#remembering every time part of smoking

[milo-is-rambling]

Out smoked my cousins,,, truly feeling like the hippy failure cousin that all the kids like but all the adults judge and like it’s great vibes I feel my cousins actually enjoy being around me (not even just that we’re smoking like they seem to legit enjoy talking to me)

[angelstrawbabie420]

in my quest to quell my pain ive only hurt myself worse. damned if i do damned if i dont.

[zemnarihah]

i hung out w my roommate and a couple of her friends last night and it was fun but it was a little surreal they were just... so different. from me.

[esyra]

After the hospital bombing, I finally heard back from my grandmother and confirmed that several of my relatives were murdered by Israeli bombing. Seven of them, to be precise. Three are still going, including her. We've been talking constantly ever since.

Asked if it was possible to head south, and was told they did but were also bombed there. So they decided to go back home, in Zeitoun. Their home was bombed and they were pulled out of the rumble, then driven by ambulances to the al-Ahli Arab Hospital. There were people in every corner. Gazans sheltering, sleeping on the floor. Gazans dying on the floor, waiting for beds.

Four were declared dead on arrival, three were in need of surgery and other three were just bandaged. Then, a bomb was dropped in the parking lot that made parts of the ceiling collapse, like Dr. Ghassan Abu Sittah reported in that horrific conference/interview. Those in need of surgery died.

By the way, just in case you didn't know: the Church of Saint Porphyrius, the third oldest in history, bombed by Israel a few days back, was located near the hospital.

When looking for new shelter, they saw schools with signs hanging outside, "We can't take any more families." They met families, sympathetic but already sheltering too many people. They're now staying in an apartment building they found empty. Sleeping in the corner of the living room. If the family comes back, they'll apologize and leave.

Told me she was saving her phone battery for when the bombing stopped, and she had to ask for help to rebuilt the neighborhood. But she doesn't think it's gonna stop anymore. The ones still with her are mute most of the time, like they're saving energy, but she feels lonely and wanted to talk. There's no internet and to connect to WhatsApp, people are buying "a card from the supermarket, there's a password and username." Not sure what she meant. Still, the internet is inconsistent and won't load neither videos or images nor pages, so she doesn't know what's happening on the outside world.

Told her there were a lot of people protesting to stop the genocide, she replied, "The bombings are getting worse by the day." The bombing yesterday was the worst she ever witnessed. The entire neighborhood is infested with the smell of death, of decomposing bodies. Bodies are piling up in the streets and she's not sure if it's because they ran out of places to store them, but most of them are in bags. The smoke of the bombings hide the blue sky—she hasn't seen the clouds for a while.

Asked if I could share their pictures, names and dreams with people and was told, of which I partly agree, "they're not entertainment." If anyone genuinely cared, they would be alive—I'd argue there are people who do care, but I'm not gonna lecture her pain. And they don't deserve to be used to fulfill someone's sick fantasy. Told me to remember what some Israelis do with pictures of dead Palestinians. And I do.

For those of you who are not familiar, many times before settlers got together to celebrate the murder of Palestinians. For one, in 2015, Israeli settlers set a house in Duma, West Bank on fire. An 18-month old baby, Ali Dawbsheh, was burnt alive. Both parents later died of wounds and only a 5-year-old, Ahmad, survived, although severely injured.

Two celebrations of their murder are widely known, one at a wedding and others outside the court in which two were indicted for the terrorist attack. In the wedding, guests stabbed a photo of the toddler, Ali, while others waved guns, knives and Molotov cocktails. Israel's Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben-Gvir, was present.

That's what happens in an apartheid. Palestinians are so abused by authorities that their "innocent civilians" come to accept the brutality as necessary or are desensitized by our suffering. After all, it's been 75 years—get used to it!

So I won't risk the image of my loved ones, in fear they are used in these kinds of depravity. I will say, though, the world lost a young footballer. Lost a female writer and an aspiring ballerina. Lost a kind father, who was also a great cook, and a loving mother that enjoyed sewing and other types of handicraft art. Lost a math teacher and a child that wanted to become one.

