#okay BYE!

[sceletaflores]

woo, my baby's got me all mixed up!

feat: logan howlett & wade wilson

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, swearing, a bastard doomed polycule, more of 'why have just one bf when you can two bf's and why have just two bf's when you can have two bf's that are also each other’s bf's???', p in v, double penetration, one (1) single use of daddy, creampie(s), fingering...kind of (fem!receiving), oral sex, face sitting, face fucking, straight up nasty porn w/ zero plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this is a shorter one-shot but i can't not format it like a full fic i have to or i'll get hives. this is also just pure freak nasty gross actually probably the filthiest thing i've ever written that i thought up off too much nyquil pm last night. kisses!

wade gets to whiskin’ (and logan's there too)…

"You're killing me babe," Wade groans lowly, cheek pressed to the slick skin of your inner thigh. "If my balls didn't feel like they just got the shit beat out of them in a back alley I'd be as hard as David Hasselhoff watching David Hasselhoff movies."

His hand is at work between your thighs, thick index finger slipped into your sensitive, puffy pussy.

It should gross you out that he loves doing this so much. It should make your stomach twist with all the unpleasant feelings a normal person might get.

It should, but it doesn't.

The familiar stretch is lost from taking Logan and Wade at the same time, a rare thing in your sex life because of how big they both are. But you were in a mood tonight.

Your pussy still clenches around him, trying in vain to tighten up, not used to feeling so empty.

The subtle pressure of Wade’s finger toes the line between pleasure and the sharp burn of 'almost too much' as it swirls along the sensitive walls of your pussy.

The first time he did it you were too fucked out of your mind to do anything other than ask what the hell he was doing.

"Gotta mix it up babe," was his reply, as easy as anything. "Don't want the baby batter to curdle, if you know what I mean."

Your heart stopped, flames lapping their way up your body as Wade scooped the thin line of come trickling from your abused hole to fuck it back in, back where it belonged.

It was so filthy, so depraved that it made you go liquid between your legs.

Your eyes almost immediately slid over to Logan, ready to see him shaking his head in irritation like he usually did whenever Wade ran his mouth in bed. You found nothing, no deep grimace or raised brow in sight.

There was an unmistakable heat in his gaze that matched your own, the inky black of his pupils blown so wide you could hardly see the hazel of his irises.

The casual raise of his right shoulder when he met your eye was undermined by the way his cock started to harden where it laid against his thigh, effectively tattling on him.

It told you all you needed to know about how he really felt watching Wade between your spread legs. That alone was enough to get you ready to go all over again.

It sort of became a thing after that.

"I'm not even doing anything..." you mumble breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't have to baby," Logan purrs from behind you, lips pressed to the top of your head. His hand skimming down the side of your body is enough to make goosebumps pebble along your skin, "Look perfect just like this."

It's been hours now, but they're still going. You're convinced that the two of them are the world's biggest horndogs, just once is never enough.

You lost track of tonight's rounds sometime after number five, not counting mouth and hand stuff of course. And it's starting to catch up to you, you’re tired, spent.

Wade curls his finger just right, brushing against the spot inside you that has a broken whine passing through your grit teeth. Your thighs start to tremble as a smug grin spreads across his face.

"Yeah, there it is," he teases, his voice low. He keeps the tip of his finger snug against that spot, rubbing firm circles over the sensitive nerves. "That's that spot ain't it, gorgeous."

"Wade," you mewl, hands fisting the sheets as you fight to keep still. You're worried too much squirming will make their come start dripping out around Wade's wrist, and you can't have that.

There’s a sudden silence to your right, the heaviness of it pulling at your attention. You shift slightly, catching the faintest rustle of movement from Logan.

His breath is warm against the crown of your skill, his strong chest still plastered to your back—but he's too quiet, too still. You tilt your head just enough to peek at him out of the corner of your eye, and the sight alone is almost enough to make you come on the spot.

Logan is leaning against the headboard lazily, arm that isn't circled around your waist snaking down his own with the hard length of his cock in his hand.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him, red and leaking pre-come all over his knuckles each time he twists his fist over the thick head. Your hips grind down unconsciously, a needy moan falling from your parted lips. The wet sound of it has your cheeks burning, eyes fixed on the way his heavy balls bounce with each rough tug, still so full.

"Fuck, that's it," Wade murmurs, slipping a second finger inside you while he presses a shit-eating grin to the soft skin of your lower stomach. "You like it when daddy jerks off while I'm knuckle deep in you?"

"Watch it," Logan mutters warningly, tone gone low and dark as spilled ink. His hand doesn't slow, the loose grip of his fist slipping up and down his dripping cock in time with the slick squelch of your pussy.

Your hips buck up against Wade’s hand, a loud whine tearing from your chest at the dirtiness of this whole thing. The familiar heat starts to stir in your belly, your pussy drooling more mess over his wrist the longer he plays with you.

Wade barely muffles his chuckle against your hip, dropping a quick kiss there before pulling his soaked fingers from your velvety warmth. You whine at the loss, but he doesn’t pay it any mind.

You’ll both get what you want soon enough.

"Alright, we should all know the drill by now people," he announces to you and Logan with a loud clap, pulling away from between your thighs to roll flat onto his back.

“Time to hop on the saddle, John Wayne,” he finishes, giving your ass a loving tap.

Logan snorts into your hair, dropping his cock to grab your hips and gently manhandle you until you’re situated directly over Wade’s face while Logan kneels in front of you. The jut of his cock bobbing inches away from your mouth.

Wade’s greedy fingers pry your swollen lips apart to watch the way his and Logan’s come starts to seep out from you, falling to drip onto his bare chest. He blows over the wet length of you, the cool air from his mouth has your hips twitching down in search of any friction you can get.

“Not so fast,” he scolds lightly, grinding his knuckle against the wet seam of you. Your nails dig crescent moons into his scarred shoulders, threatening to break the skin.

“You’ve gotta savor this moment, hot stuff,” he says slowly, leaning up to press a kiss directly over your throbbing clit. “You got the best seat in the house, don’t take it for granted–”

"Enough," Logan grunts, heavy hands falling on your shoulders to push you down on Wade's face, fully closing the gap. "Quit runnin' your damn mouth and make our girl feel good, red."

Wade's hands tighten their hold on your thighs, his hips bucking up off the mattress like he can't help it. His surprised moan rumbles against your clit, loud and shameless.

You cry out at the first drag of his tongue over your aching pussy, hot and wet as it slides through your dripping slit. You pitch forward, too caught up in pleasure to think clearly as you take Logan’s cock into your mouth. You take him all the way down to the root in one swift move, burying your nose in the dark hair surrounding the base. 

"Fuck," Logan bites out, eyes twisting shut as he feels your warm throat enveloping him. He takes your hair in his fist gently, just holding it as you swallow around him. 

Your hands move to rest on his thick thighs, nails scratching over the hair scattered along his skin. His breath shutters in his chest, his hips rolling forward ever so slightly, chasing the tight heat of your mouth.

The mix of your tongue tracing along the sensitive vein on the underside of his cock and the low, wet sounds of Wade devouring you has him pulsing in your mouth.

Your thighs shake on either side of Wade's head, the steady grip of his hands the only thing that keeps you from collapsing into a boneless heap on the mattress.

Your hips twitch the tiniest bit, rocking forward enough to grind your clit over the slope of his nose. He groans under you, squeezing the meat of your thighs in encouragement as he swirls his tongue through the mess dripping from your hole.

“That’s a good girl,” Logan praises gruffly, his hips speeding up. “Shut him up, baby. Make him fuckin’ eat it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, dragging your pussy along Wade’s mouth faster. You moan desperately around your mouthful, brain going hazy around the edges.

The frantic pace you set only makes their come leak from you faster, dripping down Wade’s face faster than he can keep up, and there's just so much.

