting his thumb like nothing ever happened. Like Patrick didn't just tell him he wanted to fuck him. Like he didn't just basically say yes. 

Art’s roommate Ethan (who doesn’t know much about Patrick except that his silent dislike is mutual) wants to tell Art all about his night out. Talking and bragging about this gay bar he went to in San Francisco. Patrick is annoyed and hard but whatever. he’s not a total asshole so he lets them talk while he scrolls through his iPod. He’s already tried to go use the bathroom but it was pointless, he’s too hard to piss without making a mess everywhere.  

“One day I’m gonna make you come out with me. I’ll even pretend to be your boyfriend…you know…just so you don’t get hit on.” Ethan says to Art he’s in the same position on his own bed, Patrick rolls his eyes. 

“Why? Are they gonna wanna kiss me or something?” Art says playfully. He’s so giggly, eyes like little half moons, chest full of hiccups. Incurably flirtatious when he’s had too much to drink. Exactly how he and Patrick ended up doing what they just did. And so many other things before that. 

“Are you kidding, blondie? Fuck. They’d be all over you.” Ethan says, hungry eyes looking over Arts body.

Patrick thinks Arts drunk little roomie should shut the fuck up and go to bed so Patrick can finally cross the line. He’s resting on Art’s pillow, knees drawn up, he scrolls past the song Blame It on the Alcohol by Jaime Foxx. Just the perfect song for Art right now. He taps Art’s thigh with his barefoot and shows him the iPod. 

Art squints at him and then crawls closer to see the iPod screen. he should be wearing glasses but he never puts them on, crawls on his hands and knees, between Patrick’s thighs so he can see the title properly and then he grins. “Send it to me.” 

“When I get on my computer,” Patrick says. 

“Please just don’t fucking forget,” Art gazes at him— wet lips, eyes fully dilated. He smiles. So flirty. Fucking slut. Patrick needs to be inside him.

“So how was your night, Art?” Ethan goes on, like he’s determined to be oblivious. Art does a dramatic flop onto the bed next to Patrick, head on the same pillow. 

“It was so… tired,” Art groans into the pillow.

”Yeah me too,” Ethan says. “If you want… I don’t mind sharing with you if your friend wants this bed to himself. You know, like what we did when my sister was here.”

“No he jerked off in my bed and made a mess, he should have to sleep in it.” Art mumbles without looking up. 

Ethan presses his lips together, eyes narrowing in Patrick’s direction, subtly irritated. Patrick smirks at him. Ethan rolls his eyes and finally starts getting ready for bed. He leaves the TV on. they both leave it on every night.  Patrick thinks he hears the Ethan snoring after a bit but he’s worried that Art’s actually fallen asleep too. He’s lying on his tummy, hugging the pillow. Patrick puts the iPod down and rolls over. “You still gonna let daddy fuck you?” He whispers.

“Mm,” Art hums and rolls over. “You’re such a freak.”   

“You started it.” Patrick smiles, rubbing his bottom. Art sits up. Leans in too close. He’s still so drunk. Patrick tangles his fingers into golden curls “if you’re daddy… what am I? Baby?” Art asks. 

“Mmhm,” Patrick nods. Convinced every time Art says it, an angel gets a halo or whatever the phrase is.  

“So fucked up,” Art whispers and Patrick kisses him. Art slips his tongue in right away, wet and warm, exploring Patrick’s mouth. Before long he’s moaning a little bit. Stuff he does when he’s drunk. He’s got Patricks leg between his thighs, pressed along his erection. He starts grinding. Patrick pulls back, dizzy already.

“Mm no you’re not coming like that,” Patrick whispers. 

“Cause you wanna fuck me?” Art hiccups, trying to sneak another kiss, Patrick stops him. 

“No. I’m going to fuck you.” 

“Mmkay daddy. But you have to be really quiet,” He whispers, grinning.

Patrick comes apart, but only a little bit, he touches himself idly before balling his fingers to make himself stop. He brackets Art’s waist instead. “Has your roommate ever fucked you?”

Art gets the giggles. “No.” 

“You kiss him?” 

“Uh once but we were—“

”You were drunk,” Patrick finishes for him. 

“Yeah, like now,” Art says, this time he manages to steal a kiss before Patrick presses him back down on the bed and he’s grinning. 

“You’re so naughty,” Patrick whispers. 

“What? Are you gonna spank me?” Art grins, “like make me call you daddy when you do it?” 

God. His stupidly soft, sing-song voice and that fucking word. Makes Patrick’s skin tingle at every spot where their bodies are touching. “I don’t know. Should we try it?” Patrick whispers softly. “You let me spank you till you’re red all over, till you’re squirming and crying, and your hole is twitching for me. Till your dick is so hard and your balls are so full. And you’re begging me to just please, please fuck you? And I promise you I will if you just ask daddy so nicely?”  

Art’s gone silent, he’s settled on his back, knees pulled up and falling open, the slightest glimpse of his tongue flitting across his lips, as he gazes up at Patrick. So goddamn magic.   

“You have lube?” Patrick asks. 

“I um— I think my roommate does.” 

“Go get it.” 

Art obeys. crawls off the single and sneaks over to his roommates side. There’s still the sound of his roommates' soft snoring. Not that Patrick actually gives a fuck if they wake him, outside of how Art will react. 