People think Israel is testing new weapons on them. There's civilians arriving at the hospital with severe burns, which they thought was from white phosphorus, but apparently the pattern is different from the one caused by white phosphorus. It's widely believed Israel tests weapons in Palestinians.

Jeff Halper, author of War Against the People, a book on Israel's arms and surveillance technology industries, said: "Israel has kept the occupation because it's a laboratory for weapons."

They've ran out of drinkable water and the "aid" Biden sent was only for the South of Gaza and no fuel, for hospitals, was allowed in. Many shelves in the supermarket are empty. She said many are convinced that if they don't die from the bombing, they'll die from starvation or dehydration, or whatever disease will develop from the dirty water they're drinking.

Told me all people do now is pray, cry and die. Told me she hopes West Bank is spared. Told her Israel bombed a mosque in West Bank and dozens of Palestinians in West Bank are being murdered by settlers, so she bided me goodbye.

[fatherbrat]

incubus!sukuna, part two. part one here

you wake up sweaty, the sheets clinging to your skin. there’s an unfamiliar pressure on your hips, and you almost feel stuck. when you open your eyes, there are four staring back at you in the dark.

instinctively, you open your mouth to scream, but sukuna is faster than you. one of his large hands is covering your face before you can even blink, muffling your scream completely.

he leans into you, close enough that you can smell faint wisps of smoke coming from him.

“you remember me.” it’s a statement, not a question. “let me have you like this.” outside of your head, he thinks.

he watches as you glance at the clock across the room. 3:56. you close your hand into a fist, pressing your nails into your palm before raising it to your face and counting all five fingers. you look back at the clock. still 3:56.

you’re awake.

the pressure on your hips—his hands holding you down—goes away as he shifts positions, lifting you into his lap. suddenly, you feel overly exposed in the tank top and underwear you wore to bed. his double erection presses into your side, twin promises of what’s to come.

just like in your dreams, he makes the first move with little hesitation, pulling your underwear off you in one swift movement. you follow his lead, tugging your tank over your head and tossing it to the floor.

you’re already wet enough for him to slip three of his thick fingers inside you without prepping you first. he chuckles to himself as he watches the way your pussy greedily sucks his fingers in. you squirm a bit, trying to subtly push yourself down on his hand, hoping for more.

he pauses. “what? this not enough for you?”

the stern tone of his voice makes your legs tense, bringing them together. sukuna tuts, “don’t run away now, you just said you wanted more.” he pushes your legs back open, wider than they were before.

you purse your lips. “technically, i didn’t say that.”

he stares down at you, unfamiliar with this kind of back-talk from a human. he expects attitude from succubi, always too impish and bratty, but human women? they’ve always been willing and pliant.

you tuck your lips between your teeth and stare back, eyes twinkling.

you aren’t expecting the large smile that breaks across his face, making you feel like a rabbit staring into the maw of a lion.

you’re suddenly on your back, head resting against your pillow. sukuna hovers over you and pulls his fingers out of your cunt, and he looks you in the eyes as he licks them clean. you don’t break eye contact, which only seems to rile him up further.

“you’re a bold one,” he mumbles, pushing your legs up until your knees are nearly to your ears.

you groan at the position, momentarily wishing you’d been stretching more regularly. but you don’t have any time to dwell on it before sukuna presses the fat tip of one of his dicks against your slit.

your breath hitches as he sinks himself all the way in, pushing your legs further back to get deeper.