A steady, thick stream of it that feels almost never ending thanks to Logan coming like he busted a pipe and absolutely flooding your insides every single time.

Wade doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest though, swirling his tongue along you with a new sense of urgency. His hands grip your hips tighter, his blunt nails digging into your skin deliciously as he slurps and sucks with unbridled enthusiasm, chasing every drop of come.

He’s sloppy with it, come sliding down his cheeks and chin in thin rivers of white.

Logan’s rough breath hitches above you, his fingers tightening in your hair as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks just the way he likes. His growl sends a thrill down your spine.

"C'mon, Wilson," Logan grunts, his hips speeding up. When you peer up at him, you can see the goading smile that just barely tugs the corner of his mouth up.

“Spitters are quitters, you know that."

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[softerhaze]

quick birthday party side quest to hook alvin up with jay's neighbor since alvin and sasha got a divorce (womp womp)

[passivenovember]

Billy's leg hair is soft. Like peach fuzz.

Steve touches it when Tommy convinces them to hop the pool's security fence one sweltering night in August even though Steve has a goddamn pool.

"Fuck off," Tommy says.

"Don't be a pussy," Tommy says.

"Leave him alone," Billy snaps, so Tommy does. Whatever Billy says. Always and forever.

So they go, even though Steve's got a pool and a baggie of Colorado weed at home. He thinks it might be a way to prove some sort of point, just for the thrill of it, and he almost says no, almost pussies out, until he sees the bright big smile on Billy's face, and. Well.

Steve's never claimed not to think with dick, so.

Billy's the first to go over. All teeth and bright blue eyes when he says, "I'm the one who fuckin' works here, I should scope it out first," and Tommy agrees because Billy's the pied fuckin' piper now. The King.

"You're a pal," Billy claps a hand on Tommy's neck. Squeezes. "Who's gonna get me over the ridge?"

"I will," Steve says quickly. Too quickly. Showing his ass a little, but. Fuck it. Tommy gets the smiles for operating as Billy's little fuckin' lapdog, but he doesn't get to touch Billy, Steve decides. "I'll lift you."

Billy smiles at him. Small and secret and just for them, "Alright, pretty boy. Gimmie a boost."

Tommy gets to hold Billy's cigarette and suck on the filter where those cherry red lips have been, but Steve gets to fold on one knee. Gets to feel the balding sole of Billy's sneaker press into his thigh. Gets to tangle is fingers in the thatches of hair along Billy's calf and just under the hem of his tiny green Hawkins High Phys Ed shorts, and.

Tommy's green with envy. Like Billy's shorts.

He chickens out just when Billy hoists himself onto Steve's leg, his perky little ass at eye level so they can both watch it jiggle while Billy tries to jam his sneaker toe into the chain link. They stare. Salivate. Catch each other staring and realize that they're competing for this. For Billy. Just like they did with Connie Mitchell in the first grade, and point guard all sophomore year.

Steve raises an eyebrow.

Billy may be the king now but that's only because Steve lets him. Only because Steve thinks of his dick first and only and seceded the throne in order to get at Billy's cock. Threw in the towel, y'know, small losses.

Point is, at the end of the day, Tommy's gone toe-to-toe with Steve Harrington enough to clock a lost cause when it presents itself, so.

He chickens out.

Billy gets his toe into the chain link and calls Tommy a pussy, treats them both to the fuckin' ace view of one ass cheek peeking out from the hem of his shorts before Tommy ducks across the parking lot with his tail between in his legs.

Once he's gone, Billy hops over the fence and lands grinning. Gorgeous. "Damn, been a while since I've climbed anything other than a pair of legs."

Somehow, his shirt is already off. What's left of Steve's brain goes out the window.

"Could use a swim," Billy says. The cicadas are loud as hell.

Sweat makes Steve's jeans stick to his legs. His mouth is dry. Can't goddamn take his eyes off the pink, tender swatch of Billy's nipples. "Totally," He says, lost.

"Hot out here."

"Mmm," Steve says. Losing his mind.

"Tommy took the hint. Nothin' to keep tabs on anymore," Billy tells him. He ducks, trying to catch Steve's eye. When he finally does Billy grins, slow and terrible. "You comin' over the wall, pretty thing?"

--

A skinny dip isn't the most sexual thing Steve's ever experienced, all things considered.

It's the before. The build up. Steve watches Billy undress, like a fuckin' creep hiding in the shadows with his eyes glued to the tanned curve of Billy's ass. He tugs his shorts down and Steve gets that he was commando that whole time.

Damn.

Steve mourns what could've been if Billy's balls had slipped out of his shorts instead of his ass cheek ten minutes ago, pouting until Billy turns and says, "Race me?"

Before Steve can respond Billy's tucking his knees up under himself, slamming like a canon ball into the deep.

Steve struggles out of his clothes and runs toward the water, the soles of his feet burning on the pavement where it holds desperate to the heat of the day.

And the thing about Billy is that Steve's met his match finally. Has known since that first basketball practice last year, when Billy wouldn't stop frustrating the hell out of the other players.

It's like. Everything Billy does, everywhere he goes and everyone he meets is forced out of mediocrity. Forced to be better.

So, they play horse in the darkness. They dunk each other. Race back and forth across the entire length of the pool until Billy wins, even though Steve kept grabbing his ankle to slow him down.

"Damn, princess, that was tragic" Billy giggles, hoisting himself to sit on the edge of the pool and Steve gets a peek at his cock, soft and thick between his legs. "Lucky it was just me and the cicadas here to witness that. Anyone else would laugh you outta town."

"Who would boost you over fences?"

"Tommy Hagan."

Steve snorts, "Tommy Hagan is made of hamburger meat and boxed jello. He's all mass, he'd get too excited about finally being allowed to touch you and you'd fall right through him."

Billy giggles at that, again. High and bright like a church bell, and.

The thing about Billy is that he's gorgeous. Looks like one of those old ass Greek and Roman statues, slick with water that only makes him glow incendiary in the moonlight.

Steve paddles around just for something to do. Probably looks like a fuckin' dork and Billy will never let Steve touch him again--

"Shit, you're cute when you're jealous," Billy says, pushing his hair out of his eyes. Grins when he notices Steve watching him, "Could use a cigarette, Bambi. You got one?"

"No," Steve paddles toward the edge of the pool. "I think I killed a lung, anyway"

"Or two," Billy teases, spreading his thighs a little when Steve gets close enough, and.

That does nothing to help the situation. Steve's out of breath and hard at the way Billy's curls turn into lazy ringlets when they're full of chlorine. Hard at the obnoxious cut of his Superman abs. Hard at the way Billy's looking at him. So.

He can't catch his breath. His lungs burn.

Billy watches him for a moment, thoughtful, before he says, "I don't like Tommy Hagan at all."

Steve laughs. "Me neither."

"Why do you hang out with him?"

Steve shrugs, gripping the wall next to Billy's legs. "'Cause you do."

"Now that's just pathetic. Aren't you supposed to be the King around here?" Billy watches him so more and then grins, slow and terrible, "King Steve, right?"

"Ugh, shut up. I hate that."

"What, you're bored of your crown? You don't want it anymore, baby?"

Steve rolls his eyes, "No."

"What do you want then?" Billy asks. His gaze rests, heavy as a boulder, on Steve's face. His eyes burn a line down the bridge of Steve's nose, all but cutting his skull in half with their intensity.

Steve swallows. Thinks. They're sitting around naked at the public pool, for Christ Sake. Says, "I want you, Billy." and prepares for the sky to cave in around them.

Steve holds his breath.

Somewhere, behind the lifeguard station, an air conditioning unit disrupts the lazy summer air. Steve wills himself to keep steady, to stand his ground and hold Billy's gaze while a million different expressions shutter over him like sunlight.

Finally, Billy cracks. "Are you fucking with me, Harrington?"