He stumbles over and pulls a small bottle of lube out of his roomie's nightstand and brings it back to the bed. Patrick stops him mid straddle as he’s moving to climb over him. “Sit, I want you to put it on.” 

Art’s a little breathless. He settles on Patrick’s thighs and Patrick watches him. He slowly tugs at the waist band of Patrick’s boxers and his long neglected dick rises at attention.

”Oh,” Art’s breathing goes shallow, his eyes widen like he’s seeing it in a new light now that he’s thinking of it going inside him. 

“You see what you do to me?” Patrick asks gently.

“Fuck… Patrick… I don’t think I can…” 

“Yes you can, of course you can. You’re so talented.” Patrick says.

”But…” he takes a breath. One that tells Patrick he’s actually kinda nervous. “It’s too much… daddy.” he teases, dancing his fingers over the length. Patrick scoots closer. God. This could ruin him.  “ I’ve never had anything inside me before.” 

“I know, baby. God, you make my fucking teeth ache.” Patrick breathes, coming to the distant realisation that he’s shivering. 

Art is squirming on Patrick’s lap, touching it like he doesn’t want to get caught touching but he can’t stop himself.  “Daddy I wanna…” and then he does something that breaks Patrick a little bit more, he takes hold of the base more firmly and presses it to his lips. 

“Oh, oh shit,” Patrick hisses as Art fills his mouth. Just puts as much in as he can. Inexperienced, teeth scraping and everything, making it fucking hot and painful at the same time. 

Patrick can’t help himself, jerking his hips up. ”Art nngh… shit… oh fuck…you gotta stop or ‘m gonna fucking come in your mouth baby… fuck,” Patrick groans as his blonde head bobs up and down. 

Art pulls back and looks up at him, eyes all sparkly and oh… Patrick realizes he’s gone. He’s so far gone. “Mm sorry.” He hiccups. “I think I’m just dizzy.” He’s still touching Patrick idly, can’t stop touching. 

Patrick takes a deep breath and steadies Arts hand. Such a smart kid, all higher thoughts hijacked by just the sight of Patrick’s swollen dick, Patrick hasn’t even fucked him yet. He grins in spite of himself.  “You like it?” 

“Mmhm,” Art nods. Jesus. he’s practically drooling.   

Patrick snatches the lube from Arts useless hands. He’s barely got any self control left. He starts coating his dick with it. Using too much, for Art’s sake. Art is fixated on his movements. Lips parted, eyes glassy. Head empty.

“Lay down,” Patrick says, softly. Art is so silly. He lays down facing Patrick, and Patrick makes him turn over to face his roommates bed, grabs his hips to pull him back. “Take these down,” Patrick says. 

Art eases his shorts down over his ass and Patrick presses up against his entrance. Art’s breath hitches, he’s suddenly tense. The heat of him is already making Patrick’s mouth water. He’s so tight. stupid little virgin. Patrick’s impatient, but decides to prep him just a little. Slips his finger in, and listens to Art whine before he tries again with the head of his dick. 

Art is holding his breath and Patrick rubs his side, “breathe, i know it’s a lot. I know. I know. You’re doing so good, baby. Taking such a big one right out of the gate. Such a good boy.” Patrick whispers, he’s short circuiting just a bit. Going crazy just a little bit. 

Art takes deep breaths. “Really?” 

“Yes, so good for me baby. Oh so fucking tight. I can feel you stretching for me. Fuck. I feel you opening up for every inch of me. Your body just taking me in.” 

“Mm,” Art squirms, clenching, clenching so tightly and fuck Patrick thinks for the first time tonight he’s probably not gonna fucking last. 

“Mm, it feels so…” Art whines, breathlessly. “It’s so big, it’s so… full. I feel really full. I feel so…weird.” 

“It’s okay… it’s okay. Daddy’s gonna take care of you. Breathe. Fuck. Just breathe through it. You feel that… how much your body needs it. Squeezing me. So fucking tight.” 

Art’s whining, panting like their full on fucking and Patrick’s not much better, he kisses Art’s shoulder, he’s nearly all in when Art wants a break. He’s settled with Patrick inside him, cockwarming him while Patrick runs his finger tips idly over Arts pelvis. 

“Patrick. Can I—” 

“Mm that’s not how we’re talking right now, is it?” Patrick says, his voice tight. Art’s squirming all over him.  

“Daddy,” Art whispers. 

It takes everything not to pound into him when he says it. Pitched high and desperate. “MmHm.” Patrick breathes.

“Daddy please can I—- I wanna suck— I want something in my mouth,” Art whines. 

Fuck. It’s on brand. This is the same kid that was still sucking his thumb when Patrick met him after all.  

“Is that what you need?”

“Yes please, need it so much,” 

He teases his fingers inside Arts wet mouth, doesn’t do it gentle. Shoves so much inside Art is immediately drooling on him. Wiggling on Patrick’s dick, the little bit of stretch and movement has him moaning. Patrick squeezes his eyes shut, tries to let him get used to it but too much more of this and he’s gonna black out. Probably wake up with Art beneath him, load after load of come dripping out of him.    

“I think… I think… can you fuck me now? ” 

“Is that how you ask?” 

“Please daddy,” Art whines. “Please fuck me.”

