#it wasn’t even cathartic

[buildoblivion]

tbh i’ve sobbed my way through loads of tv finales but tua was the first time i cried out of pure frustration

[rottenlittlefink]

Ngl it’s pretty uncanny how much of myself I see in Orel 😭 as an auDHD black girl back when it was still airing/showing reruns, hearing “I hate you Jesus, you rotten little fink” in ‘Innocence’ was honestly a canon event for me and my firsthand experience with being Directly Confronted with religious trauma induced moral ocd lmfao I silently cried for like a Week in my room cus I thought god was gonna kill me for coming across it lmfao

Another episode I caught as a kid was a rerun of “Offensiveness” and the part about eggs coming from “naughty lady places” rly stood out to me cus I was like okay… Im being seen… Go on… Cus u know how when u grow up in a Protestant Christian small town, then everyone thinks animals are inappropriate for like… having udders. And it was the first time i felt like I was given permission to question anything. Side note Miss Censordoll is literally why to this Day I cannot stand seeing anyone drinking raw eggs 😭

[comfymoth]

On that note, what were your thoughts on Coraline? Specially on that scene where the beldam counts down from 3 as she transforms into her true form.

Because to me, it made me realize that I love horror movies and their concepts, and what I didn't like of other specific transformation scenes was that they were... too real to me? Like they made me think about "if people could really be turned into animals how horrible would it be to leave every single thing you know about life behind and never get to do the human things you like and nobody knowing that something unnatural happened to you, they'd just see a weird dog or cow or chicken" and that was too terrifying of a thought to me

that specific scene didn’t really bother me the same way! i thought it was scary, sure, but that’s just because the beldam looks scary. a monster turning into a monster because they’ve always been one didn’t make me queasy the way other stuff did. she’s choosing to change shapes, no one else is making her, and it’s one she seems to like!

like you said, a part of it for me was being so upset at the idea of losing your original life and not being able to go back, being separated from people or just not being recognized at all. i really didn’t like the idea that it might be painful, or embarrassing, or that you could have absolutely no control over what was happening. the loss of control was HUGE for me.

in a weird way that’s probably what drew little kid me to werewolves though. because they do have to go through all of that, but in the end they can change back. and they don’t have to be alone because of it, you know, wolves are such social animals, it doesn’t have to be completely isolating. and also wolves are just fucking cool!!! so it was a way to explore all of that discomfort without it being so horribly overwhelming. it was cathartic!

and now i’m just Like This. so. haha. oops?

[rainbowsylvie]

Wouldn’t wanna be the victim of this guy

[tiaohai]

my sister told me that even she started listening to chappell roan and then i was just lamenting that i couldn’t see her live before she got so popular 😭😭😭 like recordings from that show i wanted to go to are still in small venues and stuff and it just seems so fun but like. god who knows if i’ll ever be able to see her perform again

[spacechampion]

vent

unenforced secrecy in my mind weighs heavy on my heart

i want to tell others how i feel, what i feel

but i think that part of me was built disjointed, misaligned.

i open my mouth, the words on the very tip of my tongue, near bursting from my lips with their desire to come forth.

yet my throat closes. it seals tight and i choke, unable to make a sound. i feel nauseous

“i’m really struggling with.” this conversation

no one has explicitly said to me im not allowed to talk about these things in my life, im in charge of myself at this point.

but it might get to ears that could use these feelings against me.

they could destroy me in ways that i’m not already unintentionally doing to myself

that paranoia shuts me up quick, tucking my heart back into my throat where it belongs. sealed in.

i know where the root of this anxiety stems,

a childhood of being told not to share, keep it safe, keep it in the house.

lest you be taken away from me, from us. don’t you trust your family darling?

my therapist keeps circling back on that issue, i’ve been annoyed by it lately.

we already talked about my childhood, you know the general idea; small family, tight knit.

we moved a lot. it was almost fun. it’s left me with the inability to keep any relationships healthy for more than a few years at best.

anyways

we’ve been over The Big Trauma Incidents before

i need to talk about my current problems.

yes i know they were bad and i downplay their seriousness each time i talk about them, but i have to or we won’t have the time for the new stuff!

i only get 45 minutes

maybe he has a point. it all grows together, ensnaring like vines around my jaded skull. creeping down my throat to join my heart in strangling me

a slow suffocation

i can’t talk about my feelings now, because i wasn’t able to talk about them then.

i suppose i should text him and schedule a follow up soon.

[corgielicious]

.

I don’t feel good when you ask questions like that. It implies fault. What other answer would make sense to “why is this so messy?”. “Why” means someone caused it and you wanna know who’s to blame. Feels like what you’re really saying, especially because you have explicitly actually said so before, is “You are a messy person” (and you should be ashamed of yourself). That’s so harsh and mean and not something within my control. I exist, therefore I create mess. I cook YOUR meals. Shop for YOUR groceries. Do YOUR thinking when you can’t decide what to eat or what snacks to buy. Do YOUR budgeting. Fold/put away YOUR laundry. Do YOUR planning. I listen to YOUR issues at work, etc etc. I have ONE “bad” week (day, honestly) and all of a sudden I have to play mental gymnastics to decide if it’s worth it to try to communicate, if I do communicate how should I. Do I need to explain, walk you through it, or will you get upset that I’m being annoying and “overreacting”? Do I just get to the point or will that set you off? Do I tell you that makes me feel like garbage or will you say I’m being dramatic and get upset? How do I communicate to you “hey, I feel like shit rn and that didn’t help” without you blowing a fuse? Just say it. How they react or read into it is their problem.

Does it even matter? Yes

I start arguing with myself when I type this out. Start invalidating myself and making excuses for others at the expense of my own self & self esteem. Stop doing that. That’s their problem.

Do I even matter? Yes

The moment I take myself into consideration, I just hear “selfish”, “entitled”, “dramatic”, “stupid”, “annoying”. Worthless except in the pursuit of pleasing or helping others. Your worth is not defined by your acts of service, or what you’re capable of or not, or what others can gain from you. That’s selfish on their part, if that’s how they see you. Your “worth” is in your existence.

Does anyone care about me as a person? Yes. As an individual? Yes. And if no one else, I do.

Whatever. I’ll just keep… being of service.. setting myself aside whenever necessary. Deny myself, my feelings, my hurt. And anyway, I’m just being dramatic, aren’t I? Stupid, selfish girl that I am. You’re not stupid, and a little drama every now and then is kinda warranted tbh… Maybe try slowly taking that energy of “being of service” and start turning it towards yourself? Your inner child or teen? If you feel you have to be that way, or that you can’t stop being helpful to others, start seeing yourself as “others”? Worth a shot at least, right?

[floral-hex]

weeks of pretty good hearing and I wake up from a nap with everything muffled. Maybe it’s all the stress lately, because lord knows there’s a lot of that. Maybe it’s the severe lack of sleep and excessive caffeine. Could be worse. Maybe. I’m trying not to think about it degrading any more. I still have no sure idea what my triggers are. Anyway, everything is feeling hopeless, so I took my last “emergency” klonopin and I’ve got a lasagna in the oven. That’ll help, right? Lasagna? Doctor’s prescribe that all the time.

[lusanchromchinnn]

Viago De Riva your Undiagnosed But Extremely Obvious OCD is fascinating and so so revealing of your character and motivations ohh my gosh. Like of course your obsession is poisons and being poisoned! I refuse to believe that growing up adjacent to the royal court wasn’t the driving force behind this because literally where else would someone hear so many stories of people succumbing to assassination by poison. I bet nobles were dropping like flies to the crows every day. I bet he saw his father’s food taster (we know he visited during Viago’s youth) and realised how truly possible it was to die from a bite of food. Bonus points if he actually witnessed a food taster keel over in front of him. Paranoia through the fucking roof as he researches poisons for years on end before he’s ever presented with the option of joining the crows. Maybe he only drank out of clear glasses he could hold up to the light. Maybe he insisted on preparing all of his own meals rather than let servants near his food, much to the chagrin of his mother. AND OH GOD HIS MOTHER.

We know she was an alcoholic, and that Viago hated her drinking, it scared him as a small child. But what if his mind won’t let him watch her sip a glass of wine without the image of it being her last. She could be a target as a mistress of the king, just as he is as a royal bastard. Perhaps he becomes the one who uncorks her bottles and pours her glass after glass, because he’d rather her drunk over dead. Of course, there’s the very real possibility she succumbs to alcohol poisoning, which is so ironic and so fucking sad. He pours her final glass and becomes what he fears most.

It’s a no-brainer that he joined the crows later on. Not only does it give him access to the poisons and antidotes he’s craved for years, but it gives him a sense of control. He’s making himself less of a target than his half-siblings (and it’s more socially acceptable for a crow to wear gloves constantly lmao). He’s so skinny because he refuses to eat unless he’s 100% positive his food is safe, checking and double checking even if he prepares it himself. He knows, logically, that his fears are unfounded, that he (or someone he trusts completely like Teia) made this dish, or poured this drink. But he needs to be sure, or his brain won’t stop screaming that he’s going to die! Right now! God forbid he’s proven right too, like with the adder in the wardrobe that he survived because of his doses of antivenom. I just knowww his compulsions got so much worse for a while after that, it was so cathartic and miserable for him. I understand this freak and his freak ways. What a guy, thank you Courtney Woods.

[keferon]

The inspiration bunny has struck again.

I blame Niechys’ amazing Texaid art.

TW Vortex

———————————————————————

“Careful. He bites.”

———————————

Vortex was in a shit mood.

You ever wake up in the morning and just know you’re gonna start something? Just need to rage and fight somebody?

Vortex can’t wake up anymore. But that same “I want someone to scream at” feeling rose just the same. ‘Cept maybe pricklier.

Most of the time, Vortex could ignore the psychological nightmare that was his existence. He wasn’t trapped in here. He escaped, and now he was hiding in their mother fucking walls. Waiting in the shadows like a slasher in a horror movie.

It’s easier to hold still when you’re waiting to pounce.

Waiting.

Just constant fucking waiting.

Boredom was a special kind of pain. The worst kind of pain. The kind of hysterical boredom you feel when you’re stuck in your chair on a flight and you keep getting delayed and delayed and delayed and you just fucking don’t know when you’re ever getting out of there. But at least you’ve got the rational thought that “this has to end eventually” to hold onto.

Except Vortex is never getting out of here.

Vents rattled as the fans were forced to rapidly switch between pulling air in and pushing air out. It didn’t feel like breathing.

Vortex didn’t just want to kill something this time. He wanted to get in a fight with somebody.

Back when he had his old body, it was easy to wind up Blast Off into a good ol’ cathartic screaming match. Or if Vortex wanted some pain to go with it he’d start shit with Brawl.

Then he’d get to terrorize the medical staff. Little vengeance for everything they put him through. They’d even gotten a special Hannibal Lector style muzzle just for him.

“Bite Risk.” Had to be underlined twice after the first few unlucky fuckers thought standard restraints were enough.

Vortex wondered if First Aid ever handled it.

The mechas visor slammed shut on nothing, sounding like a bomb going off inside the empty hangar. The red glass slowly returned to its resting open position.

Vortex wanted to fight someone not just something. Wanted to be a petty, shitty person.

Needed to be a person. You argue with people. Not with machines.

Blast Off and Brawl weren’t even here anymore. Swindle and Onslaught too smart to get close.

All that left was-

———————————————————————

“What the fuck is your problem today?!”

Finally.

First Aid was a tough nut to crack. He had to start digging into some seriously personal stuff before the little medic started responding the way he wanted.

The fuck off huge alien they were fighting looked a bit like an octopus impersonating a gorilla with a piercing stork head on the end of a viper-like neck.

They were actually pretty easy to kill if you got a clean shot on that long ass neck. ‘Cept Vortex wasn’t done fighting yet.

“My fuckin’ problem is I’m stuck with your useless ass!” Vortex jerked his head to the side, both to avoid a stabbing beak and to painfully throw First Aid against the restraints.

It would have gone through the visor probably. Would have killed Aid instantly.

That hysterical trapped-on-the-plane feeling was creeping back.

Why was he protecting him. Is it because of what Shockwave tried to do? Was he keeping First Aid alive because he liked him or because that cyborg fucker slipped some patch update through to make him compliant?

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

His panic was seeping through the drift. First Aid readjusted his grip on the seat, looking around the cockpit not angry but fucking concerned.

“Vortex are you okay?”

He had the alien pinned down underneath him with both hands. Knee pressed into its stomach, forcing the mechas entire mechanical weight onto it. The neck was still free and desperately trying to shish-kabob anything important.

No no no no no no no no.

Vortex did not want fucking pity. He wanted someone screaming in rage at him because it meant he wasn’t doing what they wanted. What the fuck was he supposed to if something was making him want the same thing as someone else?

Irrational panic exploded across the circuitry of his brain: What is the absolute last thing anyone wants you to do right now, including yourself?

“YOU DO IT. YOU KILL THIS FUCKING THING.”

And Vortex let go of the controls.

First Aid’s panic was instantaneous. He barely saved the mecha from falling limp as the medic scrambled to take hold of the controls.

“ARE YOU INSANE?!”

Yes.

“I can’t fight! The only thing I know how to do is open and close the visor!”

Also yes.

Vortex stewed in the back of his consciousness. Steeling himself to not intervene. First Aid was flailing, and the itch to reach through and take over was overwhelming.

“Just- fuckin’-“ Vortex wished he could bite off his own tongue.

First Aid was keeping the thing down but fucking barely. The alien seemed to sense the shift as well, and started thrashing harder to try and throw them off with renewed aggression.

“Vortex!” First Aid’s fear was absolutely liquid pouring across the bond. Vortex clamped down on every fiber of his being to not respond.

He watched Aid’s vitals skyrocket.

BPM 96, 97, 98, 99

First Aid breathing somehow got even faster.

100, 103, 111, 121

Holding the creature down with both hands, First Aid hit the trigger to open the visor.

Woah woah WOAH.

124, 126, 130, 131

Vortex felt First Aid inhale so deeply it hurt. Then scream from the depths of his chest.

For a frantic instant Vortex tried to wrest control back, save this suicidal idiot because holy fuck he didn’t mean to push him that far.

Instead, First Aid tore through Vortex, driving the mecha forward.

They lunged.

The mecha’s visor came down on the monsters neck. Thousands of pounds of force driving through meat and vertebrae, snapping closed in a cascade of staggered crunches.

The visor shut. Cockpit flooded with ichor and half a neck. The mecha pulled back, tearing free of the alien-turned corpse.

Wobbling, the mecha straightened. Nearly stumbling backwards before Vortex took back control.

The visor opened, allowing viscera and liquid to spill out of the cockpit and down their chest.

First Aid coughed, shivering violently.

In a quiet voice blown out from screaming, he said, “Vortex, take me home.”

——————————

Later, when Vortex had stepped back into his cradle, the usual cohort of engineers and medics rushed to retrieve his pilot.

What was new however, was the surprise visit from Onslaught. He looked older.

As First Aid was pulled away down the umbilical, Onslaught lingered, looking over the cockpit.

On a filthy screen Vortex knew only Onslaught would see, he displayed a message.

“Careful. He bites.”

———————————————————————

I’ve been having fun writing the ongoing Jazz and Prowl submissions but one-shots are just so much fun.

Every pairing in this AU is just so uniquely delicious in how they interact.

- SSTP

OH..OH GOD. OH IM SO FUCKING NORMAL ABOUT THEM RIGHT NOW

You know like. When you was writing Roddy its was literally oozing with energy and happy mood and everything?? Yea. Here. Imagine me pointing at the ask HERE IS THE SAME but instead of "happy" it's almost claustrophobic AND IM SO HERE FOR IT. Like the whole goddamn feeling of being trapped, of being so powerful but yet so out of control over your own life??? The whole thing with not needing to fulfill your physical needs anymore but also not having any way to handle your emotional ones?? FUCKING. MUAH.