“oh my god.”

somehow, he feels bigger in real life. your jaw drops at the rude entry, and you watch sukuna’s lips stretch into a sly smile.

he pulls out completely, only to thrust back into you, his tip kissing your cervix. he continues at a steady speed, driving you closer and closer to an orgasm with every movement.

when you come, you swear you see stars. your toes and fingers and ears are tingling, skin prickling all over. your cunt spasms around sukuna’s monstrous cock, clenching and releasing like she’s trying to milk him. you’re so focused on trying to ride it out that you hardly register when sukuna lines up his second dick with your entrance.

you scream when you feel it—sukuna’s twin cocks stretching you open more than you even knew was possible.

he gives you a moment to take it in, whispering for you to breathe as he waits for you to relax around him. one of his hands envelops yours, pinning it to the bedsheets.

the moment you adjust, he goes back to his previous pace, only marginally slower.

the feeling is overwhelming, being so totally stuffed. it only gets worse when he starts thumbing your clit. immediately, your mind goes blank, short-circuiting in response to the devastating amount of pleasure.

you're subjected to more orgasms in quick succession, each one sending shockwaves throughout your body. sukuna keeps going, looking increasingly satisfied every time you come.

the tears that pricked the corners of your eyes start to fall down your temples. a string of “please, please, please, please” spills from your lips, but you’re not quite sure what you’re asking for, too fucked out to be coherent.

you’re vaguely aware of the praises he starts showering you with. something about how you’re his favorite, and how your pussy sucks him in the best, how he’ll never fuck another, blah blah blah. his hips buck at a sloppier pace than before.

you feel his cocks pulse inside you, and for the first time since he’s started visiting you, he comes.

you’re not expecting to feel so empty when he finally pulls out of you. he uses his fingers to stuff his cum as far up as it’ll go, but it leaks out anyways, trickling towards your ass. he lets go of you, letting you lay down your legs and stretch them out on the bed.

in your cum-drunk haze, you latch onto sukuna's hand, tucking it beneath your head and mumbling thank you’s into his skin as you curl up under the sheets. as you begin to drift into unconsciousness, you feel him wrapping you up in his arms, cradling you. a single thought cuts through the fog in your brain: this is new.

you think you hear him tell you you’re welcome just before falling asleep.

reblog for a kiss ( ੭ ˘ ³˘)੭‎°｡⋆♡‧���˚

[bitterrfruit]

Simon forgets how strong he is

18+ MDNI - cw: bruising - ~700 words

just some Simon Riley NSFW brainrot ♥︎ - part 2-ish, and part 3-ish here!!

Simon forgets how to be gentle.

When he's at war, fighting and shooting and killing day and night, all he knows is hardness. Brutality. Ruthlessness. His hands and heart grow calloused and rough in his months away from you. Using his unfathomable strength to survive is what he grows used to, it becomes second nature.

But it's your softness he remembers, to keep himself sane. It's all he thinks about. Dreams of.

The way the flesh of your hips, your ass, your breasts, your belly, pillows so deliciously between his fingers when he squeezes his handful - so warm, so supple. The way your vanilla-balmed lips graze his scarred skin so tenderly, however undeserved your sweetness is.

And when he finally returns home, after months of missing, craving you - when you stand in the door, honey thighs bare by virtue of the black panties you wore just to torture him, soft tummy peeking out from under your crop-top - he just can't restrain himself.

You greet him with your sugary smile, stretching up on your toes to curl your loving arms around his neck - your gentle voice, music; "Si, ah! I'm so glad you're okay…"

The moment your velvet skin touches his, his shackles crumble. Like a beast starved, he clutches you. Mammoth arms curl around you, constricting, gripping you eagerly like you might be a dream; liable to turn to a memory, to smoke.

His avaricious embrace lifts your feet from the ground, though he doesn't mean to - he burrows his nose and mouth into the crook of your neck, lets the curls of your hair smother him and fill his chest with the faint scent of your fruity shampoo. Fights every urge to take a bite, like you're a ripe nectarine.

Growls into your skin, through his jaw; "I fuckin' missed you, love. Christ, you have no idea how much I missed you."

"I missed you too, baby…" you coo into his ear, even your breathing is tender - he can't take it.

So he ferries you immediately to the sitting room, scoops you up like you weigh nothing, lets you coil your buttery thighs around his waist as he sits you on his lap on the sofa.

His wide hands take their greedy handfuls of your body - of your waist, of your hips, of your thighs, of your ass. Finally indulging the impulses he had dreamed about for so long - the very image he had fucked his fist to more times than he could count while parted from you.