Patrick’s hips are rocking right away, not bothering to be soft or gentle with it. “daddy was going so fucking crazy letting you play around with my big long dick inside you. I might have to fill you with a couple loads before I can stop baby. Is that okay baby? Hm? Is it okay?”

Art moans. “Yes daddy” He gasps. And that’s it. That’s the end. That’s all it takes.

Patrick is losing control, Art’s first time and he’s losing control.  Pumping furiously in and out and in and out of him.  gripping his waist, so tight, too tight. It’s so much fucking better than anything he could ever imagine. This insanely tight, silky wet heat. Art moaning, swearing, begging for more. He’s so loud. It’s filthy actually, his pretty voice saying things like, “more daddy, more, please daddy, fuck me more… I’ll be so good…”  

“Shh… my god,” Patrick whispers, “fuck sweetheart… I know it feels good but Jesus christ,” he’s covering Art’s mouth to try and muffle him. 

His poor roommate isn’t snoring anymore, in the pale light of the television Patrick can practically make out the frantic way his sheets are moving. He’s definitely awake, watching, touching himself.  

Patrick loses everything when Art starts meeting his thrusts. The bed squeaking. Heavy breathing. The television low, white noise in the background. 

Patrick takes his hand off Art’s mouth to bring him to completion, gripping him, jerking him. Can’t muffle Art’s sounds any more. He can’t help a breathless laugh for how feral Art’s gone by the time he comes. He’s practically full volume, no thoughts in his head except for how much he needs to cum…hips stuttering, spurting all over his sheets. Patrick grips his waist and buries his load deep inside, groaning into his curls. 

“Mm, fuck,” he moans. 

“Yeah,” Art agrees breathless. 

And suddenly Patrick needs to pee like a race horse. He’s pulling out and Art groans reluctantly as Patrick gets out of bed. 

“Where are you going?” He whines. 

“Right back in a minute,” Patrick says, rushing into the bathroom, he barely makes it. 

Art can’t wait a minute. He’s pushing in the door. His boxers all twisted, hair all sexed up. Skin flushed. And immediately Patrick thinks he might need a second round.

“Miss me?” He smirks.

“No.” Art says, but he’s smiling.

“It’s okay, I have that effect on people.” 

Art’s eyes follow the movement of Patrick tucking himself back into his boxers and he pads closer to meet him near the sink. “My roommate just said he really wants to fuck me next.” His voice is a little worn out. Of course he sounds hot. 

“Surprise of the century.” Patrick mutters.. Art yawns, hugging himself, his t-shirt lifts slightly and Patrick can see little pink bruises on his hips in the shape of Patrick’s fingers. Yeah he needs another round. Patrick reaches for him. He steps closer and lets Patrick grab him with wet hands and kiss his cheek. “What’d you tell him? Not that it matters. Cause he doesn’t get to.”

Art smirks at him in the mirror, rubbing his sleepy eyes. “Seriously?”

”Yeah seriously.” 

“What do you care? You have a girlfriend.”

”I know.”

”So maybe I can do whatever I want.” Art turns to face him, challenging him. 

“Mm that was true… yesterday…but then you made a mistake and called me daddy, and that means every boy that wants you needs my permission first.”

“That’s marriage.” 

“It’s everything.” 

Art bounces from one foot to the other, his eyes getting shiny again and that’s when Patrick knows he’s won. “You’re a freak.” Art says, but he doesn’t disagree and Patrick smiles and follows him back into the bedroom. 

[atsadi-shenanigans]

FSBE 15 - Somebody Call Chris Hansen

You almost commit violence.

On AO3.

Y’all hit the food and drink. Take a bite of hot stew filled with peppery fish and what you think might be turnips and your eyes roll into the back of your skull. Then you head outside onto a wraparound deck to find water barrels so you can wash mugs and plates and all. Decide to check out this other cleric in the morning, after y’all get some rest.

The rooms is upstairs, off an inner balcony. But it’s as y’all find the stairs that a nasty scent crawls up your nostrils to curdle in your sinuses.

Sulfur. And cherries, for some godforsaken reason.

“Oh no,” Gale says.

You feel Astarion stiffen next to you. But when you look over at him, it ain’t disdain or that cool, guarded look he wears when he’s nervous. It’s…attentive. Alert. But not in a “was that a firecracker or something else fired off out in the parking lot” kinda way, and more like you catching a whiff of good coffee at a distance.

Y’all turn the corner, and there’s a sonuvabitch sitting there.

Raphael the devil sits across what looks a lot like a 3D chessboard. Opposite him is one of the tiefling kids, with a ponytail and an eye patch. It’s the one who bailed y’all out with Jaheira.

“No matter where the knight goes, I’m gonna lose it!” the kid says.

“Then make the sacrifice useful,” Raphael says.

You never actually seen that old catching a predator TV show, but you know the memes, and this right here…

It’s also, weirdly enough, directed at you’uns.

Holy fuck, you hate this fucking guy.

“Look who it is,” the kid says upon noticing y’all. “For once, I save your butts out there, didn’t I? We’re square now, chief.”

 She looks over y’all. Gaze lingers on Wyll the longest. “Say, you don’t play lanceboard do you? It’s my first game.”