OH AND THE B I T E

[metranart]

Imagine Gojo, Geto and Nanami anointing you as their “little darling”, forced to share you because they refuse to NOT have you in their life. You didn’t expect this kind of attention, it was ridiculous the way they took the time to make you feel… loved.

It wasn’t just the occasional pampering or the intense lovemaking sessions that they took SO seriously. It was EVERYTHING! It was visceral and addictively cathartic the way, they worshipped you.

Sometimes they got competitive, Gojo pulling you away into a hidden space, only to turn you around, throwing his jacket to then pull you on top and line your pussy up perfectly with his needy cock before plunging forward with a solid gasp that followed a thousand moans and groans, he didn’t mind being loud, he prefers it that way. Let them know, he thinks, jealous vibes tainting his greedy thrusts.

“Am I not your favorite, baby? I know I am, you don’t have to pretend nor be quiet about it just to be nice to them… they’re not here, tell me how much you like me… I want you so bad… Do you want me?” Gojo is always the most talkative, sweetening your ear every second, all in hopes to get you so distracted that when he cums inside you don’t suspect that the rubbery sound from before was from candy wrapper and not a condom. He’s sneaky like that he has to be, when the competition for you is so damn fierce.

Unlike Geto who is smoother in his approach, whose large hands greedily grab your hips as he pulls you back down onto his cock with every thrust, and it feels so undeniably perfect that you can’t even hold yourself up, arms like jelly, strength failing as you’re face down on the sheets, ass in the air to be fucked like a proper bitch.

“Satoru can be so careless, you have marks all over your body, my love.” This man kisses and caresses you with such fervent devotion that your heart skips more than a couple of beats, “-tell me if you need a break, I won’t pull out, I CAN’T-” he sounds apologetic and so damn needy that you melt a little more for him, you love when he’s shamelessly possessive, “but I’ll slow down. Boy Scout word.” That playful, understanding smile always gracing his lips, eyes too soft and warm only when he sees you. “It doesn’t bother me if I’m not your favorite, it just bothers me that you don’t know that you’re mine.” Geto is like balm, that quiet adoration is more addictive than cocaine... Geto is smart, he knows Satoru too well to know what he’s on to, but…. It is of no use to brand your body from the inside, if he does not first have your heart beating just for him. Geto is so damn, smooth.

But it's Nanami who surprised you the most, he was the calm one, the serious and stoic sheep in the flock, yet, in private and ONLY with you, heat and hormones cloud his mind, you cloud his mind and his better judgment as you moan shamelessly, wanting more and more as he fucks you good and hard before there's a hand sneaking under your belly, a thick finger begging to rub circles on your clit.

"Nanami-!! Oh GOD!" He knows how to get you vulnerable and needy, he wants to tattoo those sensation in your brain, for you to associate them with him, just him. Moans escape you, heat building as his hand plays with your sensitive nub relentlessly, sliding it, rolling it, even pinching it to elicit more lewd cries of pleasure.

"Sorry for being so damn needy, baby, but I don’t know how to hold back-… if I’m honest- I don’t want to find out how- …" He always is honest, too blunt and honest, full of a secret mischief and roughness, his original plan was to make you beg for him not the other way around, he was weak, you made him weak and he loooooooved it! 

"You want nothing more than to cum…. for me to make you cum, I can tell that goal isn't far away... fuck!" His hips quicken the pace, as he holds you down, pinned against the surface he’s thrust you into. “Your legs are starting to buckle and shake with each of my thrusts." This blond is relentless and dominant, he’ll let his body do the convincing for him. "Do you love when I hold you down, fuck!... you do, huh?” This side of Nanami is secret, dark, and so ‘eyes rolled to the back of your skull’ satisfying, that has secretly become one of your favorites.

The anthem in this polyamorous relationship is the bed creaking incessantly in time with those powerful thrusts, the headboard crashing into the wall, headboard that’s been replaced more than once in one month. Funny, how they swear and live for your wellbeing but when get closer to their climax, dull nails dig into the softness of your skin, strong grips become more determined, and your clit is worshipped into overstimulation, a painful pleasure you are still getting used to.

“Cum for me,” Sukuna growls, his request sassy as he lowers to a deeper, more possessive tone that makes something in your belly crave. His composure breaks as your climax begins to build, refusing to let go until you’ve peaked first. “Cum on my cock and show those petty sorcerers that you are only MINE!"

You wake up startled from that dream, and the first thing you check is that you are indeed wrapped in that tangle of limbs that is Gojo, Geto and Nanami. Your heart is beating a mile a minute, what the hell was that!? The strong, irregular throbbing inside your chest must have woken him up since his head lay in the valley of your breasts, and Gojo peeks up to see you with those sleepy and worried eyes. 

"Did you have a nightmare, sweetie?"

Did you?

➡️🔞 FULL NSFW ART of this drabble

➡️ 👀 NSFW Sneak Peek

[feeder86]

Saint Scott

It was around Thanksgiving when Ben first had his suspicions that Scott wasn’t quite the angelic figure that he appeared to be. A face of porcelaine and a fine, toned body of a guy who had clearly never struggled to turn heads, Scott had been a favourite amongst every single group within the dorms. He was kind, thoughtful, dependable and caring. He never swore, nor had a bad word to say about anyone. It was no wonder that he had gotten away with it so well.

Scott’s girlfriend, Marie had clearly suffered, surprisingly rapidly, with the Freshman Fifteen. Even Ben, who had no interest in girls whatsoever, had noticed just how swollen and large the girl’s butt had become, almost overnight. Everyone had assumed it to be accidental and a consequence of college life. However, it was Scott’s hands that gave him away. Ben had stood behind them at a party and seen the way the saintly boy’s finger drifted and caressed those blubbery glutes. He’d spoonfed her ice cream and indulged her in any way he could. Then, when Marie had become conscious of her increasing size and joined the netball squad for exercise, Scott had finished with her within the week.

There was no doubt in Ben’s mind. Saint Scott was a feeder. All the evidence was there, despite the fact that Ben would often try to convince himself that he was wrong. After all, he was more interested in the world of feederism than most. It was the reason he had travelled so far away to go to college. For as much as Scott seemed to be harbouring a secret, so was Ben himself…

Ever since Ben could remember, he had wanted to grow his own fat belly. He didn’t know where the urge had come from or why it appealed to him more than anything else. It was the pinnacle of eroticism for him and something he knew he could not live his life without. Waiting until after high school had been a no brainer. There was no chance of him packing on any excess weight back at home. Ever since he was little, he had been ferried about from one extra-curricular sports club to another: basketball, swimming, karate, to name but a few. He had even taken on a couple more in the last year, knowing that his suddenly more sedentary lifestyle in college would be the perfect excuse for why people would start to see his transformation away from the fit jock he had always been.

Ben had started the moment he arrived in college. His first trip to the supermarket had been the cathartic moment he had dreamed about for months. Downing a carton of whipped cream upon his return to the dorm had made his dick harder than he had ever felt it and he came, gazing upon his fit physique bloating in the mirror. Since then, it hadn’t been as easy as he had hoped. The pounds had trickled on slowly and his quest to develop the appetite of an obese guy hadn’t been as automatic as he had hoped. Although his abs had been stubbornly difficult to erase, he did appear thicker in the middle and in his face. His pants had been growing tighter and so he knew that his butt and thighs had been swelling up. 

However, with a shirt on, Ben felt like he had made no progress whatsoever. The guys who had heard of his sporting achievements were still nagging him to sign up at the Athletics Union and, despite the vast quantities of beer he had consumed on nights out, his stomach had still yet to pop out in the way he longed for.

“I hear Vimran is close to getting you to join the swim team?” Scott had teased Ben.

“Not a chance!” Ben had laughed back, throwing a beer down his throat.

“Why not?” Scott had asked in his usual, polite manner. “You don’t fancy being seen in just your swim trunks at the moment?”

Ben’s jaw had dropped. Had the tediously polite and wholesome Scott really just subtly fat-shamed him? His first ever comment about his additional pounds and there it was, rolling out of Scott’s mouth so carelessly. Ben felt a spark of energy captured in his lungs. This was every bit as exciting as he had imagined.

“What I mean is…” Scott fumbled, seeming to recognise his faux pas; his mind working a mile a minute. “...It’s winter, you don’t want to be getting into a cold swimming pool and freezing yourself to death.”

Ben smirked, It was a decent enough recovery, but he had decided to have none of it. “It’s all right,” he chuckled, patting his beer bloated middle. “I guess I would be a little more conscious in a speedo right now,” he smirked, lifting his shirt up to reveal his less defined stomach. “The Freshman Fifteen are definitely catching up to me,” he laughed, taking another sip of his beer and diving his hand into his bag of potato chips. He’d masturbated thinking about it later: his first time being called out for getting chubbier. However, one thing stood out more than anything. Once again, Scott was in the middle of it all.

Pants start to fit very differently once your butt gets some additional heft to it. Ben found he loved the way his sweatpants clung to the new shape, emphasising the fact that his slender, tight, glutes were undergoing a transformation. Once his six pack had been taken over, he could feel the beginnings of softness starting to form at his sides. He could take his fingers to them, poke and pinch, never failing to get himself aroused. This was happening. He was actually doing this, no matter how slow the progress was!

After the winter holidays, Scott had started dating again. Unsurprisingly to Ben, he had chosen a girl from his course: short, large-chested and with a butt at least as chubby as Marie’s had been before she cut down. People had raised their eyebrows in surprise, silently evaluating everyone and deciding that this new girl, Sam, was nearly not hot enough for a guy like Scott. Once again, Ben saw Scott’s drawer in the freezer start to fill with ice cream and sickly treats beginning to clog up the shelves of the refrigerator. The feeder was back to his old tricks, enveloping a naive Sam with his love, affection and pampering. 

Ben often wondered just how Scott did it so effectively. Every pound Ben had gained had been hard fought for as he battled against his fast metabolism, yet Sam’s face seemed to be filling out in a matter of weeks. People began to complain about Scott’s absence, with the guys only ever seeing him at sports practice or when he was on his way to a class. Then there was Sam, who had never had many fans around the dorm, starting to take on even more criticism behind her back, just as her waistline began to thicken.

Ben had to admit that he was disappointed in himself. Although he was proud of the slight paunch he had obtained, he had to conceed that he had expected it to be larger by now. He wanted a real belly on him, not just a bloating that made it look like he was bulking for a muscle gain. He was still going on dates, still being lusted after by the other gay guys on campus. Life had yet to alter in the way he secretly longed for.

It was hard not to feel jealous when Ben saw Scott with his arm draped over Sam: her little swollen tummy pushing out as if she didn't realise a half shirt was not a great look for a girl as obviously overweight as she was now. The pounds had seemed to pour onto her body with breathtaking speed. Scott always seemed to be complimenting her or suggesting places for them to eat, his hands hardly off her all the while. It was then that the fantasy started for Ben. Sure, he’d had a crush on Scott before, but seeing him being so openly horny for his dumpy girlfriend was stimulating his imagination no end. Just what did the guy do to get his girls to grow like this? Just how kinky was all this for him? If it hadn’t been for the fact that Sam had failed her first year in college and was shipped back home by her domineering family, Ben could imagine that she would have continued getting fatter and fatter as the months went on. As it was, she appeared to have had a very lucky escape.

Ben had decided early on that he wasn’t going home for the summer. He’d pushed all year for a less than thirty pound gain. Heading home wouldn’t only stunt his progress but was more than likely to reverse it. He’d been successful in his application to stay in the dorms and had picked up a job at a burger joint to help bring in the extra cash. Whether it was just the cheap material they used, Ben didn’t know, but he’d never felt more portly than when he slipped on his work uniform and strolled out with a confident swagger. It got hot working the cash register by the kitchen, with not a single pound of his new fat being hidden as his shift ended. He noticed people starting to look at him differently and speak to him with a bluntness that he was less used to. It spurred him to eat and consume, determined to make the summer months his most productive yet, even with the torturous humidity that lingered for weeks.

Scott arrived back in town a couple of weeks before the start of the new semester as he moved into a frat house with some of the other athletes. He’d popped in and fist-pumped Ben during the quieter mid afternoon, failing to stop his eyes from noticing the additional fifteen pounds Ben had added since he’d last seen him; now encircling his waist, filling up his thighs and at last forming a slight double chin under his jaw.

“This seems like a pretty sweet deal!” he smiled, looking around at the relatively quiet surroundings after learning of the generous rate they were paying per hour. 

“We also get free food each shift and sodas whenever we please,” Ben grinned, sipping from a large bucket-like drinks holder. 

Again, Scott’s eyes slipped down to Ben’s middle. “You know, you and I should hang out more,” the jock declared, pulling out his phone to get Ben’s number now that they would no longer be living just down the hall from each other. “Being single, I have a lot more time on my hands,” he smiled, slyly checking out the monstrously overweight lady who usually appeared at least a couple of times a week.

A couple of nights later, Scott had made good on his word, inviting Ben out for a few beers; just the two of them. With a good trust fund behind him, Scott was never shy of putting his hand in his pocket to buy in the drinks, although he didn’t appear to be drinking quite as much as Ben had been enabled to. They’d gone back to the dorms carrying pizzas, with Scott wanting to see for himself just how creepy the place felt being so devoid of other students.

“Bro, are you back in the gym?” Scott asked, spotting a couple of large container of protein powder hidden underneath his bed.

Inebriated as he was, Ben merely laughed and shook his head. “No way, man. I’m done with all that shit!”

Scott looked from the protein powder and back to Ben. “I don’t understand then,” he chuckled innocently.

Ben shook his head. “Trust me, buddy, you don’t want to know!” he joked.

“Except, now I really do want to know,” Scott smiled playfully back.

“Let’s just say, the protein powder helps me get in plenty of calories,” Ben offered.

“So you are trying to bulk up,” Scott nodded, deciding that his earlier assumption was correct.

“Not bulking… no,” Ben shot back, realising that he didn’t want to speak in riddles anymore. Scott was his friend, so what if he knew? “Fattening is what I’m doing. I’m growing my belly out. Hence why I just devoured three quarters of all that pizza you just bought as well.” With that, he patted his stout, swollen stomach proudly.

Scott didn’t say a word. His mouth agape, his eyes fell onto Ben’s thicker stomach as if he could hardly comprehend what he was hearing.

“Don’t act like you’re so naive about all this!” Ben chuckled back, entirely relaxed and loose from the many beers he had consumed. “I’ve watched you with Marie and Sam, quietly overfeeding and fattening them up.”

“I did what now?” Scott laughed back; highly amused and not in the least bit offended.

“Oh come on!” Ben sighed. “Stop acting like such a good boy. I saw you! You could hardly keep your hands off Marie when her butt blew up, and the same was true of Sam once her belly started coming in. You’re into fat girls!”

Scott simply continued smiling at him. He sighed, shaking his head and ran his hand through his beautiful hair. “So that’s your theory, huh? That behind the nice guy exterior I’m actually some kinky little feeder-type?”

“I know you are!” Ben smiled, nodding emphatically.

“So what does that make you then?” Scott played along. “Some little fat boy wannabe?”

Ben laughed even more. “Definitely!” he nodded, lifting his shirt and slapping the stomach he had been trying to develop for almost twelve months now. “Having a big fat gut is all I have ever wanted.” Despite the tautness of his skin from the overindulgence, he still revelled in grabbing a little of it and jiggling. 

Scott watched on, continuing to chuckle and admit to nothing. The beers flowed and Ben realised he must have nodded off, waking up and seeing that Scott was now gone. Had he gone too far? Opened up too much? Made an idiot of himself? Possibly. But those questions could wait for the morning when his head was less muddled and confused. For now, all his body needed to do was rest and turn the vast amount of calories in his stomach into pure, irreversible blubber.

