#Shrinks in sneakers

[shrinksinsneakers]

The use of hydrocortisone and propranolol in the prevention of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) has been explored in several randomized controlled trials (RCTs). We always want to know does it work or is it just another interesting idea with little evidence to support its use 

[dreax01]

In you go

[lightseoul]

So excited for this ask! #24 🥹💐💐

hello, lovely! thanks for playing <3 ik i said i'd write "short" drabbles, but this one kind of got away from me... nevertheless, i hope you enjoy it!

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

24. "THERE YOU ARE." (1.5k)

you feel his commanding, unmissable presence before you even catch a glimpse of him.

yet despite yourself, you still startle at the sound of his booming voice when it inevitably comes.

“there you are.”

almost instantly, you cringe at the sheer volume. no doubt he’s caught the attention of at least three people in this particular area of the bookstore.

tightening your grip on the book you just spent the last ten minutes admiring from where it stood on the ‘newly released’ table, you, however, don’t look back to the source.

you know it’s stupid. but maybe—just maybe—if you didn’t see him, you could just pretend he didn’t exist.

which is ludicrous, because he’s literally your boyfr—

“oi.”

before you even get the chance to react, a hand grabs you by your left shoulder and spins you around, leaving you face-to-face with #6 hero pro-hero dynamight, decked out in his hero gear.

and he’s looking mighty pissed.

“did you fucking lie to me?”

he spits the blatant question—no, the accusation—so harshly that you can’t help but shrink into yourself ever so slightly.

when you don’t say anything, he only shakes his head. “i thought you said you had to work overtime and stay in the office?”

he pauses, as if to hear you out, but he continues before you can get a word in. “so you can only imagine my fucking confusion when i got there and that dickhead of a supervisor of yours said you went home on the dot.”

“i thought you agreed to cover for kiri tonight…” you mumble, more to yourself.

but bakugou, sharp as ever, barely catches it. “what?”

you look up from where you were staring at your feet, finally meeting his gaze. you try not to let the pained expression on his face chip away at your resolve. “what were you doing at my office? i thought you were working a double shift today.”

at that, he sneers. “oh, so we’re answering questions with questions now, hah?”

“no, i just—”

“i told eijirou last minute that i couldn’t ‘cuz i was planning to surprise you and spend the night together. happy?”

a wave of guilt courses through you at his admission. you shift to look at the stack of novels behind him instead, effectively ending your staredown.

“so you did lie to me,” he declares definitively, voice clipped. “can’t even look me in the fucking eye.”

not knowing what to say, you resort to scanning the relatively big area around you, clocking the curious faces attached to which are most definitely eavesdropping ears.

“people are staring, kats…”

the pro-hero doesn’t miss a beat. “i don’t give a single fuck.”

you heave a sigh as you wrack your brain for a way out of this. adjusting your grip on the book you’ve been cradling, you settle with: “it must’ve been a long day for you, you should go home and—”

“why are you avoiding me?”

you barely stop yourself from choking. “what?”

“you are. shit’s been going on for a while now—can’t believe it took me this long to put two and two together. you’re always working overtime, you always have errands to run on your own, you’ve been turning down my offers to—”

“excuse me, mr. dynamight, sir?”

the both of you whip to look at the source of the timid voice, only to find what has to be a six or seven-year-old child quaking in his notably orange and black hi-top sneakers.

“what?” comes bakugou’s curt response, obviously annoyed at having been interrupted. you, on the other hand, bask in the momentary reprieve the kid has unknowingly granted you.

you instinctively take a step back from the two.

“can i p-please have a p-picture with you?”

bakugou purses his lips in a tight line, “look, kid, i’m actually in the middle of some—”

“just do it, kats,” you cut him off, feeling empathy for the boy. the child looks at you in surprise, as if he just remembered you were standing there, before tossing you a grateful look.

at that, the man sighs, before beckoning the kid to come close next to him. the younger male beams in joy, hurriedly handing you his smartphone. bakugou crouches down on his knees so he’s more or less at the same height as the kid, an arm looped around the latter.

and as you say ‘cheese’, the two grin, one genuine and excited while the other comes off as a bit strained.

the kid jumps in glee and rushes off to you right after catching the hero off guard with a tight hug to his muscled leg.

looking up at you, he smiles. “thank you, miss!”

you ruffle his hair, “no problem, …?”

“eiro!” the child offers enthusiastically. “and you are?”

you’re about to say your name before you catch yourself in the nick of time.

“no one, really,” you chuckle, although it comes out a bit stilted. through your periphery, you can sense bakugou’s stare boring holes into the side of your face.

a look of perplexion crosses eiro’s innocent features. “really? for a second there i thought you were dynamight’s girlfriend, or something. you can’t be just no one.”

“i’m just a random bookworm,” you raise the book you’ve been holding and wiggle it to prove your point. “see?”

the child merely gives you an unconvinced hum before deciding he doesn’t really care enough to keep pressing. with one last look at his favorite hero, he lets out a squeal of delight, exclaiming thanks and dashing off to who-knows-where.

you take that as your cue to turn your back and make a start for the exit.

you can always just order this book that you’ve been waiting months for, anyway.

but you barely get to take a step forward when bakugou reaches for your wrist and pulls you unceremoniously close toward him, the distance between the two of you around only a foot apart.

your heart starts hammering—whether at the proximity or in anticipation of what’s about to come, if the tight grip on your appendage was any indication—you don’t know.

“the fuck was that?” he hiss-whispers.

at least he’s minding other people now. “i just felt for the kid. he just wanted to take a picture with you.”

“quit playing dumb with me, princess,” he growls. “why the fuck didn’t you just say your name?”

you gulp before you get to talk yourself out of it. bakugou notices, his eyes darting down to your throat and back up to your eyes, his crimson ones wordlessly demanding an answer.

when you don’t utter a single word, bakugou pushes. “you don’t want to go public about us, is that it?”

you almost gawk unabashedly at the man. you sometimes forget how perceptive he can be.

before you can even attempt to deny it, you get stopped in your tracks as you witness first-hand the palpable hurt that flashes across the pro-hero’s features.

and nothing could’ve prepared you for what tumbles out of his mouth next.

“…are you ashamed of being with me?”

“what?” you blurt out, an amalgamation of emotions washing over you in an instant. “no! why the hell would you think that?”

at that, bakugou frowns, “what else am i supposed to think, dumbass?”

“a million other things! like how villains might kidnap me to get back at you, or that your popularity and general ranking will drop, or that i’m not fucking good enough for you!”

the second you say the last thing, bakugou’s gaze turns indescribably stony.

“take that the fuck back.”

“no,” you say, trying to sound firm. “i’m being serious, katsuki.”

“no, you're being fucking ridiculous,” he spits, and if you were judging him just by his tone you wouldn’t believe he’s the one defending you right now.

“is that why you’ve been avoiding me, hah? because you don’t think you’re good enough for me?”

“don’t say it like that,” you grumble, shame now churning in your gut. “you’re making it sound stupid.”

“because you are being stupid, dumbass.” the man huffs, evidently frustrated but you’ve known him long enough to recognize the traces of relief etched on his face.

bakugou reaches for your shoulders, his big, firm hands encasing them as he gently squeezes the flesh. you finally bring your gaze up to look him in the eyes, and the sincerity in them would’ve made you stumble if it weren’t for his hold that’s keeping you in place.

“you’re fucking good enough for me, you got that?”

he says it so certainly that you can’t help but nod, even though you know the insecurities won’t vanish overnight.

“and don’t worry about my ranking—i want to reach number one with you by my side. as for those shit-faced villains, they won’t lay a finger on you as long as i’m alive. okay?”

“okay.”

seemingly pleased enough, bakugou releases his grip on you, pulling a few inches away.

“good. now be a good fucking girl and come home with me, alright? we're gonna talk this shit out.”

[princessbrunette]

ᡣ𐭩 ｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅PRINCESSBRUNETTES SCREAM SALON INTRODUCES … ໒꒰ྀི ˃̵ ࿁ ˂̵ ꒱ྀིა

GIBSON GIRL ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

♩ethel cain — gibson girl ♩

pairing: toxicbf!jj x reader

cw: jealousy, manhandling, exhibitionism, outdoor sex, cnc, degradation, toxic relationship, one spank.

you are responsible for your own media consumption. welcome to kinktober day four.

you’d liked to think you’d done nothing wrong.

jj knew what you were when he started dating you — friendly, sociable, a party girl, infact you’d even say those were some of the things that drew him to you in the first place.

as you step up to the chateau, having walked there in a pair of sandals that were rubbing your feet just a little too much, and your eyes dry from last nights drinking antics at the kegger — you could already tell jj wasn’t pleased with you from the look on his face.

he’s leaning up against that big tree outside the house, smoking a cigarette. jj was an avid stoner, yes — but he only smoked cigs when he was mad. you sigh, leaves crunching under your tread. in the back of your mind you note the uncharacteristic, slight chill in the air too — an introduction to the muggy autumn weather the obx briefly gets once a year.

“yeah i’m like shocked you even came.” jj calls out before you’re close enough, glancing between you and the cig he was now stomping out beneath his sneaker, twisting his ankle to smush it into the dirt.

“why?” your voice rasps, still that little bit hung over. jj laughs, bitterly and he doesn’t look at you— whipping his hat off and raking a hand through matted blonde hair before shoving it back on. oh, here we go.

“thought you’d like — leave to go fuck some other dude. y’know, seein’ as our relationship just means jack shit to you.” he shrugs like he doesn’t care but the look in his eyes tells you everything.

“what have i done now, jj?” you lean on your hip and he meets you in the middle on the grass, licking over sore, thin red lips.

“so you’re just gonna pretend you weren’t shakin’ your ass for the whole of the cut last night? lettin’ juuuust everyone see up your skirt? you got a man so like, you can’t just act single — i dunno know, that’s just my opinion—”

“you’re mad at me for dancing? at a party?” you step up to him which you know was a mistake as soon as his eyes flutter slightly as he glares down at you, suddenly pinning his mouth shut— jaw slightly clenched.

“yeah you’re right. i’m crazy, huh?” his nostrils flare, eye contact persisting. truthfully, yeah — he was, which is why you struggled to stand on business, not knowing what his next move might be. you shrink a millimetre in stature but you know he notices. “nah, don’t back down now. say it. say m’crazy mama.” he enters your space, filled was rage and smelling like marlboro reds.

“i’m not doing this—” you go to move past him, but he grabs you by the waist, even when you fight. “jj get off!”

“yeah we are, yeah we’re fucking doing this babe—” you speak over eachother frantically as you struggle until he’s wrestled you to the ground on your front, pressing your cheek into the dirt with a hand on the back of your head. you feel those thick cheap rings digging into your skull.

“acting like you don’t like this shit or something.” he scoffs as he straddles the back of your thighs. he’s rough, rougher than usual because there’s real anger behind each move and your heart pounds in your chest. what’s it called when you love someone so much you let them do whatever they want to you? even if it’s not warranted? it seemed like every guy round here was the same. no different from the rafes of the world — just violent and dirty and cruel. yet you couldn’t live without jj.

“jj, you’re — i don’t —”

“you didn’t mind showin’ off infront of everyone last night so you don’t mind if i just take what i want right here, right? nah, course you don’t.” he mutters, not even considering expecting a reply from you as you starts to fight your wriggling hips out of your denim shorts, sliding them down your ass. anyone could come by and see this obscene act, so naturally you felt hot all over and sadly, sickeningly aroused despite the thick knot in your stomach.

“s’not like that.” you whine, tears in your eyes as you turn your head toward the house— coming into direct eye contact with john b, who stood in the window with a mug of coffee.

he wouldn’t admit it, but john b didn’t mind all the borderline violent scuffles that you and jj would get into. bruises on your body from the rough and degrading sex showcased up and down your thighs when you’d lounge on the boat with the pogues, or red scratching of the word ‘MINE’ carved into jj’s back from your fingernails when his insta following would go up. for the most part he figured it was just kinky sex, nothing he wasn’t familiar with — but he had to say, he took a weird sick pride in hearing about you getting punished.

since dating you, you’d eaten up a good chunk of the time john b gets to spend with jj alone. jj used to be down for anything, would drop anything and anyone to be at his best friends side— and maybe john b had been selfish in letting that continue on to the point of expecting it. anytime he’d get time with the blonde, there you’d be nagging at the corners of the conversation or arriving unannounced to start something. it had gotten to the point where he too had began to indulge in violent sexual fantasies toward you, getting his own chance to put you in your place. you’re not one of us, he’d say — because he’s tired of being the kind and mature one.

“jj, j—john b is there you can’t—”

he’s already got your panties down, spreading your folds open to look at you a little too widely to the point you wince, jerking.

“alright and so what, it’s just john b. you didn’t care ‘bout all the extra eyes last night.” he shrugs one shoulder which surprises you. for someone so possessive, he really didn’t care.

when he pushes himself into you, you’re still locking eyes with the brunette through the dusty window. john b was typically courteous and would pretend to look away when jj would get to aggressively fondling you, but now he stares — puppy eyed and unabashed like he was doing nothing wrong, bringing the mug to his lips to take a leisurely sip as his best friend fucks you in the dirt. you even swear you see him shaking his head, all disappointed and dad like.

despite your walls clasping and clenching around jj, your head pounds and eyes burn with humiliation so you continue to squirm. maybe, somewhere deep in your mind you only squirm because you know that jj wants the fight, he wants you to struggle and suffer and pay for what you did. learn a lesson, so he’d say. despite everything, despite this — you just wanted to please him.

“had to make sure no one’s been breakin’ in these pretty tight holes babe, you understand right?” he pants, hands pressing into your back to keep you still. you already know the front of your clothes is ruined with dirt and mud.

you let out a pathetic groaned whimper similar to a ‘hnnnng’ sound as your brows furrow in defeat, eyes dropping to the way john b strains against his shorts, only turning to walk away when you watch him adjust himself. somehow, it makes your cunt flutter more and you wait for the blow of jj’s realisation.

a hard smack on your ass, there it is.

“my god, dude of course you’re gettin’ off on this. i knew you were a slut but jesus, way to prove it to me.”

[jesuistrestriste]

codependent!art donaldson who’s scared to make you mad.

he’s actually afraid of making you feel any sort of negative emotion at all, actually. and it’s not the kind of ‘afraid’ that he can laugh off.

no, no, no; it’s the kind that motivates him to shrink himself down into something more digestible for you. something that you can chew up and spit out and discard repeatedly, over and over again—like gum. it’s a sickening cycle that he enables, even if he won’t admit it.

he lets you suck the flavor and enjoyment out of his life in favor of making you happy. he’ll always make himself smaller for you if it makes you feel powerful and in-control.

so when you yell at him after he’s done nothing but try to make you feel worshipped all night in front of your friends, he can’t help the tears that well in his eyes. his entire expression crumples.

he whimpers and paws at your hips, big drops of sadness rolling down his flushed cheeks as he sniffles, and then pushes his hips into yours.

“i’m sorry,” he breathes out, his voice breaking, “i’m sorry, baby, i’m so sorry… please…”

when you don’t budge, he steps back with a sense of frantic urgency and begins stripping off his clothes. his shirt falls down to the bedroom floor, then his sneakers are kicked off, and then his pants. he’s tenting achingly in his boxers with the need to make everything better.

art reaches out again, but for your wrist this time. his thumb brushes your soft skin. he hiccups wetly. he slides his touch to rest over the back of your hand, and then directs it down to press against his pelvis. his fingers curl over the backs of yours, silently encouraging you to grope at him.

he’s taller than you, but you can feel the way he’s mentally curling into himself. it’s pathetic and it’s sad and it’s doing nothing but making you feel guilty. you don’t want to have sex with him, you want to shut him out.