"No," Steve says. Too quickly. Showing his ass a little but Steve thinks they may be beyond that, now. His knuckles turn white on the tile lip of the swimming pool, trying to keep the rest of him afloat, "I think. Ever since you got to town I've. Wanted you."

"Wanted me how?"

"I," Steve kicks his feet in the water, stomach swooping with lust and, fuckin'. Embarrassment. "I want--"

Billy cocks his head, considering. "Don't look like you've ever sucked anyone off, sweetheart."

"I haven't," Steve says. Feels a little like a school girl in a porn tape, looking up at Billy through his lashes while he admits to being a virgin, or something. Needing to be shown.

The thing is, Steve probably could've sucked guys off before, now that he's thinking about it. Tons of guys. Every guy on the basketball team, probably, but.

He doesn't say that.

The only guy he wants to suck off is Billy.

So.

Billy smirks at him. Mean. "No shit?" But his cheeks are pink. Strawberry.

"No shit," Steve tells him. "I want to try, though. I want--"

"--You wanna suck my cock, baby?"

Steve flushes bright red, feels flame licking at his skin. No one's ever spoken to him like that, no one's ever--

Steve nods. Wets his lips, and. Billy tracks the whole thing, leaning back on his palms so his abs jump and strain. Fuckin' asshole.

"Say it," Billy demands, voice gruff.

Steve blinks, "Say...?"

"Tell me what you want," Billy tells him slowly, "Ask. And maybe I'll give it to you."

Steve's palms slip on the tile, slick with sweat. "Can I suck your cock, Billy? Will you show me?"

Billy exhales, sharp and fast, "You want to?"

"Yeah."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Why should I let you when Tommy Hagan would--"

"Tommy Hagan would use too much teeth," Steve says. When Billy blinks at him, eyebrows raised, he huffs, "Look, I said I've never sucked a guy off, not that a guy has never--"

"--Tommy Hagan sucked you off?"

"All summer between junior and senior year," Steve tells him. "Small towns are boring."

"That makes me a little jealous," Billy hums, "Why should I let you suck my cock? How do I know I'm not payback?"

"What, for Tommy Hagan?"

Billy shrugs. And Steve knows, alright? He gets it. Being an asshole is Billy's version of foreplay, but he snaps. Desperate. A little bit of a whore, but. Who gives a shit.

"Look, Hargrove, you want me to spell it out for you or something? Let me suck your dick, you fuckin' asshole, I'm not getting any younger--"

"--Gonna come in my pants if you keep talking like that, baby."

Steve swallows. "You're not wearing any pants."

Billy's smirk turns into an awful grin. He stares down at his thighs, spreading them until his cock bobs free, flushed head nodding at the moon. "Well. Would ya look at that."

It hangs in the air between them. Figuratively.

Literally.

Billy grips the base of his cock, thighs spreading until his peachy leg hair grazes Steve's pinky finger, and Steve smirks. Kicks his feet. Swallows. Kicks his feet. "Ask me nicely and maybe I'll give it to you."

Billy exhales a laugh, "You're such a bitch."

"I'd let you come inside me."

Billy groans, "Fuckin' brat."

"Guess you're gonna have to shut me up, then," Steve says, more turned on than he's ever been in his life when Billy tangles his fingers in Steve's hair to pull him through the water.

"Jesus Christ," Billy breathes, shoving his fingers in Steve's mouth and pumping them in and out, in and out just to watch his lips blow fat around the digits. "I'm gonna fuck your face," Billy says, matter of fact, "Tap my thigh if you want me to--"

"Jesus Christ, are you gonna fuck me or not?"

Billy laughs again, a little winded, and forces Steve to take him to the root. And. Okay. Steve's never taken a cock down his throat before. It's nice, Steve likes the pressure and immediately he's addicted to the way it cuts off his air supply. He relaxes around Billy's length which is a fuckin' feat, because.

Look.

Steve doesn't remember this hanging between Billy's legs at school. He focuses on breathing when he can. Some poor pool boy is gonna have to use the net to scrape his come out of the water in the morning for $3.50 an hour.

He hopes it's Billy.

Thinks he'll have to use his father's name and make some calls to get it to happen.

And. Judging by the sounds Billy can't hold in, looks like he's met his match in Steve, too.

[couch-house]

Fleebay Beepo playlist! [youtube link] [zip link]

it's been foreverrr since i finished a character playlist--i missed doing this! tracklist and director's commentary under the cut teehee :)

if you disagree with any of my choices, just remember: 1) this is my playlist for me to listen to made of songs I like for me 2) you just don't see my vision 3) you don't know him like i do 4) make your own so i can disagree with yours too.

WDKYWMYAK -- Rabbit junk

This is a Killing Game After All -- Gadgetor

chance bought this cd from the comic store. i think the album is Doom-inspired? pretty cool! check it out! anyway this first section is pretty obviously all violence killing and maiming etc

3. All Futures -- The Armed

4. Bears -- Mass of the Fermenting Dregs

5. You Know What You Are -- Ministry

6. 1969 -- Boards of Canada

we're coming down out of the chaotic songs into some confusion for the amnesia arc, starting with ministry and boards of canada. 7 references an unwilling change of the self, and just fits the vibe right now. 8... should be obvious lol.

7. Long Road Home -- Oneohtrix Point Never

8. I Don't Remember -- Peter Gabriel

9. Come Back June -- Pussy

sorry i heard a psychedelic rock song that starts with a big cat meow and blacked out. EBONY MOMENT!!! this and the next couple songs are again more about contributing to the Feeling of the groovy train than a direct relation to the lyrics. though 10 can be justified by the fact he's british.

10. Hey, Mister Sun -- Bobby Sherman

11. Baby All the Time -- Julien Love (NOTE: NOT IN YT PLAYLIST)

12. Handlebars -- Flobots

i didn't think i would end up keeping this song when i threw it on here but it just... works really well structurally. sigh... okay well it kind of works thematically. we're moving into some merger au territory at this point, which is my way as a fan to give fleet more of a self-actualization arc. establish his own identity, make friends, accept his existence a bit more. 13 is again more focused on the caring environment of groovy train (and the idea that this won't last forever) but we'll come back around to merger in a second.

13. Cursis Melodías -- Natalia Lafourcade

14. Flagiolletes -- Billy Mahonie

15. Wake Up To Be You -- The Aesthetics

i'm so obsessed with this as a song from fleet to sonic. esp focused on the idea of fleet being the trauma dump that everyone wants dead and sonic being the one who gets to keep their friends. another lucky cd find--this time thrifted. this band still has their old website up--you can contact them if you'd like to get ahold of your own copy!

16. Every Home a Prison ft. Jello Biafra -- DJ Coldcut (Inevitable Alien Nation mix)

i'm in love with this song. we're back in merger au btw. fleet is now a goddamn hooligan in the street (teenager socializing outside with his friends).

17. Default -- Django Django

we're getting to the end of his life! canon, not au. once again on the idea of fleet (dying, cringe) being a comparative failure. the next two songs are our big explosive end! 18 is another band i found from a thrifted cd. lucky!

18. Werewolf -- Progger

19. light speed drift ft Kasane Teto + Adachi Rei -- frog96

the end! thanks for listening! ^_^ as a treat, YOU get to see the special bonus track: The Adventures of Little White Baby -- No Soap, Radio.

[cetoddle-archive]

hi everyone! i decided to go ahead and remake blogs so please follow me over @cetoddle . same url just a fresh new blog :3 i’ll be keeping this blog up as an archive and in case i ever wanna switch back

[causenessus]

I have fall break next week so I will hopefully be a little bit more active then!!! also just gonna leave this here but :)

mango anon and ness meet up soon??? real not fake??? not clickbait??? not telling u when?? but maybe we'll do a cutesy shoe pic??