Ben saw Scott the next day, squinting his eyes as the hangover hit him hard at work.

“How’s the head today?” Scott asked, taking a pause in his morning run to pop in and see his friend.

Ben groaned, rubbing his eyes. The last hour had been pure torture.

At that, Scott laughed, stretching his quads as he stood at the counter so that he didn’t seize up. “Any nice fat girls in for me today?” he teased, making light of the accusations Ben had thrown at him last night.

Ben groaned once again. He thoroughly believed with all his heart that Scott was a feeder, but had he really been that blunt last night? “Take your pick,” he mumbled back, fighting the polite urge in him to take it all back and apologise.

Scott chuckled at that, taking a little look round nonetheless. “I’m busy the next couple of nights, but do you want to head out for beers on Thursday?” he asked.

Ben raised his palm to his head and sighed. “Ask me again when my head stops pounding,” he groaned.

“You’ll survive,” Scott smiled. “I’ll message you later,” he bounced enthusiastically, taking off to continue his run.

It surprised Ben that they had gone almost two hours into their drinks that Thursday without the awkward conversation about Ben’s revelation rearing its ugly head. Scott hadn’t told anyone else. Of that, Ben could be sure. Scott was so charming and laid back, even the most antisocial of people could lose hours simply chatting to him about almost nothing at all. However, something had caught Scott’s attention as they were speaking and Ben turned around to see that Scott’s ex, Marie, had walked in with some of her friends. The place had been slowly filling up with more returnees all week as Freshers’ Week got closer.

“You want to leave?” Ben asked thoughtfully.

Scott considered the question as if weighing up pros and cons. “Sure. Why not?” he finally declared, throwing back the one beer he had been nursing the entire time.”I think it’s time we got some food anyway.” 

“If it’s any consolation,” Ben smiled, checking Marie out at the bar as she had her back to them both, “I think she looked a lot better when you were going out with her.”

Scott’s eyes fell onto the girl’s butt, now deflated and more toned. He smiled and laughed as if their minds were in sync. “I think I agree with you!”

It was no surprise to Ben that the pair of them ended up heading back to the dorms, pizzas, chicken wings and sodas in hand. Beer never failed to give Ben a good appetite and he set about eating at a good pace, even with the company there. Late night eating such as this never failed to give him a boost on the scales the next morning.

“Wow! It’s almost all gone,” Scott noted, rolling the only remaining protein powder container out from under the bed.

“I know,” Ben nodded, still trying to keep a good pace before he got too full. “I need to get some more this week.”

“Well, I can’t fault your commitment,” Scott smiled, taking his third slice of pizza and nibbling incredibly slowly.

A strange silence hit. “You’ll have to give me some tips,” Ben joked, after slurping down his soda.

“Let me guess… Because I’m the expert when it comes to making someone fatter, right?” Scott joked back mockingly.

“Damn right you are!” Ben retorted. He’d made his position clear. He wasn’t going to retract his comments about Scott being a feeder, no matter how evasive and belittling the jock was towards the accusations.

“You know, no one else has ever told me they thought my behaviour amounted to being a ‘feeder’ before,” Scott shot back, still with that playful smile on his face.

“That’s because everyone else is an idiot!” Ben replied sharply. “They believe your pretty boy smile and all the bullshit charm that spews out of your mouth. But I see you for the kinky little fucker that you really are…”

Scott’s eyes danced with mischief, enjoying their playful back and forth. “Is that so, huh?” he laughed. “It’s a good job you’re here to call me out on it then,” he joked. “Having a feeder on campus sounds pretty concerning!”

“Don’t you worry,” Ben smiled back, doubling up the pizza slices. “I’m not going anywhere!”

Ben couldn’t put his finger on what exactly had happened, but it was as if his body had finally clicked as to what it was supposed to be doing with all the calories he was pushing into it. In a matter of weeks his nipples had begun to point and jiggle when he walked. His cheeks had swollen and his toned arms had finally softened with a coating of fat. His thighs and butt had puffed up even more and, most excitingly of all, his new belly had folded over his belt as he sat down, almost resting on his crotch. It wasthrilling, feeling his body transforming, with new fleshy areas to discover on a weekly basis. Even as the colder weather hit, Ben proudly strutted about in his t-shirts that had become incredibly poor fitting, enjoying the coolness underneath his new belly where the chilly air had immediate access.

“Where’s that cute girl who works in the kitchens sometimes?”  Scott asked, popping into the burger joint as he often did during the quieter hours of Ben’s shifts. Having friends hanging about was usually frowned upon, but there were plenty of admiring women here to ensure that no one ever made a big deal about the pretty, charming boy who visited so often. He’d even been offered a job there more than once.

“Jodie?” Ben asked, having thought a few times that Scott had developed a bit of a crush on his oversized colleague. “She quit last week. She got another job working with her girlfriend.”

Scott sighed in disappointment. He’d been more open in recent weeks about checking out larger women, however it had surprised Ben that the guy had remained single for so long. It had become a frequent joke in his frat house that, apart from the odd one night stand, Scott was getting the least sex of all the boys. 

“You know, you’re never going to get a chubby girlfriend unless you actually put yourself out there,” Ben had advised him. “There are loads of bigger girls on the campus.”

“Yeah, but it’s not just about that for me though, is it?” Scott had replied, clipping the boundaries of how far he was willing to openly admit his interest in feedism.

“Well, if you want a fat girl with a good appetite, you just need to hang around here a little more. I see hundreds of them every day!”

Scott sighed once more. “Want to get some beers later?”

“I can’t tonight. I’ve got an assignment due,” Ben replied. “How about Thursday, as usual?”

“Sure,” Scott nodded, shuffling away with the melancholy demeanour that had seemed to overtake him recently.

Thankfully, Scott’s mood had lifted by the time they met for drinks that week. Ben had learned that although his shirt looked large enough as he stood and gazed at his reflection in his mirror, it didn’t necessarily follow that it would fit so well when he sat down in the bar; his stomach bloating with beer, stretching the buttons angrily. Even for his most exhibitionist tendencies, this felt like a step too far; straying into the positively indecent. He’d now fattened into the 250lbs range for the first time, and every inch of it was showing.

Scott had been animated and chatty, never leaving the table for more than a couple of minutes, despite how many of his other friends came in and wanted his attention.

“Do you mind if we head back?” Ben had finally asked, genuinely concerned that his shirt may blow if he had another beer.

“Sure,” Scott agreed enthusiastically. “Want to come to mine for a bit?”

Ben frowned. He’d never been invited into the frat house before. Somehow, in his current state, he couldn’t think of anywhere he belonged less than in a house filled with athletic heterosexual boys. The pair of them picked up Chinese and entered the house, largely ignored by some of the others who were rowdily watching a movie on the couches. 

As they made their way into Scott’s bedroom, Ben rolled his eyes at how neat and tidy the whole place was; his well dusted sports trophies decorating the shelving above his clear and organised desk. He sat himself down on the boy’s bed, lying back against the headboard, pleased to ruffle the neat and crease-free sheets, kicking his shoes off as Scott rolled his desk chair out to sit alongside him. 

“Things are really speeding up for you now, huh?” Scott asked a few minutes later as, even lying down, Ben’s buttons still threatened to explode as he pushed the noodles into himself.

Ben rubbed his belly proudly. “Still not quite fast enough for my liking,” he replied honestly. “I’m tall enough. There’s no reason why I couldn’t be more than 400lbs if I can push my appetite enough.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. I’ve seen the way you eat. Four hundred would be easy.”

Ben smiled, always appreciating how supportive Scott was of him, despite being such a fitness freak himself. “I got a little winded walking up some stairs the other day. That was pretty exciting.”

“Really? That does it for you?” Scott asked interestedly. “Becoming less fit?”

“Of course!” Ben nodded back. “Becoming fat, sluggish, lazy and slow. It’s a big reason why I started all this in the first place.”

Scott chuckled and nodded his head. “I can’t argue with that. I’ve never met anyone like you before; someone who actually wants to get fat. My exes, Marie and Sam, they just complained bitterly when they started getting heavier.”

“Well, that’s because they didn’t realise they were dating a feeder,” Ben shot back, knowing that one day Scott would have to admit that it was true. He paused for a moment, sensing that Scott felt more comfortable in his own surroundings. “How did you do that by the way? How did you get them so chubby so fast?”

Scott raised his eyebrows then smirked ever so slightly. “Appetite stimulants,” he stated frankly. “I told them they were vitamins and made sure they took them daily.”

Ben nearly dropped his chopsticks. For months he had been trying to tease out a confession from Scott and, all of a sudden, there it was, as if it was the most casual thing in the world.

“They worked better on Sam than they did Marie. Then again, she was already a little fatter anyway. Then it was just a case of feeding that appetite through any means I could.”

Ben laughed aloud. “I can see why you’ve kept that to yourself for so long,” he smirked. “That’s some proper kinky shit! Secret appetite stimulants?”

Scott nodded, seeming to understand how far off the path he had strayed by using the pills. Then the smile returned. “They worked though. You saw Sam’s tummy. She absolutely ballooned! She used to eat like such a fat pig some nights!”

Smiling and nodding, Ben could hardly argue. He was uniquely aware that Scott had just shared a part of himself that no one else on the entire planet had seen before. “I knew you weren’t such a fucking goodie-two-shoes!”

“Far from it!” Scott smiled. He seemed buzzed to have finally spoken about it all out loud and he shifted restlessly in his chair as if he wanted to say much more and continue the excited feeling inside of himself. “It’s all just so fucking hot though!” he rambled.

Ben smirked. He’d never heard Scott swear before. The guy must have been seriously horny just talking about this stuff.

“I got so turned on watching them eat, knowing exactly what I was doing. I couldn’t believe how easy it was. You’re still the only one who ever noticed! Can you believe that?”

“Like I said, people are idiots. They don’t want to believe that the pretty little star athlete is actually a devious, cunning and manipulative devil!” Ben nodded. “So, out of interest, where exactly are these appetite stimulants?”

Scott rolled his chair and gladly opened his drawer where, tucked inside an innocuous pair of sport socks, sat a little bottle that had been concealed there for months.

“Ready and waiting for your next little piggy, huh?” Ben joked.

“You know it!” Scott smiled wickedly. “I want you to try one for me,” he declared.

“Sure,” Ben shrugged. “But I’m almost out of food anyway. I don’t think I need it.”

“I’ve got more downstairs,” the jock replied, tipping the container up regardless and pinching one into his fingers. “This stuff is super expensive. I’d like you to experience first hand what they can do.”

Ben couldn’t deny that he was turned on by the idea. He went to take it from Scott’s hand until the boy shook his head and insisted on dropping it onto Ben’s tongue himself. Swallow.

“Now just wait half an hour, then you’re going to have the most ravenous appetite of your life!” He spoke slowly, as if all this was the height of eroticism and the pinnacle of his sexual fantasies.

“I’d best take my shirt off then,” Ben joked, until he felt the hands of Scott assisting him; his fleshy stomach and nipples entirely on show in front of Scott for the first time.

“I’m just going to get it all ready,” Scott announced, jumping out of his chair. “I won’t be long,” he exclaimed, throwing the TV remote into Ben’s hands and racing off with a sprightliness that was alien to Ben these days.

As Ben sat there watching some boring sitcom, he tried to calm his body down. He had to remember that Scott was straight and that, although he was indulging in their kinks right now, the last thing he would want to see would be the epic hard-on that Ben could feel rising up in his crotch.

Scott arrived back about twenty minutes later, carrying a discrete cardboard box that, when emptied, contained several different items of highly fattening treats. Ben realised then that this had all been planned from the start. Had he microcraved the ice cream to make it so gooey? One of the tubs was practically liquid!

“Are you feeling it yet?” Scott asked, sitting down and switching the TV off in favour of music. Generic, sweet love songs played out, no longer fitting alongside the exciting, wicked kinkiness Scott had concealed for so long.

“What am I supposed to be feeling?” Ben asked, placing a cushion over his crotch as he realised he was fooling himself if he thought he could stop his dick from getting hard.

“Hungry!” Scott replied excitedly back, picking up the cushion and throwing it away over his shoulder.

“Please!” Ben panicked. “I need that! I can’t promise not to get turned on if I’m going to be eating this much.”

“Good!” Scott grinned. “I’m already there.” He pointed into his crotch, where a massive, thick and pumped erection had slid itself down the side of the left leg of his pants. He slipped his large hand onto Ben’s fattened middle and rubbed, making both of them moan. He leaned in closer, assessing just how much Ben would submit to him tonight. Then he grinned, leaning in to kiss Ben in a way that was at odds with the violent jiggling his hand was forcing upon Ben’s stomach fat. ”Give it another five minutes to let the stimulant do its work,” he whispered, leaning in for more kisses and undressing both of them before the time was finally up.

Having Scott’s hand on his dick felt like no sexual thrill Ben had ever experienced in his life. Through his masterful stroking, the handsome jock had fully asserted his dominant nature, leaving no part of his true self now hidden.

“Are you going to be a good piggy for me?” Scott asked, his face deadly serious as he anticipated the exciting spectacle that was to come.

Ben wasn’t sure where he stood on being called a pig, but out of Scott’s mouth, it felt like the perfect, sexy fit. “Yes,” he nodded; his hand clasping Scott’s hardness in turn.

“Because that thing you said about being 400lbs…” Scott continued. “That’s not going to be enough for a fat boy like you, is it?”

Ben sighed with relief. It was like something from his dreams. Scott was right: four hundred was never going to be enough for him. However, saying it out loud was something he had never dared before. But how did Scott know that so instinctively?

Even without the appetite stimulant, Ben felt he would have made great inroads into the disgusting amount of supplies Scott had carried up to feed him with. However, wth the stimulant working its magic, Ben was surprised by just how much he was getting down. It wasn’t hunger he felt exactly, but all the usual tightness that came from overeating just wasn’t happening tonight. His stomach seemed to have an endless capacity, both of them ejaculating over the tremendous, distorted ball his gut had become by the end of it all.

Ben didn’t go back to the dorm that night. Scott’s sweet nature had returned as they lay in bed together, entirely naked. In the morning, Ben enjoyed breakfast in bed and was introduced properly to the guys in the house, all of whom looked on in confusion at the small ways Scott appeared so unashamedly affectionate towards him. He wanted to hold hands as they made their way back to the dorm and it suddenly dawned on Ben that he was now taken. Scott had claimed him as his own. He was the fat pig the kinky boy had desired for so long; their destinies now very much entwined.

“You know, honey, I really think we should give that diet another go,” Scott cooed three years later as they both went over to stay with Ben’s folks for a weekend during the Fall. Despite being no strangers to seeing their son slowly fatten up, they had been shocked by just how extreme it all was now Ben was over 460lbs. His stomach was so enormous, the fat on his thighs and hips sometimes throwing him off-balance and the enormous sacks of fat under his armpits pushing his elbows out wider. Even after all these years, Scott was still getting away with it; no one believed, even for a second, that Ben’s incredible obesity and appetite were being caused by him. Everyone loved Scott, including Ben’s own stern father, who had sold his beloved classic car to Scott for a pittance the moment the charming boy had shown an interest. It was simply the way Scott sailed through life, people bending over backwards to help and please him; sensing a goodness in him that, although very real, didn’t eclipse the wicked deviousness within.

By the end of the evening, Ben had solemnly sworn to his concerned parents that he would try to lose a few pounds. He and Scott had come upstairs to the small bedroom Ben had inhabited most of his adolescence, dropping the mattress onto the floor given that he had broken the bed the last time they had visited. Ben’s father had refused to fix it out of protest.

Ben knew what was coming next as they both undressed. He had seen the subtle boner in Scott’s crotch the entire time his parents had been nagging him about his weight; spurred on entirely by Scott himself.

“You actually brought the funnel?” Ben exclaimed, sitting up obediently as it was automatically strapped around his fat head.