“I can’t say I’m well-versed in it,” Wyll says. “Much to the dismay of my father.”

As Gale leans in with a frown. “Oh, he’s laid a fine trap for you, Mol. But it looks to me like his Cyric could be dethroned.”

Ain’t make no sense to you. You’re more a checkers type. Or solitaire. But the man shuffles closer and the kid makes her move. To your surprise, that fuckface in a human suit seems more amused than offended at the intrusion.

And when the kid whoops him, he says, “I was right to make you the offer I did.”

Like a proud papa to his scheming daughter.

You see right through it. The way she beams. The easy grace that devil accepts his loss with. He’s fucking baiting her. Hyping her up to lure her in. Where the fuck is Chris Hansen?

You look to the girl, but she only chews on her lip and hums.

The devil turns to y’all as she leaves. Calls her a blushing apple, and you ain’t never fantasized about punching a man in the dick before this moment. It’s fucking vivid.

Vivid enough you’re apparently broadcasting it, because Lae’zel makes a thoughtful sound while Karlach outright snarls.

“I’m down for it,” she says. “Fuck this fucking creep.”

The devil only gives her an oily smile. Prattles on about choices and shit. Fucker really just loves the sound of his own voice, huh. You’re ready to up and leave, except…Astarion stares at him. Not with wariness but with…

“Now,” Raphael says. And looks Astarion square in the face. “I sense there’s something you want to ask me.”

You don’t mean to whip around. But you do. And the elf ducks away from your gaze to clear his throat.

“I do. I have a…proposal for you,” Astarion says.

“Fangs?” Karlach says.

Shadowheart gives you a questioning glance. But he done caught you with your drawers around your ankles. The fuck does he need from fuckface? He seemed leery before. Said people like that don’t play games unless they know they can win. And considering the last bet he made turned him into a vampire…

“A proposal?” the fuckface says, lighting up like he just got asked out to an all you can eat buffet. You ain’t never punched somebody in the face before, neither. Not with a bare hand. You’d probably break some fingers, but it’d be worth it to wipe that sleaze off his fucking face. “If you hope to taste my blood, little vampling, think again. It burns hotter than wyvern whiskey.”

“This is serious business, devil.” Astarion’s voice has an edge to it, but it’s more than annoyance. The pitch is tight, upset he’s trying to hide, and almost succeeding at if his body weren’t quite a traitor. It stabs you right between the ribs.

“Astarion,” you say. Y’all can leave. Y’all can fight that fuckface. But Astarion don’t even look at you. Just lifts his shoulders and straightens himself.

“My old—well. A long time ago, someone carved something into my back,” he says. “I’d rather like to know what it says.”

Wait. Wait, wait, wait.

The fuck? That’s…you ain’t…

You seen his bare chest, once. He wasn’t wearing a shirt in that clearing. But that ended quick and dirty, and for all you been fooling around lately, y’all have kept dressed. Even if he does deliberately unlace the front of his shirt lower than it needs to be when he’s around you.

You ain’t never touched his back. Barely touched the man’s shoulder or his neck, and only then when he set your hands on him himself.

This time, he does glance to you. Just a flash, expression unreadable.

But the devil is a cunt who catches that. Catches whatever’s on your face, too, before you can button that down.

Mock surprise twists up his own face, the malice twinkling in his eyes. That fucking sonuvabitch. He presses a hand to his cheek. “You haven’t told them? And you’ve kept your clothes on this whole time? How unlike you.”

Fucking clicks his tongue. You’re gonna commit a murder. Gonna crab up a water pitcher and crack him in his smug ass face with it—

The devil lifts his hand. Says, “Don’t be shy.”

Snaps his fingers.

Astarion armor and all his gear shimmers. Flickers. Melts away like morning fog. Leaving him with nothing but his pale skin as you whip around to look the other way.

Not before you see it, though. Long, thick lines of scar tissue. A huge, slashing circle covering most of his back. And worse, the way his eyes widen. Not like when you told him you liked his voice. No, this is fear. Old fear. One he shoves under a huff and what has to be a false, sassy head toss.

“Godsdamnit,” he says.

Does not shy away. His hands twitch, before falling back to his sides. But he just…stands there, bared to the room.

Resigned to it.

You met confident people, before. Hell, this one met you with no shirt when he invited you to a hookup. But you known people who would not flinch being naked in a room of strangers or friends. By on their choice (or high as a kite). And stripping themselves. Most people have bad dreams about this kinda thing. Most people’d at least flinch.

Not him. Not him. He just stands there.

Your pack hits the floor and you tear into it.

“What the fuck, you sick freak?” you snarl.

The devil regards you. Gives a condescending smile (you wanna rip his lips all jagged and nasty from his face). “Don’t pout, little human. This peach went bruised and rotten long before you came along.”

“Give the word and I’ll rip his head off,” Karlach says. Her chest is see-through, ribs a dark outline against the fire raging inside her.

“And deprive your vampling of the answers he seeks? A shame.”

“No,” Astarion says.

Where the fuck is it, why can you find everything but what you’re looking for.

“No, it’s fine,” Astarion says. “I am world-endingly beautiful. It’d be more of a crime not to show it off. So, devil, what say you?”

There! Hands brush soft cloth. You rip the blanket out in a spray of cutlery and tin plates and potion bottles. They thunk all over the floor but you’re already up and turning, keeping your gaze to the ceiling as you hold out your only blanket.