“touch me,” he gasps, his clothed boner pressing into your palm desperately as he steps closer, “please, touch me… use me.. you can fuck me however you want.. i need—i love you..”

he buries his face into your neck, his arms both moving to wrap around the back of you, before his strong legs go shaky and he’s slowly sliding down onto one knee. and then the other goes. he cries into your frame, his cock bobbing and leaking in his briefs.

it takes another minute or two of your continued silent treatment for him to look up from his seat on the floor, fingertips digging into the meat of your thighs. his eyes meet your own; all wet lashes and puffiness over his lids.

“please don’t leave me.”

[ectologia]

I don't know how to explain this but bear with me! Reader and Tomura have a dynamic of a popular girl who is secretly a total masochist and a nerdy incel guy who is a degenerate freak and gets off humiliating and degrading the reader. Not sure if that was coherent but it's been rotting my brain and I needed to share

♱ ˖ ࣪࿐ 𝒟𝐼𝒞𝐻𝒪𝒯𝒪𝑀𝒴 ؛ 𝓉𝑜𝓂𝓊𝓇𝒶 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓀𝒾

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 ؛ dubcon ﾉ noncon ﾉ quirkless au ﾉ college au ﾉ bullying ﾉ abuse ﾉ graphic violence ﾉ unhealthy relationship ﾉ blood ﾉ profanity

“Hey, Tomura.”

Blood-reds peer up at you through fluttery, moth-like lashes. Pale and silken like an angel’s. He tugs his headphones down to rest around his neck before setting his phone in his lap. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?” You thumb a lock of hair behind your ear.

He’s dubious by the way your friends chitter behind you. Petite hands and manicured nails swat at each-other, hissing between smirks. His ankles uncross, planting themselves firmly on the ground as though in preparation. He winces through his response. “Yeah.”

“What’s wrong with your skin?”

You’ve barely finished your sentence before you’re doubling over with witchy cackles, the girls behind you following suite.

Tomura doesn’t find it funny at all, in-fact, he doesn’t even understand the joke. Dull nails rake at his protruding collarbone before sinking further into the pool of his hoodie, swimming nose deep in the black fabric. “I have a skin condition..”

A piggish voice squeals from behind you. “What’s it called? Not washing?”

He scowls, biting a scabbed-over chunk of blood from his lip, shrinking further into his hunched position in an attempt to make himself as small as possible, or as small as you can be after being picked apart by a bunch of snot-nosed bitches.

You get the last laugh as you strut off with your group, leaving him boiling with rage. Clutching his phone between a set of white knuckles and wringing the strap of his bag in the other. His palms split inside his fists, wretched and shaking with ire.

Of course, that was only the first of many instances.

He remembers on another account, when you’d pulled his hood down in-front of everyone and sneered in disgust at the powdered nest of matted white hidden beneath. Or when you and your gaggle of other titless twats thought it would be fun to fling food at him during lunch, sealing the deal by dumping a fresh load of apple juice into his lap. He’d waddled home that evening, quivering at the sticky feeling of liquid squelching in the pocket of his underwear. Or another time, when you’d tripped him up on the way to his seat, howling with laughter along with everybody else as he laid face down in the middle of the classroom, snivelling with a scuffed chin and bruised cheek.

But, despite everything.. all these things added up — just makes it that much more delicious when he finally gets to face you alone.

Tomura’s palm collides with your face, once on the left side and then on the right, knocking you about with a heavy hand bludgeoning you to the brink of death.

Your whimpers only spur him on as he kicks your heels in, sending you flying, knees splitting atop the sharp gravel coating the ground. “Tomu—”

“Shut the fuck up.” A rubber sole plants itself onto your cheek, imprinting it’s swirled pattern into your skin in a heap of dust. He stands above you, stoic and proud, uncaring of the sickening crunch that erupts from your broken cartilage. “You shut your fuckin’ mouth, I can’t be asked to listen to your whinin’ right now. I’ve already got a fuckin’ headache.”

You heave through the stream of bubbling crimson pooling on your tongue. “I’m sorry, Tomur—”

“Oi, what’d I just say?” He kicks you again, digging the tip of his red sneakers into your stomach. Swinging his leg back, he clobbers you, battering your, no doubt, already bruised body further. “Stupid — fucking — dumb — ass — bitch.”

A spill of blood accompanies your gasps, left retching and writhing and clutching at the ground, clawing at the loose stones dotted about the pavement.

“You like that, huh?” He crushes your fingers, twisting and grating them into the concrete as you scream, clinging to his shins in prayer. “Yeah, you do. You fuckin’ love it.”

He squats down to cradle your chin in his palm, craning your neck back into a painful arch. “Who’s my little bitch? — That’s right you are.” He coos at you through grit-teeth, pressing down on your popped lip with the pad of his thumb. “You are..” He whispers before letting the weight of your head fall again.

“I hope you’re thirsty.”

The zip of a fly has your ears perking, squinting through your lashes at the pale length throbbing in his palm, slit already frothing with pre. “Get that fucking tongue out.”

“Wait, Tomura, please!—”

“What? — I don’t think I asked you, you cock-sucking little bitch.” He brandishes his cock like a weapon, squeezing it between dangerous fingers. “Get that tongue out now, before I do it myself.”

You comply with a whimper. Statuesque as you point your tongue out wide, leaking thick globs of drool over your chin and onto your shirt.

“Better.”

It wouldn’t be uncommon to expect the plush velvety feel of a salty tip prodding at your mouth, snaking its sweaty shaft down your gullet. But this time, you’ve been particularly naughty.

“You think it’s fuckin’ funny, huh? Gettin’ your little boyfriends to jump me in the bathroom?” He clutches your neck in a vice grip, jostling your spooked form. “Well, since you seem to like playin’ around toilets so much — I’ve got you a little gift.”

His fat dick jumps while a stream of urine accompanies his harsh jerking. “Yeah, get it down ya’.” He whistles, shooting the acidic stream of piss straight to the back of your throat, making a game of it as you gag and cack at the air.

“Had enough?” He angles his cock down, allowing you a burst of air but soiling your clothes in the process.

You nod frantically, gurgling with bubbles foaming.

“That’s cute.”

He sprays the last few acrid droplets over your forehead, letting it drench your hair to the root and then some.

Your nose wrinkles at the smell, putrid and pungent and most likely undiluted by the amount of water you know he drinks, or lack of.

You’re hoisted onto your feet by a pair of hands. Looking down, you see how the curve of his cock slaps against your hip. Propped up against the wall, he hikes your legs up over his elbows, pinning you into a tight hold where you’d have no chance at escape. He only peels the crotch of your underwear to the side, letting your chubby folds do the rest of the work by holding it in place while sliding his uncut prick up and down the little triangle placed between your thighs.

“Preparation isn’t needed when you don’t deserve it”, Is what he whispers into your ear, stale breath warm and ticklish against your canal as he begins to sheath himself inside, chunky mushroom tip popping through the first ring of muscle before feeding the rest through. It’s akin to being impaled in the awkward position, sat without a centre of gravity on a hot, girthy pole, just twitching to tear you through the middle and come out the other end.

Tomura’s eager to hurt you, already humping you against the bricks, bouncing you up and down with guttural and down-right animalistic grunts. The noises are purposeful, he doesn’t need to make such strange sounds but he much prefers the curl between your brows to the foggy look in your eyes.

“I’m fuckin’ you.” It’s an odd but factual statement. “I’m fuckin’ your pussy. My dick is inside you. You get that? Raw.”

“Uh, huh.” Your jaw whips up and down, soft as your tongue hangs out.

He’s unsure whether to scowl or smirk — so he settles for a bit of both, catching a lip between his stained teeth. “You’re a freak.“ Forehead to forehead, he puffs into your mouth, loving you down with a thumb digging into your crack “What would all your friends say, hm? That you like gettin’ your ass beat and raped after school everyday.”

Sharpened fingernails dig into the flesh of his striped neck, crying out with dewy eyes falling, rolling behind sunken eyelids. “Ngh.. I’m.. I — gonna’..”

He smacks your face for the umpteenth time, a litter lighter than the others. Perhaps even a tap. “Don’t you dare.”

“Ca..”

Your toes curl inside your socks and your pussy tightens, twisting and pulling on his engorged manhood despite his obvious protests. He drops you on your rear, startling your spinal cord as you hit the concrete with a thud, legs still shivering and clitty still pulsing with the shattered remains of your ruined orgasm.

Tomura growls with a livid expression as his cock spurts, still throbbing with the remembrance of your gummy hole massaging him. His balls tighten and he throws his head back, canines bared as he lets the white darts shoot out onto your face.

“God — shit — wasn’t meant to fucking cum..” He murmurs, dabbing a knuckle over the damp sheen across his forehead.

He cracks his neck, then zips up his pants, shaking off the tension held between his shoulders before snapping his fingers, nudging your crouched form with the toe of his shoe. “Come on then, hand it over.” He demands with an almost exasperated sigh.

Panting, you turn to rummage through your bag. With two $20 notes crumpled in your palm, you offer them to the man with timid, shaking hands.

Enthusiastic as he snatches the paper from you, he eyes the green with scrunched carmines before clicking his tongue. “Seriously, $40 bucks? That’s it? I even made you cum you stingy cunt.” He looms over you with a menacing glare.

“Uhm.. I.. there’s..” You search through your pockets in a frenzy. “I don’t have any more on me..”

“Well, that’s gonna’ be a problem then, isn’t it?”

“I.. I can give it to you tomorrow! I’ll get you another 20!”

He tuts, narrowing his eyes at you before turning on his heel. “Make it 30.”

As he moves to make his leave, you begin to crawl with desperation, reaching out for him with an outstretched arm. “Wait!”

“What.”

“..Do.. Do you want to hang out this weekend?..” He thinks you resemble a love-sick puppy with the way you blink up at him. “..Please?.. Tomu-kun?..”

There’s a hint of a smile that plays on his cracked lips as he looks down at you, still thumbing the creased bills in his pocket. “Hm.. Actually—”

“Make it another 40.”

[starryhutcherson]

━━ A NEW FAMILIAR

author's note: crawled out of my hole for this one guys. sorry for being so ghost mode im working on putting out more stuff, apologies if this isn't of the highest quality as i'm running on sugar free redbull and three hours of sleep ! love my life hahahahaAHHHH

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: best friend!mike schmidt x reader warnings: 18+ sexual content! oral sex (f!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, swearing word count: 4600+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

Mike’s expression always glooms when you bring up the next date you’ve arranged. He knows how this story plays out; he knows the truth behind the men you’ve matched with on whatever sketchy website you’ve wasted your time on. They’ve molded themselves into the embodiment of perfection, through falsified photos and fabrications buried in their bios. His patience crumbles like fireplace ash as you skip around his living room and drone on about whatever dickhead you’ve set your poor, precious heart on.

He knows, always, the the outcome is running makeup and salty cheeks, sobbing on the floor of his living room in a creasing satin dress and his welcoming arms, a bitter exclamation of “you were right Mike” leaving your lips in the knowing silence and him gritting his jaw and pretending that it doesn’t bother him the the only habits you ever find yourself falling back into are the bad ones. 

It’s no different today. 

Mark or Matt or Mitch – you really were killing him, because it should be Mike. It should be him. Him that you’re getting ready for, him that you’re daydreaming about. And it’s an odd feeling, like a movie where your favorite character dies and then movie finishes and you have to accept that they aren’t coming back, no matter how long you sit glued to the reclinable chair, popcorn crunched beneath your sneakers and the credit-scene reflected in your shrinking pupils. 

Mike’s not the type to be happier with the hope – he’d let the truth swallow him up, sink into his creaking bones, he’d live with the loss. But he still has hope for you. He has hope that your eyes will open and you’ll seep into his brain and his breath and his bed. He hopes you’ll start seeing him instead of just looking. Maybe it's wishful thinking. Ignorant optimism.

It feels like it. 

It feels like it, right now, when he’s leaning against the doorframe of his bathroom and watching you get ready, your animated chatter reverberating around the small space between coats of mascara. He offered to give you a ride before you’d even asked, and he’ll tolerate the sting of watching you get out of the car looking all pretty for someone who isn’t him, just to make sure you get there safely. It’s the type of sacrifice he’ll make for you. 

“I can’t even feel my face, I’ve been smiling so hard all day!” You squeal, powdering your cheeks with more purposeless product – he thinks it’s all pointless. You’re radiant, even in the harsh lighting of his bathroom. 

He offers a low grunt. What is he supposed to say? He’s not happy. And he’s not gonna pretend he is. 

You either don’t notice or choose to ignore, continuing to doll yourself up to whatever standards you have for yourself. “I mean, he says he’s been skiing since he was 6. He’s practically an olympian.” 

Mike scoffs. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” he grumbles, shaking his head. “Can you hurry up?”

“Alright, grumpy. Calm down. I gotta do my lips and then I’m ready. Plus, nobody told you that you gotta stand here.” 

A fleeting flush of fuchsia permeates his cheeks, but he looks down at his worn shoes to hide it. It’s true. He didn’t have to stand here. But if an angel was populating your bathroom you’d want to take a peek, would you not? That’s how he thinks you look. Angelic. Glowing from your soul, a content smile knitted on your lips. You might as well have a halo and wings – that heaven-sent aura is reinforced when you douse yourself in lingering washes of that sweet perfume that’s branded itself to you. He’d recognise that floral aroma anywhere, the way a shark detects a drop of blood amongst saline scattered seas. 

“Okay, I’m ready. How do I look?”

Cruelest question of them all. “You look… fine. Good.”

A knot forms in your brow. “All this effort for that terrible answer?” Playful, but with a truthful undertone. Why do you value his opinion so much? He doesn’t want to assume anything. 

“Well I’m not the person you’re dressing up for.” I wish I was. He doesn’t say the other words, but he thinks them so hard he’s half convinced if you were listening in the right spot, or looking into his eyes for long enough that you’d hear it anyway. 

“Okay, okay, whatever. Let’s just get going, don’t wanna keep Mack waiting.” 

Two letters. That’s all it would take. That’s all he’d have to swap to make it him.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

✩‧₊˚

Even if you aren’t aware, even if he did offer, he drives begrudgingly. He focuses as much as he can, on the road ahead and not your glistening figure beside him in the passenger seat, the very definition of temptation. 

The mall parking lot is barren, a few gleaming cars scattered amongst the otherwise desolate area. He pulls into a space, sets the car in park, rakes in a greedy sigh of air. 

“If anything happens, call me.” 

You sneer teasingly. “Don’t be so pessimistic. It’s gonna be great, he could be my future husband, y’know.”

Yep. Mack, the 35 year old you've met online, who’s only notable talent seems to be skiing and his greatest life achievement to date is shooting a deer, whose head is mounted to the wall in his bedroom, typically visible in the background of his many instagram posts which involved his shirtless figure straining to flex his overly pronounced bulk. A match made in heaven. He wants to scream. 

And how can you even tell him to not be pessimistic? How can you look him in the eyes and act like this moment hasn’t happened time after time, the point of no return before an evening spent crying in his arms as he reassures you that your failed dates are never your fault, even though by now it seems like you must be seeking out the same genre of shitty man if you’re this good at getting your heart broken. He’s sick of picking up the fragile little pieces of his bathroom floor, cutting himself on the shards of a heart that’ll never be his. You deserve more than these half-baked, single night romances. He could show you that. 

“Yeah, sure,” he grits. “Future husband. Just call me, seriously.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you.” 