“Of course I did, Piggy!” Scott cooed; his personality changed behind the closed door of the bedroom. He shook up some of the instant calorie shakes they sometimes bought when they were away and unable to make their own. “You agreed to twelve thousand calories a day for the next week, remember.”

With a hose in his mouth, Ben could do little more than grunt in acknowledgement. Still, his hardness was pressing its way through the fat that was engulfing his groin. Five hundred had never felt so close!

“I promised your mother I was going to help you with this diet, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do!” Scott chuckled, pouring one fattening carton after another into the funnel. He’d always throw in a couple more if Ben got him horny enough; which was why, alongside his swallowing, Ben sat there trying to rub his sweaty palm over Scott’s concrete boner and make him climax. This whole scenario was something that turned him on more than anything: the quiet, blameless ways Scott fed and encouraged him behind people’s backs. The face of an angel. A man who could never even dream of such a thing as this!

“Drink up, Piggy!” demand the feeder, staring down at him with a devilish glint in his eyes. “Every last fucking drop!”

[ephemerensis]

Thinking about academic rival Tim that pisses you OFF. Being top of your class was nothing new for you until he rolled up. He’s absent for more than half the school year, always on TV at some stupid event to help kittens or something, excelling in track and field, and somehow STILL scoring higher than you. And he doesn’t even think it’s a big deal.

The worst part is probably that he sits behind you. Every red Kahoot screen felt so much louder with Tim breathing down your back, and if you dared to risk a glance back he’d just smile at you in annoying consolation. When your papers eventually get handed back he always knows what you got, but he has the nerve to ask in a charade of “being polite.”

“What’d you get?” He’s too nice when he says it, so sincere it feels condescending. You couldn’t lie if you wanted to, and it wouldn’t matter because you know you lost anyway.

“94.” Maybe if you said it more begrudgingly every time he’d get the hint and shut up. And even though you knew you wouldn’t win, you always asked anyways. “What’d you get?”

“Oh that’s good! I got a 98.”

He had to be cheating or something. You couldn’t count the number of times he’d asked you to explain something he missed in class, and somehow he still knew more. It wasn’t improbable, it was impossible. Sometimes you considered feeding him false information, but you felt bad even thinking it. Tim wasn’t a bad person. You were just in denial.

You knew of course, but were still offended, that your one-sided rivalry wasn’t ever his on his mind. Thinking of Wayne Enterprises’ next business venture (or stopping Gotham’s evil forces) occupied him in more depth. This stuff was just normal. So when you stay up extra late to perfect your physics exam and finally score higher than him, he doesn’t even flinch.

“Hey, a perfect score!”

“Yes, what did you get?”

“82 this time, I forgot a few equations.”

It was almost cathartic. That was enough for you. Peace doesn’t come easy, you’d choose it this time. (And quite frankly, there were only so many all nighters you could pull.)

“I won?”

“What?”

“I beat you, I won.”

“I guess so, you’ll have to tutor me next time!”

[jin0]

TENNIS SUCKS AND SO DO YOU [Tashi Duncan, Patrick Zweig, Art Donaldson]

Summary : You were better off without them, you said for a decade despite seeing them every fucking where, all the fucking time. You were better than them, you said as you did the same shit they did and enjoyed it all the same.

Pairing : Art Donaldson x Patrick Zweig x Tashi Duncan x Reader, Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig, Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan, Patrick Zweig x Art Donaldson

Warning : +18, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !, angst, canon injury, canon conniving, cheating, manipulation, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, tennis mentioned, rude language, cussing, foursome kinda, slight ball worship, pussy worship, vaginal sex (p in v), sadness, rehab mentioned, homelessness, gaslighting, genuinely everyone sucks here, no one is mentally stable and should be trusted.

A/N : enjoy

_________________________________________

As it had turned out, it had been way easier for you to admit the sick pleasure you got out of witnessing the downfall of the people you had loved for so long. Being easy to admit did not make it any less painful if you were being honest. Loving them the way you did, the way only you could since your college days made the situation just as sad as it had been cathartic.

You witnessed from the sidelines how Patrick, Tashi and Art’s old ways returned even after eleven years to tear them apart the way it had initially years prior. You still remembered how you used to be, it wasn’t hard they hadn’t changed a bit. Not even the way they looked at each other.

Outsiders would speculate on the nature of the relationship which had sparked fire in the media, two old best friends meeting again at a random challenger while one’s ‘wife’ cheered louder than she had ever been seen cheering. Some would assume the worst out of Tashi while some would pity her for being the stand in to Art’s internalized homophobia. Maybe other’s would hit the nail right on the head and guess that the three might share deep feelings for each other but the would never go further in the guesses, ironically respectful of the privacy of the three people the would spend weeks speculating on, expecting some form of answer at some point.

In the midst if all of this, you would remain. Alone but never lonely, alone and changed for the better while they simmered in their own toxicity, pulling at each other’s strings to bring the worst out of each other in hopes to come out on top, come out the best at the game of honesty they played in a pathetic attempt at convincing the others that they were the ones to say the truth the two others refused to admit to, while simultaneously keeping a lifetime’s worth of secrets.

You would remain, forever in love with them, enough to leave without a goodbye or a look back while they grew like trees in soiled dirt, intertwined but resentful of one another.

You hadn’t been able to watch the end of the match, content with watching Patrick and Art hug for the first time in about a decade. It was funny to you, really. How they had managed to part for so long when Patrick had loved Art first, loved him the way you had loved Tashi first. You all ended up falling in love, you with Art next. Patrick was a little more difficult to like. He was a cunt. And truth be told, so were you. But in their psyche, you lived as kindness personified, because at the root, you were what they aspired to reach when claiming a false sense of honesty.

You were the good ripped out of them by a forceful departure they could not have done a thing about.

You were kind and overly intelligent, academically and emotionally, doubled with a talent that made you all the more terrifying. To understand you was a struggle because all you said could be taken as exactly what it was. In the world of pompous etiquette and manners, you lived above and below it all. Born in a lower class family, you never feared to admit that your goal had always been to climb you way up until you reached what you wanted to reach. It was unclear to you and to them for a while so coaxing it out of you was useless, you didn’t know much about what you wanted, or at least, verbalizing it would be difficult. You aimed to climb, all on your own, through your own power and possibilities. Fucking Tashi Duncan was just for fun.

She wasn’t meant to be a tool in your machine, and frankly, she would’ve been a useless one too, you weren’t a tennis player. Maybe that was what had made your deep friendship so difficult to understand. People speculated that you used her for her money and status, which would make sense if your natural predator wasn’t a tennis racket and a ball. You just couldn’t play tennis for shit. And at first she would call you an idiot for trying when you clearly sucked. A friendship had blossomed when you had responded by successfully hitting a ball right past her head. You sucked at tennis but you had great aim it seemed.

You had reached Stanford on a scholarship, and artistic scholarship funded by a bunch of wealthy families, counting the Zweig and Donaldson families. You danced ballet initially but the possibilities had evolved so you did more than ballet or than dancing. It didn’t really matter honestly why you were at Stanford, the point is that you were there with them and sometimes only for them.

Again, it had started with Tashi, simple stuff really, hugs here and there turning into hugs everywhere. And hand holding which had also turned into waist holding. And the sleepovers were you started from standing at opposite sides of the room to sitting on each other and sleeping with each other in the same bed. Everything just kept escalating. Came a time were it was normal for you both to be showering together or to kiss each other’s cheeks in public. You were best friends with a little bit more on the side.

The speculation were inevitable really, but then came Patrick and Art. Things had been complicated to explain or understand but it did make sense to you four at least.

The night she had been invited to their hotel room, they hadn’t expected her to bring a friend. You didn’t really understand what she had wanted to prove, if she had wanted to prove anything at all but you knew that you didn’t really mind. A public would never bother you.

You had always been pretty obedient to her words, even more when she had her fingers inside you. When she had called you to sit on her lap while they sat on the floor, you had obeyed, climbing on top of her and zipping down your compressor shirt. You could feel their eyes on you, burning through your skin in hopes to see your breast the way Tashi could. When you two had started to make out, you wanted to laugh, hearing Art’s little gasp loud and clear. He was way easier to get worked up than Patrick. But Patrick was a slut so it made sense.

You had stopped her, pulling away with your tongue lolling out of your mouth as you attempted to regain your composure before pointing at them.

“Shouldn’t they be participating ?” You had said, amusing Tashi who patted the space next to her for you to sit. Again, you obeyed but kept a hand between her thighs while she kissed your forehead. Art and Patrick had stared at each other before Patrick rushed to sit next to you and Art next to her.

The rest was history. A long, tedious and sometimes painful history which at started really, the moment Art asked you out. You expected him to go to Tashi, and he had before asking the two of you. It was easy to love Art, the same as you loved your girl. Patrick though, it had been lust for a long time, a very long time before you accepted that he loved you and that you loved him too. You two couldn’t stop taking shots at one another you at his pathetic love for Art and him at you for being poor. Those were easy and no amount of venom in your voices could ever male you say words you didn’t mean. He was bitter at you for having Art and you at him for having Tashi, you were the same really but you would always say you had bigger balls that him because at least you unequivocally had both in all senses while he struggled to even have one.

You remembered how in a drunken admission he confessed hating you for being the romantic failure to his success, something he couldn’t bear knowing that he wanted to fuck you with all the love and adoration you ignited in his soul. He was glad to have his wish granted, waking up the next morning with you on top of him, sleeping soundly, more silent than you had ever been in your life with him around.

Then began the greatest love story never told, fueled by unyielding passion and love that transcended. Maybe the end could’ve been predicted. You loved too much with too much honesty for three people who convinced themselves that tennis was their only true love. You were okay with that, you knew it was a cover-up, a protection from the unpredictability of human feelings and relationships. You didn’t feel like covering up anything, not when you simply loved.

To you it made sense, to them it was a little more difficult, and the difficulty kept increasing slowly as everything rapidly turned to shit. One day it was all four of you, the next, Art didn’t love you anymore, not enough to share Tashi but enough to still crave your very existence like air. He was done sharing with Patrick too, something about having to admit to himself that he did love the man more than a best friend didn’t work in his mind.

They had all began getting into each other’s minds planting seeds of jealousy and doubt in a vicious cycle where they all made each other worst than worst itself. Then Tashi got hurt, and Patrick wasn’t there but Art was so she blamed the brunette while the blond rejoiced as he finally reached the sense of normalcy he had craved through monogamy. And where were you in all of this ? Left behind. You didn’t play tennis but you loved them so you thought it would be enough, it wasn’t. You couldn’t understand, they said. Tashi would never play like she used to or as she was destined to ever. And since Art was there, he would be the talent that prevailed and lived. Patrick, he couldn’t care less about you when he was loosing the two people who really mattered to him.

You had been disposed of in a matter of weeks, a useless, bothersome artefact found in the dirt and throw back in the dirt when you had stopped being fun. You would’ve never understood what it felt like to lose the very thing that one thought of when thinking of Love, yet you could’ve tried, you would’ve tried for them, for her.

Patrick was the first who should’ve gone, almost forcefully thrown out of the apartment you had all started sharing, ironically owned by his family. He lost the home of his heart and chose to give away his house too. But Patrick being Patrick, he refused to leave, stubborn and smug, he opted to stay and keep trying. He knew tennis and Tashi’s love for tennis. He had felt that love for a certain blond boy he had lost too.

With his stay, he formed a side, his own, while Tashi and Art formed another. They fought, regularly, everyday almost, about the same things and a multitude of little other things that they had never voiced prior to the incident. Because they were too ‘kind’ to speak up, but mean enough to use it as ammunition in petty arguments.

They fought about almost anything frankly and you, you disappeared, left off in the background, dissipating like sand, washed away by the sea and forgotten. You didn’t need to get involved they said. Yet you did, because you loved all three and maybe it was selfish but you still held onto the hope that they loved you too, enough to support you in your own moments.

But that was before the Patrick you had learned to love forced you with the brutal reality of things.

You fell. During a rehearsal, you fell, badly enough to hurt you foot and possibly for a little while. It wasn’t broken nor was it permanently damaged, you would heal quickly, you just had to be taken to the hospital to be given the necessary information on how to recover. You would also need to be taken home, you physically couldn’t walk. You called and called and called, calling about a hundred times with no answer from any of them. You ended up staying at the hospital for two days before deciding that you didn’t want to stay more so you left, on foot, which you shouldn’t have done. You had crutches, you thought, so this would be fine. It was at the end, your foot was fine, your soul though, not so much.

After two days in the hospital, you had returned home to another fight between the three. You were tired so you stayed silent until they took notice of you, standing there in silence. Weirdly enough, that seemed to aggravate them further, leading to sighs of anger and looks of disgust, as if you were the cause of all of this, all their issues and frankly all the issues in the world. Unused the first and last fight you were apart of.

It was about you not being there, you always running when things got hard for Tashi, running away because you couldn’t be the center of attention anymore when Tashi would be the priority. You didn’t really process much if what was thrown your way, too busy trying to defend yourself in vain. It didn’t matter really, whatever you said, it wouldn’t matter not when for the first time in weeks both Fire and Ice agreed on something while Tashi looked at you with the kind of hatred you’d never seen in her eyes before. All three finally agreed on something and it seemed it was on how much they couldn’t stand you.

“It’s fucking pathetic how low you’d go to feel like you matter to us. Let me make this abundantly clear, your presence here is only because of Tashi. The interest we have in you is only because of Tashi. Any amount of interest we have in you is because of Tashi. You don’t even matter to yourself outside of her.” How said Patrick bitterly. He looked disgusted by the very sight of you and his words translated about just as much venom as his gaze.

He walked up to you, still standing at the same spot you had been in since you had entered the room to walk in on them fighting once again. You hadn’t moved and now you were paralyzed by humiliation, as if even breathing would be a stain on their glory. You were going through it again in a matter of seconds. Years of improvement on your self worth all going down the drain because of three people.

You watched him with teary eyes as he stepped up to you, entering your personal space so that you could see properly how much he meant his next words.

“We barely tolerate you without tennis, but how much do you think we’d like you if Tashi hadn’t pulled you in like a necessary condition for her presence around ?”

You said still, to ashamed to cry or to breath, almost heaving from the ball of air stuck in your throat. You said as stoic as you could all while keeping your tears at bay. He chuckled while staring at you, false amusement to hide how annoyed he was with your presence here. You tried to look towards Art, who looked away, face indifferent as he silently agreed to his ex best friend’s words while your own best friend stared blankly at you then at your foot before getting up and leaving.

You weren’t one to stay where you weren’t wanted, so when they left to chase after Tashi, you took that as an opportunity to pack your stuff and leave. All that was left behind were the stuff you wouldn’t outwardly need or could ask a friend, if you had any left, to help you get.

In that moment you felt your luckiest despite the circumstances, your lack of relationship to tennis making it easy to rely on someone who wouldn’t be asking thousands of questions on why you were now excluded from the little group who’d been ruling the minds and hearts of about every student on campus. For the rest of the semester, you moved in with a friend from your dance studio, friend who quickly became your greatest form of support, pushing you to get back up and become the best dancer you’d ever been.

For the first time, you felt what Tashi meant when she said tennis would be her greatest love, you understood her drive to not just be a player among the lot but the player who stood above the masses effortlessly yet with lots of efforts. The rumors quickly spread, your separation from the group raising questions that you were too busy to answer, spending about every second of every hour dancing and improving your artistic skill while slowly letting the three people you had loved turn into distant figures in your rearview mirror.

The longing glances in the lecture halls and silent please turned into quick looks in their direction, acknowledging their presences before going back to what you were doing, before soon, watching it turn into nothing. You stopped looking, feeling their eyes on your before shutting down the instinct which you had lead to you them in crowds of thousands so many times before. Before you knew it, you brushed passed them, your scent burning through their being like the softest of caress and the sharpest of slaps while you simply didn’t notice them. You had stopped trying to ignore them and made them presence part lf everyone, barely noticeable.