“I,” Astarion says. You bring your gaze down, careful not to look lower than his face. He kinda blinks at you.

Something in you twinges. Something nasty.

It’s his compliment surprise. Only worse. Very much worse.

So you drape the blanket over his shoulders. Only once it touches him does he move to take it and wrap it around himself. Cover himself back up.

You make sure you stand in front of him, between him and the devil. Who watches this all with a kind of glee.

“Such devotion,” the walking corpse who don’t quite know it says. “Hopefully not misplaced.”

“If you don’t get to some kinda motherfucking point—” you start.

“Yes, yes. Those marks are one of great importance to your master, little Astarion. I can give you all the gory details. But of course, you’ll have to do something for me, first.”

Fucking devil bargain. Fucking humiliating Astarion. Making him defend his own humiliation because he can, because he got what Astarion wants. You seen petty cruelty. You been on the end of it plenty.

That fucker is going to die. One way or another, he’s fucking dead.

The devil taps his lips. Says, “Let me think on it and I’ll get back to you.”

“What?” Astarion says. “Get back to me? When?”

“Don’t worry. I’m motivated to help you.”

The fuckface folds himself into a stupid bow and poofs away in a puff of stench cloud. You don’t even try to hide your gag.

“Did he take your armor?” you say to Astarion.

He clutches the blanket stiffly. “I. I’m not sure.”

You nod. Search his face while trying not to be obvious about it, but he’s back to avoiding looking at you. Avoiding looking at everybody. “I’m sure we all got spare gear of that fuckface turns out to be a thief.”

“Let me know if you need anything,” Gale says. “For now, I could use a very stiff drink.”

“Agreed,” Wyll says. “I’ll see what they have. Astarion, you prefer wine, yes?”

“Only if it’s a good vintage.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Karlach glares at the spot the fuckface still stinks up. Takes a deep breath, and blows it out slow as her shoulder vents blast furnace-hot air. “We’re definitely going to kill that fucker, yeah?”

You look at her. She gives a small nod.

“Would y’all mind bunking up with the boys tonight?” you say.

This is finally what draws Astarion’s attention fully to you. With a frown that he shoves down lightning quick. Replaces it with a sly smile. “Oh, a room all to ourselves, my sweet?”

It turns your guts into cold, writhing snakes.

“It would be inefficient to split the part so unequally,” Lae’zel says. “Astarion has an adequate physique. He should not—”

“If we must,” Shadowheart says with a hearty eye roll. All the while clamping a hand onto Lae’zel’s shoulder. “The last thing I want to see is the two of you making disgusting moon eyes at each other while drunk.”

All the religious shit aside, she looks at you. Doesn’t nod, but don’t need to.

“Come on,” you say to Astarion. “I heard they got some kinda bathing situation somewhere in here. I ain’t never seen how y’all do that that ain’t wading into a river.”

[ryleektv]

Ok so listen…. What if when reader and Lorenzo are making out and then all of a sudden reader says ‘I wish we were seahorses so I could get you present' I just feel like this would be hilarious. Like the whole mood is ruined and Lorenzo freezes and than once he realizes 'she actually said that' he’s laughing uncontrollably. it was so random and readers just there completely normal just letting him laugh because this will not be the last time. I’m simply asking for some cute fluffy comedy 😂. If you don’t want to I’d understand!

omg I love this???? This is genuinely something I would say to my friends

A Moment Interrupted 🫃

warnings: what’s proofread??? Idk her. Swearing, making out, cheesy pickup lines, I’d say ooc Lorenzo but there’s too many of this fandoms versions of him to have any considered ooc (unless you’re a firm believer in mean fuckboy!lorenzo like me then yes this is ooc)

You had a tendency to ruin moments, either because you were nervous or because you needed to cut the tension, both, you assumed, went hand in hand with your obviously amazing sense of humor.

So, even when you found yourself tangled up with your boyfriend, practically swallowing each others faces after a long week apart, you couldn’t help but blurt the first joke that came to mind.

You quickly pulled away from Lorenzo’s kiss, going farther until his lips stopped chasing yours, you smiled so sweetly as you whispered “Sometimes I wish we were seahorses, y’know, so I could knock you up… get you pregnant.”

“Uh huh,” he murmured, eyes focused on your mouth as he went back to kissing you before pausing and pulling away. “What?”

You blushed and sat back as you straddled his waist. “I don’t know. Forget I said anything.”

“No, no.” A smirk formed on his lips, his eyes shining with pure amusement as he let out a small laugh. “You want to get me pregnant?”

“Fucks sake,” you mumbled, shoving your head onto his shoulder with a sigh.

“You’re such a little freak.” He smiled wider, tilting your head back to look at him again. “Here, how about this one, Do you like whales? Because I wanna hump back at my place.”

Your face dropped at the horrific pickup line that came from his mouth. “Enzo, no-“

“Let’s play titanic, you’ll be the ocean and I’ll go down on you.” He winked dramatically as you groaned in protest,

“I hate you.”

“Is your name Ariel? Because I think we mermaid for each other.”

“Stop this torture.”

Still going through my drafts and inbox btw. Also it’s going to take me a little to get to any smut stuff bc I don’t feel like writing it rn but feel free to still request!!!