With his teeth on your shoulder, tongue laving your warm skin; "So fuckin' soft," he grumbles deeply, and urges, "pretty thing. So soft. Fuck, I missed you."

His cock is hasty to grow boulder-solid under his trousers, and he chastises himself - but you answer with a cloying giggle, grinding your mound against its rigidity as if to torment him.

"Mm, you did miss me," you tease, little brat.

Then in an instant, all he can think about is the softness of your syrupy pussy, the gumminess of the inside of your cunt as its walls caress and milk his cock like it was built just to fit him.

You make him fucking ravenous, so voraciously eager to have you that he doesn't even notice his hands turn to vices around your flesh - fingers burrowing so deeply into the cheek of your ass that he might break through the skin.

"Ah!" You yelp, "Ow - Simon - you're hurting me-"

Your squeak of pain is enough to immediately shatter him - so he rapidly lifts you off of him, protecting you from his impulse. Stands you on your feet so that you're no longer victim to his inability to control himself.

"Shit, I'm sorry-" he grunts under his breath, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, it's-" Your brows curl in worry, turning to look at where he had clawed you - and he sees the purple bruises where his hand had wrenched the flesh of your ass, the red lines where his fingernails had nearly punctured you. "Oh," you breathe at the sight, "…wow."

Drowning in visceral shame, he can barely bring himself to touch you again. But your soft hand caresses his hair, running through the sandy tresses - you, somehow, the one to comfort him.

"It's okay, baby, I know you didn't mean to," you purr fondly, and he leans forward to shamefully press as soft a kiss as he can into the bruise he gave you. Fucking monster.

"I'm sorry," he croaks into your skin, hoping his guilt will reverse his barbarity. "I just missed you."

"I know," you croon, turning to plant a loving kiss into his hair. "It's okay."

You guide him to lean back, mounting his lap again, letting your pelvis grind against the erection you were quick to reawaken.

His hands barely ghosting over your skin, he restrains himself, touches you carefully.

You whisper, into his stubbled cheek; "I'll show you how to be gentle again."

[aph-estonia]

can't believe i'm speedrunning alcoholism

[silasours]

ৎ⸝⸝⠀COCKWARMING ! —

#pairing : lucifer, alastor, vox, valentino, x gn reader. #cw : 18+ content, mdni. unprotected sex. edging. office sex. public sex. sub/power sub reader. no mentions of specific anatomy. vox is in an online meeting for work. touch starved lucifer. val blowing his smoke on you for fun. non proofread because it's six in the fuckin morning and I have not slept a wink. #summary : in which they keep themselves buried deep inside of you while being busied by other stuff. #note : save me, I've been writing nothing but hazbin smut lately. i should really start working on other shows.. alastor's a bit shorter than the others, can't really think of a solid idea for him and I wanted to get this out as soon as possible

ʚ LUCIFER .

lucifer whines when you force him to focus on his unfinished work once again. he has been going back and forth from attempting to thrust into you, but you always found a way to press him down in his place firmly. he had some unfinished work that he left sitting in his office for almost a week now, and it irritated you. that's when you offered to cockwarm him while he worked, get him to finally get his hands on those unfinished works.

being absolutely touch starved, lucifer agreed without hesitation unaware of how miserable and impatient this will make him. his hand remain on his working desk, occasionally scribbling some words and a signature on the paper filled with printed words. he does his best to resist the urge to finally thrust into you, worried that you'd leave him unsatisfied if he doesn't do as he's told.

but there's a limit to how much he can contain himself, especially when he has you sitting on his lap with his cock stuffing you to the brim, when you'd tease him so often by clenching around him or moving your hips ever so slightly. lucifer whines every time, the hand that's placed on your hip squeezing on your flesh desperately.

"can i please.. just finish this up later?" his voice muffled from nuzzling his face into your shoulder, eyes closed shut to focus on the warmth engulfing his throbbing member. you let out a small chuckle, baring your teeth into his neck to draw out those pretty moans of his; his cock leaks pathetically inside of you.