And with that, you’re off, disappearing into the gaping mouth of the mall’s entrance, and he watches with an alkaline feeling growing in his stomach. Your hair is caught up in the wind like clothing on a washline and he thinks his hope is all drained out. 

✩‧₊˚

Mike spends a good two hours back at his house. His movements feel vacuous, staring ahead at the screen, barely processing the raging garbage that masquerades as reality TV. The rain has picked up outside, licking at the window panes with a growing intensity. 

He’s not happy about the jean skirt and tiny little tank top you’d clad yourself in prior to leaving, you’re probably frigid by now in the cold. You did however reassure him that Mack was gonna drive you home, or even worse, take you back to his place, so his stupid fucking elk head trophie could watch with it’s empty eyes while the pair of you fuck on the bed that his mom still has to make for him because he never can quite manage those fitted sheets, can he? Fucking manchild. 

Shit. Mike’s feeling so so bitter. Maybe it’s because he’s finally realized that this is the dreaded pattern he’s going to have to endure with you until death. Or until he braves up and actually tells you that he’s been in love with you since the fifth day of second grade, when you mouthily confronted Jerry Murdoch and told him to give Mike his crayons back.  

With a weak sigh, he turns the TV off with a click of the remote still encaptured in the loose hold of his fist, and decides to see if he can melt into any form of sleep – but the knock on his door prevents him from doing so. 

He arises lethargically, not having much on his mind but the denial of his slumber as he shuffles over and turns the handle, but then, it’s you. 

Fluttery lashes melted to black smudges beneath your eyes, a mixture of rainwater and tears, completely drenched and dripping all over his doormat, your body is trembling and you’re wracked with tiny little cries and he’s feeling so many emotions he believes he might implode. 

He pulls you inside and into his arms, stroking your back in gentle, soothing motions, and it kills him that this has become routine. He’s angry. He’s sick of this. 

“What happened this time?” He grunts softly. 

“He didn’t even show up. He couldn’t even send a message as to why, Mike,” you sniffle into his warm chest, drunk off the even echo of his heartbeat. 

A moment’s silence rots like aged fruit. He draws a breath in, then out, then in again. 

“Why didn’t you call me?”

You crane your face upwards to meet him, instantly bathed in a nervous shiver when you see how serious he looks. 

“My phone was dead.” Is all you can manage to mumble. 

“What?” He’s pissed. “Why didn’t you charge it? You could have charged it there, they have outlets at the mall. Or you could’ve used someone else’s, so you didn’t have to walk home in the rain, because you’re drenched.” 

“I don’t–”

“Y’know how dangerous it is to walk around alone in this shitty neighborhood? Half the street lights don’t even work, and I don’t even know any of my neighbors, or what kinda people walk around here at night.” He grumbles. “I shouldn’t have to tell you all this, I’m sick of explaining all this to you.”

You roll your eyes irritably, releasing yourself from his arms and crossing your own across your dripping wet torso. “How was I supposed to know he was gonna stand me up? You’re telling me I should just expect it?”

He blinks like a deer in headlights, silence settles into his flesh.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

You scoff. “It’s what you implied.” 

“It’s not what I—” He grumbles weakly under his breath, cutting himself off, deciding reasoning with you is somewhat of a useless attempt. “Why can’t you just listen to me?”

“What, charge my phone next time? Bring a raincoat? Yeah, great help, seriously, don’t know where I’d be without you,” your sarcasm hits like gunshot wounds to the teeth. 

“Or maybe you should try to meet actual people, instead of fake ones from some stupid website.” 

After a cold shiver bites up your spine, your expression deepens with defense. What is his fucking problem? “At least I try to get out of the house! At least I don’t spend every hour of every day moping around and feeling sorry for myself!” 

The pair of you fight, sure, every good relationship, friend or romance or family or whatever should, but nothing like this. This is stone-set, it’s been coming for a while, the wild gesticulations and the pacing and the raised voices. It shakes the bones of the weakened house. 

“Don’t,” Mike says with a furious edge, fists tightening and untightening like he’s about to take a swing at the wall, like this is going to end with bleeding knuckles nipped with shards of worn plaster. “Don’t throw that in my face, I do everything I can, for you and Abby. It’s not like I have a choice.”

“So what, you’re so fucking miserable in your own life that you have to try and control mine?”

“Control? You’re like my child! You don’t even know how to take care of yourself half the time, so yes, I try to help you not to make such shitty decisions!” 

You scowl. “You’re not obligated to do anything for me, y’know Mike. Why do you keep me around if I’m that much of a chore for you!”

He snaps, the tension in his fists bleeding up into his throat, his mouth, the words clot behind his gums and suddenly they tumble out in a fury-fueled shout. “Because you’ve got no one else!” 

You deflate, wilting like a flame without oxygen, and Mike deems the silence to be more cruel than anything else you’ve said to him tonight. He’s feeling everything and nothing all at once, the quiet crumbles around him like a burning building and he fears he’ll become rubble beneath the debris. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just… god, just–” His eyes flick to you, and then retreat back down to the faded living room carpet. He can’t swallow his guilt this time. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“It’s fine,” you say coldly, knuckling away an angry tear. The salt water is the trick of nostalgia, you’ve cried like this so many times. Your breakage of those promises to yourself. It’ll be different. And it never is. 

“No. It’s not – I’m a dick, I just… I hate watching other people ruin your life. You deserve better.”

Better. What is better? Some twisted fantasy that some people are indulged with and others are left longing for. That you’re left longing for. You know he’s tired of the same bullshit that you force yourself through, convincing yourself of change, painting yourself up to be fit for presentation, and hoping that whoever you’ve leeched onto likes what they see, so you don’t have to feel so alone anymore. You’re oblivious, painfully so. Because Mike could plaster together the cracks in your splintering psyche, if you’d just let him in. 

“Whatever, Mike. It’s true anyway.”

There’s a hole in his heart in the shape of your name. He begs you. Fill it. A part of him shatters at the defeat in your words — he’s crumbled you to the bone, to the marrow. He’ll build you back up. You deserve it. 

“No it isn't. No it isn’t. You have me. You’ll always have me.” 

A silence pervades; the look in his eyes is one of pleading, that you’ll stop and see what he’s offering you, that you’ll stop chasing your own tail, that you’ll stop the cycle. 

“Mike…”

“And Abby.”

You indulge him. 

“You have me. And you have Abby. And I know that’s… not much, but she loves you. So much. And I’m sorry, ‘cause I know I don’t say it enough, I don’t…. I don’t say how much you mean to me, but I just—”

“Mike.” 

He wallows in the waters of your rain kissed eyes, the way your pupils pulse and the words are falling before he can swallow them back down. 

“I love you.”

He gives you that stare. That stare that’s the color of black coffee, the look that you can feel, unearthing the graveyard of wilting feelings you’ve tried to bury, the heart that beats for him him him, lodged between the ivory bars of your ribcage. He maps you out with his eyes, he looks at you the way the sun hungers for daybreak. 

He’s waiting. He’d wait forever. 

“And… and seeing you with these… shitty people who don’t even care about you, it just…” He sighs exasperatedly, dragging a sweaty palm down his face. 

His sentences can’t seem to finish themselves. This is harder than it looks in the movies. Harder than when he’s practiced in the mirror, when Abby’s walked in and giggled at him and told him to just fess up. 

“You love me? Like…”

He looks up at you like a kicked puppy. “Yeah. I do.”

You’re beyond bewildered. He loves you. He loves you. 

“What– but… you—”

“You don’t have to… say anything. I just, I can’t… I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t do it.”

You reach for his hand. It’s a little clammy, a little trembly, but it’s a perfect fit. Just like you. 

“I love you too, Mike.”

What?

“You… do?”

He’s skeptical, but he’s also swooning. A stone man is slowly cracking. 

“I just didn’t… didn’t think I could have you. I mean, you’re so… you’re everything, y’know? You’re a good brother, and you work so hard, and you’re… I’m just… I don’t think I deserve you,” you whisper, confessing. With a newfound stroke of confidence, he approaches, one hand snaking around to the small of your back, another on your cheek. He’s gentle. In his eyes, you’re porcelain. Precious. Fragile. At least, at this moment. But you love him too and that’s all he needs. It’s all he’s ever needed. 

“You deserve everything.” He says it so quietly it’s barely audible. And then, nothing is audible because he’s carefully pulling your lips to his, linking you in every way, his hands tangle into your damp hair and he’s kissing you. 

His lips chase yours in messy, uncalculated movements. He’s starting small. It’s been a while. And he’s gonna take his time with you. He’s gonna show you what you deserve. Soft sounds squeak past his lips as they flutter against yours, and you’re closer and closer and closer still, impossibly so. 

Within moments he’s whisking you off to his bedroom, his hand tangled with yours, an interlace tight enough to cause ropeburn. His skin chafes with yours, and then he’s kissing you again atop his navy comforter. 

He’s gentle, respectful, but you understand what he’s trying to tell you, what he’s been trying to tell you. He speaks through silken drags of his tongue, through the hand that holds your cheek steady— he feels as though he’s gripping the very cusp of a constellation. You taste like stardust. You glow like the waning moon. 

He breathes heavily in the expanse of his throat, his pants have become tight and wet and filthy; he’s been subconsciously grinding down into your lap. You’re a little shaky and your pupils have darkened with lust and he is going to show you what you mean to him. What you’ve been missing. 

His hand falls lower, into the slope of torso that dips into your hips. His eyes travel back and forth, searching, hunting for the desire that he feels mirrored back at him. Do you want this, the way he does? Do you? His hardened stare doesn’t speak loud enough. He elaborates.

“Can I… uh… do you wanna…?”

Do you want to? You need to. 

“Shit, okay,” he croaks out, jaw tense and tight as he traces you beneath calloused fingers. You didn’t realize you said that out loud. 

He’s endearingly awkward – you know from languid late-night conversations that he hasn’t done this a lot. Maybe even at all. But he’s sweet, so sweet, like lapping up sugar and feeling it dissolve on your tongue, feeling him dissolve on your tongue, giving you comfort and cavities. 

“Can I take this off?” He asks nervously, fiddling with the hem of your camisole. A short nod, and he’s sliding it over your sweat-pricked figure, admiring your contours in the whisper of evening moonlight that bleeds through holes in his moth-eaten curtains. You’re perfect, and he knew you would be. 

He caresses your skin gently, drunk on the mellow feeling of your bare stomach beneath his fingertips. Your bra is black, a little lace peering along the straps, your breasts spilling into the fabric. He reaches around your back, fumbling at the clasp. When the garment drops, his hands are replacing it before you can even blink. 

“Beautiful,” he manages to get out, thumbing over your nipples. 

“Mngh, Mike—”

“Sh. Just let me… just let me. Let me make you feel good. Please?” He grunts out under his breathless voice, and how could you deny such a request?

The moment you agree, he’s grabbing you by the thighs and tugging you towards him slightly, so your back is nearly flat against his mattress and he’s settling himself in the gap that you create for him. 

Your skirt comes off first. Your panties are undeniably soused, his fingers trace the big wet spot that’s dripping all for him, teasing you through torturously thin cotton. 

“Mike,” you mewl gently, fingers settling in his nest of chocolate curls that are damp with sweat. A firm tweak and he’s groaning, his voice melting away into nothing like hot tar. 

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles to himself, like he’s never seen anything like it. Probably not in a while. His finger hooks beneath the waistband, pulls it out gently, and lets it go. It slaps against your hip bone and another fresh sound seeps from your lips.  

“Mike, shit, please just do something—”

“Okay,” he whispers, more to himself than you, carefully sliding your panties from your waist, down past your ankles, and he’s tossing them to join the pile of clothes that has begun to collect on his bedroom floor. 

You’re here, before him. The girl he waited for. Your soft flesh is glistening, clenching painfully around nothing, and he’s salivating at the sight of you. He pries your legs out further with his warm hands, leaving them to linger on your bare flesh for a few drawn out moments, before he claims what’s rightfully his. 

He presses a trialing kiss to your clit, and your back curves delicately, fingers tightening their grasp in his hair. He moans into you at this action, and you, in turn, moan as well. Confidence creates itself in him with each little whimper that he gets you to release, and he’s answering back, hearing your cries, your calls of his name with his own unabashed exclamations of pleasure. This is just as good for him, as it is for you. 

“Mike,” you whine gently, and he’s mumbling weak praise right into your cunt. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty. Wanted this for so long.”

It’s barely audible between his languid sucks; he’s lapping at your drooling entrance, fingers subtly creeping closer, up and along your thighs and settling right above your throbbing clit. He presses his thumb against it, tracing sinful circles against your bud— once, twice, and then you’re far too close to the edge. 

“Oh, Mike I’m gonna come,” you choke out between gasps. 

“Do it. Please.”

He’s begging you. 

And you oblige. With a trembling sob, your thighs tense around his head, keeping him locked in place, capturing him and making sure he finishes the job, and oh does he plan to. When you soar, he’s still holding you in place, soothing the electric sparks pulsating throughout your body. 

He savors your sounds, and when they stop coming, he presses a lingering peck on your inner thigh, stubble scraping at the sensitive dermis. He then raises his face to your level, the light coruscating off the filthy souvenir etched all over his face, your glittering arousal that he wears so proudly. 

He steals a proper kiss from you, rubbing your side as a gentle comfort. He’s completely hard now, tenting his sweats, leaking against the fabric. You gingerly reach out, tracing what you assume to be the head of his cock, and he sags, boneless, against your touch. 

“Fuck, baby I—”

“Baby?” You chuckle softly, still hazed from the candy-coated afterglow of your orgasm. The first of many, he hopes. 

“Mngh— g… got a problem?” He grumbles softly, almost quivering as you begin to palm him with purpose.

“It’s out of character,” you tell him gently. 

“Shit, can I be inside you?” He asks you, voice ripped raw. 

And once again, Mike Schmidt leaves you breathless. 

“Yeah. I need it. I need you.”

He groans, slipping off his pants and boxers without so much as another word from your swollen lips. He’s hard, angrily so, his cock pulses violently and a little whimper escapes through the crack in his bitten lips when it slaps against his stomach. 

He’s stroking himself slowly, base to tip and then back again, collecting the pearls of precum that dribble from his slit. He’s never been so ready for something. For you. It’s all for you. 

He’s holding you, thumbing your hip bones and gently nudging himself into your hole, cooing at every cry that crawls from the crevices of your throat. When he bottoms out, finally, it’s safe to say that he gets a little dumb. “Oh, shit, I’m not— not gonna last long, you’re so tight, shit…” He’s rambling a little. It’s cute. 

A few wandering kisses land on you the way dandelion spores decorate a skyline – your cheek and your chin and your jaw, as he waits for you to let him move. You’re squeezing him for all he’s got and he’s three seconds away from spilling before he’s even so much as thrusted. You do this to him. 

All those days, staring into your eyes and wondering if you’d ever see him the way you do, all those nights, stroking your hair and softening your saddened sobs after failed date after failed date. They’re all worth it. 

You’re clamping down on him, warm and wet and wavering, and you’re exhaling softly through your nose and telling him to move, begging him to move, to make you feel good, and it’s what he does. 

He pumps into you with passion, magnetized to your every movement. He’s satisfying a decade worth of insatiable craving, he’s chasing your hips with his. You end where he begins. 

The headboard creaks and slams against thin plastered walls, one hand grips onto it with alabaster knuckles and the other one holds your hips for better leverage. He doesn’t need to say it, but each knocked kiss of his pelvis to yours is a silent I love you I love you I love you. 

“Oh my god Mike,” you sob, and he slides himself deeper, hitting everywhere he wants to reach. Everywhere to make you quiver beneath him.