[ozzywozzyy]

[snailsmeller]

MY SONIC [Tragedy] AU!1!1

I didnt know what else to name it so i chose the most basic option ever 😼😼

This takes place a year and a half after sonic boom aired and these are all my redesigns of the characters!! (Not including eggman ill make that in a separate post or smth)

The last piece is the reason why tails only has one tail in my au… roblox adopt me trust trades are wild..

[mitchmotch]

i was commissioned by my friend @revalito to draw characters from his story, doroteo and socorro! i love them so much and it was an absolute honor to make this piece for him ^^

[livetogether--diealone]

~ I wanted you to see a mess and still find me worthy of love, to tell me that you could still love me anyway

@f1blrcreatorsfest -> week 2: typography

[plush-rabbit]

Heartbreak and Whispered Confessions

Request: Knock knock! Can i request a reader who was cheated on and Dabi, their best friend whos in love w them , makes it all better? The reader is totally heart broken and asks Dabi to 'make it all go away' and he does so by gentle fucking and confesses his feelings that way?

I feel like a deviant asking for smut lol

Word Count: 3.3K

A/N: You feel like a deviant?? Have you seen what most of my things are when it’s smut?? You have nothing to feel ashamed of here

-

You aren’t really sure when your friendship started with the infamous quirk user. You tried to think back on it, but all that you can come up with are memories when he’s already made himself comfortable at your place- eating and drinking your groceries, using your good towels to clean himself and leaving them covered in bits of ash and blood. All you know is that he made himself comfortable in your life and now you’re laying in bed, trying not to cry on his chest, but failing miserably. 

“I thought he liked me.” Your voice trembles, and you cling tighter to his shirt. “I feel so dumb.” Your voice cracks and his arm that is wrapped around you only tightens.

“You aren’t dumb.” He says it so earnestly, so quickly that you want to believe him, but it only worsens your tears.  

“But I am,” you cry, body shaking and tears staining his shirt. “I should have seen the signs.” You take in a shuddering breath that leaves your chest feeling hollow. You cling tighter to Dabi, trying to bury yourself into his chest, wishing and hoping that his ribs would pierce him and swallow you whole and the tears on your pillowcase would only serve as a reminder as to who you once were.

Silence is spoiled by your cries, and his heart beats into your ears. “Want me to go kill him?” You give a smile, but you know he isn’t giving a playful threat- you know that he’s serious. “Fuck, I’d just burn his dick off if you think killing him is too extreme.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips. Your tears start to slow, and you still cling to him.

Perhaps this is cruel of you. You have an inkling of a feeling that Dabi may possess some deeper feelings for you- something that goes past just a good friend, and more into a romantic sense. But you need this right now. You need him to just make it all go away and hold you. You know that he would be kind to you, that he wouldn’t dare do anything too rough to you unless asked. 

Bile burns in your throat and you think that you’re going to go to hell for leading him on like this. He’d never forgive you, and you wouldn’t blame him.

His hand is on your waist, his index and middle finger on your skin where your shirt has risen and the other two the waistband of your shirts. With his other hand, he leads you to his lips, kissing you softly. He tastes like smoke and alcohol, a horrible, bitter combination but on his lips, he tastes like the finest wine, an ambrosia only meant to be tasted in a dimly lit room during late night.

“Dabi,” you whine, tears springing to your eyes. No. You can't do this to him. No matter how pathetic you feel, you can't do it to him. You don’t want to lead him on. Thinking of what he would look like- sad and betrayed, too much like you at the moment- you can’t do this to him. He hums in response, kissing at your cheek and pressing feather light kisses down to your jaw. 

“What is it, doll?” His breath is hot on your neck and your heart is beating against your ribcage, and you think you might be sick. 

You do like him. You’ve always found him attractive, and his snark and cruelty was something that you enjoyed because you would fight back and he wouldn’t get his feelings hurt. But he was a villain- a killer and one that was a mental breakdown away from incinerating himself to ash and bone. A villain that if you did ever pursue something, it could never be more than fling. You couldn’t ever marry him or show him off to your loved ones. You couldn’t go to a restaurant with him and sit down and enjoy a nice meal. You could take a walk in a park without putting a target on both your backs.

He calls your name, and his hand is still on your waist. You think you should put a stop to this right now, but you’ve never seen him above you. He looks pretty, and whether it's the muddled mind and teary eyes, he makes your heart skip a beat.

“What if you hate me after this?” You know what he’ll say- ‘He could never’ or some meaningless words that would contradict themselves when he came to.

“Sweetheart, you could use me and toss me aside, and I’d still find some way to sneak in here and you’d still give me a home cooked meal.” You try to interject but he shakes his head. “You’d let someone like me fuck you, if all you want to do is use me, then I’m okay with it.”

You furrow your brows. “Someone like you?” You ask, wanting to pry deeper. He’s never been one to talk about himself, always moving the discussion into something that’s mutually liked, but never about his day, even if you pry.

“Patched up and smelling like smoke everywhere I go,” he says impassively. “I got my charm, but it isn’t enough to bag someone like you.” You give him a look. “Sweet.” His head tilts to the side as if to think of more to tell you. “Homey.” 

“I like having you around,’ you blurt, trying to make him feel better. “You’re a dick, but you care.” You pause, pushing yourself up and he backs up, his weight on your lap. "You care enough to pull down the pants of someone and burn their crotch, at least. No one has offered that to me before." You stay silent and he looks at you. Slowly, your hand lifts, and he watches it, following the trail until you cradle his face. “You being patched up isn’t a negative, you know?”

“You’re the only one to think so,” he muses, tilting his head ever so slightly to your palm. 

"I don't want to sleep with you just because. I- If we are going to sleep with each other, I want it to be special. Not because I'm sniveling and crying over my ex."

His chin rests on your shoulder, and he's lighter than you would have thought. His hands snake underneath your arms and rest flat against your back, and he’s pulled so close to you that you can smell him- the heat, the sweat, the little bit of soap that he used. He’s so close to you and you knock your head against his, closing your eyes. “You think you'd ever be ready, then?”

It isn’t fair to lie to him, so you don’t answer. You want to sleep with him, you’d stake your life that it won’t be something that you would regret, but you don’t want to use him.

You feel the air that blows across your neck. A chill runs down your spine. “Let me take care of you-” his hands bunch up the back of your shirt- “please. You won’t regret it.” 

“I know I won’t,” you mutter, wrapping your arms around him. 

Chapped lips press against your neck, leaving lingering kisses from the start of your neck, rising above to under your earlobe, and you clutch tighter onto him. You feel his hands slide down your back, arching underneath your shirt, leaving a burning sensation in its wake. You feel the coarse tips of his fingers drag against the side of your stomach, the warm metal that glides over you, the rough feel of his wrist and forearm that scratch along your body and make you stand just a bit taller. You feel it all when he touches your breasts, when he pants against your neck, and you whine when his fingers squeeze and twist at your nipples.

Cushioned by the back of his hand, he cradles your head, and lowers you until his knuckles kiss at your pillow. He’s above you, and he doesn’t waste a moment to kiss you, to slide his hands down your body and lift your shirt over your head, kissing down your lips, kissing at your cheek and jaw, to your neck where he kissed you before and down to your collarbone. He lifts up his gaze to meet yours and with your breath held, you can’t look away from him.

“If you wanna stop, all you gotta do is tell me, okay.” He seals his words with a kiss pressed just above the rising swell of your breast. You release your breath, and kisses at the peak of your breast, rolling his tongue over your pebbled bud and pulling it back in between his teeth. 

“No, no,” you breathe out, “I wanna continue.” 

His hand burns against your flushed skin as it slides down your body, curving over your breast, and over your stomach, curving it towards your hip, and holding you as he kisses at your bitten nipple, pursing his lips over and suckling in your bud. You suck in a sharp breath, feeling it dry the roof of your mouth as he sucks on your teat, moaning against your heated skin. The hand on your hip trails down your pubic area, moving under your shorts and underwear, sliding against your bare sex, to touch at your throbbing bud. 