"no can do, luci. you're not going to get whatever you want until you finish up." you pull away and tilt your head slightly, pressing a soft kiss onto his jaw while giving a quick glance at the papers sprawled across his desk. he's only halfway done with them. "you're doing pretty well, no? you're halfway done."

lucifer groans, annoyed as he picks up the pen from the desk again while reading through the papers. this time, you decide to tease him a little more instead of staying still. you connect your lips with his exposed neck, sucking on the sensitive skin as your hips slowly grind against his. you hear his breath hitch, his knuckles turning white from how hard he's gripping you.

your name spills out from his lips breathlessly, following with a whimper that you love so much. you carry on with your actions, dark marks gradually bloom all over his skin like breathtaking flowers. lucifer shifts to lay his forehead on your shoulder, shuddering from pleasure; you tug on his soft hair, firm enough to lift his head up from your shoulder.

"stay focused, luci. remember what's waiting for you to finish your work."

ʚ ALASTOR .

"oh, what a twist!" alastor exclaims with his eyes glued to the book he's reading, chuckling like you're not clenching down on his cock out of desperation. your eyes are teary as you turn to peek at the page he's on, frustration brewing in your chest. upon noticing your reaction, alastor laughs while moving his hand to cup your face, leaning in with a grin. "don't you agree, my dear?"

you groan, parting your lips further enough to drop his thumb into your mouth, biting down on it. alastor mutters a small "fiesty" before buckling up his hips, watching your eyes widen from the sudden pleasure that shoots up your veins. his arm tightens around your waist to stop you from squirming around excessively.

"put.. the fuckin' book down, a-alastor.." your nails dig into his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt, the back of your other hand hovering over your mouth with a frown on your face. alastor smiles in response, holding the book between the both of you now that there's a gap.

"why, it has only gotten interesting! patience is key, darling."

"it has been almost a whole fucking hour, alast-" your words get cut off by yet another harsh thrust of his hips, an uncontrollable moan slipping off your tongue. a low, barely audible grunt could be heard coming from alastor because of how you're squeezing around him like your life depends on it.

slowly, he places the book down, pushing two digits into your mouth as his sharp nails graze past your gums. your tongue swirls around them, gaze fixated on his that seems to be mocking your desperation. you grind your hips, wanting to feel more of that sensitive spot in you being stimulated by his tip brushing against it. alastor grunts every time you tighten around him, the feeling making his skin jump and his eyes close shut from the pleasure he receives.

you reach for the book to toss it aside, not allowing him any chance to get it back and return to what he was previously putting you through. he laughs at the action before getting cut off by yet another groan, a frown slowly finds its way to spread across his face despite the grin that remains on his lips.

"the book shall wait after all."

ʚ VOX .

the sound of vox's workers and colleagues echoes through his workplace, the source of it coming from the laptop that sits in front of him. he's holding an urgent meeting with them to discuss some things about work, yet you're here obediently sitting on him, cockwarming him. your arms hug his neck tightly, hands grabbing tightly onto his shirt while listening to him speak to the people in call.

you bite down every moan that builds in your throat, not allowing any sound to be heard by anyone but your partner. times when vox isn't discussing important matters, he leans into your ear to whisper praises, thrusting into you, and stops so suddenly when you're close to release.

he grins as you whine at the sudden loss of friction, skin flushed while feeling him draw lazy circles on your hips with his thumbs. he starts speaking again just when you're about to voice your frustration, drawing out a grumble from you. you stay there unattended, glancing at the part where the two of you connect; you're craving release, and you're done waiting.

with a steady pace, you move your own hips while holding onto his shoulders for support. vox's head snaps toward your direction, teeth gritting as he bites back the groans that threaten to leave his lips. he tries to hold you down, but his body betrays him and allows you to carry on with your movements. his head tilts back to lean against the headrest of his chair, the words that his workers speak gradually shifting to a blur in his mind.