“You d—don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he moans lowly. “How many times I’ve imagined you like— like this.”

He’s blabbering, every stray thought that passes through his head is already blossoming on his tongue and out into the air before he can even think twice. Admittedly, you’re too blissed out in your own mind to really respond, but it’s arousing all the same. 

“You’re so… so beautiful,” he’s flushed and he’s faltering, and you know he’s close before he even announces it. 

“Shit, baby, I can’t— can’t last much longer,” he stammers, his bruising pace beginning to shake. 

“Do it in me, Mike, please, please,” shit, are you trying to kill him? Your word is the only law he knows, and he’s wrapping his arms around your torso and diving his head in the elegant slope of your collarbone, biting down into the skin and spasming somewhere deep in your welcoming walls. 

He tries to keep himself quiet, but it’s really a futile effort. His hips jut sporadically as he empties himself inside you, and the sudden flood of subtle heat is all it takes for you to topple over as well. 

Bliss teeters back into reality after a seemingly ceaseless moment. He peels his head from its previous position to admire you, to stroke a stray lock of hair from your forehead and nervously greet it with a kiss.

He doesn’t let go of you. Not now, not ever, he thinks to himself. His arms snake around you tighter, and somehow it’s even more intimate after the fact. His bare chest collides with your back, his nose rests comfortably against the crown of your head. The pair of you follow each other into a dreamless sleep, safe in the sanctuary of a warm bed and an even warmer embrace. 

He’s found his new familiar. 

masterlist

✩‧₊

[justanothervoreblog]

Big Brother's Indulgence

Martin had been warned so many times about the noise. Once was an honest mistake, two was recklessness, and three was just a blatant disregard. Kyle had to lay down the law. He pardons himself from the game chat that he was on and makes his way towards Martin's room. Martin had a friend over, Sam, the two of them together were a nightmare. However, both of them together would be delicious.

Kyle opens up the door and interrupts both of the noisemakers. Right before he was about to grab them, he could see cans of Coke all over the floor. So not only had Martin failed to entertain his guests at unreasonable noise levels, but he went right into Kyle's secret stash of sodas. Now this was more than just punishment, this was earned gluttony.

Kyle's belly growled out in anticipation and Martin immediately realized that he had fucked up. He had watched Kyle swallow up a couple of religious solicitors once. Martin was fully aware of what his brother could do and began to plead for his mercy. Sam foolishly believed that this was a punishment was relegated family members to try to make a subtle exit. Kyle grabs him by the shoulders and opens his mouth possibly wide. Sam screams but it is immediately cut off by the muscled walls of Kyle's throat. To make sure that Martin doesn't try a similar stunt, Kyle seizes Martin by the shirt. He gets a front-row ticket to his brother's gluttony.

Kyle shoves Sam into his mouth. The saliva slicks up the shoulders and helps them slide past that pink tongue. Afterward, the lean chest and abs follow quickly. Martin's room is filled with Kyle's gluttony and satisfied moans. His stomach greedily awaited the arrival of Sam. It gets its first bit of food when Sam's head pops past that tight stomach ring. It was an uninviting and hostile place, Kyle's belly. Inside was digesting Pizza and leftovers, and he was pretty sure that there was a Best Buy t-shirt. All that remains of the unhelpful worker that Kyle had snapped up.

Martin watched as Sam's legs uselessly outside of his brother's maw. His thighs are slowly reduced down to the calves. Kyle removes the sneakers from Martin's feet. He leaves the socks though, it was always a bit of a kink of his. Then Martin watches as Sam goes from best friend to brother food with a single gulp. The bulge passes down into Kyle's throat and then expands inside of his belly. Martin can hear Sam's cries from inside. He watches Kyle rub over that belly and Martin trapped within. Martin knows that it was fucked up way to think, but he silently hopes that Sam was enough for Kyle's hunger.

For a moment, Kyle just pushes his brother's face up against his expanding dome. Martin could feel every twitch that Sam made and realized that if he ever wanted to see Sam again, he'd have to ask Kyle to lift his shirt. Kyle didn't usually let his meals go and this wasn't the first time that he had snacked on Martin's friends. Billy, Josh, and Steve had all made their way down Kyle's throat.

Then a rumbling vibrates Kyle's belly and Martin knows exactly what was about to happen. With a loud burp, the nastiest-smelling air is expelled. It was wet too, bits of spittle landing on Martin's face. All of it, unfortunately, smelled like Sam. The dome slightly shrinks to reveal Martin continuing to struggle. The fight inside the belly becomes clear for a moment. Then the belly expands again leaving the prey obscured.

Kyle's eyes then drift down to Martin, his little brother. For a moment there is an exchange, no words. Could Kyle eat his brother? His own flesh and blood? Was that a line that he could cross? Martin hoped that there was some limit to Kyle's gluttony. Maybe eating one of his friends was enough and Kyle would let him go? Perhaps, there was a chance. Kyle lifted him so that Martin was close enough to smell Kyle's Sam-scented breath. The pool of saliva building up at the back of his mouth was intimidating. Still, Kyle wouldn't actually do it right, right?

Martin's hopes get dashed as Kyle licks his lips. Martin doesn't remember what Kyle says after that. Something about how the second course is always sweeter or something along that line. What Martin does remember is Kyle opening up his mouth and his world turning to darkness…

Kyle could feel the weight of his gaming chair creek. Other chairs he had owned would have broken by now, but this one had been properly reinforced. If Kyle was going to eat like a pig, then he should have a chair that fits him like one. Martin and Sam had saved him only one Coke. So who is the real pig here? It was still Kyle, now with Martin and Sam trapped inside of his belly.

The struggle had calmed down a while ago, both boys accepting their fate as food for Kyle. Kyle savors their taste with a refreshing Coke as he texts the game chat that he will be a moment. He was going to order some more food for himself and in a way, Martin and Sam. Of course, if they ate the food that already came down, it was their business. Kyle had already gotten his.

So while Kyle waited for the food delivery, his hands roamed over that mighty gut. His little brother was trapped inside, wondering if he would see the sun again. Kyle wasn't sure if his little brother would be let out. Sam would be a permanent resident, much like his other little friends. Kyle thought about the questions his dad might ask. It was enough to make him reconsider or… Kyle could just show his dad where Martin had gone. The thought of that makes him chuckle as he rubs his fat gut. As he daydreams about the scenario, Martin plays with his belly button.

The doorbell cuts him out of his delusions. He stands with his hefty belly and stretches realizing that the food was here. Right before he was about to head to the door, his belly growled.

The question is this: Did Kyle want thirds?

[kinardstits]

"Chim said something that got me thinkin'."

Tommy hummed, listening as he flipped a page on the thick book he was reading. "Good or bad thing?"

The hairy leg Tommy had his book on wiggled. "Good. I think. I hope?"

Peering over his reading glasses, Tommy paused. Evan was sitting at the opposite end of the couch, long legs thrown over his lap, watching him with soft eyes. Still, there was a small undercurrent of uncertainty tugging at the edges of his lips, enough for Tommy to carefully fold the edge of the page he was in and put the book aside. "What did he say?"

"Have you ever heard of the red thread theory?"

Tommy squinted as he thought, taking off his glasses and hooking them on the collar of his tank top. "Something about how people are connected, right?"

Buck beamed, nodding enthusiastically. "Yea! It's Chinese folklore, actually. At their beginning, the lunar matchmaker god ties a red thread around the ankles of two people destined to be together." He explains. "It's supposed to last forever; never break, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. No matter what, these people will meet and spend the rest of their lives together."

"That's sweet." Tommy grinned, wide and scrunchy. He loved romance. He loved love. "Let me guess, he was gushing about Maddie?" The sap.

"Not... quite?" Tugging at the strings of his hoodie, Buck hesitated a bit. "He was talking about us."

"—Us?"

"Yea. I mean," And Buck paused, searching for the correct words. "Given the folklore, we kinda fit? You left the 118 and I joined to fill your position. There was Abby, and I still can't believe you were her Tommy, what are the odds— Then, there was that residential fire in which Chim called you to do a drop, and wow— we've always been kinda orbiting each other, haven't we?"

Tommy hummed, smile shrinking into something softer, fonder. "Always near each other, but not quite connecting." He wrapped a hand around one of the other's bony ankles, thumb brushing over a white scar. He could almost picture the red fabric, gently draped around where his fingers were. "Growing a romantic bone, babe?"

"I'll show you what bone I'm growing." Teased Buck, wiggling his eyebrows. Tommy pinched him in retaliation. "It just— It fits, right? Us?"

"I mean," Looking around, Tommy felt fondness so suffocating he had to sigh. Evan had a place for his keys, right by his. A designated spot for his white sneakers, lest Tommy scuffs them with his boots. Half his kitchen was covered in appliances that weren't even his, and the left side of his garage was now perpetually clear for an extra vehicle. They had designated sides on his (their) bed. Half his wardrobe was Evan's. "I guess it does." They hadn't been together for half a year, yet. "If instead of a string we're talking about a red rubber band. Industrial strength, mind you. Indestructible."

Buck narrowed his eyes playfully. "It gets painful if you suddenly let it go?"

"No," Tommy drawled, drier than a desert but still gazing at the other like he had hung the moon. "No matter how far you stretch it, it always snaps back together."

Buck beamed wide, pulling back his legs and scrambling across the cushions to unceremoniously flop onto Tommy's lap. "Know what else the matchmaking god is known for?" At the other's shake of his head, he winked. "God of marriage."

Tommy barked out a surprised laugh, scrunching up his nose when Evan kissed his laugh lines. "Ask me again at our anniversary."

Buck perked right up, straightening, eyes wide. "Yea?"

Tommy just nodded, giddy. "Yeah."

Half a year later, if instead of rings they got matching red tattoos around their ankles, only they knew why.

(also @ AO3)

[revelboo]

Heya~ hope your doing well! And I hope you had a swell bday!! 🎉

It's been a bit since you've done anything for Prowl, are you still writing for him? Have you seen the new Earthspark season? 🥺🥺

I haven’t seen the new season, just yet, but will. I don’t really track these, just writing whatever as it occurs to me so my posting schedule can be a bit… weird

Stand Too Close Pt 4

IDW Prowl x Reader

• Sitting in his palm, clinging to a servo since he’s not holding you in his hand like normal and you don’t want to fall, you try to gauge his mood from his blank expression. And to figure out why he’s not yelling, yet. As much as the rest of them seem to think the tactician is always in control, always calm- you’ve seen the other side. That anger he tries so hard to hide from the other Autobots, but not you. “Do you hate me?” He asks, tone almost bored as he walks to his quarters.

• “You locked me in a drawer,” you retort, shifting so your back is to him so he can’t try to analyze your expression. “Remember?” You sound more tired than angry to him. And by some miracle you don’t feel the need to point out that he’d ruined your life, your favorite jab. Venting, he mulls over that and wonders if maybe he should have left you with Bumblebee or any other Bot. Someone you could relax around and not constantly fight with. Why does that thought bother him so much? Because some twisted part of him enjoys the verbal sparring and the challenge of someone as poisonous as he is. As angry.

• “Then behave,” he says and despite your decision to ignore him, you glare up over your shoulder at him. “You ran out in front of me that day. You didn’t watch where you were going,” he adds and you’d almost swear one corner of his mouth is twitching like he’s trying not to smile. Like it’s funny to him as your face reddens. You don’t even realize you’re already back to his quarters until he tilts his palm and you’re forced to slide off onto his desk as he pulls out his chair. And the reaction is immediate and unthinking. Yanking off one of your sneakers and beaning him in the face with it.

• “Excuse me?!” You screech, face redder than he’s ever seen it as he just stares. You’d dared to hit him one of your little feet coverings? Challenge him? “I was in a crosswalk,” you yell, throwing out an arm and your level of fury is almost endearing, because you don’t have to play nice. You can scream all you like and what must that be like? To not bottle everything up all the time? You’re pulling off the other covering to throw when he places his palms on the desk and mass shifts, vaulting up onto the surface with you as he shrinks. And you scramble backwards, tripping and going sprawling on his data pad. Mouth falling open in shock, but still managing to throw that stupid covering at his him.

• Swearing as your shoe bounces off his chassis, you scramble to get away as he stalks your way, optics pale and angry. Your mind clawing for sense of the fact that he can apparently shrink, that fact second to that he’s angry and you don’t want those big hands on you when he’s this livid. A hand grabs your ankle to drag you back and you kick him in the jaw with the other leg without thinking, catching him by surprise as his head snaps back. And you freeze as he reaches up to slide a thumb over his lip, growling as it comes away wet with energon and oh, no. You really shouldn’t have done that. His glossa slides over his thumb, door wings trembling. “Come here,” he snarls.

• Little brat. You try to crawl away and he drags you back again, flipping you into your back and straddling your hips this time so you can’t kick him in the face again. And you go ballistic, screaming profanity in his face, your own face scarlet as you try to hit him and he bares his denta, capturing your wrists and pinning them above your head when you slap him, squirming under him like a wild thing. “You only landed a blow because you caught me by surprise,” he growls as your eyes flash with hate and you bare your little teeth at him, hips bucking under him. “Clearly no one’s ever taught you how to defend yourself.”

• Swearing, you try to wriggle your hands loose and give up when he tightens his grip in a subtle warning. Your anger faltering when he slaps a palm against the desk by your head and leans over you. Too close, you can feel him venting against your throat, his face right above yours. Suddenly very aware of the way he has you pinned and the heat of him. “Next time, put up more of a fight. Make it last,” he whispers, one corner of his mouth curling and it’s like a punch to the gut, the shock of that rueful little smile overwhelming you until you can’t breathe. Too aware of him and the fact that you like that cocky smile as much as you hate him. Panic claws at you, because you’re not sure this is anger anymore just that you want him off of you. Can’t get free of his grip, but he’s so close and he freezes, optics narrowing when you lift your head. And bite his already bleeding bottom lip as hard as you can.

Previous

Next

[shrinksinsneakers]

The article “Deprescribing Antipsychotics in Patients with Schizophrenia: Findings from a Specialized Clinic” emphasizes a growing interest in reducing or discontinuing antipsychotic medications in patients with schizophrenia, particularly those stable on long-term treatment. While continuous antipsychotic use is common to prevent relapse, concerns about long-term side effects, such as metabolic give us pause and rise concerns.

[culturevulture73]

Well....I saw two new movies this year and only liked one, but a lot more new TV, so let me go that way...thanks for the challenge @punchitmrsulu

My favorite 6 new watches plus some returning faves!

Honorable mentions:

Peeps, chime in! @90soldsoul @thetaoofzoe @notebookishtype @gothphyle @threadsketchier and anyone else who wants to play

Happy New Year!

As challenged by @murphycooper here are my favorite 9 first watches of 2023!

I now challenge @salty-todd @culturevulture73 @rainbow-randomness @kethamine and whoever else wants to do it!

[anon-sect]

picture sources from my Master Frost, Instagram account @mysneakeryt

Alex had heard a rumor around campus of a student with a special power. It was his senior year, and the guy on his second year in college was doing things that should be literally impossible to do. He was really quite curious about it. He asked a ton of questions who the guy was. He eventually got a name, Daniel Rune. Alex got his dorm room number and decided to confirm if the rumor was true.

Alex knocked on Daniel's dorm room door. A tall 6'7" tall athletic jock open the door. "Yes?" He asked him when he opened the door. "I know this might be a strange question, but I have to ask. Are you Daniel Rune?"

Daniel looked at a short 5'10" guy looked at him, asking him a slightly strange question. "I am, but why do you ask?"

"You see, I have heard around campus that you have a special ability to do certain things." Alex spoke, still wondering if the rumors were true.