You arch under him, muffling a whine through closed lips. His index finger rubs around your clit, teasing the bud and sliding his finger down to your slit. Your sex sucks in his finger, and your hands twist at the sheets under your hands. Another finger only makes your hand jolt and go to cup his scalp,  knitting your hands in his hair.

Panted breaths and the wet sound of your cunt and suckling from your breast mix into a lewd sound that makes the shells of your ears burn vehemently. You can feel his fingers squirm inside of you, testing and teasing just what it is that has you moaning and pushing your chest into his face. Your nails scratch his scalp as you pull him closer, your walls throbbing around his fingers that curve and push deep inside of you.

“Dabi-” you voice croaks- “Fuck, Dabi,” you cry, a hand trailing down to his cheek, where he’s already moved onto the other breast.

Lips press against the side of your hand, and he returns to kissing at your breast. “What is it?” The tip of his tongue rolls around your hardened bud. “Come on, use your words.” He lifts his head up, his fingers pulling out of your cunt. You can feel your slick stick your panties to your cunt. “Huh, what is it?” There’s a soft look in his face that makes him look younger than he is, concern knitted in his brows, and you only squirm when he places the hand with his wet finger over your hip.

Your hands cup his face and squish at his cheeks. “I want more.” You pull him close to you, kissing his lips, softly, and then teeth clashing, and it’s needier, desperate, kissing until your chest feels tight, and you're rubbing yourself against him. Even through the clothes, he burns hot, warming your body and having you flinching when his staples sear at your skin. 

The lack of fabric makes your skin chill, and the wet that leaks and stains your sex and inner of your thighs, makes you feel more exposed. He, however, does not follow your lead, and stays kneeled before you, his hands only going to fumble with the button and zipper of his jeans.

You frown. “You know, if you wanna stop-” you pause when he shakes his head.

“No, it’s not that.” He looks away from you and you can see blood rush to his face. 

His arms and face are patched up, and you’ve seen his legs before, but never his chest. You’re sure that his body is also covered in staples. There’s a twinge of hurt that quickly subsides when you recall his earlier words about getting to be with someone like you. 

The tip of your tongue wets your lips, teeth biting at your lower before you speak. “Dabi-” he looks at you when you say his name, and you come to the realization that you’ve been calling him a nickname the entire time- “I want to be with you. In like a sexual way, and I don’t want you to wear clothes or anything. Like I want to be with you.” You look away, leaning forward, your hands sliding down your legs to hold at your ankles. You look at him, forcing the urge to turn away and hide your face, ignoring the way that heat has settled in your chest and face. “I want you, Dabi.”

Neither of you speak for a moment. And he moves towards you, lowering his face until it’s leveled with yours. “You want me?” 

You nod with a smile. “Yes-” you let go of your ankles and spread your legs, a sliver of your cunt peeking between your thighs- “I want you.”

With his lips pressed against yours, your hands and his bumps, trying to remove the clothes, breaking apart for just a moment, before connecting together once more. He holds the base of his cock, and it slides between your folds, rubbing his cockhead against your hardened clit, and down the slit, and with a final look to you for confirmation, he pushes himself inside. 

With a sigh of relief, you close your eyes and let out a moan, encouraging him to move. He moves tentatively, and you call his name, rising on your forearms to watch as he moves his cock in and out of you, seeing and hearing the wet noises that play from your cunt. You can feel the slap of his sack against your skin, and your mouth waters, your face flaming and hands curving around his neck. 

“Shit, Dabs,” you murmur, “next time I’m sucking your dick.” You regret not doing so beforehand, and while you’re not opposed to taste yourself, you know that he’s just into burying himself in you.

“So there is a next time?” He asks through gritted teeth and you nod. “Aw, fuck!” He moans, moving his hips at a faster rate. “You’re so wet, wet for me.” 

You lie down, rolling your hips against his, and it’s you and him, your body twisting and turning, trying to meet his thrusts. You can feel your cunt throb, the walls clenching around him. He moves at a quick pace, hungry and desperate, far removed from the man who shied away from you just a bit ago. He’s pushing himself deep in you, nails scratching at your unmarred skin, mouth suckling on bits of you, hopeful and begging to leave a mark, whether it be a bruise or teeth indents. 

“Fuck,” he lets the vowel slur out, stilling himself inside of you. “Fuck, you feel good.”

Your leg is lifted into the air, and you can feel him hit you deeper than before. The top of your head is tilted back, and you feel pressure build against the lower part of your stomach, hands grip at the sheets, while his hands hold your leg in the air, and he’s looking down to you.

The eye contact is far too intimate, far too much; you know that he’s looking at your expression, reveling in them, and you can’t pull away from his gaze. The pressure is building, you feel like you’re going to burst, and the room is growing hot, hotter than before, hotter than it ever has, and there’s warmth on your thigh, and you know that some remains of his handprints will remain on your skin. You can’t think, your mind too foggy to form anything coherent other than for him to just keep going, other than for you to slur out for him to not stop. 

Your leg falls back onto the mattress, and you’re spread, with your knees bent, having him rock his body into yours. While the other position had you feeling everything, you like being close to him, having his  forehead resting against yours, with him just being so close to you, feeling the weight of his body heavy against your chest.

“I’m gonna-” You squeal, squeezing your legs around him. You're careful to let your hands rest over his sides, to avoid his scars, so when you dig your nails in, the remainder of you is clear and not overtaken by a deeper hue of purple. “Dabi, fuck!” You let out a moan, muffling yourself by wrapping your arms around him, and pulling him close to you, hiding your face into the crook of his neck, careful to not bite him. 

“Where do you want it?” He asks, his voice whispered against your ear. “Where do you want me to cum?”

His face is warm, and slick with sweat when you pull him aside, kissing him and nicking his bottom lip with your teeth as you try to kiss him. “Inside.” Another shudder overtakes your body. “I want you inside, please, please,” you beg, holding him down your legs. “I don’t want you to leave me, Dabi. I want your cum,” you slur out, the words mumbled through his lips. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he curses continuously, kissing at every inch of your skin that he can. Your name is moaned into the room, and it sounds far better coming out his mouth than it ever will of any other. His hips stutter into yours, slamming into you deeply, and pulling out shakily. His face is buried into your shoulder, his pants wetting your shoulder. You can feel his seed slip when he thrusts into you. A kiss is placed on your shoulder, before he lifts his head, your hands going to cradle the side of his head, bringing him close to you, slipping your tongue into his mouth. 

You let out a whimper when he pulls away from the kiss. “I want you,” he says, eyes shut tight. “I don’t want you to leave me,” he cries, pushing his body against yours. “I want you, I want you,” he repeats. “Only you,” he murmurs, holding you close beside  him until his cock stops twitching inside of you. 

He doesn’t stop repeating that it’s you that he wants, that it’s you who he wants- needs- to stay with. He gives you soft kisses against your shoulder, peppering over where he’s bit you, cooing when you run your hands through his hair and kiss at his crown. Pulling out of you, he rests beside you, panting and running a hand through his hair. The bed creaks under his weight as he turns to you, his eyes wide, and he leans over, pressing a chaste kiss against your lips. His mouth parts open, and he’s about to tell you something, only to close it and reopen it, telling you goodnight. 

The man beside you is still an enigma to you, someone who you only know scraps about, and for better or for worse, you think that you prefer it that way. You turn to look at him, and his back is turned to you, and you don’t take it to heart. His back is soft under your fingertips, and you run the pad of your finger over his scar, long and winding across his body, a hue of purple and raw underneath you, and you feel every bump, every part of him, and you so selfishly never want to stop touching him. You want to feel him, to memorize his skin so even if you grow old, you’d know how he felt when he slept beside you. 