"fuck, w-wait," his breath grows heavy, barely managing to keep his eyes open as you fuck yourself on his cock. you're supposed to be cockwarming him, not riding him. he has allowed you to the point of no return, how is he going to carry on with the meeting now? you grab him and connect your lips with his, drinking in his groans like how he does to your moans.

ignoring the calls of his name from the meeting, he pulls you closer by the waist as you grind yourself on him. it wasn't until he started getting annoyed by the meeting that he broke away from the kiss, strings of saliva still connecting your lips while his hand reached out to shut the laptop down. the room falls to a sudden silence, the only sounds that remain are your heavy breathing.

"you're gonna fuck up my company if this carries on," vox snickers before crashing his lips with yours again, hands holding onto your hips to thrust into you without anything holding him back this time.

ʚ VALENTINO .

you still can't process the fact that you're in valentino's studio with his cock buried deep inside of you while people walked around to work on set. valentino takes puffs from the cigarette he holds between his fingers, often ordering and even yelling at people as they rush to obey his commands.

nobody pays any mind to the both of you; in fact, they see it as something normal. after all, they're working for a porn producer, what is there not to be normal? you keep your face stuffed in the fluff of his coat, hands gripping tightly onto his outfit while still trying to adjust to how good he stretches you apart. everyone has just started working, and the set is still being prepared for a new film.

"you're tighter than usual my love, are you that excited to be around everyone?" he teases with a mocking tone, puffing out a wisp of pink smoke onto your flushed face. you lightly shake your head with a whine, the smoke that you inhale causing your vision to spin immediately. humming, valentino lifts your body up with the help of his lower pair of arms before roughly slamming you back down onto his cock. "I doubt that. you've always loved being fucking in public, no? look at you,"

you gasp, body tensing as a moan escapes your throat. you immediately bite down on your lower lip, eyes screwing shut while simultaneously having your body trembling under his hold. you don't want to draw too much attention to yourself, yet the idea alone excites you in an odd way that you never knew it would. noting your reaction, valentino continues repeating the action before stopping promptly, feeding himself with your choked back moans.

"keep looking pretty like that while i work, i'll have a reward waiting for you." you mewl at his words, giving him a weak nod while tugging onto his shirt. he takes another long drag from his cigarette before letting his gaze fall onto the prepared set displayed in front of him, eyes scanning for the stars of the show in the room.

he would moan softly into your ear whenever you clenched around him, teasing you with his mere voice and carrying on with his work. you don't complain, though, considering how you'll be fucked into a moaning mess once he's done with work.

© silas ( @silasours ). all rights reserved. every work posted on this account belongs to me, and only me. please refrain from reposting, plagiarizing, translating, or reproducing my work in any form possible.

[madelynraemunson]

pass the salt • e.m. smut

DAD’S BEST FRIEND!OLDER!EDDIE x FEM!READER

part two here

summary: you’re home from college and staying with your dad for the summer, spending as much time as you possibly can with him…and his hot best friend that you’ve never seen in your life.

authors note: okay have you guys ever seen those text posts like “when you say ‘daddy pass the salt please’ and your father and your man both reach for it” 💀💀 well this is inspired by that concept. also i went overboard and this is a LONG BOI

disclaimers — photo credits to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple 🫶🏼porn with plot, reader’s nickname is “sunshine”, reader has female anatomy, race unspecified, divider: @iluvpooks

NSFW — 18+ obv, porn with plot, daddy kink pls keep scrolling if it’s not ur thing, slight age gap (eddie is mid to late 30s, reader is in her early 20s), corruption kink, size kink, masturbation (m&f), p in v sex (protected), dirty talk, teasing, sexual innuendos, extreme flirting, eddie kinda being a perv, praise kink

The sound of breakfast on the griddle summons you downstairs.

Dad never cooks.

For as long as you can remember, weekends at your dad’s have always consisted of Lucky Charms cereal and powdered donuts. That tradition continued even after you started college.

Oh yeah. Someone is here, alright. Someone Dad desperately wants to impress.