"Like what?" Daniel asked, knowing full well what he was asking about. "Like turning people into objects or changing people's appearance." Was the reply he got back. Daniel just nodded that it was all true.

Alex wanted to see proof. He definitely didn't want to just believe based off of word of mouth. "I want to see you do it." He requested of him. Daniel invited him in to show proof. "I will show you on one condition, you let me get to choose what I change into any object of my choice." The condition was set. He wanted to see this for himself, so he nodded in agreement to the conditions set by Daniel.

Alex saw Daniel look directly at him. Suddenly, he felt weird. He couldn't move at all. He tried to speak but couldn't open his mouth. He then began to shrink in size, looking upwards with his eyes as Daniel grew giant size. He saw him smiling down at him as he lost more of his size. Then his body began to reshape all on its own, split into two and reshape again, taking on a final form. He was unsure what his final form was, but his vision was limited with very little light.

Daniel examined his work. The guy looked completely like normal shoes. He picked them up off the floor. "You see my ability is true. You have been changed into a pair of shoes. I think I will wear you today, just to see how comfortable you are. In fact, I will not wear any socks at all." He spoke as he put them back on the floor and shoved his feet into them. They felt good as he pressed down on the insoles with his bare feet. The guy made a comfortable pair of adidas sneakers.

Alex wanted to see the ability in person, but never meant that he would be transformed himself. The fact that Daniel was wearing him like a common pair of sneakers made him feel just like an object on his feet. It was painful and hurt almost like a thousand knives as Daniel stood and walked on him. With it being his bare feet, it was more humiliating.

As the day wore on, Daniel's feet began to sweat, going from class to class. Along with the sweat came the slight foot odor form his bare feet. Alex was not liking being a pair of sneakers one bit. The pain was constant over and over. It was a torturous hell. He could slightly hear Daniel chatting with his friends and classmates, laughing and having a good time. There were a few times that Daniel would wiggle his toes and crunching them on his insole face. It was complete foot domination. He so wanted to call out for help, but he knew he lacked the ability to call out for any form of help. He would have to wait till Daniel was done with his day and would hopefully release him.

Daniel returned to his dorm room. He took his shoes off and smelled his feet. There was no foot odor or sweat. He then sniffed his shoes and saw they smelled foul. It was strange that his feet didn't smell of foot odor, but his shoes did. Somehow, the shoes had absorbed his all of his foot sweat and odor, leaving his feet smelling good. He had never had shoes like these. He had thought about releasing the guy after his day was over, but he was starting to change his mind. If these shoes did this for his feet, he might have to keep them longer than expected. "You did a good service to my feet. You did so well, I will keep you a little longer. You might not like that, but you really don't have a choice since you volunteered to be transformed." He placed his shoes under his bed as he prepared to study for his courses. Yet, the thought of wearing his new shoes on the next day were on the fore front of his mind.

THREE WEEKS LATER........

Daniel just came back from the gym. He had worn his favorite pair of shoes. They were so comfortable to wear even at gym sessions. They were still doing an amazing job of keeping his feet dry and smelling fresh. His shoes really reeked of foot odor while his feet were comfortable and smelling great. He had completely forgotten the guy's name if the guy even told him. He was just his shoes now. He had heard that a student had been missing for three weeks. HIs shoes might have been that guy. But since no one knows what he did, no one would be looking his direction. He could keep his shoes for as long as he wanted. There was no need to get rid of his favorite pair of sneakers.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Eddie Munson x fem!reader [6.2K] prompt: can I hold your hand? Shy Eddie, some yearning and fluff.

Eddie Munson wasn’t quiet. No. 

He wasn’t reserved, he wasn’t timid, he certainly didn’t let anything or anyone make him shrink. He was bold, brash, loud, dramatic and awfully, awfully charming about it all. He liked to garner attention, he liked to flirt, he liked to make himself known. 

No, Eddie Munson wasn’t shy by any means. 

Apart from around you. 

It started off subtle, little things that took you a while to cotton onto. On the days that Steve was busy, working overtime and unable to pick up Dustin and Mike from their club meetings, you’d linger outside the classroom door, listening to the pretty cadence of Eddie Munson’s dungeon master voice. 

You liked the lilt of it, the way he drawled out his script, his low tone dropping to a whisper before bursting out with a plot twist, the sounds of hands slamming on desks and groans and whoops from his enchanted audience. 

Then you heard the applause, the sounds of papers shuffling and chairs scraping against linoleum and you knocked once to be polite, opening the door to see the group of boys, and Erica, turning their heads to stare. 

Dustin waved, Mike smiled, Erica popped her gum at you and Eddie Munson stopped mid speech, big, brown eyes wide and his mouth in a pretty, pouty ‘o’. 

Silence fell over the hellfire table. 

You smiled, bright and warm, waving back to Dustin as you watched the kids gather their bags, sliding in their character sheets and murmuring their goodbyes to their friends. Eddie was still staring. 

The boy didn’t speak until you were ushering Mike out of the door, telling them that Lucas had finished basketball practice ten minutes ago and he’d be waiting by your car. Eddie cleared his throat as the room emptied, smiling shyly at you when you met his gaze, letting your eyes linger too long on his silver rings, the tattoos that peeled out from under his rolled sleeves, the curls that bounced in front of his pretty eyes. 

“Hi,” his voice was so much softer than the boom you’d heard from underneath the door, the one that had spoken about dragons and monsters and warlocks. “You’re not Steve.”

You grinned, looking up at him with more flirt than you’d intended and you watched him swallow hard, take a little step back and breathe out a stuttering breath that you probably weren’t supposed to hear. 

“I’m not,” you agreed, “Steve’s busy, got caught up at work but, uh, he said you wouldn’t mind if I gate crashed instead.” 

Eddie mentally cursed out his friend, unable to stop himself from looking downdowndown until his gaze found your bare thighs, the pretty light green sundress that skimmed the tops of them, your too clean sneakers toeing at the floor by his boots. 

Eddie Munson was fucking blushing. 

“I, uh— sure, yeah,” the boy winced, nose scrunched, eyes closed ‘cause oh my god, what was wrong with him?

But you laughed and it was a sweet noise, the prettiest sound Eddie had ever heard and suddenly he didn’t know what to say but he knew he’d go home that night and remember the smell of your perfume, something sweet like coconut and summer. 

But then Mike was shouting down the empty hall, Erica pulling at his bag as he complained and each huff echoed off of the locker lined walls and you were stepping backwards. 

You raised a hand in a small wave, smiling at the boy until you had to turn around to see where you were going and Eddie immediately missed the sight of your face. You were almost at the doors, all the way at the other end of the hallway and the boy was still standing, jaw slack, lips parted and eyes shining, watching you walk. 

And then as if he’d been hit over the back of the head, he snapped into action, voice breaking like a teenage boy as he called out. 

“Hey! Shit, uh—” Eddie winced when you turned, lips pressed together so it didn’t look like you were laughing at him. You waited, patient. “I, uh, fuck… what’s your name? I didn’t get your name.”

You grinned then, wide and easily, hands clasped behind your back as you stood, the setting summer sun lighting you up from the open doors behind you. Eddie thought you looked like an angel. 

You called back at the same volume, amusement and intrigue colouring your voice, telling the boy your name. You watched him mouth it back, trying out the syllables on his tongue, as if he was making sure it suited the shape of his lips. He must’ve decided it did, ‘cause he grinned, wide and pretty enough that you could see his dimples from even where you stood. 

“I’m Eddie,” he told you, arms folded a little shyly, one hand reaching to pull at his curls, hiding his grin behind them. 

Behind you, Dustin scrunched his features, bewildered. What was going on?

You smiled, ducked your head and nodded. You made sure you caught his stare as you looked straight at him, starting to back yourself towards the exit, the cool evening air hitting the tops of your thighs. 

“I know,” you told him, and god, Eddie looked shell shocked. 

—————

The second time you bumped into Eddie, it was at the grocery store and he knocked down an entire display of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup. 

You were pushing a cart with your headphones on, wire tangled around your wrist as you shoved strawberries and cherries into the trolley, leaning against it until your skirt rode up too high and you were in danger of flashing the entire store. 

You think that’s when it happened. 

‘Cause you were straightening up to the tinny sounds of Joan Jett when you heard a dull crash behind you, the noise sounding far away from the way guitars and drums filled your ears. But you pulled away one speaker to look around, brows furrowed and lips parting at the sight of Eddie Munson staring at you from the midst of chaos. 

Soup tins rolled down the aisle, some split open and creating a mess, puddles of noodles pooling at peoples feet. Steve Harrington was beside him, scolding the boy who wasn’t paying attention, a basket hanging from his arm. Mrs Collins, the town librarian, was scowling as she sidestepped a can or two, tutting at Eddie who was still standing there, motionless. 

You found his gaze, lifted a hand in greeting and smiled. 

It was awfully lovely the way he turned pink for you, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and doe like, blinking slowly as you moved towards him. The mess in the tiles and the tired store attendant with the mop stopped you from getting too close, but you grinned all the same. 

“Harrington,” you greeted first, familiar and warm. 

Steve huffed out a laugh at the way Eddie was staring, already well versed in the way the boy reacted to you, hearing all about your first meeting from Dustin who told him animatedly about how Eddie freaked out when he first saw you. 

Now, with chicken soup at his feet and a fumbling Eddie by his side, he was starting to think the younger boy hadn’t exaggerated all that much. So Steve grinned and greeted you in a similar fashion, nudging Eddie not so subtly to get him to say hi too. 

It was like Eddie suddenly realised what had happened and he blinked at the mess around him, toeing at a rogue can, sending it rolling down the other end of the store. The store assistant sighed and walked off with his mop but Eddie couldn’t really find it in himself to apologise, not right then, not he his throat felt too tight and his face was hot and you looked so pretty. 

“H-hi,” Eddie managed, hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets so he wouldn’t do anything else stupid, like take down the Gatorade stack.

“Causing trouble?” You grinned, stepping over a cream coloured puddle to gain some closeness, skirting around Eddie to avoid stepping into the mess. You left your cart sitting, played pretend and made out as if you really wanted that bag of trail mix that sat on the shelf behind the boy.

“Us?” Steve smirked, “never. Just… some of us are easily distracted, it would seem.”

Eddie let out a strangled noise, chin tucking down to hide his pink cheeks. He could feel the warmth from them, the same way he could feel your eyes on him. 

He didn’t say anything, he couldn’t say anything. Eddie wanted to hit Steve, a good, solid thump to the stomach because he felt like he was dying. He’d never felt that way before, so unbelievably shy and self conscious, unsure where to look, his stomach tumbling, his heart racing. It was wonderfully terrifying, made even worse by the way you looked, too pretty in another sundress - red this time - headphones blaring music he liked, dainty gold rings adorning almost all of your fingers. 

“We’re actually just grabbing some snacks,” Steve went on. “Movie night at Robin’s, d’you wanna join us?”

Eddie took it back, he didn’t wanna hit Steve, Eddie loved Steve. He held his breath as he finally looked at you, electricity buzzing over his skin when he realised you were already looking at him, a small smile on your face as you stood with one hip popped, the bracelets on your wrist singing as you swung your unwanted bag of trail mix. 

You pouted, genuinely disappointed that you had to say, “I’d love to but unfortunately I already have plans, thanks though.”

With another boy? Eddie wanted to ask. Did you have a boyfriend? A date? A girlfriend? Both? His head was swimming. 

Steve tsked, feigning dramatic disappointment to get you to smile and it worked and Eddie hated it. That’s something he would’ve normally done, a whole thing of clutching his heart as if you’d broken it with your soft rejection, anything to get you to smile at him like that. 

“Another time, then,” Steve told you and he slapped Eddie’s shoulder, a hand on leather. “Eddie’s hosting next week, horror night at his place. You should swing by, make sure he doesn’t scare himself stupid.”

You let out a soft laugh and Eddie swore he felt himself melt. He matched the sound, albeit a little more nervous than you, nose scrunching because he didn’t know what to say. 

Steve was starting to think he was playing wingman for a boy who'd forgotten how to function. 

“D’you need someone to hold your hand, Eddie?” You teased gently and the irony wasn’t lost on you because the boy was so much taller and wilder looking than you were, all leather and silver chains to your floaty, short dresses and his T-shirt today had a sun bleached print of Chucky on it. 

Eddie stumbled and stammered and after a swift pinch to his ribs from Steve he nodded, heart stuttering and stalling when you grinned wide and bright. Oh, holy shit.

You turned then, stepping back over the wet tiles and grabbing your cart, dumping in the bag of nuts and dried fruit with a small laugh only you could hear before turning to wave at the two boys. 

“I’ll see you both next week then,” you confirmed. You made sure to smile right at Eddie, not missing the way his gaze skimmed over all of you, the highs of his cheeks flushed. “You know, just to make sure Eddie’s looked after.”

And then you winked. 

You’d barely disappeared around the end of the aisle before Eddie groaned out loud and clutched at Steve’s t-shirt, trying his hardest not to drop to his goddamn knees in the middle of the grocery store. 

“What the fuck was that?” Steve choked out, holding back the laugh he wanted to release since Eddie first went into the tower of cans. “Where did your social skills go, hot shot?”

Eddie just shrugged, his head resting on his friend's shoulder. “I think I’m in love,” he replied mournfully. 

—————

Low and behold, you actually did come to the next movie night. 

Steve didn’t tell Eddie until the darker haired boy was setting up the movie, glancing at the time on the VCR and looking back at him questioningly. 

“Where’s Nancy and Jonathan? They’re never fuckin’ late.”

Robin was already sprawled out on the sofa, legs pushed underneath the pillow from Eddie’s bed that she had a habit of stealing. He missed the way she smirked, the way her eyes flickered to Steve’s and how they shared a look.

But Steve didn’t miss a beat, sounding cool, calm and completely normal when he replied, “oh, they’re picking up your friend.”

Now, Eddie wasn’t Hawkins' most popular guy. In fact, he could count on two hands the friends he had that were over the age of eighteen and most of them were already here. 

From the floor below Robin, busying themselves with the pizza boxes, Gareth and Jeff were laughing, eyes on food as they ignored Eddie’s glare. He looked panicked. 

And when he caught Steve’s eye and he watched how his friend smirked and shrugged, Eddie knew exactly who he was referring to. 

He whispered your name, each letter of it getting stuck in his throat and god, was he sweating? He felt too warm. “She’s coming? She’s coming here? Now?”

No one had a chance to respond before Eddie was on his feet, spinning in a circle, once, twice, before he made a noise that nobody could really discern. And then he was off, video tape only half way into the machine and the other movie boxes littering the living room floor, but Eddie didn’t seem to care as he disappeared into his room. 

There was a thump, a thud, a curse and what sounded awfully like a quick prayer. 

“Eds?” Robin called out from the couch. She looked concerned. “You okay?”

The girl only received a yelp in response and when Eddie reappeared he was in different clothes, his shorts swapped for cotton sweatpants, grey and almost new looking, free of ink stains. And his new shirt didn’t have any holes in the collar and the band logo on the front was less faded than his other choices. 

If he was breathing funny, nobody decided to comment on it. 

Eddie was combing his fingers through his curls, grunting at each tug whilst he kicked stray guitar picks and old notebooks under the sofa, pulling at Robin’s leg until she fell off with a whine, fluffing up the cushions she’d squished. 

Steve was staring, Gareth was confused and suddenly, there were tires on gravel and the groan of Jonathan’s unreliable car engine. 

“Oh my god,” Eddie whispered. 