You curve your hand around his body, and kiss the nape of his neck, letting your lips linger, until you begin to decorate his neck in small, swift kisses, fluttering around to every inch of skin that you can reach without straining your neck. You worry that this is the only time that Dabi will ever let himself just be beside you, to actually sleep with you, and you want to trap him with you, to keep him locked beside you, because you can never predict who he is, and what he will do. You want to protect him in such a childish way, to never let harm come to him, to take the pain and cold from him, to shield him from the outside world. You could stare at him all day and never grow bored. You want to love so selfishly. His hand covers yours, and you smile against his skin, pulling yourself closer to him.

[sceletaflores]

slippery when wet!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: “so who fucks better?” he asks bluntly, a bead of sweat dripping down the column of his throat and into the neck of his tank. a shocked laugh bursts from your lips. “what?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “who fucks better?” he repeats slowly, leaning down to meet your eye. “me or art? don’t fucking lie to me and tell me that prissy farmer boy makes you come harder than i do.”

—or: patrick puts you in your place three months later.

word count: 4.3k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, p in v, fighting as foreplay, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), rough sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (m!receiving), fingering...kinda (fem!receiving), very light spanking, choking, degradation, creampie, throat fucking, mean!reader my beloved, art donaldson is there in spirit, patrick is gay for art, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: no one can stop me from writing rough sex patrick fics. it's all i think about 24/7, and you guys are no help but like i love it so it's fine. i'm here to serve you and this is clearly what you want so who am i to deny you that? thank you to the beautiful anon who requested this, i hope you don't mind that i changed it from a locker room scene to a bathroom scene but that was just calling to me hehe. okay bye! hope you love it! xoxo mwah.

psst! tftw series masterlist!

You’ve been on the court for at least an hour and a half, running drills and trying to sweat out all of your stress. You were the only one in the building, but it was always less busy during finals week. Most people were camped out in their dorms cramming for fifty question tests or four part lab practicals. 

Art politely declined your invite, too busy studying for his business final on Monday. So you rented a tennis machine and worked on your backhand that way. It was a nice distraction, emptying your head enough that all the anxiety of finals started to melt away as you slid into a steady rhythm with the machine.

The door bangs open with a loud creak behind you, bursting the little bubble of tranquility surrounding you. The back of your head burns with the unmistakable feeling of someone glaring at you.

You hear him before you see him, a loud call of your name followed by heavy footsteps quickly coming towards you. The sound of his voice immediately grates on your nerves, all angry and shouty. You choose to ignore it, focusing on hitting each new ball the machine spits out.

It may have been a couple months since you’ve seen Patrick, but you’d always recognize the familiar way his voice wraps around each syllable in your name.

Three months, to be exact. It’s been three months since your big fight over the phone with Patrick. You blocked his number right after you hung up, so you haven’t spoken to him in just as long. He never tried to reach out, never messaged you on AOL or Facebook. The petty fuck actually went out of his way to unfriend you on both, so you knew he wasn’t exactly torn up about your abrupt split. 

“Hey! I’m talking to you,” Patrick shouts over the loud humming, sounding closer to you than he was before. You pointedly keep ignoring him, eyes fixed stubbornly on the machine. “You deaf or something?” he mocks, stepping up so you can see him in your peripheral vision. You say nothing, swinging your racket harder with each hit.

Patrick scoffs, stomping over to the machine and slamming his hand over the stop button. It makes a loud beeping sound, before shutting off completely. “Jesus Christ, you’re such a fucking baby.” you groan, throwing your head back in annoyance. When you finally turn to glare at him, you’re shocked at the state he’s in.

Patrick’s dressed in a tank and the almost too short shorts he’d usually wear to a match, and he’s dripping sweat. Curly black hair plastered to his forehead with it, his cheeks red and blotchy like he’d been in the sun. You raise your brow, looking at him with a confused expression on your face. “Where the hell did you even come from? How did you know I was here?” 

He walks back over to you, hands balled into fists by his side. “I was at a tournament in Mountain View,” he explains, jerking his head in the vague direction he came from, ”it was so close I thought it’d be wrong of me to not stop by and check up on you.”

You laugh, nodding your head lightly. “Okay, so you flunked out of another tournament and hunted me down like a creepy stalker to what? Yell at me some more? Call me a cunt again?” you step closer, lightly swishing your racket through the air dismissively. “I’m not fucking interested in whatever it is you have to say Patrick, we’re over.”

He smirks but you can see the way his jaw clenches, ticking in anger. “But you’re interested in what Art has to say?”

There it is. You really should have known it would all come back to this eventually.

You sigh, casting your eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. “What’s your point?”

Patrick takes a step closer. “My point is that you’re not fucking stupid, and Art can’t lie to save his goddamn life. You knew exactly what he was doing.” His tone is accusatory, his brows pinched together hard enough to crease his skin. 

Your heart beat picks up in your chest, anger beginning to bubble up inside you. “I didn’t need Art’s help to realize that you’re an arrogant piece of shit and a gigantic waste of my time, you made it easy enough to pick up on all by yourself.”

Patrick laughs, loud and abrasive. “No, you just didn’t care.” he states darkly, shaking his head back and forth a few times. You can feel a few drops of sweat fling from his hair to land on the bare skin of your shoulders as he does. “You’re so easy that you’d spread your legs from him to stroke your own ego. You’re only playing into his whole kicked puppy charade to justify acting like a fucking whore, ‘Poor Art, he’s so sad and pathetic, I’ll let him fuck my slutty pussy to help his raise his self esteem!’.” He mocks, voice pitched up in an exaggerated impression of you.

Your grip tightens on the handle of your racket, knuckles turning white with it. You feel hot all over, anger simmering under your sweaty skin. “You’re seriously trying to lecture me about egos? This has nothing to do with Art! This is about you being a bratty little rich boy who’s never been told ‘no’ before so you can’t handle rejection. It’s fucking embarrassing.”

Patrick nostrils flare, brows pinching together in anger. “Art has nothing to do with this, really? You’re delusional if you actually think that he’s just this saint among men or some shit. He’s not, he’s a fucking snake.”

“Trust me, Art doesn’t have to be a saint to be better than you.” you sneer, voice sharp and unwavering. Your hands are shaking, blind rage racking through your body like thunder. “The only redeeming quality you’ll ever have is dangling between your legs so you better get used to this, because sooner or later everyone will leave you once they see past all your bullshit and realize that you’re nothing more than a worthless loser.”

Patrick’s jaw works furiously, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. You think something like hurt flashes through his eyes, but only for a second. It's gone just as fast, replaced by a mocking smirk that stretches over his lips slowly. He crosses his arms in front of him, shamelessly raking his eyes over your body. You can practically see the gears turning in his head. 

“So who fucks better?” he asks bluntly, a bead of sweat dripping down the column of his throat and into the neck of his tank.

A shocked laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it. “What?” you ask, arms dropping to your sides limply. The completely one-eighty of his mood sends your head reeling. 

Patrick takes another step closer, invading your personal space. “Who fucks better?” he repeats slowly, leaning down to meet your eye. “Me or Art? Don’t fucking lie to me and tell me that prissy farmer boy makes you come harder than I do.”

You laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “God, everything is always a dick measuring contest with you. It’s so pathetic like, seriously–”

“Answer the question.” Patrick demands, cutting you off sharply. He’s practically looming over you now, so close that you can smell him. That natural, manly, musky scent he always has after a game that drives you fucking crazy. 

It reminds you of when he’d come back to your dorm fresh off a match, still in the same clothes and not showered. Pumped full of adrenaline and so pent up, needing something to take his energy out on. You were always that something. He’d fuck your mouth like he’d fuck your pussy, like it was just another hole for him drain his balls into. You’d be face down in his crotch for what seemed like hours, right where his smell was the strongest. Forced to breathe it in so deeply you’d feel high off it, your brain turned to mush every time.