[isacksteban]

Eventually — Lawhan Mixed Media AU

Twitch Streamer AU — 2.4k words — @ellearts — masterlist

Liam sat on the porch, gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. His mind was racing, but deep down, he already knew what he was going to do.

He couldn’t stay.

There was no way to fix this. No way to undo the damage he’d already done by being careless. The pictures were gone, but people had seen. Hannah had seen. If she was calling him like this, it meant it was bad.

And if she told his parents—

Liam exhaled sharply, pushing the thought away before it could settle.

He stood abruptly, already pulling up his flight app, fingers moving automatically as he searched for the next available flight to New Zealand. There was one in the morning. He booked it without thinking. Without hesitating.

He had to get out of here. He had to fix this.

His foot was already halfway over the threshold when a thought finally hit him—

Jack.

But he shoved it aside almost instantly.

Jack would be fine.

Jack had to be fine, because Liam couldn’t afford to think about him right now. Couldn’t afford to linger in that bedroom, in that bed where Jack had held onto him like he mattered, like Liam wasn’t just some inevitable disappointment waiting to happen.

If he thought about Jack — about his stupid soft eyes, about the way he’d whispered I don’t want you to leave like it meant something — he might break.

And Liam couldn’t afford to break.

Not now.

Not ever.

So he squared his shoulders, clenched his jaw, and stepped back inside.

He wasn’t going to say goodbye.

Liam moved through Jack’s house quickly, shoving his things into his bag with sharp, mechanical movements. His chest was tight, his breathing uneven, but he kept his hands steady. He wasn’t thinking. He couldn’t think.

He had a flight in a few hours. He just needed to be gone.

Behind him, the door creaked open.

“…Liam?” Jack’s voice was groggy, thick with sleep. Liam froze, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. Jack took a few slow steps inside. “What… what are you doing?” His voice was quiet, uncertain. Then, after a beat, “Are you leaving?”

Liam clenched his jaw. “Yeah.”

Silence.

Then, softer, more fragile—“Why?”

Liam exhaled sharply, adjusting his bag on his shoulder like it would ground him. “It’s just— complicated. I have to go.”

Jack stared at him, his eyes searching, pleading for an answer that Liam couldn’t give him. “You’re supposed to have two more days.”

“Plans changed,” Liam muttered, forcing himself to sound unaffected.

Jack let out a breathless laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Right. ‘Plans changed.’ Not an actual explanation, just a convenient excuse.”

Liam sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Jack, please—”

“Oh, please what?” Jack snapped suddenly, stepping closer. His voice was raw, frustrated. “Please understand why you’re sneaking out of my house in the middle of the night like this wasn’t anything to you? Please just let you go without asking why the hell you’re acting like I mean nothing to you?”

Liam’s stomach twisted. “Jack—”

“No,” Jack cut him off, shaking his head. “You’re leaving because you don’t want this. Because you don’t love me. Because you don’t wanna be with me. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Liam inhaled sharply, his whole body tensing. His pulse was loud in his ears, his skin prickling hot. He felt trapped. Cornered.

Jack kept going, his voice cracking now. “Just fucking say it, Liam. Say you don’t want this. Say you don’t want me.”

Liam snapped. “I’m not queer like you, Jack!”

The words were out before he could stop them, and the second they landed, the room went silent.

Jack’s face went blank. His mouth parted slightly, like he’d just been slapped, but he didn’t say anything.

Liam felt his own breath hitch. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

The silence stretched, thick and awful.

Jack swallowed hard. When he finally spoke, his voice was eerily quiet. “Right.”

Liam’s chest was heaving. He hadn’t meant it like that. He hadn’t— Jack’s expression was unreadable. His lips pressed into a thin line. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he took a slow step back, nodding to himself. “I get it.”

Liam opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Jack’s jaw tightened, his throat bobbing. “Then go.”

Liam hesitated. Just for a second.

Then he turned, walked to the door, and left.

Jack didn’t stop him.

Liam sat stiffly in the back of the cab, his phone burning in his hands. His chest still felt tight, his breathing uneven, but he forced himself to focus on the screen. On her.

Hannah:

Flight’s booked.

You leave in five hours, i wasn't sure how far away he lives from an airport.

Check your email for the details.

Liam exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He knew she’d do it. She always did.

Another message popped up.

Hannah:

I won’t say anything, Liam.

But you know what that means.

His stomach twisted. He didn’t respond.

Three dots appeared, and then—

Hannah:

We get married at the end of the month.

No more excuses.

No more running.

Liam clenched his jaw, staring at the words like he could will them away.

Married.

He’d always known this was coming. Always known this was the endgame, the thing his parents expected, the thing Hannah had resigned herself to just as much as he had.

He knew what would happen if he fought it. If he stayed. If he let himself want.

But now, after eight days with Jack, after last night, after what he’d said—

Liam’s hands curled into fists.

His phone buzzed again.

Hannah:

Say yes, Liam.

His throat felt tight. His body felt wrong.

But he knew what he had to do.

Liam:

Yeah.

Tell my mom to call her people.

We'll get married at the end of this month.

He locked his phone, staring blankly out the window as the city lights blurred past.

Jack’s voice still echoed in his head. “You don’t love me. You don’t wanna be with me.”