And then you were in his trailer, walking in behind Nancy with a four pack of Eddie’s favourite beer in one hand and a bag of gummy bears in the other. You were in another dress, Eddie immediately noticed, a longer one this time, the black button down material reaching your ankles and when you moved, there was a split up the side that showed a ridiculous amount of leg. 

“Oh my fucking god,” Eddie mouthed again, staring at Steve with wide eyes before watching how you moved so easily into his small kitchen, smiling at Nancy when the girl showed you where to place the stuff you’d brought. 

You were in front of him as the room buzzed with conversation and semi serious arguments about pizza toppings and snack choices, Jonathan taking over VCR duties as he knelt in front of the television. Everyone was decidedly not looking at you and Eddie. 

You smiled, that same lovely smile you always seemed to save for him and Eddie huffed out a nervous breath. 

“Hey,” you greeted softly, holding out the pack of beers, giving them a little wiggle. “Nancy said you liked this kind.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to,” Eddie exclaimed, but he took the bottles from your hands, cheeks pink when your fingers brushed and suddenly the trailer had never been smaller and he swore all he could smell was your perfume. “But, uh, thank you. Can I get you a drink?”

And then just like that, the lights were off and everyone was squished onto the sofas and armchairs, pizza boxes on the floor and everyone had glass of something fizzy or alcohol. The room smelled like popcorn, the TV buzzed with static and everyone eventually settled when the opening credits for Poltergeist started to play. 

Eddie really wasn’t sure how it happened, how you managed to end up next to him, both of you in the armchair that usually only sat one person, but the boy was certain it had something to do with Steve jostling and a Robin insisting there was absolutely no room elsewhere. 

Eddie felt like he couldn’t breathe, he could feel you against him, all soft curves and softer skin, thigh pressed to his and you slipped your sneakers off and tucked your legs into your chest. Eddie’s curls tickled your neck and you smell his cologne, peppery and woodsy, smoke and something sweet and god, he was looking at you with eyes that were big and bright, even in the low light of the TV. 

He was chewing on his bottom lip, gaze barely focusing and when you shifted slightly and your dress fell open a little, exposing the length of your calf and your knee, Eddie let out a choked sound and tried not to stare. But then the clown was putting his arms around little Robbie’s neck and pulling him under the bed and it seemed like the perfect excuse to move a little closer and hold out your hand, palm up. 

“Can I hold your hand?” You whispered to the boy, so close that your nose brushed his shoulder. You smiled when you heard his breath hitch, wiggling your fingers once, twice as Eddie looked down at the way your rings glinted, gold to his silver. “I forgot how creepy this movie is.”

It took the boy a second and he could’ve sworn he had a full audience of friends staring at him in the dark, but he smiled soft when he brought his hand to yours, marvelling at the size difference when you pushed your fingers between his. He sat for the rest of the night like that, your joined hands resting against your knees and Eddie didn’t have any concept of time or reality. 

All he knew was you, the touch of you, the smell of you, the solid, warm weight of you leaning into his side in the dark and god, his stomach flipped and his heart raced when you played with his fingers, toyed with each of his rings, spinning the metal around each digit. 

It felt like he was free falling, head spinning, chest aching. And then the movie was over and someone flicked the lights on and you stopped touching him - it was awful, the way you let go of his hand, but you were looking over at him with the sweetest kind of smile and suddenly Eddie didn’t want to ever be away from you, heart palpitations be damned.  

—————

Eddie hadn’t been working in the record store all that long. But he enjoyed the calm, the low lights, the way he got to choose the music. He especially liked the way you dropped in from time to time, leaning over the counter to invade his space, perfume and the smell of sunscreen taking over everything. 

He never got much done during those shifts, the usual customers going mostly ignored as you hopped onto the cash desk, dress hiked, legs swinging, smiling just for him. Eddie had gotten a little more used to your presence, the way you liked to lean into him, the way you liked to brush a hand over his arm when he listened to you talk. 

You liked the way he still went pink for you, pretty lips parting when you traced a finger over the tattoos you were sometimes lucky to see peeking out from under his shirt sleeves. And when the day turned to evening and you were still there, keeping him company through a slow, slow day, Eddie got brave and leaned in close to where you sat, forearms brushing against your thighs and you hummed thoughtfully at the close contact.  

You reached for a pen, a black biro that you twirled between finger and thumb and you tapped at Eddie’s wrist, grinning when he looked at you raised brows. 

“Can I help you?” He murmured. 

“Maybe,” you replied sweetly. “Gimme.”

You wiggled your fingers at his arm, pulling at his hand until he relented (easily and quickly) letting you rest it in your lap. Eddie swallowed hard, a small noise coming from his throat that he quickly coughed away, trying his best to ignore how his arm was touching your bare thigh. 

You seemed to favour dresses around him, any length, all colours but always pretty and this one was short and tight at your waist, flaring out with cute little daisies adorning the fabric. 

Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off of it. 

“What’re you up to, trouble?”

The nickname was still fairly new and it felt soft and sweet on Eddie’s tongue and the boy loved how it made you grin, preening a little as if it was the highest compliment he could give you. Maybe it was; a true testament to the havoc you played on his heart rate. 

“Giving you a new tattoo, Teddy.”

That nickname was new too. It started out as a tease, a joke when he’d appeared at the diner one night late, the rest of the party half way through their burgers ‘cause Eddie had had a nap that turned into a small coma. His curls had still been messy and sleep mussed, his usual leather jacket replaced with a hoodie that was too large and awfully soft looking, a tan colour that made his eyes look like sticky honey. 

And thus, Teddy slipped from your lips over strawberry milkshakes and as the rest of the group howled with laughter, the boy in question turned the prettiest shade of pink. But his boots knocked against your sneakers under the table and when he looked at you with a smile that was all bitten lips and dimpled cheeks, you knew he really didn’t mind it at all.  

It still made him blush though, especially when you called him it all alone. ‘Cause you said it in a voice that was so much softer and sweeter, like you were saying it just for him. 

Eddie stayed impossibly still, more still than he’d ever been, just for you. You’d pulled him even closer, heads bent together, his curls brushing at your cheek as you carefully drew out your design. Eddie hugged out a quiet laugh when he realised what you were doodling, the dark, thin lines tickling at the inside of his forearm. 

But let you keep going, lips twisted into a fond smile and he wondered how he could keep the pen marks there forever, whilst simultaneously planning all the ways he could hide it from Steve and the other guys. They all laughed at Eddie when it came to you; the way you could make him flush, the way you could calm him down and make him softer and quieter. They all told Eddie he was whipped and well, the boy never argued. 

“There,” you whispered and Eddie could hear the smile in your voice despite the way he couldn’t see your face from the way you were still curled into him. “All done.”

You moved back, only slightly, back straightening and bracelets jingling as you took Eddie’s hand in your own and moved his arm under one of the dim lights. The little black lined teddy bear shone a little wetly under the glow, floppy limbed and one ear a little smaller than the other. 

You grinned, no, you beamed and Eddie’s heart stuttered and stopped at the sight. Your touch was so warm, hot against his skin and the boy was so sure that he’d never, ever get used to it. 

He grinned, tucking his lips between his teeth to try and control it, all flushed and pretty in the way he lit up for you. He knocked his shoulder to yours, curls tickling your bare shoulders. 

“Well shit, sweetheart,” Eddie whispered. “If that isn’t my new favourite tattoo.”

—————

It had been well over a month and Eddie Munson still hadn’t kissed you. 

You didn’t want to sound dramatic, but it was really ruining your life. Maybe not ruining it, but it was definitely making things difficult. ‘Cause more often than not, you spent time with Eddie alone and the boy still blushed when you smiled at him, tripped over his own feet when you let your dresses stretch up too high on your thighs and god, god, he let his gaze roam everywhere when he thought you weren’t looking. 

The air was a little thicker, heavier, warmer, when Eddie Munson was around. 

And now, you were in his bedroom, somewhere you’d started spending more and more time in. It had become easier to slip your shoes off and laze on his bed, always on top of the sheets and you always had to pay the space beside you before Eddie let himself fall down onto the mattress too. 

Music was playing, soft and fuzzy with static ‘cause the summer outside was a little too hot and the heat was fucking with the generator. Eddie was sprawled out beside you, his white t-shirt so threadbare and stretched out you could see the ink on his chest underneath. The day was warm enough for Eddie to pull his hair back, messy curls pulled into a haphazard bun, loose strands falling into his eyes as he pulled his rolling tray towards him. 

He was too busy licking a neat stripe along the paper to notice the way you were pushing yourself to your knees, head tilted to the side as you carefully studied the boy. He was painfully pretty, soft eyes, softer lips and all strong lines along his jaw, his nose, the slant of his high cheekbones. 

If you wanted to do this, you were going to have to do it soon. ‘Cause you wanted to be sober for this, Eddie too, and the boy was ready to slip the joint between his lips to light it and pass it to you. 

So you cleared your throat and tried not to fall off the bed when Eddie’s head shot up and he gasped at how close you were. The joint fell to the bed, forgotten and Eddie blinked, lips parted as he tried to not freak the fuck out. 

You had a new dress on, white with tiny cherries printed all over it, thin straps holding it up and Eddie had groaned at the sight of it when you first appeared at the van door. 

You were so, so close. You could count the freckles on Eddie’s cheeks, the tiny ones that dotted across the bridge of his nose and the more you looked, the more the boy blushed. You watched his skin turn rosy, brown eyes blinking at you, messy curls slipping out of the purple hair tie he most definitely stole from your wrist last week. 

“Wha—?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Silence. Shock and silence and awe and a painfully long pause. Eddie wondered if his heart was still beating. 

You sighed, pushed yourself a little closer still, knees pressed the mattress and when Eddie didn’t pull away, you let your hands rest on his knees and your gaze met his. 

“Do you not want to kiss me?” You asked and you were surprised at how brave you sounded, not a hint of shyness left in your voice and maybe that’s because you’d been so fucking sure that Eddie liked you. 

Like, liked you, liked you. 

Steve had said so. So had Dustin. Even Robin winked and smirked at you when Eddie entered the room. 

“It’s okay if you don’t,” you assured him softly, lip tucked between your teeth. You bit down on the skin there and huffed out a breath when Eddie’s gaze zeroed in on the way your tongue peeked out afterwards to soothe the sting. “I just— I just thought you wanted to.”

Eddie didn’t say anything, he just gasped at you for a second or two - although it felt like hours - pink lips pouted and his jaw slack.  He looked too pretty; genuinely, heartbreakingly pretty, with his tied up curls and flushed cheeks and the stretched out collar of his shirt that showed of skin and ink and freckles—

“I do, fuck, no, yeah— I do.”

The rejection that was curling into your stomach retreated and your head snapped back up. You stared at him, replaying his stuttering, stumbling words and you watched as the boy sucked in a deep, ragged breath. Then his wide hand was cupping your cheek, guitar string callouses rough against your jaw, fingers slipping your hair and he was pulling you forward as he moved in andandand—

The bed protested under your knees and Eddie’s, both of you colliding in the softest way possible. You met in the middle, you a little taller than the boy, ‘cause at the eleventh hour you’d gotten too impatient and pushed yourself up so you could grab at his face too. 

He was rough stubble underneath your palms, pliant for you, willing to go wherever you moved him to and he titled his head when you moved in and down, cheeks a pretty rose colour and his eyes fluttered shut when your lips touched his. 

Eddie was hesitant at first, just for a second or two, both of you adjusting to the feel of a new mouth against your own. But his lips were warm and soft and they tasted like smoke and the lemonade he’d been drinking, tart and sweet and like the summer outside. 

And you pushed yourself against him a little bit harder, one thumb stroking over the apple of a cheek and you let your bottom lip slip between his own. Eddie groaned then, a wicked sound, dirty and low and you felt it vibrate through his chest and yours. It made you squeeze your eyes shut a little tighter, made your breath catch in your throat and want to test the waters a little more.  

You let your tongue peek out, a slow, soft slide against the seam of his lips and he parted then for you with another pretty sound, a whimper that had your toes curling and without much warning, his hand dropped from your jaw to catch at your waist and you were being tugged onto his lap. 

You knew your dress was hitched up a little too high to be decent, but you didn’t really care. You gasped out at the contact, Eddie’s fingers gripping you on the edge of too tight, your legs splayed out over his thighs as he kissed you back with so much wanting that you thought you’d cry. 

It turned a little messy, a little desperate, tongues sliding, lips parted over each other as you both made dirty, little sounds they had both of your hips rocking towards each other. Your hands grabbed at the back of the boy's head and you whined at the curls that were tied away from your fingers, so you scratched at the nape of his neck instead, almost - almost - too rough, making the boy shudder and groan underneath you. 

And when you both pulled away for air, Eddie was all shades of pink, flushed cheeks, lips kiss bitten and rosy, pouty and a little swollen from where you’d been loving on him. His eyes were glassy, glazed over, jaw slack and the muscle there ticked once, twice when you pushed yourself further into his lap. His hands flew to your thighs, bare and almost too exposed, fingers curling around the doughy skin and you weren’t sure if he wanted you to stop or keep going. 

You were both panting, chests heaving and everything glittered now that Eddie Munson had finally kissed you. Dust motes sparkled in the sunlight that came through the gap in the curtains, the shades drawn to trap out the heat but my god, you were burning. 

And it was like you couldn’t help yourself, couldn’t keep your lips off of him now that you’d started and you leaned back in, hearing the way his breath caught in his throat. It made you feel bold, powerful, reckless, it made you feel absolutely fucking wrecked. 

You mouthed over his jawline, the sharp line of it covered by a rough stubble that hadn’t really been there that morning and Eddie moaned for you when you hit a little spot underneath his ear. You grinned, smiled against his skin and took the lobe between your teeth and nipped gently, sucked at it until he was fully shivering underneath you, grabbing at your thighs until you knew you’d have crescent moon shaped marks the next day. 

“Is that okay?” You asked him, voice impossibly soft, almost a little husky from the way he’d kissed you. “This alright, Teddy?”

His eyes almost rolled at the pet name, he couldn’t handle the sweetness of it, not with you in his lap with your pretty dress rucked up all indecently, your lips ghosting along the shell of his ear. 

But he nodded, weak, holding on for dear life when you sighed all prettily and kept up your touch. You kissed a line along his neck, mouthing and sucking at the strong column of his throat as his Adam’s apple bobbed under your lips. You kissed a bruise into the crook, where his neck met his shoulder and you sucked and bit down until it was the prettiest shade of lavender you’d ever seen. 

When you pulled back, Eddie’s eyes were closed, lips parted and breath coming out in harsh pants. It was almost unfair and you could feel him underneath you, impossibly hard, thick and twitching every time you moved against him. 

So you slowed it all down, softened yourself, your kisses a little sweeter as you peppered them across his face. His cheeks, the tip of his nose, the soft skin of his eyelids, bottom lip sweeping over his lashes. You kissed the corner of his mouth, his chin, his forehead and onto his hairline, messy curls tickling your cheek. 

And the whole time you whispered to him, soft, pretty words that had him sighing and gasping with each touch of your lips. It was all too good, too much, too nice and Eddie wasn’t sure what this meant yet but he never wanted it to fucking end. 

“So pretty, Teddy,” your hand dragged down the length of his bicep, lithe muscles wrapped underneath ink and soft skin. “You’re just so pretty, y’know that?” Your thumb swept over the faded outline of the bear drawing you’d penned on him a week or two before and you smiled, tucked your face into his neck. 

“So pretty when you blush for me,” you whispered and god, Eddie was trying his best not to lose it. “All pink ‘n cute.”

You held his chin in your grasp, finger and thumb pressed gently there to bring his mouth back to yours and he complied happily. He sighed into you, sweet kisses turning into another slow, lazy make out session, the dirty flick of his tongue against yours making you squeeze your thighs over his. 