Heat swirls deep in your stomach, you haven’t been this close to Patrick in what seems like forever. You kind of forgot how much he affects you, especially like this. The sex was always better when you’d fight before.

“You’re a child.”

“You still haven’t answered the question.”

You huff, narrowing your eyes at him. There’s a sort of crazed look on his face, his pupils blown out and dark. It makes you pause, it’s the look you’d get right before he’d pounce on you. You’ve seen it enough times to know that something is different about it. He looks needier, more hungry. 

It has some of your anger subsiding, twisted amusement swiftly taking its place. If Patrick wants to ambush you like this, after weeks of radio silence, you might as well use it as a chance to fuck with him.

You smirk, cocking your head to the side slightly. “Art,” you say slowly, taking a small step towards Patrick, “is a better fuck than you ever were.”

Patrick pouts like an honest to God child, sticking out his bottom lip in indignation. “I told you not to lie–”

“I’m not lying,” you say innocently, voice dropping down to a whisper as you lean in even closer. You can see the freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks, darker than usual thanks to all the sun he’s been getting. “Last night he ate me out for hours, made me squirt all over his fucking tongue.” 

For the first time since you’ve met him, Patrick Zweig is shocked into silence. His eyes darken, you can’t even see the green anymore, the solid black of his pupils swallowing it entirely. “Bullshit,” he says quietly, clipped and skeptical. His breath fans hotly over your lips, it makes your spine start to tingle.

You smile sweetly, giving a small shrug of your shoulders. “I’ll send you the video.”

Patrick physically reels back, blinking slowly with the realization of what you just said. His lips barely part in surprise, pink and enticing. You revel in it, smirking at him smugly. His eyes flit across your face like he’s trying to figure out if you’re lying or not. You stare back at him unrelenting, all the proof you need is sitting in the video gallery of your pink motorola razr. 

Patrick swallows hard, you watch the way his adam’s apple bobs with it. He shifts his lower body subtly, but you’re too close to not notice it. Your eyes immediately dart down, and you’re almost giddy at what you find. 

He’s hard, the fabric of his shorts stretched over the length of his dick obscenely. You can see the faint outline of the tip pressing against the seam, a wet patch seeping through the gray material around it.

“Oh my god, you’re actually getting off on this!” you laugh wickedly, eyes glued to the lewd tent of his dick. “You’re calling me a whore when you’re the one getting wet just thinking about your best friend's mouth on my pussy. That’s fucking pathetic even for you, Ricky.”

Patrick is silent, breathing heavily through his nose as he stares you down so intensely you can almost feel the heavy weight of his eyes as they bore into you. 

It happens in less than a second, Patrick closing the distance between you and taking your arm in his strong hand so he can force you in the direction of the showers. His grip is tight on your bicep, fingers meanly digging into your skin and forcing you to walk with him. You put up a fight, kicking and scratching but he’s stronger than you. Not letting your slaps to his chest or nails sinking into his arm deter him from dragging you across the court. 

“Let me go asshole!” you snap, trying in vain to yank your arm out of his grip while you stumble over your own feet. “You’re such a fucking psycho!” Patrick ignores you, bursting into the men's showers and marching you into the first stall. He drags you inside, whirling you around to shove your back against the door of it roughly. It knocks the wind out of you for a second, the lock digs into your back hard enough to hurt.

“Art doesn’t have any fucking idea how to deal with a bitch like you.” he grates, fisting a handful of your harshly. “He’s too soft. Too busy letting you lead him around by his dick to try putting you in your fucking place.”

The sting of your scalp only adds to the warmth pulsing in your pussy, sticky arousal dripping wet in your panties. You meet his eyes, all the fire and want swirling in them mirror your own. “Art has a bigger dick than you bitch.” You spit, standing on your tiptoes to lessen the distance of him tugging on your hair. It’s a low blow, immature and basic but you don’t care.

Patrick just hum noncommittally, roughly hooking his fingers into your cheeks and dragging you forward until the tip of your nose is touching his. “Then your throat is still nice and stretched out for me.”

He drops his hands to your shoulders, forcing you onto your knees. You hit the ground with a heavy thud, a dull ache blooms in your knees at the force of it. “Fuck,” you hiss, pulling back instinctively but the hard plastic of the shower door pressing onto the back of your head keeps you pinned in place. Your hands fly up to his legs to try and push him away.

Patrick grips your hair tight, tipping your face up to look at him. You have a perfect view of him pushing his shorts down, letting his hard dick slip out as the fabric stretches taught across his thick thighs. “Open your mouth,” he demands, yanking your head to the side meanly.

“Fuck you,” you snarl, teeth bared in anger as you fight to stand up. Patrick’s strong hand on your shoulder keeps you down while the other starts to idly stroke his dick. He’s just as big as you remember, thick and hard only a few inches away from your face.

The tip all red and weepy when he pulls his foreskin back on each tug, a thick vein running up the side that you want to trace with your tongue.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” he coos softly, rubbing his leaking tip across your bottom lip a couple times, smearing his pre-come around your mouth like lip gloss. “We both know you love it.”

He’s so cocky, so sure of himself that you want to keep denying him. But he’s also right, you can feel your resolve slowly start to crack when he pushes the head between your parted lips. The familiar heady taste of him oozing onto your tongue has you sighing contently, jaw relaxing the tiniest bit almost like a reflex.

The second you give Patrick an inch and he’ll take a mile. 

“There we go,” he mutters sweetly, pulling back slightly and then thrusting forward until your nose is buried in the short curls at the base. 

Your whole body tenses, throat constricting over the length of his dick as your fist his shorts in your hands. As quickly as he thrust in, he pulls out, letting you sharply gasp for air before it’s back and pressing insistently on your tongue. You let him in, forcing your throat to relax as he slides forward to press his hips into your face.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he bites out, thrusting down your throat roughly. “Pussy’s so greedy it jumped on the next dick that perked up around it.”

You could only whine around Patrick’s dick, mouth too full to do anything but try and work your tongue over the throbbing length of him.

Your throat burns, spit flowing down your chin messily along with his pre-come still steadily leaking from the hot tip of his dick.

His big hands have an iron grip on either side of your head, his balls slap against your chin as he thrusts over and over and over. The back of your skull throbs, knocking into the stall with each pump of his hips.

“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his forehead down to the stall with a small thunk. “You look so good like this,” he breathes, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes, “so fucking pretty with my dick down your throat to shut you up.”

Your pussy aches, so empty that you want to shove your hand down your shorts and stuff yourself full of your own fingers to dull the need. Your thighs glide together slickly, the wetness of your arousal soaking through your clothes.

It gets harder to breathe. Your choked off, spluttering gags start loudly echoing off the tile walls. Your hand slaps Patrick’s thigh a few times, he thrusts hard once more before he finally pulls back, smearing spit all over your tongue and out of your mouth.

“God, that was good baby.” he praises, slapping his dick against your right cheek lewdly. “As much as I want to pump this load down your throat,” he says casually, stroking his spit slick dick lazily, ”I want it in your pussy more.”

“I fucking hate you,” you growl weakly, voice absolutley wrecked. The tears sitting in your waterline blur your vision, you blink them away to see Patrick’s smug smile beaming down at you. 

“Then tell me to stop,” he shrugs, tilting his head to the side condescendingly. You glare up at him, but you don’t say anything. He snorts, brow raising in amusement. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

He shoves his shorts the rest of the way down, stepping out of them and hauling you up to your feet. You’re still desperately trying to catch your breath, chest heaving as you cough and gasp.

Patrick rips your shirt over your head, flinging it over the stall along with his own. He turns you by your shoulder, pushing you against the wall as he yanks the shower handle to start the stream.

Water rains down around you, shockingly cold for a few seconds before it finally starts to warm up. Patrick makes quick work of your shorts and panties, yanking them down your legs and off your feet, tossing them in the corner of the stall with a wet thwack.