Liam had walked away. He had chosen this.

So why did it feel like he’d just lost everything?

The second Liam stepped off the plane, the weight of reality hit him like a brick wall.

The bright lights of the airport, the hum of conversation, the cold, stale air—it all felt suffocating. He adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder, forcing his shoulders back, slipping into the version of himself that belonged here. The one that didn’t think about Jack.

The one that didn’t want him.

Then he saw them.

Hannah stood near the arrivals gate, her parents at her side, and just a few steps away—his own family. His mother beaming, his father watching with quiet approval. Everything they had wanted. Everything they had expected.

Hannah’s eyes met his, and without missing a beat, she smiled—bright and effortless, like this wasn’t all a lie.

Liam exhaled and walked toward her.

As soon as he was close enough, Hannah reached for his hands, intertwining their fingers like it was second nature. Like she’d done this a thousand times before.

And Liam? He let her.

He squeezed her fingers just enough to make it look real.

Hannah leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering just long enough for their families to see — a mark from her lipstick being left behind. “Welcome home, baby,” she murmured, her voice sweet, perfect.

Liam barely stopped himself from flinching. “Missed you,” he said instead, voice steady, smooth.

Her nails dug ever so slightly into his skin, a silent reminder. This is what you chose.

Hannah turned to his parents, her smile never faltering. “He looks exhausted, poor thing,” she said lightly, squeezing his arm. “We’ll get him home, let him rest.”

His mother beamed. “He’s lucky to have you, dear.”

Hannah laughed softly, tilting her head to rest against his shoulder for just a moment before pulling back. “I’m the lucky one.”

Liam forced himself to smile, to let the words sit even though they made his stomach twist.

They made their way through the airport together, their hands still linked, their families walking beside them. The perfect couple. The perfect lie.

Liam didn’t check his phone.

Didn’t let himself wonder if Jack had texted.

Didn’t let himself think about soft hands on his skin, whispered words in the dark, I don’t want you to leave.

He just smiled.

Pretended.

And let himself be owned.

The car ride home was quiet.

Liam sat in the backseat beside Hannah, his body heavy with exhaustion—not just from the flight, but from everything. The moment they were settled, Hannah tugged gently at his arm, guiding him down until his head rested in her lap. He let her.

She didn’t say anything at first, just started threading her fingers through his hair, slow and gentle. The way she always had, ever since they were kids.

It wasn’t fake. Not entirely.

Because Hannah did care about him. Maybe not in the way their parents wanted, maybe not in the way he wished he could return, but she did.

Liam exhaled, staring up at the ceiling of the car. The soft hum of conversation drifted from the front—his mother and Hannah’s parents talking about wedding plans, about venues, about dates. It was set. The end of the month.

Liam didn’t react.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t fight it.

Hannah’s fingers trailed lightly across his scalp. “You okay?” she murmured, so quiet that no one else could hear.

Liam swallowed, his throat tight. He didn’t answer.

She sighed softly, her nails scratching lightly against his hairline. “I know,” she whispered. “I know, Liam.”

And somehow, that was worse than if she’d been angry.

Liam closed his eyes.

He let her play with his hair, let her soothe him like she always had. And for now, he pretended it was enough.

hannahstjohn

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kkofficial 💛💙 liked by hannahstjohn

user is this insane to anyone else??

user yeah is fucking crazy

user liam leaves australia 2 days early and is posted up with some CHICK?? HELLO??

user girl do u not know what he posted..?

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The moment they got to Hannah’s house, Liam went straight to their bedroom, shutting the door behind him like it would somehow keep the outside world out — Hannah followed close behind. He collapsed onto the bed, face buried in his hands, his chest tight with something he didn’t want to name.

He still hadn’t turned on his phone.

He knew what would be waiting for him and he wasn’t ready.

Instead, he lay there, staring at the ceiling, willing himself to shut it all out.

Then, a soft chime.

Liam frowned, slowly sitting up. The sound hadn’t come from his phone — it was still powered off on the nightstand.

It had come from Hannah’s.

He looked over to see her sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling, her expression unreadable.

Liam exhaled sharply. “What did you do?”

Hannah didn’t look up as she tapped at her screen one last time. Then she turned it toward him, showing him exactly what she’d done.

An Instagram post.

A picture of Liam’s head resting in her lap from the car ride home, his face turned away but still unmistakably him.

Liam’s stomach twisted.

Before he could even process it, Hannah nudged his arm. “Comment something.”

Liam blinked at her. “What?”

She raised an eyebrow. “People are already going crazy. Just comment something simple. Keep things normal.”

Liam clenched his jaw. He knew what she was asking.

He turned his phone back on, watched as the screen flooded with notifications. Some of them were hers — people liking and commenting on her post. Some of them were from Jack.

He ignored Jack’s.

Instead, he scrolled to Hannah’s post, forced his fingers to move, and typed:

💛💙

Yellow for her. Blue for him.

A stupid, meaningless thing they had done since they were kids. Something their families loved. Something that made it look like everything was fine.

Hannah’s phone buzzed. She looked down, saw his comment, and nodded approvingly. “Good.”

Liam set his phone down, ignoring the ache curling in his chest.

Then it buzzed again.

Not from Instagram.