Trailing after the commotion, your fuzzy pink slippers guide you down the wooden steps of your dad’s ‘bachelor pad’ and into the kitchen. And when you near the bottom of the steps, you can make out two distinct voices — one belonging to Dad, another belonging to someone who's identity is obscure.

“God, I fucking missed you, Jeff. Missed everyone so much.”

The smells of pancake batter, cigarette smoke, mint, and petroleum fuel reel you in, but not nearly as much as the sight of the man sitting on the opposite side of your dad. He's built, handsome with wavy brown hair, leather, black denim, twiddling a toothpick between his teeth as he listens to your dad speak with a smile on his face. That is, until you come into sight. It then that his intense focus circles in on you.

Funny. You don’t remember this friend. And something in your gut tells you that you won’t ever be forgetting him after this.

The stranger's grin curls into a wonder-filled smirk. You can feel your knees start to buckle.

“Uh oh. Looks like our shenanigans woke up Sleeping Beauty.”

When you get a closer look at Dad’s friend, you observe his faint brown beard — neatly kept and lightly peppered with some gray — delicious lips, shiny white teeth, and grooves along his laugh lines that would deepen with every theatrical cackle he belted out.

You can't help but freeze in your tracks as him and your dad continue on with their banter, reliving their glory days like it was yesterday. Man. What a damn dreamboat.

Your dad’s eyes light up with glee when he sees you.

“Hey, good morning, Sunshine!” Dad cheers. “Thought you’d never wake up. This is my friend Eddie. We were in that band together in high school. Come say hi.”

"Yeah, come say hi," Eddie agrees. feeding into the obvious tension in the room. "I don't bite."

The stranger laughs at his own comment as soon as he utters it.

There’s a charm — a magic — about Eddie that could only be found in Hollywood or the Big City. But of course, you didn't expect any less from Dad's supposed ‘Rockstar Friend’.

When your parents had you at 17, life went on for Dad’s band Corroded Coffin. And although he missed out on the ‘Sex, Drugs, and Rock&Roll’, Dad insists that tea parties and white picket fences were an ideal trade-off. Because — despite how things ended with Mom — it still meant a life spent with you.

You tell him your name as Eddie offers you his hand to shake. Electricity serges through you when your hand is enveloped by his firm, calloused one. Eddie smiles down at you, his presence all-consuming. It's almost as if he knows it. And as much as you were dying to, you resist the urge to fall into him.

Eddie's no better.

It takes everything in Eddie's power to keep his eyes above your collarbones, reprimanding himself with the utmost tedium. Because heaven knows he'd be TOAST if his best friend found out that Eddie thought that you were absolutely stunning — strutting around the house the way that you do, without a bra underneath that poor excuse of a sleep shirt — a sleep shirt far too tight for your own good. With tight, pajama shorts to match…

Of course, this is all an assumption…Not that he caught wind of it or anything.

“You know…” he mentions. “Your dad has told me SO much about little miss Sunshine.”

“Me, really?” is all you can say behind those fuscia cheeks.

“Really,” Eddie insists. “He never shuts up about you, darling.”

“Hopefully you’ve only heard good things,” you mutter faintly.

And instantly, your dad and Eddie share a laugh.

“Only good things,” Eddie assures you. He nudges your dad playfully.

Your dad doesn’t exactly deny the last part, basically confirming to Eddie that you’ve got a hint of spunk to you. The heat settles at your cheeks as you shy away from your father’s curious friend.

Taking note of how timid you’ve just become, Eddie furrows his brows.

“What — was that an implication that you’re not always good?”

“No comment,” your smile melts into an awkward one.

“Kept me on my toes back then,” your dad reflects with a sigh. “Keeps me on my toes now.”

“You don’t say…” Eddie smirks slightly, gaze panning back over to you.

Eventually your dad leaves you two alone, going into the garage to fetch something that he insists Eddie would like. But little did he know that such thing was already in the room, leaning…reaching into the fridge for some orange juice, not realizing its atmosphere caused your nipples to harden.

Eddie’s eyes proceed to follow you as you strut back to the griddle, flipping some hot cakes over before tending to your messy bedhead.