“Shy boy,” you murmured against his lips. “Or so I thought,” you hugged out a laugh when one brave hand moved from your thigh to your hip, brushing the curve of your ass underneath the fabric of your dress. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” Eddie groaned, forehead falling to rest against yours. “Babe, baby—”

You whined at that, let him push his mouth back to yours so he could kiss you again and it went on like that all afternoon, until the blue sky turned into a deep violet, until the stars blinked and Eddie had you pressed into his pillows, kissing his own line down your throat. It was dizzying, the way he nudged the strap of your dress out of his way with his nose, hands never leaving your sides, your hips, the dough of your ass. 

And when it all got too much and you both got too close to going too far, too quick, you slowed it back down with soft kisses and lazy touches. You were nose to nose on his messy bed, one of your legs hitched over his hip as he held you close and you were smiling, cheeks sore, eyes bright kinda smile. 

“Shy boy,” you told him again, nose scrunching when Eddie grinned at you and kissed it. He was still the prettiest shade of pink, but god, you’d never get tired of it. “My boy.”

[johnsmithforstupidstuff]

Must suck

“That’s what you get, Mike. Becoming my sneakers right before the start of summer must suck! You always complained about my smelly shoes, now you get to be them,” laughed Jake as he zapped Mike with the transformation gun.

Mike felt his body twist and shrink until he was nothing more than Jake’s worn-out sneakers. The stench was rancid and overwhelming, far worse than he had ever imagined.

Jake slipped his feet into the newly transformed sneakers. “This week is going to be the hottest of the year. I hope you don’t mind, actually, I don’t really care!”

Every step Jake took was torture for Mike. The sweat, the pressure, and the heat were unbearable. Jake ran, jumped, and deliberately stomped on the ground hard, furthering Mike’s silent suffering.

Days turned into weeks and months, and Jake wore the same socks, ensuring maximum discomfort. By the end of summer, the shoes were filthy and reeked horribly, but as the trainers were switched for winter boots and instead of being freed from his torment Mike found himself in a plastic bag in Jake’s closet, ready to be used the following summer.

[pinksturniolo]

Robbers - A Chris Sturniolo One Shot (AU)

Chris Sturniolo x Fem Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend Chris Sturniolo is a part of The Disciples, one of the most notorious Portuguese gangs in Boston. For the past year and a half, you’ve witnessed him take part in the most dangerous crimes. But what happens when one day, you're forced to participate with him? You know it’s extremely toxic and goes against all your morals. Despite that, you just can’t help the way you love him, the way you would do anything for him. Even rob a gas station.

Content Warnings: smut, raw penetration, fingering, oral, themes of criminal activity and violence, mentions of shooting, guns, and blood. descriptions of gunshot wounds, gun play, drugs and drug use, smoking, use of alcohol, murder, robbery, toxic relationship

a/n: I do not condone any actions in this story or promote gun violence. I do not intend in any way shape or form to offend anyone. This is one is a little dark and has a lot of mature themes as well as a gun kink, which can be uncomfortable for people. Please only read what you can handle. <3

word count: 6,452 (!!!!) ik it's long but pls read it all, i spent a lot of time on this one.

Watch this music video before reading, just trust me: The 1975 - Robbers (Official Video) (Explicit) (youtube.com)

Fall 2025

You drop your cigarette to the ground, your sneaker snuffing out the cherry as you crush it against the wet concrete. There’s a light drizzle tonight, temperatures dipping as early September arrives in the city of Boston.

You sigh, leaning your head against the brick wall and tucking your hands into the hoodie of your pocket. What’s taking him so long?

Your boyfriend had been inside the house for 30 minutes now and it was making you nervous. Each time you went with him to these types of jobs, you were scared. You would never let him see that, but you were always worried something bad was going to happen.  

Granted, he knew how to take care of himself perfectly fine, but it was the other people he was meeting up with you didn’t trust. You were constantly on edge every time you would wait for him, anxious whether he would come back to you alive.

He didn’t like the idea of you coming along with him at first, but when you convinced him it didn’t make a difference whether you stayed home and waited for him or if you came along, he eventually gave in, making you take a gun with you just in case you needed to use it.

He had taken his time to teach you how to hold and shoot it properly, making sure you wouldn’t fuck up and accidentally shoot yourself. He taught you a lot of things, like how to throw a good punch without breaking your hand, how to roll a blunt the right way, how to steal from the liquor store without getting caught.

You met Chris almost a year and a half ago now, at a mansion party one of your friends had dragged you to one night. She begged you to go, saying her friend Jonah there knew a guy, who knew a guy, that knew this one guy that had the best weed in the city.

She failed to mention this guy was a member of The Disciples. His name was Chris Sturniolo and he was known to beat up anyone who crossed him. You had heard rumors before about him, he sold a lot of drugs, and he didn’t fuck around when it came to his money.

So naturally, you were a little intimidated when you were introduced, sitting next to him on the large plush white couch. His friends sat around him, smoking and talking amongst themselves, and you noticed the looks they gave you and your friend. You definitely stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Hi, I’m Layla, my friend Jonah said you could get me some K2.” Your friend said, like she had done this a thousand times before.

“What’s up Layla. Who’s your friend?” Chris asked, looking straight to you.

You fought the urge to shrink into the couch, his piercing gaze burning into you. His long hair stuck out from his beanie, smoke filtering through his nose as he inhaled the joint he was puffing on.

“Uh, this is Y/N.” She replies, looking at you hesitantly. “She’s a little shy.”

You smiled awkwardly, the look in his eyes still making you squirm in your seat.

“You look too good to be here, mama.” he says, grabbing a baggie from his pocket, handing it to Layla. She takes it, getting the money from her pocket to give in return but he simply shakes his head. “Keep it.”

She looks shocked, looking at you again and you shrug, unsure why this drug dealer is giving you both a free pass. His eyes haven’t left you, looking you up and down without shame. You feel like he’s undressing you with his eyes but the longer you make eye contact with him, you don’t feel uncomfortable. You feel curious, like there’s a magnetic pull in between you two.

“Want a taste?” he asks, motioning with his head for you to come closer, holding out the joint for you to try.

You hesitate for a few seconds before you scoot closer to him on the couch, your thigh now brushing his. He smirks and holds the joint close to your mouth as you close the gap, leaning forward a little to wrap your lips around it, slightly touching his fingertips.

You take a small hit, inhaling the smoke into your lungs as you lean back into place, his eyes on your mouth as you exhale.

Your friend Laya feels the obvious tension that’s now in the room, watching the interaction between you two. “I’m gonna go find Jonah.” She says to you, and you simply nod, never breaking eye contact with Chris.

The loud music of the party vibrates through the room, making it hard to hear but you don’t need to exchange words to know what you both are thinking. He takes another hit, holding the smoke in his mouth as he leans even closer to you, placing a hand on your jaw, silently telling you to open your mouth. When you do, he hovers his lips over yours, blowing the smoke into your mouth and you inhale, holding it for a few seconds until you blow it out.

He then moves his head down, placing a single soft kiss on your neck, directly under your jaw and whispers in your ear, “Meet me in the bathroom.”

Needless to say, you’ve been attached to each other since that night, a whirlwind romance from the start.

Chris finally comes around the side of the house, backpack around his shoulder. You sigh in relief, and he smiles when he sees you, putting an arm around your waist as you walk next to him towards the car. “Worried about me, baby?” He teases, opening the passenger side door for you.

“Always.” You reply and he closes the door, walking around to get into the driver’s seat, throwing the bag in the back. He takes off, one hand on the steering wheel and the other rests on your thigh. You can’t help but notice something a little off about him though. He’s not very talkative like he usually is, and his hand grips the wheel a little too hard, his body tense.

“Chris, what happened in there? Why did it take so long?” You ask, looking at him until he finally makes eye contact with you. And what you see makes your stomach turn because you see an emotion across his face that you’ve never seen before.

Fear.

He licks his lips nervously, looking back to the road. He knows that you noticed. “We’ll talk once we get back to the house, okay?” he replied, giving a reassuring squeeze on your thigh.

You were only about 10 or 15 minutes away, but you had a strong feeling that something was really wrong. “Don’t bullshit me. Tell me now.” You demand. He looks at you, not liking the tone of your voice. “Please.” You add a little softer and he sighs, knowing that you wouldn’t let it go that easily.

“The deal went fine. Jason seemed to be satisfied with the profit from last month. But he wants me to do a job next weekend…” He starts, looking more nervous by the minute.

“Okay? What job?” You pry, not understanding what was wrong. Jason is Chris’s “boss” and usually gives the orders on what to do. He also supplies Chris with all the drugs he needs to sell, cutting him in on half the earnings. Which is considered generous in his line of work. As long as Chris does whatever he asks.

“He wants me to hit a gas station. The one on the corner of South Street. But it’s not just any old gas station. It’s a front for a drug spot and they’re stealing a lot of our customers. So, I gotta bust it. But Jason doesn’t want anyone dead, he’s gonna have some of his guys go in after I’m done and take them to the warehouse. I just gotta get away with the cash and drugs.” He explains.

“By yourself? What about Tommy?” You ask. Tommy was one of Chris’s partners and usually went on jobs like these with him.

Chris stays silent for a few minutes, his eyes focused on the road. He makes a left turn, both hands on the wheel now. The streetlights passing cast a yellow tinted light into the car, and you can see whatever internal struggle is going through his head right now on his face.

“Chris?” You say quietly, leaning forward to try and get him to look at you.

He doesn’t though, his jaw clenching and hands tightening on the wheel.

“Not by myself… He wants me to bring you.” he finally says quietly.

You’re unsure of what to say, not really processing what he’s telling you.

“What do you mean? Bring me with you to the job? Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?” You ask, utterly confused about what’s going on.

“I mean he wants you to do the job with me. Be my partner.” He replies, now pulling into the driveway of his house and putting the car in park. Now he turns to fully face you and his expression is a mix of anger and regret.

“Ever since you started tagging along with me, Jason hasn’t liked it. He says this work is no place for a woman. I really don’t give a fuck about what he says, I never have. I’m not stupid, I know I’m risking a lot by even having you around someone like me. But I told you from the start, I will always protect you. Nothing and no one is gonna lay a fucking finger on you.” He says, his hand coming up to stroke your face.

You grab his wrist, holding his hand there. “Hold on- he wants me to help you rob the gas station?” You ask, your heart racing as you now understand what Chris means. You knew Jason never liked you, you got a dark vibe from him the few times you had been around him. In fact, you don’t think he liked anybody. Chris told you many stories of how ruthless he could be.

“Baby, you’re not doing anything he says okay? I’ll take care of it.” He said, the tone in his voice making it clear he doesn’t want to discuss this any further.

Before you can question him more, he gets out of the car and comes around to open your door, helping you out and closing it behind you as you both walk into the house and upstairs to his room.

He takes off his hoodie and shirt, and turns on the shower, letting the water run so it can warm up.

“Chris… If I don’t go with you, who’s going to?” You ask, the gears turning in your head.

He shakes his head, looking at you with an unreadable expression. “No one.”

You furrow your brows in confusion, still not grasping the big picture here. “You can’t go by yourself. That would be too dangerous.” You speak.

“Y/N, please stop. We’re not talking about this anymore, okay? I’ve told you enough already.” He replies shortly, taking off his jewelry and setting it on the bedside table.

“Just answer me one thing.” You continue, determined to get the full story. “What happens if you go against what Jason says and do the job by yourself?”

Chris doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even look at you. You know that you probably pissed him off now by pressing him for answers, but you didn’t care. You deserved to know the full situation. If he was in danger, you needed to know.

A few minutes go by, steam starting to fill the room from the shower. He simply sits at the edge of the bed with his back to you, running a hand through his hair.

“Chris. What are you not telling me?” You say, your voice slightly rising and there’s a hint of desperation as the pit in your stomach grows. There was something completely off here.

“Fuck.” You hear him silently curse before he finally tells you. “If I don’t make you do the job with me, I’m dead. It’s his sick fucking way of showing his power over me. He knows that I won’t put you in danger. So, he’s using my life as leverage.” His head is now turned slightly towards you, staring at the spot on the bed next to you. He’s afraid to look you in the eyes.

You’re speechless as he gets up and goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Tears fill your eyes, and you feel sick to your stomach. It seems you’re now faced with an impossible choice.

Either risk your life and freedom to commit armed robbery or have Chris murdered by his sadistic gang boss.

When Chris finally comes out of the bathroom, you’ve created a lake of tears on your pillow from crying so hard. You’re extremely upset with him for dropping that bomb on you and just leaving you there in shock. But honestly, you probably would’ve just argued with him till your lungs gave out and maybe it was a good thing he left you alone to process.

You know Chris too well to know that he’s made his mind up about the deal Jason has given him. He’s going to give up his life just so you don’t have to risk yours. But you’ve just as equally made up your mind as well. There’s no fucking way you’re letting Chris go by himself on that job.

“Baby… I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” He says, getting in bed next to you. You’re faced away from him and he lays close to you, snaking his arm around your waist and pressing kisses to your shoulder. “I know thisis fucking crazy, okay? But I couldn’t keep it from you. Don’t worry, okay? Everything’s going to be- “You cut him off, turning around abruptly to look at him.

“I’m going on that job with you. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you go alone.” You interrupt. His face is soft, obviously not taking you seriously and he brushes your hair back, letting his hand trail down to rest on your shoulder.

“Just get some rest, Y/N. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” he replies.

“No Chris, I’m serious. You’ve taught me how to take care of myself, right? And we have until next week, we can plan- “You start but he shakes his head, placing his hand back on your jaw, his thumb softly rubbing across your lips, stopping you from continuing.

“No. I don’t want you getting into this. This is not up for debate. This is dangerous now.” He says sternly.

You grab his hand from your face, a little roughly, now placing a hand on his neck, looking deeply in his eyes. “Do you really think I give a fuck about how dangerous this is? Chris, I’ve been by your side through a lot of shit. If we can just get through this job and do what Jason says, we’ll be fine. No one is dying, okay? I love you and you’re going to let me help you. And that’s the end of the discussion.” You tell him, a flicker of emotions crossing his face as you speak.

He doesn’t say anything. He simply wraps his arms around you, pulling him into you and you lay your head on his chest while you both drift off to sleep.

✰

It takes a few days for Chris to accept the fact you’ll be going on the job with him. He’s a little distant from you at first, angry with you for what you’ve decided but mostly just afraid of what will happen. Since he’s met you, he’s wanted nothing more than to keep you safe. He knows his lifestyle is not good for you, not good for anyone. And now that it’s come to this point of putting you directly in the line of danger, he’s scared shitless. And he wants to kill Jason for putting both of you in this position.

But he goes over the plan with you, making sure you know every step.

Tommy will drop off both of you across the street from the store, and once you get inside, you’ll only have 30 minutes to get in and out. You’ll hold the cashier at gunpoint while Chris goes in the back office where the drugs and money is supposed to be stashed.

There will probably be another guy back there, but he’ll take care of him. As soon as Chris is done, a couple of Jason’s men will come in and finish the job, taking the rivals to him, and you both can leave with Tommy. The gas station is only a few miles from the Disciples’ warehouse, so once you get there you can drop off the goodies and be done.

Easy, right?

Chris goes over the steps again at least a dozen times on the day before the job. You start to get irritated, and he notices, giving you a hard look as your eyes glaze over when he’s talking. “Y/N. Pay attention, please.” He says, as he unloads the bullets from his .45, taking it apart to clean it.

You roll your eyes and rest your chin in your hands from where you sit on the bed. “Chris, I know the plan already. Can we talk about something else now?” You whine, watching him as he puts the gun back together.