He kicks your feet further apart, one hand on your shoulder and the other lining his hard dick up with your tight hole, letting the leaking tip press into you with the smallest amount of pressure.

“I know you missed my dick, slut,” he says, bringing his hand down on your ass quickly, kneading the stinging skin roughly. “Art could be the best fuck in the world, he still can’t give it to you like I can.” He pops the head in, groaning quietly before he bullies his thick dick the rest of the way into you.

Your hole shakes around him. Patick is right. Patrick is always right, but you’d never tell him that. You wanted this. You missed this. The burn of Patrick’s dick forcing you open, stretching you so wide your toes curl. Him not giving you even a second to react before he’s pulling back and pounding into you brutally.

You cry out, eyes screwing shut at the sharp sting. You can tell through the haze of you brain that this won’t take long at all, the both of you already so worked up from Patrick fucking your throat. His right hand drops from your shoulder to your hip while his left slides up your torso, sliding along your skin to wrap around the column of your throat firmly. You keen loudly, throwing your head back to give him more room.

“I taught him how to use that fucking dick,” he goads into your ear, grip tightening on your throat. “Did he tell you about that? Huh?” He takes your earlobe between your teeth, biting hard enough to make you squeal into the wall.

The tile digs into your cheek, roughly scraping against your skin every time Patrick fucks back into you. 

You’re hovering over the edge, pussy throbbing with the burning need to come. Your clit pulses, swollen and sensitive but you can’t find the strength to drop your down hand between your thighs.

They’re too busy scrambling for any kind of purchase on the slippery wall of the shower, manicured nails scratching against the tile uselessly.

You gasp for air, fighting to speak up under the intense pressure of his hand, “I could tell,” you choke out, barely audible, “you both fuck like you have something to prove.”

“You think?” he sneers, thrusting harder, your ass stinging each time he slams his hips into you. “Maybe that’s because we do. Maybe that’s because we both like seeing you fucking fall apart like this, seeing you beg for it after you finally stop being a little pissy bitch.” 

Your breath hitches as his other hand drops from your hip, delving between your thighs to slide the calloused pads of his fingertips over your swollen clit.

You moan, thighs clenching together as he rubs fast circles over you. “You like that, don’t you? Being used like a fucking toy.” His hand squeezes just a bit tighter. “Say it. Tell me you love being our little slut.”

The words spill out of your mouth before you can stop them, a mix of desperation and raw honesty, “I love it,” you cry out as loud as you can, “I love being your slut.”

“God, you sound just like him,” Patrick chuckles into your ear, low and sinister. His hold on your throat tightens, cutting off your air entirely. You sputter, hand coming up to clutch his wrist like a vice. Your pulse thunders, hard enough that he can probably feel it against his palm. “Who do you think made him come harder?”

The image alone of Patrick and Art like that sends you flying to the edge. “Ah— Patrick! ” you moan, voice hoarse and strained, “Pat, I’m gonna— fuck—“

“Do it,” he goads, sliding his hand from your clit down to where your pussy is spread open on him. He pushes his thick index finger right up next to his pulsing dick, hooking it inside or you and stretching you that much wider. “Come on my fucking dick like the greedy whore you are.”

You let out a sharp cry as your forehead hits the wall, thighs shaking violently as Patrick’s hips become relentless. Your whole body tensing up as you come so hard your vision blacks out.

You think you’re screaming, but it’s hard to hear anything over the white noise buzzing in your ears. Patrick’s hips don’t stop, fucking your abused pussy into overstimulation as he chases his own orgasm.

His hand drops from your throat to dig into your hip to put more power behind his thrusts. You’re immediately gasping for air, taking in greedy lungfuls of it.

Patrick’s chest is plastered to your back, face buried in your neck as he rambles out more nonsensical obscenities. His dick pulses and twitches in your pussy, so close to filling you up.

An idea pierces through the fog of your brain, an idea so fucking filthy it has your pussy clenching weakly.

You think back to the first night Art fucked you, how he almost came all over Patrick’s pants just because they were his, just because you said his name. How worked up and hard Patrick got when you started talking about Art. 

“When he fucked me for the first time, I was wearing your sweats, the green ones,” your voice is scratchy and quiet, barely audible over the shower’s spray, “he noticed.”

“Fuck– fuck you,” he grates out, hips faltering ever so slightly. “God, gonna come,” his hold on your hip tightens, strong enough that it’ll be sure to bruise.

You keep talking, spurred on by his reaction. “He almost came right there, he wasn’t even inside me yet, just rubbed his dick all over them like he could fucking feel you.”

Patrick gives one final slam of his hips, burying himself as deep as he can in your pussy. His low groans and curses fill the room as he unloads into you, pumping you so full of his come that you can feel each hot splash of it painting the walls of your pussy. 

He slumps down against you, hips twitching as he works through the aftershocks. You can feel his breath puff over the shell of your ear. 

You and Patrick say nothing for a long few minutes, running water the only thing to keep the room from being completely silent. Patrick is still pressed to your back, his chest heaves against your shoulders. You think you’d collapse if his hands weren’t still on your hips, practically holding you up.

You’re the one to break the silence, voice low and wrecked, “Art lasts so much longer than that…”

Patrick snorts against your back. “Fuck you.” he says, biting your shoulder hard and pulling his dick out of you in one swift move. You gasp sharply as his come floods from your puffy, wrecked hole. Thick streams of it dripping down your thighs until the water washes it away to swirl down the drain. 

You turn on unsteady legs, hair plastered to your face with water. Patrick is right there, knees knocking against yours as he shifts the two of you closer to the spray. He looks like a marble statue, water dripping down the tip of his nose and between the hard planes of his abs.

He grins smugly down at you, “I’m staying at a hotel close to campus, unblock my number and I’ll send you my room number,” he wagers, hands sliding up and down the wet skin of your back. “I think you, Art, and I have something we need to work out.”

“Yeah,” you agree, nodding your head with a small grin. “I think we do”

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[iamonlyperson]

reacting to old ego content

[dipperscavern]

OOOOHHH CLEGANE 🤭😛

this in no way reflects my decency as a human being or my mental state, and i WHOLE-HEARTEDLY apologise. but for jon and sandor, the yeast infection would be worth it.

the way u put a warning 😭 but yeah.. unfortunately the uti would be a small price to pay i fear (sedate me)

[depravedangelbaby]

girlfriend n I are in such a silly mood today we just had a pillow fight n it was so fun hehehehehe

[squidyyy23]

uhm, hi. *waves shyly from the back* life has been kicking my ass lately and the brain has no juice left for the scroll. 😢 but i still love seeing the pals tagging me on fun games! thanks @celestialmickey @creepkinginc @suzy-queued @juliakayyy @metalheadmickey @heymrspatel @gallawitchxx

picrew: we're manifesting the writing the will happen again one day, right? RIGHT?!

name: tina 🦑

age: 32

pronouns: she/her

your sun sign, MBTI type, and enneagram type (google them if you’re not sure!): gemini, INTP, 9w1

how tall are you? five

what color are your eyes? brown

the last time you saw a movie in theaters (bonus: what was it?): elemental with the kiddo sometime this summer?

favorite dessert: ice cream. 🍦

outer space or the ocean? my son would disown me if i didn't say space. 🚀

you’re in a McDonald’s drive thru, what are you ordering? hopefully it's breakfast or i'll just stick with a mcflurry.

are you good with plants? i'm learning! starting to develop a bit of addiction...

would your current self and high school self get along? yeah. she'd probably be like chill girl. honestly, she'd probably be good for me. 😂

a food you can’t stand: avocados. 🥑

something you’d do if money were no object: i feel like the fact that i keep coming up with practical limitations to every idea that pops into my head is a good indicator of the mood right now. 🙃

the last app you opened on your phone (tumblr doesn’t count!): email?

and finally, compliment yourself! you're survivin', bro. 👊