Your dancing got better, just like your heart and your other talent. You divested into other areas of artistic expression, soon stepping out of Stanford to be known all over the world for your incredible voice and the amazing performances that went with it. You filled concert halls like one would fill their lungs with air and sold albums like no other. Your passion and devotion for your craft quickly became known all over the world, impossible to miss as your face appeared on Billboards and your voice resonated through radios. You got busy with like and you weren’t the only one.

You knew about Tashi and Art’s wedding, catching wind of it from friends you had made in college. It didn’t surprise you much, she could handle Art better. What had surprised you was for Fire to Part from Ice and vice versa, both disappearing from each other’s life. It wasn’t news that neither really deeply like to share, ironic considering the circumstances. You had found out about their daughter too, Lily, cute name. Art had probably picked it. Tashi would’ve named her ‘Tennis Donaldson’ if she could. Tennis Duncan even. She loved tennis too much, it had started to exasperate you, but inly slightly. You understood. You lived dancing just the same. Just healthily. You could see through the mist, watching her live vicariously through her darling husband he played for her. He lost the passion he had for the sport, but he had lost more.

You didn’t know what had happened to Patrick, or at least you feigned ignorance. You didn’t give a fuck about that little bitch. But watching him die wouldn’t be fun. You knew about the heroin addiction and about the alcoholism. It was known before during college and it had stopped briefly while you dated, keeping only the smoking. He had drifted from them, too busy getting fucked up on whatever he could get his sticky fingers on while fucking whoever he could get to give him shelter for the night. Being a crackhead was expensive and even Patrick Zweig couldn’t afford it, it seemed. You knew he lived in his car and tried to revive his dead tennis career every chance he got. He was embarrassing to be frank, but you couldn’t turn your back on him when you knew he could pick up a handgun any day and write your name in big bold letters out of spite for the amount of time he called and you refused to answer before choosing to block his number. The junky ex boyfriend trope was getting tired and the sex was good back in the days but never enough to entertain his mess of a life. And to be frank, you had grown to be just as spiteful and petty as they were, the wound of the past still fresh in your heart despite the decade of separation.

Over the last years, you had crossed his path about five times and each time you found him in a outer body state, off on whatever he had gotten his hands on but definitely not water. Each time you crossed him, you remembered the words he had said to you, ears prior, noting the irony of how he had turned out now that he was alone. It was sad, honestly, Art had been a beacon to him, Tashi too. But both found mutual benefits in each other, Tashi getting to live through her husband while Art got to live through the fantasy that he didn’t regularly got of on his best friends cock rubbing against his.

You, you were just collateral, too easy to love yet too mysterious to understand. You were like the easiest puzzle never solved to them, an equation on love and lust all packed in one basic formula that was so easy that it felt like a trap. People relying on toxicity to feel alive sabotaged shit like that, the easy shit that wasn’t meant to be overly painful. You’d been too easy, so you could be disposed of ln on the basis of an argument where you just didn’t fit anymore when the truth is that you fit in way to easily with each without having to give anything tangible. You weren’t bringing shit to their worlds but yourself yet you were indispensable.

And being indispensable, surprisingly, wasn’t sufficient to them.

~

The first time Patrick saw you again after the separation was in the street. Which street he can’t say, he’s not even certain he saw you for real seeing as that night he was high on whatever had been sitting in his car and a 4 dollar bottle of vodka from the corner store. His car slash home wasn’t too far, less than ten steps away, yet he couldn’t reach it. First he couldn’t fucking find his keys and on top of that, he had felt in a cheery mood, deciding to down half the bottle right outside the store. He was in a mood to celebrate, the news of Tashi and Art’s divorce plaguing his mind like the sweetest of highs.

In his sick mind, the man still lived the fantasy that he and Art were the same or that they could be, true rivals from the same place, both drastically changed by their circumstances but still and forever Fire and Ice. He wanted to believe that well in his thirties he still had a shot. He could still do this, get to reach the same level of stardom and face off his best friend and lover once again. He was insane, and slightly pathetic like that but the news made the possibility even greater in his mind.

Tashi and Art had been a unit of destruction he could’ve never truly beat, not on his own, yet he still dreamt and rightfully so. Because now, both members of the unit were parting ways and what better way to conquer than to divide ? She had done it, years prior, Art fully participating despite his seemingly innocent demeanor.

In the midst of his celebration, he had, once again, forgotten to exercise restraint and had drunken enough to stumble into an alley all alone, falling face first in a puddle of water. In his inebriated state, even felt the weight of his exhaustion, weirdly falling down all at once on his shoulders.

He was so out of it, he hadn’t noticed your figure almost floating towards his body before seeing you crouched down next to him. You started at him just like he did you, both quiet for a second before he cut the silence with a chuckle, you, on the other hand were less than amused, stoic and silent face dark as you watched him, probably gloating to see him in such a state.

“Are you real ?” Was all he had said, waiting for a response which had never came.

It was almost vicious how he could barely make out the walls around him yet could perfectly distinguish the features of your face. It hadn’t changed, fuck you were so pretty.

The rest was a blur of soft touches and movements he could understand. All he knew was that you had spoken to him, telling him to not drink and to cut the heroin. He had nodded, obedient and shameful as a result of his words from the past.

When he had woken up the next day, he was surprised to be in a bed, comfy and warm covers. Parts of him dreamt it was her house. It wasn’t. It wouldn’t never be, not if she had a say on it at least.

You had driven him to rehab, leaving without a word or a note for him to understand. He didn’t know much other than the fact that you had paid for him to stay there for six months and then maybe he could leave. You had even paid more to make sure that the establishment accepted him despite her not being a relative or anything like that. Top quality facility that would have him bust his ass off trying to get clean, and not just off the drugs but also the alcohol.

He didn’t know anything, he just felt like it was you who had been the generous donator to pay for him to get clean. The lady at the front desks and the doctor in charge of him were only told one thing that had a seemingly smug but actually hopeful grin stretching his lips.

“I don’t want anything really, it’s more for him. Maybe, if he gets better in his head, he’ll actually get to be good at tennis again.”

It was mean, you were mean, mostly to him. But he knew better. You both had a habit of disagreeing so whenever he’d shit on himself, you’d join him and suddenly he was bathed in the confidence of the universe. Ironically, it never worked the other way around.

He stayed, all six months though, per the doctors and therapist, he wouldn’t need to. He could’ve left after the forth month. They had a tennis court to help him work a bit so he chose to stay. Even made friends. But he stayed, the whole time. Out of respect for you in some ways but also because he wanted to see how well he’d do. If he could really stick it out for the whole six months and then more. He did, and he would’ve loved to tell you, but that didn’t happen.

~

The next you saw was Art. If “seeing” was an appropriate term to use in this situation. After retiring, the man couldn’t find it in himself to ever really leave the tennis world, even after he and Tashi had divorced. He was still fully ingrained in the tennis world like the champion who would’ve lost it all, should’ve lost it all. His career been over if he had lost to Patrick that day. It would’ve destroyed him, you knew that. You didn’t need to be there to know, you always could read him. You could read all three down to the nastiest of details they were dirty rotten books passing fungus and parasites to everything they touched.

Art was the prettiest of parasites, seemingly clean and well behaved, but he fucked like a man starved for pussy, real pussy, raw and without conditions or expectations. You knew he hadn’t changed a bit when you saw him at an even for Uniqlo. Your career also had you around these circles and you like these events the best, with big brands but really niche, making it easy to not be overwhelmed as soon as you stepped in the room.

You’d been the center of attention the moment you entered and he was quick to catch you, you both engaging in a stare off that had lasted for about three seconds to you maybe, a lifetime to him. You couldn’t be here, not really, how could you ? He had dreamt of you, screamed your name and moaned it while balls deep in his wife. Ex wife. She’d moan your name too, it was pathetic, both were. He had pleaded the universe for you and yet nothing, but here you were, the one night he wasn’t thinking of you somehow. There you were, ever so beautiful and breathtaking. Like a ghost grappling at his brain.

It was pathetic, to not see you for a decade and yet to have his heart beat out of his chest as soon as he saw you and his cock springing to life like never before when you turned around, allowing him to gawk at the curve of your spine, from your nape to your ass. He was screwed.

For the rest of the night you both engaged in a cat and mouse game, him the cat and you the mouse, but here, you weren’t running from him. You were disappearing into the crowd as soon as he was freed from whatever pointless discussion was taking his time from you.

Then came the end of the night and Art was frantic, aimlessly searching for you, terrified like never before to miss you and this time lose you forever. He could reach you, he could go to one of your concerts and press tour for one of your movies. He could do that, but Art had always been somewhat of a pussy. Enjoying his position off in the shadow while the rest of the world took actions and spoke on their feelings.

That day, he took action, forgetting any sense of pride and decorum when he grabbed you by the jaw and pushed you into the elevator, hands reaching under your dress to hike your legs up around his waist. The elevator had barely opened, luckily leading directly into the suite he had been offered that he and his eager hands dragged your docile body to the nearest flat surface. When he had reached the dinner table, he had laid you up on it, so delicately, as if you were a figment of his imagination, potentially disturbed by any rough movement.

He was almost panicking, fiddling with your dress, torn between savoring the moment and your presence or making you feel the weight of your absence. He chose the later, ripping through the fabric of the expensive dress while you whined at the loss of such a beautiful piece to add to your collection.

You liked clothes, you always did and your mewls of pleasure mixed with the sound of your discontentment at the loss of your new favorite dress had him tensing in his pants, balls tight and full of love and memories from how happy and grateful you used to be when he gave you a present.

His lips dragged along the tense vein in your neck, occasionally biting down on your flesh to mark you in the most visible way possible. If you were to disappear again, you’d be marked, sworn as off limits to anyone else. You’d be his to worship.

You had matched his eagerness, sliding slander manicured fingers into his pants and boxers to stoke his cock, mouth watering at the idea lf having him in you again, girth taking up all the space in her throat and rutting into her hole desperately for even more.

You did, have him fuck your throat. Your saliva coating his balls shamelessly while you choked, almost suffocating on him but whining like the desperate girl you were whenever he even thought of pulling out. He had let you have your fun on him, nasty words to match the nasty rhythm of his hips slamming into your mouth. Plop. Plop. Plop, resonating into the room while he drilled his long cock into you with vigor. He had cum once, in your throat, only one, holding your face still as he pushed the tip of your nose into his nicely trimmed pubic hair. You inhaled his scent, eyes crossing in pleasure while you came untouched. What a good girl you’d always been, cumming at the idea of having him lay his semen in your throat.

He pulled out, holding your jaw still while admiring your fucked out face before kissing your cheeks tenderly like he always did to bring you back. You were easy to overwhelm so making you dumb on pleasure came easy too. But Art was a hard working man and he would never stop at that.

“Already so dumb for me…” He had muttered into your skin, lips dragging across your cheeks, jaw and chest, to finally reach your leaking mound. It was his turn to inhale your scent, mind hazy with pleasure and completely taken by you. No amount of thinking ever mattered, you mattered, all of you. Art had found an altar within the confine of your folds, ready to worship it like he had been deprived off for years.

His tongue had lapped at your juices for hours, pussy drunk after the first orgasm he had pulled out of you and ready to sink into his addiction. His messy tongue hadn’t left you since he had started, essentially hours ago, swallowing your taste, drinking in your pleasure and praying for more. He sucked on your clit messily, movements becoming just as erratic as he was. He wanted more of you, more of this, he needed to live in your skin forever. You were so warm and felt so good and he loved you and he had missed you so fucking much and this was too much, ruining him from the inside and melting him into a puddle of arousal and unexpressed love. He was made to love you and you weren’t there, you had left and he needed to love you now and forever.

“P-Please… Baby please…” He kept starting, to dumb on your pussy to be able to finish his sentence. But finish, that he did. Cumming untouched himself, cock rubbed raw against the fabric of the covers, a wet patch under him, marking the spot he’d been soaking with his pour sensitive cock for hours. He was twitching like never before, moans exiting his mouth because of the air touching his sensitive tip, so red it looked like a popsicle. Lucky him you couldn’t see, or you’d swallow him whole until he was to cum without anything coming out.

For now he rejoiced in the pleasure of having you in this bed, shaking nonstop and coherent words and phrases erases from your vocabulary by his desperate acts on your now swollen cunt. His hands had been gripping on your hips, holding you firmly and relying on your ass cheeks for more grip when his attacks on you became too much and you would attempt to squirm away. You were now but a body, a doll, aimlessly moved by him will. His tongue went deep inside you, so, so deep, almost grazing your most sensitive point but still preparing your walls for his raw dick and the abuse it would lay on your eager pussy. He moved your body back and forth, having you rut your hips into his face. His blue eyes, clouded by pleasure and insanity looked up, faced by your breasts bouncing while you cried and cried, the pleasure too much. He freed one of your ass cheeks to reach a large hand over your tits, grabbing it roughly and toying with your nipple while he sucked on your clit. He had heard the sound of the sheets ripping and wanted to be the next one to be torn into.

He was too much, to passionate on you, slurping and slobbering on your weeping cunt as if it was his last meal. He was entranced by you, feasting on you with all the fervor he had missed out on showing you. As he lapped away, you jerked particularly harshly, too sensitive to handle much more. Your fingers tried to pull him away from you, hair tightly gripped in your hands but he was quick to fight back, sending you a glare before going back to you.

In one desperate motion, strength fueled by your impending orgasm and his own, hip humping the air as his large cock stood tall beads of cum leaking in large drops out of his tip, he flipped you over, you on top of him, seating on his face while he laid under you. The weight of your ass on his chin and your cunt smashed against his face, he could die happy again. His hands found your ass again while yours grabbed onto his growing blond locks and the other holding onto the headboard. You road his tongue like never before, smearing your cum on his face while you cried for your release.

“A-Art ! Fuck, Art, baby ! S-So good !” was all you could say at the moment, the rest, incomprehensible cries of pleasure and babbling that signified how far gone you were.

Art watched your tits bounce again, saliva dripping out of the corner of his mouth and all over your center as he dreamt of sucking your nipples until the were swollen and sensitive. He made love to your cunt, moaning inside you like he could do so well, grunts and whines of pleasure going heard by the entire floor if his suit wasn’t the only one here. His own eyes filled with tears, balls releasing cum all over his stomach and your back.

You gripped his hair like a rope you held onto at the risk of falling. He admired with desperation and passion, your head thrown back in pleasure as you finally came, crying out his name while drenching his face in your cream. You could barely catch your breath that he had thrown you off of him and onto the mattress. He stood between your legs for a minute, staring.

That was the clearest memory you had of that night, other than the week long ache between your legs and the pulsating of your clit at the sound of his name. You, on the other hand, were etched into his mind like a picture carved in stone to be remembered forever. Everything he looked was a reminder of you, even his daughter, Lily, a great enjoyer of your movies, one where you had played a princess destined to save her kingdom. Ironic how both he and his daughter saw you the same, the princess and the savior.

He marked you into his mind, your hair splayed onto the bed, eyes lidded with pleasure, mouth parted as you stared at his cock. Every piece of you he memorized. In every position too. And, intertwined amongst the sounds of pleasure exiting his throat, muffled by his mouth almost fused to a piece of your skin, pressed to your cheek or to your forehead in one of the most intimate acts he had performed in the last five years, he cried out for you. Desperately crying out your and the anger he had suppressed towards you. Anger or sadness, sorrow so deep it almost felt like grief. His movement became harsher, almost mean but so full of love too. He loved you so much, present tense, he hadn’t stopped ever. He was still angry at you for leaving though, so he told you in a mix of incoherent and inaudible words all mushed together, he voiced his feelings for how you had abandoned him, left him heartbroken, grieving in silence.