From Jack.

Jack:

Liam what the fuck was that

Are you seriously just leaving without saying anything?

Answer me.

Liam.

You really fucking left??

Wow.

You’re a fucking coward.

Why did I even think you felt the same.

Hope she was worth it.

Liam inhaled sharply, his stomach twisting painfully.

He clenched his jaw, forcing his breathing to stay even.

Then, without reading them again, he turned off his phone.

Liam let it fall onto the nightstand, his hands still curled into fists. His chest felt tight, like something was pressing down on him, something too heavy to hold, something clawing at his ribs from the inside.

He had done the right thing. He had fixed it.

So why did it feel like he was breaking?

His shoulders started to shake before he could stop them. He gritted his teeth, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, forcing himself to keep it together.

But then Hannah shifted beside him, pulling him gently toward her, wrapping her arms around him like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was the most natural thing in the world.

That was all it took.

Liam broke.

A shaky breath, then another. His chest hitched, his body caving in on itself as he buried his face in Hannah’s shoulder. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask. Didn’t press for words he didn’t have.

She just held him.

Her fingers stroked through his hair, slow and steady. “It’s okay,” she murmured, soft and real. “I’ve got you.”

Liam clenched his jaw, his breathing uneven. He didn’t let people see him like this. He wasn’t allowed to be like this.

But Hannah had always been the exception.

She didn’t try to fix it. Didn’t tell him it would be okay, didn’t lie to him. She just let him exist.

Eventually, the exhaustion pulled at him, his body sinking heavier against hers. He let his eyes slip shut, his breathing finally evening out, his grip on her hoodie loosening.

Hannah shifted slightly, adjusting so they were both more comfortable, still curled together on top of the blankets.

“Get some sleep,” she whispered.

Liam barely registered it before everything faded to black.

For the first time in hours, his mind quieted.

And in the silence, he let himself forget — just for a little while — what he had left behind.

[mistress-skywalker]

Sub aotc anakin who needs your approval constantly, for everything ? I can't think of a very specific scenario

Idk why but immediately what came to my mind was part of Megan Thee Stallion’s song Crybaby causes she’s like “Uh-uh don’t fuck me like that, fuck me like this” and I feel like you’d have to be like that with him. This is what my brain came up with. Hope you like it <3

Warnings: smut obvs || afab anatomy || unprotected sex || whiney sub!Anakin who’s eager to please

Anakin jackhammers his cock into your soaked cunt sloppily. His eyebrows are drawn together almost in concentration, or determination, sweat beaded up along his brow.

“You like that? That feel good?” He grits out.

“Ah um..” you exhale, feeling like he was fucking relentlessly into you as if it were his fist.

He slows his hips but only a little, “What? I-I’m doing something wrong?” It didn’t make sense to him. That’s what his dick was for right? Shoving it right into your pussy? How could he do that wrong? “Tell me what to do.”

“Just..change the angle a little.”

He nods and shifts a little on his knees, “Like this?”

“Yeah, yeah. Try it like this.”

Anakin start to slam back into you, his movements still lacking rhythm. He sees the look on your face and he’s confused again. “Still no?”

You shake your head, “No, try to get into a rhythm.”

The crease between his eyebrows deepen but he slows his movements and rolls his hips into you, allowing himself to feel each groove in your pussy’s walls. “Am I doing good now?”

You let out a soft moan and nod. “Yeah..little better.”

He keeps at that pace, “What else can I do? Please. Wanna make you feel good too.”

“It’s okay, penetration isn’t always enough.”

Anakin huffs. “No, tell me. What else can I do?”

“Here,” you take one of his hands from your hip and guide it to your clit, “play with it.”

His eyes widen and he nods rapidly, his thumb rubbing vigorously at your bundle of nerves as he keeps fucking into you.

“Maker, it’s a clit not a datapad.” You huff.

He looks down at you confused, “What am I doing wrong?”

“You can’t rub at it like that or it’s gonna fall off.”

His lips purse into a thin line, clearly unamused with your choice of words. “Help me. Please.” He whines. His poor cock ached with the need to cum but he wanted you to still feel good.

You move your hand over his, guiding his thumb to rub at the head of your clit in smaller more deliberate circles. Your eyes shut and you let out a more pleasured moan, your walls contracting around his shaft.

Anakin shudders, now feeling your pussy respond to him. It spurs him on now knowing he’s won some of your approval. “Is this okay now?” He asks.

You nod your head, lip bottom lip caught between your teeth. “Mmhmm..just like that Ani..”

Maker, he was relishing in your pleased sighs, the way your cunt pulses around his dick. “Are you-..am I gonna make you cum?”

You stifle a laugh at the way he words that. “Yeah..yeah just keep doing what you’re doing.”

He nods once, that look of determination finding its way onto his face once again. Anakin feels your pussy squeezing him more. “I-..what..?”

“I’m gonna cum, Ani.”

His eyes widen, “Oh,” he bites down on his lower lip, focused solely on bringing you over the edge. He feels your cunt grip him tightly before your walls are fluttering and your back is arching up off the bed.

“How was I?” He breathes out, looking down at you once you’ve both finished.

“Good..that was..wow..yeah good.”

Anakin’s head tips back with a proud expression on his face, chest heaving heavily with each breath. He did it.