He smirks at the tone in your voice. “Just making sure, baby.” he replies.

You can’t help but stare at him as he puts the parts of the gun back together, his arms flexing with his movements, veins in his hands popping out. A pair of black sweatpants hangs lowly on his hips, his shirt is off, and his hair is messy from the nap you took together earlier.

Also, the little pink pill you popped with Chris about 20 minutes ago is starting to take effect as you feel a slight floating sensation in your body, your heart rate picking up just a little. The air around you becomes intensified and Chris looks over at you, noticing your longing stare.

“You good?” He asks, eyes travelling down your body to your bare legs hanging off the edge of his bed. The only thing you have on is an old t-shirt of his and your black panties.

“Mhm.” You nod, staring at the gun in his hands.

There was just something so hot about him holding it like that.

He walks over, now standing in front of you, and places a finger under your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him. Your eyes are glossy and low, and he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, admiring how pretty you look like this.

“You high baby?” He says lowly, and you reply with a nod of your head as he holds one side of your face in his hand, bringing the gun up to lightly stroke over the other side.

This causes a chill to run down your spine, wetness immediately pooling in your underwear. You’re not scared. You trust Chris completely, even if it was loaded.

He then lets it trail down further slowly, over your neck and between your breasts, dipping down your stomach to in between your thighs where he teasingly rubs it over your panties, bumping against your clit.

You sigh into his hand that’s gripping your jaw and his thumb slips into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around him, looking up into his eyes. His pupils are blown out, watching you get pleasure from his weapon between your legs.

You know its crazy but the sexual energy behind it turns you on more than anything.

He removes it suddenly, placing it on the bed and before you can whine in protest, he climbs on the mattress behind you, instructing you to scoot back so he rests against the pillows, and you sit in between his legs. There’s a large mirror in front of the bed and you lean back against his chest and watch while he trails his hands down your arms, and then your hips, resting on top of your thighs and squeezing.

Your head falls back as he places his lips on your neck, kissing softly and sucking at the skin there, leaving his mark on you. He massages your inner thighs, thumbs brushing close to where you need him the most.

“Don’t tease me.” You breathe, gripping his knee, one hand going up behind you to tug on his hair.

“What do you need, baby?” He mumbles into your neck, his hand now pressing over your underwear, palming your heat. You buck your hips slightly, pulling harder on his hair. He grunts into you, his other hand squeezing your waist. You feel his hardness growing, pressing into your ass.

“I need you. Please.” You whimper, your head resting against his shoulder. He gives into you, loving the way you beg for him, and dips his fingers into your underwear, slicking through your folds, arousal coating his fingers.

“So wet for me…” He rasps, rubbing your clit in slow, agonizing circles, making you melt into him. You moan out loud, sinking your teeth into his neck as he pushes your panties to the side now, and moves his fingers down to your entrance, pushing one in all the way to the knuckle and then pulling it all the way out, once again going back up to massage your clit.

He’s torturing you and you’re a mess beneath him, leaking out onto the sheets, squirming from the pleasure and he holds you down firmly. “Chris, please.” You beg, unsure what you’re trying to say as he has you in a state of bliss.

“Be a good girl for me.” He responds firmly, watching you in the mirror as he thrusts two fingers back inside you, stretching you out, wetness coating his hand. He moves at a faster pace now, curling as he pushes them deeper. He holds you tight, your head thrown back in ecstasy, puffing hot breaths against his neck, sweet moans filling his ear.

“Fuck, Chris, just like that.” You whine, feeling a familiar warmth in your abdomen build. He doesn’t stop, his thumb now circling your clit, his fingers hitting your g spot with each thrust.

“Look at me baby.” He demands and you lift your head up, making eye contact with him in the mirror, watching as he fucks you with his hand, your legs spread open for him.  

“I’m so close.” You moan, the sparks of pleasure he’s created spreading within you. You move your hips with each thrust of his fingers into you, Chris moaning with you as your ass repeatedly grinds back against him.

“Already, mama?” He teases, unable to hide the smugness from the fact he’s always able to make you finish quickly.

“Chris.” Is all you can manage as his fingers continue to slip in and out of you, pushing you to the edge.

“I know, baby, you’ve been so good for me. You can cum baby, cum on my fingers.” He praises, and his arm is around you, holding you as your body shakes, basically riding his hand at this point. Seconds later, you release the tension that’s been building, crying out loudly as warmth floods your body, thighs clenching and your juices releasing onto the sheets beneath you.

You’re extremely tired now, your body relaxing against him as he slowly moves from under you, getting up from the bed to grab a towel to clean you up.

He does so, rubbing your legs gently, brushing your hair back from your face as you lay against the pillows. He presses a kiss to your forehead, laying down next to you.

“Get some rest, baby.” he says quietly, cuddling close to you as your eyes grow heavy. “But Chris, don’t you want- “you start, knowing he needs to be attended to as well.

He shakes his head softly. “Not now, mama. Too stressed over tomorrow. Let’s just go to sleep.” He answers, and you sigh, wrapping your arms around him and falling asleep.

✰

It’s a dark, cold night in the city, no heat in the van as you sit in the back with Chris, pulling your hood up onto your head. You’re parked in the alleyway across from the gas station, hidden from anyone who might be out on the streets.

You bounce your leg in nervousness, feeling the hard metal of the gun in your hoodie pocket. He places a hand on your thigh, trying to calm you down. “You can still back out of this you know.” He says and you lace your fingers through his, shaking your head. “I’m fine. You’re not going in there alone. I’m just a little nervous.” You respond.

Tommy sits in the driver’s seat, smoking a cigarette and passes it to you. You take a drag, trying to calm your nerves down.

 “It’s okay, Y/N. 30 minutes, in and out, and we’ll be good, okay? Just remember the plan.” Chris reassures you, giving you a kiss before he pulls his ski mask on. He has a black long sleeve on and black pants, his gun tucked in his waistband.

You tie your bandana on, only your eyes visible, your hair tied back under your hoodie. “Come on.” He says, sliding the door open and helping you out. “Pull up when you see us come out.” He tells Tommy, who nods as Chris shuts the door.

He turns to you, his eyes soft and places his hands on your shoulders. “Last chance, baby. Are you sure you wanna do this?” He asks.

“Yes, I’m not bailing on you now. Please, let’s get this over with.” You say and he pulls you in, hugging you tightly before you both cross the street quickly.

It’s 1 am, the streetlights glow on the pavement, the open sign of the gas station blinking.

He gives you one last look before he pulls open the door, both of you raising your guns at the man standing at the register.

 There’s a pure look of shock and terror on his face as he raises his hands in the air. Your eyes scan the store, grateful to see nobody else inside. “Don’t make one fucking move!!” Chris screams at him as he moves toward the back door behind the counter.

You stand in front, keeping your gun aimed at his head. The man’s eyes flicker between you and Chris, his hands shake slightly. You feel bad for him but then remember how Chris told you he’s involved in one of their rival gangs and probably has done worse than you.

Chris kicks open the back door, and you watch as he disappears into the room, hearing him shout at one of the men that must be in there. You can’t make out what he says though and focus back on the clerk. You keep your expression blank as he stares at you, his arms still raised.

“Did Michael set me up?” He says and he flinches as you move your gun closer to him.

“Shut the fuck up.” You say, refusing to engage in conversation with him. You assume he must be referring to his boss, and he’s unaware that his operation has actually been busted by the Disciples.

As if he can read your mind, he speaks up again. “I just started this job. Michael hired me to run the register here, I had no idea what was going on in the back. I thought he only owned this place, I didn’t know who he really was.”

You furrow your brows in confusion at his words. Was he saying that he didn’t know his boss was actually a gang leader? You now realize he looks very young, like he could still be in high school.

You shake your head, your gun never wavering from your aim at him. “Stop fucking talking!!” You yell. For all you know, he could just be making this up, trying to mess with your head.

What was taking so long?

Chris was still in the back, and you couldn’t hear anything.

“Please, you gotta listen to me-“The clerk starts again but he’s interrupted by a gun shot popping off in the back, making you flinch and your heart instantly drop.

You panic and Chris suddenly runs out, large duffle bag on his shoulder, while you hear the man in the back scream, “Shoot him!” He sounds in pain and you get a glance of him on the floor, his leg bleeding and it’s obvious now that the gunshot was from Chris.

Before either of you can react, the clerk pulls a gun out from under the counter, aiming it at Chris.

It all happened in the blink of an eye.

Bam!

The sound of the gunshot rang out, making you lose your ability to hear for the next few seconds as you watched Chris go down, clutching his stomach in pain. Blood started to spill out on his hands, staining his shirt a crimson color. The gas station clerk was as shocked as you were, standing there frozen, gun still pointed.

You don’t know how or why, but you just knew you both wouldn’t get out alive from this if you didn’t do something.

So, you shot back, aiming for his shoulder. It hit him right where you intended as he doubled over immediately, screaming in pain.

You grab Chris who was still on the floor, helping him stand up. “Baby, come on. Please, we have to go now.” You plead. He grabs onto you, able to stand as you lead him out of the store.

He’s moving as fast as he possibly can, one arm around your shoulder, his other hand covering his wound. You see the van pull up on the other side of the street, your heart beating out of your chest.

You’re trying not to panic, looking up and down the street for any signs of police. There was hardly anyone out. Chris almost falls, shouting out in pain. “Fuck!” He yells and you stop him from falling.

You can barely hold him up, but you use all your strength to make it the last few steps to the van.

“I know baby, I’m so sorry. We’re almost there, Chris, just a few more feet. You can do it.” You say, and he’s shaking, still gripping onto you for dear life. You finally make it to the van, the door sliding open, Tommy helping you both in before he quickly shuts it and then hops back into the driver seat, taking off down the street.

“Holy shit, what the fuck happened in there?!” he says, looking at both of you with wide eyes.

“Shut the fuck up. I need to stop him from bleeding out. I’ll tell you later.” You snap, taking off your hoodie and wrapping it around Chris’s torso. You apply pressure, glancing at him.

He’s pale, breathing rapidly and panic in his eyes as he looks at you. You grab his face with your other hand, brushing his hair back. “It’s okay baby. Don’t worry. We’ll get back to the house soon and get you bandaged up, okay?” You reassure him, trying to keep yourself from crying.

He nods his head, grabbing your hand tightly as he winces in pain.

What the fuck did you just get yourself into? The many times you and Chris had gone over the plan, and it still didn’t go accordingly. Now Chris was wounded and the drugs and money you were supposed to retrieve still at the store. You’re not sure how you both are going to get out of this.

You tell Tommy to drop you guys off at Chris’s house instead of the warehouse. Once you get there, he helps you take Chris inside and you tell him to lay low for now, until Chris gives him the next order. He leaves, and you silently pray Jason doesn’t get to him before you guys decide what to do, or worse, get to Chris.

He’s lying on his back on the bed, and you put a pillow under his head, trying to make him comfortable. He winces in pain as you take your hoodie off from around his waist, his hands gripping the sheets harshly. You pull his shirt up. The bleeding is very little now but it’s all over his shirt and stomach, as well as your hands and you get clean, damp towels and bandages for him.

Luckily the bullet only grazed him, you notice as you clean him up, not seeing a deep wound.

You’re almost done putting the gauze and bandage on, making sure it’s tight as he looks at you, and grabs your arm, stroking it softly.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry mama.” He says weakly and you give him a soft smile. “Don’t be sorry. Just be glad we both got out alive. Are you okay?” You say and he nods. You help him pull his shirt off, his wound now clean and bandaged. You give him some water and a left-over Vicodin he had in his stash, hoping that will help with his pain.

You sit next to him on the bed now, running your hands across his chest and shoulders, his eyes closed at the feeling of your soft hands.

“Chris… what do we do now?” You ask, knowing you can’t avoid the inevitable.

He looks at you, his hand resting on your knee. “I never told you this, but I have an older brother who lives in Vermont. I’ve been thinking about going there for a while now… starting over with you.” He responds. “Would you go with me?”

“Baby… I would go anywhere with you.” You say and lean down to press your lips to his.

You kiss him softly, careful not to hurt him. You start to pull away, but he holds your face there, deepening the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. He moans at the contact, making you throb in your core, but you pull away, not wanting it to go any further.

“Chris. We can’t, you’re hurt right now.” You say but he shakes his head, pulling you back to him.

“I don’t care, I need you Y/N.” He replies and kisses you again. You give in, allowing him to mesh his tongue with yours again. You suck his bottom lip, nipping it lightly with your teeth and trail your hand down his chest, making sure to avoid the spot where his wound is, feeling his stomach tense under you.

He groans into your mouth as you palm over his crotch, already rock hard and straining through his jeans. “Fuck, mama. Don’t tease me.” He breathes, as you rub your hand back and forth over him, feeling yourself grow wet at the sound of his voice.

If it was any other instance, you would drag it on and make him beg for it like he does with you, but you didn’t want to do that to him right now.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna take care of you.” You say softly, unbuttoning his jeans as he lifts his hips, sliding them down his legs and removing his boxers.

His long, thick cock lays against his stomach and you grab it pressing a kiss to the tip and then letting a pool of saliva drip down him, coating him before you take him all the way down your throat, your nose brushing his pelvis. “Fuuuck…” He moans out, his hands holding your hair back from your face, pulling it into a ponytail.

You gag slightly, but quickly adjust to his size, bobbing your head up and down him. Your hands rest on his thighs, and you hum around him as he pulls a little on your hair, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip from the feeling of you taking all of him in your throat.

“Yes, baby, feels so good. You look so pretty with my dick in your mouth.” He groans, making you moan again and he’s gently bucking his hips up, already feeling himself close.

You continue for a few good minutes, pausing only to catch your breath, your hand jerking him up and down before he pulls you up, helping you remove your clothes as he gives you a needy look.

“Come here, please. I wanna cum inside you so bad.” He says and you waste no time, sinking down onto him, the pleasure making you both cry out. You lay on top of him, your hands in his hair and kiss his neck, starting to grind yourself down on him.

“Is this okay baby? You’re not hurting?” You check, making sure not to put too much pressure on his lower stomach.

“Fuck no. Don’t stop.” He replies, grabbing your hips and helping you ride him.

He’s moaning in your ear, and you continue sucking and kissing his neck, leaving hickeys on his skin. You clench around him, your hips rolling, the feeling of his tip kissing your g spot making you soak all over him.

It’s only a few minutes before you’re both panting and sweating, the sounds of your wetness and skin against skin filling the room, driving you both to the highest point of ecstasy.

“Shit- feels so fucking good mama. I wanna fill you up.” Chris says, his fingertips digging into you as he squeezes your waist, feeling his release building.

You moan his name, your head falling to his shoulder, fingers knotting in his hair as you continue to bounce on him. “Cum inside me baby, please.” You whimper, and you feel his hips stutter, rhythm becoming sloppy as he starts to release into you. Your orgasm hits as well and he moans loudly as you feel his cum paint your walls, your legs shaking.

You stay there for a little, Chris holding you as you both catch your breath before climbing off him.

You check his bandage, making sure it’s still on good and then grab one of Chris’s shirts throwing it on while he puts a clean pair of boxers on.

The early morning light is now shining through the bedroom window, and you both kiss lazily, exhausted from the events of the night. He holds you close and you try not to think of what will happen next, focusing on the feeling of his hands in your hair, gently massaging your scalp, while he whispers “I love you.”

a/n: omgggg this was a crazy, long one but i really hope you guys enjoyed it!!!! im almost at 100 followers thank you guys so much. pls leave me more messages i wanna know your thoughts!!🩷

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