“H-How…How could you d-do this to me, huh ?” He’d say angrily, before pleading. “I love you… F-Fuck… I l-love you… Please… I love you…”

Drilling his raw dick inside you felt like life itself, your walls tightly holding him in while he kissed your thoughts away. Open mouth kisses, all tongue and teeth, this was life, made and in the making. He was making life with you that night, creating like he had never before. When you rode his cock, balls slapping against your ass while his lips latched onto your breasts to suck on them, that was life. When you’d been thrown on all fours, taking the nastiest backshots known to man, pussy molded to take him and only him in, that was life. When he laid you on your side, one leg raised up by his muscly arm as you took another load of his cum from the back, that was life. When he fucked you with your thighs pressed to your chest and ankles around his head, his swollen lips kissing you tenderly in contrast with the force of his hips slamming into you, that was life.

Life hadn’t stopped until sunrise, where you had both fallen asleep, you taking in his ‘I love yous’ and your tongue tied with pleasure, the kind you hadn’t felt in decades, to speak up. With each new position came more cum and more words from him, poor Art, fucked dumb by his sweet girl that had finally returned. Years of guilt and love unexpressed had finally been told in loud moans and babbling about how much he loved you and was sorry.

It didn’t matter.

You had both fallen asleep with his cock nestled inside you, sheets tossed to the floor and arms holding your body close. He slept with his face nuzzling into your hair, a scent of vanilla and citrus he had missed like a man lost in the desert missed water. Your fingers held onto his forearm with your back pressed to his chest. You were both molded against one another, peaceful and quiet.

Reality hit the next morning, when he woke up to you getting dressed. You weren’t in a hurry but you weren’t staying, he couldn’t let you leave though.

He was quick to leap out of bed and in front of you, hands holding your cheeks to force you to look into his eyes.

“Please… Look at me, please baby…” He had begged, your empty eyes finding him. “Stay. Stay and let me apologize, make up for what I did-“

“You didn’t do anything Art.” You cut him off, swatting his hands away and going back to the pieces of your dress. “And there is nothing to make up for. You wanted Tashi, I can’t fault you. The sex was good, let’s stop there.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, desperation evident as he tried to hold you in his shaky hands.

He followed you around the bedroom and out of it when you were done, running after you while almost sobbing before dropping to his knees in front of you. You sighed, exhausted by the exchange while he sacrificed his dignity once again, for someone but never himself.

“Please baby, stay with me. Please, I love you.” He was erratic, breathing quickening while you looked around.

“Art…” Your eyes dropped to him, staring into his beautiful blue eyes and holding his face tenderly. “You don’t love me. You’re bored and you love having me in bed, that’s it.” You tried to walk away but he crawled after you, holding onto your leg desperately.

“No !” he exclaimed. “Don’t dismiss me or my feelings, please. I love you, with everything I have-“

“Ironically after Tashi left, thought.”

“I’m a fucking coward, fine ! But I can’t lose you again, not like this !” He was scared, that morning, truly. Even more than when Tashi announced she wanted a divorce.

“You don’t lose someone you don’t have. You can’t have someone you don’t want.”

“Fuck you ! I want you, I need you, baby, please !” He needed to know that you’d be there tomorrow and for the rest of eternity. He couldn’t lose you again, not again. “Look at me and tell me you don’t love me.”

You threw your head around, amused by his desperation and how brazen it made him sometimes. “You’re ruining this Art…”

“I can love you for the both of us if that’s the issue. I want to be yours, I want to marry you, live life with you, be everything you need from me !” He wasn’t listening, never.

Thinking back, it wouldn’t lead to anything, the pleading and all. He could see it now. Hindsight was 20/20. It would’ve been useless and even disrespectful to ask you to love him again after discarding you that way. But to get you back and lose you so quickly had killed him a little more that day. He had needed to hear it though, to understand. And understand he had.

“Art.” Your voice was firm, like a line of cement in the sand and a pause in time, freezing him and his tears in place. “I never needed you. None of you. I just wanted you, and was content with that. You were the ones who discarded me because you didn’t need me.”

He remained frozen in place, giving you the opportunity to leave, your eyes glued to his, his beautiful tearful face as he stared in silence. When the doors of the elevator closed, he collapsed, crying harder than ever before, crying like he should’ve years ago when he had found your stuff gone. He had lost you again. His pretty girl. The love of his life.

He might’ve doubted his love for Patrick or Tashi, but loving you was like breathing air. It was easy, it made sense, before and still now. And you’d been ripped out of his life forcefully. Even now, when his pride managed to supersede his love for Patrick and Tashi, nothing could come above the love he felt for you.

After that night, he had been floating aimlessly around life, drained out of life. You were somewhere, everywhere in his life, but near him and that was punishment, cruelty for choosing Tashi and ruining all four of you. He needed to see this and had refused, now he didn’t have the choice.

~

The next to see you was Tashi, or if you had to be precise, it was Lily, her daughter.

There was a park down your block, you often went there to write and skateboard. Tashi didn’t know that. She didn’t know anything. To know about you was to punish herself for about everything she had done in the recent years. Including getting married. She would never admit that though, to much pride would be sacrificed if after a decade she admitted that she missed you even after the way things had gone. It would also require for her to admit that maybe divorcing Art was not really a good idea. Not when a part of her still loved him, a part you had created, the part that accepted to love and be loved beyond tennis because love, as painful as it could be, was beautiful. Even in the most vile and painful moments.

You’d been sitting for about an hour, head thrown back as you let the spring breeze and the sound of birds communicating through the trees seep into your skin. Your week had been hectic and this was the first real moment of peace you could claim to benefit from, truly, a moment of peace where life let itself float around you while you took a pause.

Your pause, ended brutally, the sound of rushing footsteps and then a little yelp waking you up from your meditation. You opened one eye, looking down in the direction of the sound to find a little girl, laying on the floor with watery eyes and a wobbling bottom lip.

Poor thing had probably tripped. You straightened yourself, leaping off the bench to kneel in front of the little girl. She was distraught, looking around and fiddling with her skirt.

“Don’t worry, there’s not that many people, no one saw.” You’d said to reassure her.

She looked at you timidly before nodding, accepting the assessment you’d made on the situation. You didn’t know if anyone really had seen or not, but you did know that the park was essentially empty at this hour of the day.

“Hurts…” She mumbled, still looking down shyly. You wanted to chuckle, she was adorable, but she could’ve thought that you were mocking her so you refrained.

“Do you mind ?” You asked, pointing at her knee that was visibly turning a little more red by the minute. She shook her head, holding onto your shoulders so that you could lift her up and sit her on the bench. She had grazed her knee, it was bleeding. You looked up at the little girl in silence, this would probably have her panic if you told her. She looked about seven years old max and seemed used to run around freely, she hadn’t called for a parent yet. Luckily, you had everything you needed in your bag. You’d learn to carry around a first aid kit because of how easily you got hurt and out of habit. It reassured Tashi, back in the days, to know that you were okay or at least had something to take care of yourself.

You chuckled, her memory would truly haunt you until death if it could. You’d see her face in a piece on bandaid if you let yourself.

Pulling out your essentials, you pulled out a bottle of water as well as cleaning alcohol. You saw the little girl tense but quickly regain her composure.

“You’re not scared ? That hurts sometimes you know…” That wasn’t the smartest thing to say to a kid, but you said it anyways.

“I-It’s okay… Mommy says bugs could grow in my boo-boo if not cleaned. I hate bugs.”

You grinned, amused by her rationality but also by her tight grip on your shoulders. She was scared, she just knew better.

“And what does your mommy say about you running around alone in a park ?”

She didn’t respond, too focused on your face. Like she’d seen it before, and frankly, looking at her, you felt like you had seen her before. The messy curls on top of her little head and the way her nose scrunched and her eyes narrowed when you dabbed the alcohol on her knee. You wanted to pay more attention, but the memories where ghosts that had to be ignored or they would ruin your life.

“I’ve seen you before…” She said. You hummed, quietly asking for precisions. “In the TV. You were really pretty. You had a sword and all… It was cool…”

She’d seen one of your movies, for children kinda. A little bit violent in some scenes but for children technically. With a princess who wielded the sword better than any knight.

“Did you like it ? I personally did. Loved the sword fights.” You asked, softly placing the bandaid on her leg and giving her a thumbs up.

“Me too, but I have to be careful because they’re dangerou-“

“Lily ?!”

You both were interrupted by a loud voice not too far, rushing quickly towards you. The little girl hopped off the bench with a smile, running in their direction after muttering a soft “mommy”.

You would’ve loved to turn around, but presently you were too annoyed to do so, angry to not have noticed her resemblance to the man you had seen a few weeks prior and the woman you hadn’t seen in years. You exhaled, seating back on the bench and watching as the little girl chatted away, explaining how “the princess from the TV healed her knee”. You watched Tashi search around until her gaze found yours and froze.

If you’d been in her head you would’ve seen it all, the fireworks, the crashing waves of a hurricane, the tornado, the screaming lady who resembled her but simply couldn’t be, Art and her’s wedding day, the fights you found yourself at the center of and all the times she’d have sex with him thinking of you but without feeling guilty because she knew he did too. You’d see that and about a thousand other things because she was going insane at the moment while you looked almost bored to see her.

She stood up, mouth slightly parted and her eyes never really leaving yours while her hands gripped on Lily’s smaller one, like she was afraid that she would run and disappear again, like she had previously done and like you did years ago.

For someone who was paid for her advices and known in the business for how easily she could get in someone’s head through words, Tashi was struggling a great deal at words right now. She was stuck between speechless and too angry to formulate clear words.

“Mommy ?” Was what brought her back. She looked to her daughter, plastering on a fake smile to appease the worried child and caressing her hair.

“How about you go play for a little while I go say thank you to the lady, okay ?” In any other circumstances she would’ve gone home, done with the whole outdoors thing and ready to get back to work but the situation was different with you present here.

When she assessed that Lily was far enough to not hear, she stomped towards you, angry eyes burning through you. She was ready to hand you a slap worthy of movies but was stopped by your less that amused eyes matching her expression. You were politely asking her to refrain with your eyes, an expression she’d almost never been on the receiving end of.

Tashi stood there, watching you attentively, like she expected you to disappear. She took the time to observe you, take you in. Your gaze was some distant point in front of you, possibly Lily, seeing how you smiled while she laughed loudly.

You hadn’t changed much in a decade, looking as young as when you were in college. They’d all felt the mark of time as it was engraved on their features, burnt with painful precision to signify the years of conniving, lies and deceit they’d been put through by each other to maintain the illusion that they were doing better than the next. You looked fine, they didn’t.

Even she, felt like she didn’t look good, worn out by the pretense of perfection of the wife and coach who only sought to bring out the best out of her husband, make him the best. Not that he could ever really become it, not when he was so busy trying to play for two. Ironically she did find respite in her motherly duty, finding bits of herself you had taken with you in her darling little girl. Ball of oxygen like she had never experienced before, the kind of fresh air tennis could bring her.

“She’s cute, your daughter. Looks so much like you, almost feels like Art didn’t have anything to do with it.” You said nonchalantly.

She could’ve carved your eyes out for that comment, slapped you with nasty words about your life and how bitter you were that it wasn’t you. She remembered how you four had planned it. You and Art were supposed to marry because you loved each other the healthy, reciprocated, committed way. Like a couple who wanted to grow old and have plenty of kids together did. Tashi, she loved you as much as she loved tennis, but tennis came first. Patrick loved Art as much as he loved tennis, but he loved Art more. They’d find mutual benefits being together, because they worked and loved each other in a way that worked. Loved each other like two pieces of one tennis driven soul. After one very long and celebration filled night where everyone had won something, you’d made a promise that reeked of love, the kind Tashi had never allowed herself to feel for anything that wasn’t tennis. She loved Patrick really, but you first and Art too. You all made her feel alive the way tennis did. Art wanted children, with you, and you wanted kids with him too. Patrick and Tashi, it was more of an eventuality for after retirement. Adoption maybe, or you. It didn’t matter, but it all worked out for all of you. That night, she felt like she was on top pf the world. She crashed a few months later when she fought with Patrick and Art had started his divisive bullshit. The fall of Tashi Duncan, the one who could’ve but never would again.

“She’s a good kid, more like him than you think. But you wouldn’t know, you’ve been busy.” She responded after a while, both to defend herself but also to spit out her anger towards you. It had to come out.

“Don’t expect me to stick around where I’m not wanted.”

“Oh fuck off !” Your nonchalance was getting to her, anger as evident as the sorrow in her voice. “The victim bullshit about how you weren’t wanted can work for the other two but I knew you first. No one in this world wanted you more than we did.”

“Yeah, maybe, but you treated me like shit.” Your tone wasn’t changing while hers shifted from assured to shaky.

“So what, you leave ? We scream at you once and you leave ?” You turned to her, looking into her eyes as if looking through her while she stared at you, awaiting a response. It was surprising really, how easily she lost her temper and composure when it came to you. You were like gasoline to her fire. She’d never show as much passion than in the moments that had to do with you.

She hated you in that moments, because you left her alone. She lost tennis, her mind then you. She couldn’t do this without you but she didn’t have the choice, she faked it until it felt real and suddenly you appeared again. On her screens, then billboards and then ad’s and commercials. Obviously she knew you shared some brand deals with Art, she’d done it on purpose so that she could feel bits of you in him. She smelled you all over him when he had returned from that trip for a brand she had forgotten. She only remembered the look in his eyes, like Life itself had been ripped out of him. They’d shared a look that day and it was all they had needed to know. She, who had started to doubt whether divorce really was the best choice, she now knew that it was. You hadn’t just been lingering around, you were the constant. The glue.

That night, Art had slept in the guest room, crying himself to sleep for her to listen through the walls as she cried quietly. They were pathetic truly. But at least they knew that they had to separate really. No more fight on his part to keep his family, no more doubt on hers to keep tennis. Neither could stand the other any longer nor could they stand the charade.

“You treated me like shit Tashi. You’re not the only one who knows the other and unlike you and your lapdog, I actually don’t mind the truth, even when it makes me look like shit. You treated me like shit, so I left. Or would you have preferred for me to be like your little white boy and stick around to get a taste of what the Tashi Duncan, never really Donaldson, bullshit, conditional love is ?”

You sounded more animated, brought alive by the commentary on a life you would never regret because you knew it brought you the peace they never could enjoy. She usually enjoyed getting a rise out of the other two, feeling like she was better for remaining collected when they didn’t.

Now, it didn’t feel like a testament of her success over you. She never wanted to win when it came to you, it wasn’t about that, it was simpler. You were like a drug she got addicted to, but the good kind. Like being addicted on life. You made her feel alive independently of tennis. With you around, she actually would’ve been okay losing tennis forever because with you around, the story about how tennis was a relationship where you owed it to someone else to entertain them, to build a relationship and whatnot, it just didn’t work.

She felt healthier, in her mind and body with you, like genuinely be alright no matter where life lead her. And one day it all started crashing. Slowly. She should’ve seen it coming, or at least she could’ve paid attention taken charge to fight this the right way. She didn’t. When things got bad for her she’d focus entirely on tennis and when things got bad between you four, tennis was all that mattered until it wasn’t there anymore. She wouldn’t be choosing tennis had she known that it would take you away.

She had lost tennis too at the end so frankly, it didn’t matter anymore but she refused to lose her right to be mad at you too, because that’s really all she had left of you. Her anger and a daughter who grew to emulate parts of you she didn’t know she had missed.

“She hates bugs.” She said. It surprised you, it was soft, a whisper. Almost like she wanted to hide. You could only chuckle because it made you laugh, thought it didn’t make much sense.

“Everyone should hate bugs.” You responded.

“No…” she sighed, annoyed that she had to clarify. “She hates bugs like you do. Has to take off her clothes to check that they’re not there and take off the invisible veil of their presence on her skin.”

“That’s the best way to free yourself from the bugs.” That was weird, and uncool. She looked at you like you were a freak and for a second she was taken back to college, where you were the cool mysterious girl who everyone wanted to fuck but were too scared to approach. You really were a weirdo who hated bugs and could throw up if a caterpillar crawled your way. You were so cool to everyone but her. Just like now.

If you could’ve described her expression, you could only associate it with the way she looked at Patrick usually. That was the look she gave him when he’d forget himself and talk to her like she was any kind of girl he picked up off the street at a bar to fuck. She looked at you like you had lost your senses and had about five seconds to find them which was funny because she was the one losing it.

She loved you a whole lot, which was insane.

She stood and looked at you from above with disdain and contempt.

“You’re a pussy who runs away at the slightest of issues. I loved you, I list tennis and you left me because I wouldn’t coddle you anymore.” She spat venomously, aiming to hurt.

You looked at her, indeed hurt but also surprised. You were more wounded by what her words meant than what she had said.

“Y-You… You think I left because you weren’t playing anymore ?”

“That’s exactly what you did.”

And for the first time you were affected. This was the first encounter that had really thrown you back in the past.

You felt tears well up on your eyes, the feeling of your eyes trying to soak up the tears to keep you composed, so overpowering your throat was stuck. You didn’t want to cry and she didn’t want to make you cry, but she also did, because then maybe you’d feel exactly like she had for weeks back in the days.

“If… If tennis really had been what had sealed the deal, I would’ve stayed for Art, fucked him and gotten pregnant, Tash…” You chuckled, trying to conceal the pain that came with understanding what her best friend felt. You finally saw her view, all because of a simple phrase from her. “I left… I left because I was useless to all of you, Tashi… Without tennis to make you happy, what good was I around other than to have sex and remind you of how disposable I am ?”

You had cried yourself to sleep countless times, begging for assurance that you were good enough, that you could be loved, that you deserved it and weren’t disposable. Patrick’s words had been etched into your skull like a scar that wouldn’t ever go away. And she didn’t seem to see it correctly because she looked disgusted but really she was angrier than before at you for speaking up after a decade and at everything that had a part to play in her loosing her best friend.

“I never said any of that crap to you, so why would you think that ?”

“Because you hadn’t said the opposite, Tashi. You sunk and pushed me away, made me feel like shit for trying when I could never understand but you wanted them. Even Patrick you wanted him around. I was the waste of air…”

And she would’ve screamed at you that no, you weren’t, she had loved you and still did and would burn herself raw to show it, because she loved passionately and her passion with Art depended on you now, kinda. She would’ve slapped Patrick’s jaw off and had him searching for you to apologize. She would’ve done this a thousand other ways and shown you the years of tear stains and sleepless nights where she could only fall asleep to your voice on the TV, singing your life away as if she didn’t exist and wasn’t watching you. She wanted you to hear it, all of her anger and hatred.

Instead, Lily returned, running happily while you whipped your tears. She could only hear the ‘mommy’ coming out of her daughter before tuning her out to watch you. You knelt, listening to her talk about her rocks and the other kids while she watched or admired. Before she knew it, you had rolled away on your skateboard leaving her again.

~

If you presently took time out of your day to think about your exes, it wasn’t because it felt good to think about them, but because they were all crumbling, Tashi included, the most put together one of them. Patrick, it made sense. But Tashi, it was a surprise, though not so much. After Art had unilaterally decided, to announce his retirement, most likely without consulting his wife and coach, you had expected a shift, a the divorce announcement which had followed a month later was part of that. But to catch the three of them together, yelling at each other in the middle of a school was even more a surprise.

You’d been riding your motorcycle downtown when you passed a school. Stopping at the red light, you almost fell off your vehicle when you heard three more than familiar voices in front of a school gate. You felt them themselves had noticed you when all three stopped to turn in your direction. You were remained still, staring straight at them through your helmet. Tashi, always in the middle would be staring into your eyes if she would and a part of you wished she was, to see how she would react. Didn’t matter though, a part of you knew she had recognized you first, her body shifting from anger to unprecedented sorrow, like seeing a ghost of the person you had lived the most in a stranger passing by. You knew they were gone yet you still saw them and felt all the love you had missed out on giving them.

Lily noticed you next, how, you didn’t know, but she did, waiving her arm so hard it could come off at any second. The rest you tried to ignore feeling slightly, but only slightly, humiliated that you’d been pulled so easily into an impromptu dinner at Art’s apartment where Lily stayed for the week because you had stupidly promised her to recount the tales of your movies and concert adventures all over the world. And obviously, after the dinner from hell where each mention you had made about your past and its relation to your current career was met with a snarky comment, mention about a more than private anecdote or a longing look that made you feel like you had passed away tragically, you had to deal with The Conversation. Years of work, years of you steering clear off these people, all gone down the drain because of one little girl that just so happens to be a little too curious.

You would’ve honestly chosen to have a bullet going through your forehead before you willingly accepted to be in a situation like this one. But you also hated being inconvenienced and Art’s look of desperation was enough of one without dealing with Tashi cussing you out again, so yeah you accepted. Patrick was pretty chill, actually really nice to be around when sober.

And then ensued the longest and lost quiet ten minutes of your life, with Art looking down at you like you could evaporate, Tashi looking at you like you spat in her face and Patrick looking at you with genuine happiness, almost glad that you were here. You, were looking elsewhere, everywhere, analyzing the space and checking for the nearest exit. You would’ve made a run for it if you weren’t so fucking lazy, really. Unlucky you, victim of her own lacks.

Patrick was the first to talk, hesitant but clearly not feeling guilty or ashamed of anything. Or maybe he was but had learned to deal.

“I’m really happy to see you. I get to thank you for rehab.” He said and you almost glared at him, which he noticed, grinning like he used to, the smug fuck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You spat.

It made him chuckle really, how hard you tried to detach yourself from them but kept yourself in their orbit at almost all times. You were a brat and he was glad to see it hadn't changed.

“Right.” He nodded, complying with amusement. “Well, whoever is responsible in your team for my rehab as well as the apartment I got after, you’ll thank them for me.”

“They’re getting fired.”

You were stubborn, maybe more than him even, and he understood, definitely more than the other two who too busy hating you or loving you unconditionally.

Then began another five minutes of silence, broken once again by Patrick.

“Okay, I feel this is a waste of time.” He had barely started that you were already standing up to leave, quickly stopped by a frantic Art standing up in a hurry to stop you while Tashi’s head snapped in your direction coaxing you into sitting down with her eyes. Patrick enjoyed this greatly, how pathetic you made these two. “I mean, if we’re going to be here, we might as well talk. We need to, we haven’t in a while after all.”

Tashi’s anger changed focus to go to him, glaring at him with disdain.

“Since when did you become a fucking preacher of all things healthy and positive ?”

“Since someone nicely offered me a nice stay at a top tier rehab center that offered solo therapy sessions. The kind we all need.” Every word seemed to be pointed at you and you almost whished you’d left him to rot in the back of his car.

“I go to therapy, you ungrateful fuck, you won’t be teaching me shit about a healthy mental state.”

“Oh, what do you go for ? To learn to be less of a pussy and not run when things don’t go your way ?” Responded Tashi, more than annoyed by your condescension.

“No, I go to learn how to deal with nasty cold-hearted cunts who fail in life and take it out on everyone around them because they lost their lapdog husband to do that. Clearly it’s working because I’m here.”

“Oh look at her, she had a voice and a purpose now.”

“Don’t talk to her like that…” Muttered Art, finally losing it enough to speak up. It was cute, coming from a good intention and making shit worse.

“And look who finally grew a backbone ! Arthur Donaldson, standing up for someone, how nice. Of course it has to be for her, because if you won’t be fucking her behind my back and moaning her name while balls deep in me, you’ll be defending her.”

“Don’t start Tashi. You moaned her name more than I did, you’re mad that I got to see her and you didn’t, so let’s discuss that !” His voice increased in volume, meeting her as she stoop in to get in his face.

“Why the fuck would I need to see her ? She abandoned me ? She’s a fucking traitor !”

“Oh that’s rich coming from you Tashi, because you drilled in my head that after your fucking knee gave up on you I didn’t serve any other purpose than a nice fuck to remind you that there was always someone more useless than you now !”

The voices were coming from everywhere, heated and hurt by the wounds of the past, the kind that couldn’t heal until they were acknowledged.

You were all breathing loudly, looking at each other in pure anger, the anger you had repressed for years, the nasty words and ideas that you had let fester in your minds, desperately trying to move on and to grow into better people. You were all bitter, and in a funny twist of things, the most insane one of you remained sat, smiling at the three of you, enjoying the show.

“Oh, sorry.” He raised his hand, waiving it nonchalantly. “Don’t mind me, I’m just enjoying this. Happy to see you communicate.”

Had it been anyone else, you would’ve punched their teeth in, but Patrick enjoyed this. Sober or not, he remained annoyingly toxic, thriving off of the chaos that follows him.

“You’re enjoying this ? Really ?” You sounded just as surprised as you were amused, balancing between two moods that had you going from hot to cold.

You watched him stand up and get closer to you, close enough for you to smell the mint body wash on his skin. Good Lord, he smelled so good you could fuck him right now.

His hands traveled from your forearms to your cheek, holding your jaw nicely while you tried to act utterly disgusted by his presence and his touch.

When he kissed you, all tongue and drool, it was a little more difficult to act, mostly when you pulled at his hair the way he like and when his hand moved to hold your throat softly.

“What do you need to drop this act ? You know you want us, sweetheart. You need us in your life and it’s really embarrassing that you’re still keeping up the bit after more than a decade.”

You would’ve been bewildered by his audacity had you not been almost fucked mercilessly into dealing with it. It didn’t mean you wouldn’t enjoy putting him in his place, which is what you did when you pulled him away from you by the hair before pushing him back into his chair but not pushing his hand away when it loved to you exposed hip bone.

“I don’t know what fucked up substances had been floating in your system that fried your brain, but you told me to fuck off and die Patrick.”

“You’re being dramatic.” He cut you off with a grin, enjoying the situation even more.

“If I remember correctly, you called me useless. That sounds pretty freaking clear to me. As a matter of facts, the two other’s didn’t even say shit to shut you up so you can choke for all I care. Because yes I left, but you gave me the only reason I needed to.”

And it was funny really, how anger made them all lose their memories because you had really been given a reason, but they still felt like victims.

“So you listen to what my bitch says now ?” Tashi chimed in, angering you further.

“I’m as much your bitch as he was so, yeah, if you’re not defending me, you’re agreeing with him.”

And the perspective wasn’t new to her. It just meant she was wrong all that long and that wasn’t something she could accept. She has thought for years that you’d looked for the exit, when in truth they had opened the doors for you.

And now, it was her turn to kiss you. Nasty and greedy, teeth knocking and pussies leaking as she cussed you out like never before. She wanted you and hated you for making yourself wanted after years. Wanted you so much she pushed you onto the table, swatting the teacups off the table to crash loudly. When her mouth traveled down your neck, biting along the way, as if she was attempting to catch up to years of not marking you as hers, you cried out her name all while pulling at her hair.

Maybe it was the use of the present tense that fucked with her brain on a cellular level. Or it was the way Patrick had kissed you as if he had rights over you when then knew she was the only one who had rights over you. And fuck, you looked so good when you were a bitch, that had her leaking out of her panties like never before.

She refused to take up responsibility but you also refused to admit that you had settled for less, accepting the apologizes hidden in her actions. Mouth mean and piercing when her touch was so soft, like an apology that wouldn’t come out.

When she slid your pants down along with your panties, you expected to get eaten out, instead confronted by a crying Tashi.

“What the fuck ?” You exclaimed, seating up and looking at her.

You tried to raise her hand but were pushed back down instead mouth stuffed with your panties while she hid between your thighs. You would’ve loved to get her tongue deep inside you but with her tears running down your inner thighs, it was hard to not be distracted. She sobbed louder, finally stopping before springing up and storming off.

Art was the one to stop her, worried for the woman he had seen cry maybe twice in his life. His eyes asked a thousand questions wonder and fear traveling through, powered by the fear of failing to rekindle the old flame that kept him alive.

“Why did you have to fuck her ?! Why do I have to deal with her again ?!”

It was harsh but you didn’t take it personally, never with her. She was a loyal person, ironically, and to lose the pillar that you were had killed her inside. Her finger pointed at you while she sobbed, letting go of years of resentment.

“You abandoned me ! You left me but you fucked him and you pay for the other to go to rehab ! He hurt you and you save his life when you should let him burn !”

The mask of assurance and anger was crumbling like a sand castle under a wave, traveling as fast as her tears. You wanted to reach and comfort your girl but now could be the wrong time.

“They get every piece of you, even from afar and I get nothing ! You give me nothing but fucking dust !”

This time you did reach out. Holding out your hands to her and letting her fall into your arms like she usually did. She never fought to reach you, she melted for you more than for anyone. Maybe that was why her marriage to Art had failed, because by default, you were the quickest route to her heart beyond the planning for the perfect tennis related life. You actually touched Tashi.

After a while she stopped crying and marched towards Patrick to slap him because he was a smug bitch and the source of all of this, but he was also a good sport and took it rather easily. He didn’t care about the slaps, not when they were a necessary step to getting you back into this circle, the correct universal order of things. And he was also pretty glad that she’d slapped him if it meant he could watch her lodge herself between your parted legs and stick two digits in your mouth to shut you up when you yelped at the coldness of her breath on you.

“You’re sick, you know that ?” She had chuckled when looking at you dripping center and rubbing her thumb on your clit. “I cry just a little and you actually get wetter. That’s fucked, even for you.”

Yeah you were weak to her tears and yeah it did make your insides throb but not because you liked to see her cry. It was because a very twisted part of you knew that only you could get her to act like that, only you could get her to lose that ego and be human for a second. And when she looked up at you with reddened eyes and lashes still a little covered in tears, you did moan because fuck she was hot. She was insane but she was hot and you’d missed having her tongue on you so you took it like the good girl she had trained you to be.

“See how easily things go when you stop being dramatic ?” Had scoffed Patrick, still grinning as he walked towards Art.

“Fuck y- Aah !” You couldn’t finish that sentence, nor when she sucked your clit in like she loved to do whenever you got mouthy. It trained you to be polite.

Patrick watched you slowly lose your resolve, twisted into a submissive little thing, the sweet girl he used to fuck into oblivion, not the egotistical pop star that refused to fucking talk to him.

While Tashi had her fun between your thighs, slid behind Art who evidently couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Oh, how he had missed you, all of you. To watch Tashi devour you like she did ignited a fire in him he hadn’t felt in about a decade, or six months if we went back to the last time he saw you. Here you were, laid on top of his kitchen like a godly offering meant for him to devour. He looked down at you core, watching your cunt throb in desire, never really satisfied until you were filled up properly.

He watched you with glossy eyes and a line of drool picking out of the corner of his mouth, he wanted his mouth of your tits, so nicely presented, bare under your top. Was that what you wanted ? For him to see you and think of your night together, like he had done for the last weeks ? Were you trying to get him to lose it ? He was going insane, more than usual. He could still see him jerk off in the shower, his bed or his TV whenever something about you came up in his head or his screen. He saw you and would cry at the loss of you all while cumming all over himself repeatedly.

“Look at this, pretty girl…” Muttered Patrick, running his nose down Art’s neck. “Look at your sweet boy, Art. Look at how hard you get him when you start acting nice with us ?”

His large hands slid under the blond man’s joggers, pushing the tiny briefs he wore to the side, to let his large cock be freed. You saw him sigh in relief, his long girth and thick balls finally freed from the piece of fabric barely covering them. You could salivate at the thought of him, how his pore dick just could never fully fit in the tiny underwear Tashi had him buy. He’d get aroused and need to push them to the side to breathe. Obviously, all that before you offered to get on your knees and relieve him from the itch.

And you were already getting crosseyed, losing your resolve quickly and forgetting why you were angry at them for all these years. You couldn’t remember, but you knew that you were ready to be used by every single one of them. Starting with your poor baby boy who tried his best not to jump you, respecting Tashi’s time with you all while leaking cum through his joggers. He tried to be so respectful that was the one to drop his pants and tug at his balls to give him a little friction.

A little always went a long way for Art, so when you saw him cum all over Patrick’s hand and not down your throat you were a little disappointed.

Tashi barely spared anyone a glance, to busy exploring your insides with her tongue. When your legs closed in around her, she knew you were close, enough to satiate a decade long thirst for your sweet juices. She sucked in your clit again and you tried to crawl away, too sensitive for the double sucking and penetration, her fingers sliding inside you to part you open properly.

You were so close, whining and moaning her name while rubbing your pussy on her face. But then she stood up, leaving you to cry out while you watched your orgasm die on her tongue.

“You really think I’d let you cum after you ghosted me for a fucking decade ?” She said, looking at you with a mix of disgust and amusement.

You wanted to scream and cuss her out for leaving you so high and letting you crash down, but you knew better and you knew she would do worst if you didn’t watch your mouth.

Patrick was the one to make a move, kissing forehead with another fucking grin. Was that the only thing he did ?

“Be nice to our girl, Tashi… She was certain that we hated her guts.”

“Yeah, well that’s not my problem. You fuck her if you want but she’s not cumming until I say she does.” Her gaze was decisive and you knew that was an order for the two men in the room as well as a threat to you.

You tried to plead with your eyes, pulling at her heartstrings to no avail, you’d need to make yourself be forgiven. But it was also easier to plead with Art who was still staring at you, desperately waiting for his moment. Patrick stared at you both, amused at your fickle attempt at restraint.

He'd always be the one to let himself be driven by his dick so really, he could salute Art for the attempt, had it been him, he would’ve fucked you stupid already. And he would, eventually, he wanted to, his throbbing cock a proof of that. But he wanted to deal with this shit first.

“How about we calm down and let all the anger go, huh Tash ? Look at our sweet girl, look how much she’s missed you ? How about we let her show us, huh ?”

For a few seconds, both looked into each other before she rolled her eyes, agreeing in silence. In mere seconds you were lifted up by Patrick, his hands holding onto your bare ass cheeks while toying with your pussy lips. His nose ran along your nose, inhaling your scent and the aroma of you on his tongue.

“You’ll get to put on a show for us, princess.” He said, nipping on your collarbone all the way down to your nipples. You closed your legs around his waist, throwing your head back in pleasure when his lips ran around your nipple, sucking it in vigorously.

He stopped in his track, turning towards a frozen Art, unmoving and red all over, from the tip of his ears to the tip of his cock. He watched the way you swallowed, eagerly waiting to get to suck him dry. He liked it, when you became just a little bit insane over Art’s cock, salivating at the idea of him drilling his cock down your throat.

Tashi had been watching you this whole time and the way you looked at the blond man. She liked how much you craved Art too, enjoyed watching you two fuck for hours, until you couldn’t think or form a coherent sentence. She stood up, walking in his direction and running a finger over the slit of his tip. He was shaking at the touch, almost ready to cum on the spot.

Tashi took his hand and followed after Patrick and you, dragging the man behind. She pushed him to the bed and Patrick threw you on top of him, Art’s arms wrapping around your waist protectively. He didn’t know what he was protecting you off but he wanted to be in his skin at the moment deep in every crevice of your being.

“Show us what you did together and I’ll forgive you.” She said, taking a seat right in from of the bed next to Patrick.

You could’ve refused, acted like you were better than that, had changed and grown out of that phase of your life and didn’t need her forgiveness. You could’ve been the mentally stable being you claimed to be, but you didn’t. Because you weren’t. You missed being used by all three of the people in the room, watched and admired as a vessel of their pleasure. You missed Tashi being mean to you in bed, so mean that you would cry for hours until she was done and cuddled you afterwards. You missed being used as a cum dumpster by Patrick and his disgusting ways of having sex, thick hairy balls rubbing over your face when he’d make you suck him off. And you missed Art taking you until you were left shaking in his arms, so roughly that neither of you could think a single rational, logical thought.

You missed the messiness of life with them, not prim proper and rational but genuinely sick and twisted, toxic filled bullshit that had you feeling passion like never before. You missed actually being better than them and rubbing it in their faces by always being the first to do the right thing.

You were just as twisted as them, calculated and conniving as the next. Birds of a feather, that was all you, all four of you insane and desperately in love, even if it hurt sometimes.

You didn’t talk shit out that night or the day after. You fucked all night, finally forgiven around 4AM, just in time for Tashi to sit on your face while Art and Patrick battled each other to eat the cum out of you. The weren’t sure whose it was but they wanted a taste. And that went along for the next day because while Patrick and Tashi could actually control themselves, Art never could, not with you. He kept going until his balls hurt and he’d been shooting blanks inside you.

Patrick wouldn’t apologize, not with words but with actions, because he was still an ego drive piece of shit and he refused to admit being wrong when it came to you. But he loved you so he became nicer and watched his words around you, because he refused to go insane again at the loss of you. Tashi would move on as if nothing happened, her girlfriend was back and she’d eventually get married with Patrick because she actually worked with Patrick and loved him the way she couldn’t Art, but never the way she loved you. Art would pamper you like you were heaven on Earth, worshipping the very ground you walked on and feeding off of your love for him just like you fed on his love for you, because you actually loved Art, loved him enough to get married and have that baby you talked about.

The dynamic was weird but it worked and it was all planned also. Nothing had really changed, except you, you became worse. Just as unstable as them.

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x dc AU where all heroes go on high alert every October due to the JLD warnings of extreme cosmic disturbances. 

Danny had long since been keeping the tradition of letting Dan out on their death day. It started as a plea for empathy from someone who quite literally experienced the same traumatic death and traumatic life. 

They never talked for long unfortunately, because inevitably Dan would pick a fight and Danny would have to remind him why he lived in a thermos all 364 other days of the year. It was sad. It was cathartic. 

This year however, all of his alerts coming through his JL communicator were getting really distracting. Apparently, the whole of the JL and JLD was on high alert because the veil between the Infinite Realms and Earth was always weakest on this day (more so that Halloween even). Danny sighed into his hands. 

As he continued to fight off his alternate timeline self, Dan escaped from his grasp and the JL appears at the exact wrong time. Danny desperately protects them from Dan’s initial attack, but after a moment, Danny found that there wasn’t any follow up. Dan had flown away. At top speed.

Shit. 

Now Danny had to track down Dan while fielding the panicked questions of all of his coworkers. 

When it all wraps up, and Dan is caught and souped with only a very vague explanation of who he is to Phantom, Constantine accuses him of causing this issue every year. 

This is how the JL simultaneously learn about Danny being the Ghost King and his Death Day. 

[myonexox]

LOVE IN THE STORM

pairing : boyfriend!heeseung x female!reader

pov : you're on your period and your boyfriend takes care of you

warning : period talk (mentions of menstrual cramps and related discomfort)

now playing : my love mine all mine by mitski (to truly immerse yourself in the mood of this oneshot, i highly recommend listening to this song as you read. its gentle melody perfectly capture the comforting vibe of a rainy day, the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket when the world outside feels gray and distant)

⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟ

the rain hammered against the window, relentless and loud. you lay curled up on your bed, clutching a heating pad to your stomach as sharp cramps rippled through your body. a rom-com drama was playing on television but you didn't really pay attention to it. you weren’t even sure what the plot was anymore. your focus was on the persistent ache in your abdomen.

you hadn’t moved much since dragging yourself out of bed to grab a blanket and even that had felt like a monumental effort.

the snacks you had optimistically gathered earlier sat untouched on your bedside table. the thought of eating anything made your stomach churn yet the nagging hunger didn’t help your mood. you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, cocooning in its warmth as you winced through another wave of cramps.

you grabbed the remote, mindlessly flipping through the endless sea of rom-coms on the television. none of them seemed appealing. too cheesy. too dramatic. too happy. nothing really matched your mood. you settled on one you vaguely remembered liking a few years ago, letting it play more as background noise than a real distraction.

the rain grew heavier and with it came the occasional clap of thunder. you glanced at the window, watching rivulets of water snake down the glass in uneven patterns. a part of you found it oddly mesmerizing, the rhythmic tapping and swirling motions almost hypnotic. but then another cramp struck, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into your discomfort.

you sighed heavily, reaching for your phone to check the time. mid-afternoon. it felt like the day had stretched on forever and yet you couldn’t recall doing anything remotely productive. a quick glance at your notifications showed nothing of interest. no messages, no updates, no distractions. just the empty silence of a dreary day.

groaning softly, you set your phone down and shifted in bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. the heating pad slipped out of place and you fumbled to readjust it, muttering a curse under your breath. even small movements felt like a chore. you closed your eyes, willing yourself to drift off but the cramps kept you from finding any real rest.

another rumble of thunder echoed outside and the lights flickered briefly. you stared at the ceiling, half-hoping the power wouldn’t go out. the last thing you needed was to be left in the dark with nothing but your cramps and the rain for company.

“ugh” you groaned, burying your face in your pillow. the sound was muffled but it felt cathartic to let out even a small bit of frustration. you hated feeling this way, trapped in your own body, unable to shake the lethargy and discomfort. it wasn’t fair. none of it was.

it felt like your body was waging a war against you and there was nothing you could do but endure it.

with a shaky breath, you leaned back against the pillows, willing yourself to stay calm. it wasn’t the first time you’d felt this way and it wouldn’t be the last. but knowing that didn’t make it any easier.

your eyes were half-closed as the movie played on. suddenly, you heard a soft knock at your door.

you forced yourself to sit up, wincing at the effort and called out weakly “who is it?”

the door creaked open and there he was. your boyfriend, heeseung. he stood in the doorway, his hair slightly damp from the rain, a sheepish smile on his face. in his arms, he carried a large bag that looked stuffed to the brim. the sight of him standing there sent a jolt of surprise through you.

“hey” he said softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “i’m sorry i’m late. i should’ve come earlier”

you blinked at him, still processing the fact that he was here. “heeseung? what are you doing here?”

he set the bag down on your desk and turned to you. “you didn’t think i’d leave you to suffer through this alone, did you?” he asked. “i brought some things to help you feel better”

before you could respond, he was already pulling items out of the bag, one by one. first, he held up a pair of thick, fuzzy socks. “for your feet” he said, kneeling by the bed. “i know it’s freezing today” he gently lifted the blanket and reached for your feet, slipping the socks on with careful hands. the warmth was immediate and you couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of relief.

next, he pulled out a thermos. “your favorite tea” he announced, unscrewing the lid and pouring some into the cap. the fragrant aroma wafted up and he handed it to you with a smile. “it should help with the cramps”

you accepted the tea gratefully, the warmth of the cup seeping into your hands. “how did you…?” you began but he cut you off with a knowing look.

“i pay attention” he said simply as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

from the bag came your favorite takeout, still warm and smelling absolutely heavenly. he set it down on your bedside table and handed you a pair of chopsticks. “i know you probably haven’t eaten much today” he said. “and no, i’m not taking no for an answer”

you couldn’t help but laugh softly at his determination. heeseung always had a way of making you feel cared for even in your worst moments. you picked at the food tentatively and the first bite was like a warm hug for your soul. he watched you with a satisfied smile before diving back into his bag of surprises.

“ice cream and chocolate” he said, holding them up triumphantly. “for dessert of course” he placed them in your mini-fridge for later, knowing you’d want them when you were ready. then he pulled out a small box of pain relief patches and waved them at you. “these are supposed to help with cramps too. let me know if you want to use one, okay?”

you nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. his thoughtfulness was overwhelming and you weren’t sure if it was the hormones or just how much you appreciated him but tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

“and last but not least” he said, reaching into the bag with a dramatic flourish “a new plushie. because it reminded me of you”

he pulled out an adorable stuffed animal, its soft fur and big eyes making you smile. “it’s cute” you murmured, hugging it to your chest. “thank you, heeseung”

“i’m not done yet” he said with a grin, producing a book from the bag. “i remembered you mentioning this one. thought it might help take your mind off things”

you stared at the book in his hands, your heart swelling. it was the exact one you’d been eyeing for weeks but hadn’t gotten around to buying. heeseung really did pay attention.

“you didn’t have to do all this, you know” you said. “but i… i’m so glad you did”

he sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “you don’t have to thank me” he said softly. “i just want to make sure you’re okay. that's my responsibility”

heeseung’s presence had turned what had been a miserable day into something entirely different, a haven of comfort and care. the ache in your abdomen still there but with him beside you, it felt more manageable as though his warmth somehow dulled the edges of the pain.

he had made himself comfortable beside you on the bed with his arms wrapped around you, his fingers gently tracing random patterns on your back, trying to calm you down.

“feeling any better?” he asked softly.

you nodded slightly, the corners of your lips tugging into a faint smile. “a little” you admitted. “having you here helps. a lot”

his smile widened at your words, the soft curve of his lips filled with affection. “good” he said simply. “that’s all i wanted”

for a while, the two of you just sat there, the silence between you comfortable. his fingers continued their gentle pattern and every now and then, he would adjust the blanket to make sure you were completely covered and warm.

“you know” he said after a while, his voice breaking the quiet. “i was really worried about you earlier. i hate thinking of you feeling like this and me not being there to help”

you looked at him, the worried look on his face made your chest ache. “i’m okay now” you said softly. “you being here makes everything better”

his hand slid down to intertwine with yours, his fingers warm against your own. “i mean it” he continued. “if there’s ever anything you need, you just have to tell me. i’ll drop everything and come running”

you squeezed his hand gently. “i know, heeseung. you’re amazing”

his cheeks flushed faintly at your words and he let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “i don’t know about amazing” he murmured “but i’ll take it if it makes you smile”

he shifted closer to you so you would feel warmer. his arms tightened around you, holding you close and the steady beat of his heart against your ear became your new rhythm. you sank into him, your body melting into his warmth and let out a contented sigh.

“do you remember that time we got caught in the rain?” he asked suddenly, his voice rumbling softly in his chest. “when we didn’t have an umbrella and ended up sprinting to that tiny café?”

you smiled against him. “and we were both soaked to the bone” you added. “the owner gave us towels because she felt bad for us”

“and you ordered hot chocolate” he said, chuckling. “but i remember you didn’t even finish it because you kept laughing at how ridiculous we looked”

“we did look ridiculous” you said, your voice muffled against his chest. “but it was fun”

“it was” he agreed. “even when things aren’t perfect, i… i don’t mind as long as i’m with you”

your heart swelled at his words and you felt a tear slip down your cheek, not from sadness but from the overwhelming feeling of being so deeply cared for. you didn’t say anything, simply tightened your hold around him, hoping he could feel just how much he meant to you.

he must have noticed because he pulled back slightly, tilting your chin up to look at him. “hey” he said softly, his thumb brushing away the tear. “no crying, okay?”

you nodded, sniffling slightly but smiling up at him. “okay”

he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, the gesture so tender it made your heart flutter. “that’s better” he said with a grin. “now, do you want me to keep talking or do you want me to read the book for you?”

“talking” you murmured, your voice already heavy with drowsiness. “i like listening to you”

and so he did. he spoke about everything and nothing, his voice weaving stories and memories together in a way that felt like a lullaby. his hand found its way back to yours, his thumb stroking gently over your knuckles as he talked.

eventually, your eyelids grew heavier and heavier and you felt yourself slipping into sleep. the last thing you remembered was the sound of his gentle voice and the warmth of his arms around you.

when you were finally lost to the world, he looked down at you, a fond smile spreading across his face. he brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead, leaning down to press one last kiss there. “sleep well, my love. i love you so much”