Eddie probably doesn’t know — or maybe he does, who knows? — that you feel him staring at you. It’s a burning gaze that practically impales you, but you’re too nervous to say anything. You’re better off pretending like it’s something you don’t notice.

You and Eddie continue to help yourselves to breakfast, enjoying the company of each other and your mutual silence. That is, until Eddie speaks up.

“Got some sausage for you if you’d like.”

“I’m sorry?” you sputter, looking up from your food.

Eddie shoots you a weird glance as he holds up some breakfast franks.

“Sausage?” he repeats. “Store was out of beef so I settled for turkey. Hope that’s not a problem.”

“Not at all,” you clear your throat. “I love turkey sausage.”

“Okay, good,” Eddie chuckles, seemingly relieved at how quickly the situation had diffused.

“Cool,” you chuckle with him while taking some links to cook.

The silence returns once more and is replaced by the sizzling of the grill. It’s short lived, however, because soon, the man nearly twice your age speaks again.

“What’d you think I said?” Eddie circles back.

“Nothing, why?”

“You just looked stunned.”

“I just woke up,” you shrug. “My mind’s somewhere else.”

“I can tell,” he smirks. “Get that thing out of the gutter.”

The coming days paved way for some more innocent flirting.

…Like when you make sure to wear the shortest skirt in your closet when running Eddie his afternoon beer in the garage.

“Well don’t you look absolutely darling…” he says as he peers up from his guitar.

“Hehe,” you smirk connivingly. “Thank you!”

“You are so welcome.”

Eddie downs the liquid guilt along with his pride, watching you strut around…the hem of that pleated cotton fabric just barely covering the roundness of your asscheeks. And as you blush a rosy pink when you process his little remarks, Eddie can only clear his throat in arousal, fantasizing about just how badly he wanted to turn your other cheeks that very shade.

…Or when you come downstairs the next day to help Dad manually wash his car.

While he and Eddie are harassing each other with soap and that god-forsaken hose, you decide to join in on all the fun.

“Watch out, Sunshine,” Eddie forewarns. “You’ve just entered the splash zone!”

And with the intention of cooling you off on a hot summer day like this, Eddie teasingly sprays you with said hose, your white shirt becoming transparent when lathered with water. He could see everything. Your erect nipples. Your perky tits bouncing in the sunlight as you jump around in excitement. How glazed your oil-nnuendo’ed skin looked when glimmering in the sun. All as intended.

“You got me,” you surrender yourself to him. “You got me good, Eddie.”

And when you walk away, Eddie mutters slyly to himself.

“Yes, yes I did.”

…And then there’s dessert after dinner.

Eddie watches as you lick your popsicle, his fingers curling at his thighs in arousal as you retract the wrapper before enclosing your lips around the bright pink dessert. And he swears he’s going to blow his pants when he envisions the melted sugar shooting into your mouth with the swiftest hollowing of your cheeks, the quiet suction noise you make with your pursed lips forcing him to adjust the way he’s sitting.

…The final instance takes the cake.

“What’s your major?”

You’re in the home library grazing some of Dad’s old books and vinyls, talking to Eddie while your father gets ready for the day. Meanwhile, Eddie is perched at your dad’s desk, rolling around in his expensive swivel chair and occasionally doing some spins on it to make you laugh.

“History.”

“Sounds boring.”

“You just haven’t found a topic that interests you,” you point out.

“Mm,” is all Eddie says. “Maybe I will eventually.”

Eddie watches as you waltz around in front of him, following your movements with his eyes as you get onto your tippy-toes in order to grab some books on the top shelf.

“Oh my god!” you yelp.

Your plan to entice him seemingly fails when you graze a book that’s halfway off the shelf. It’s already flying off of its platform, headed straight towards Eddie's lap before you can even stop it.

Eddie catches it before any damage can be done, saving Dad’s old campaign book with the hand furthest from you and snaking the other around your waist to prevent you from sinking any further into him.

Phew. Crisis averted.

Your eyes meet again.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie,” you gasp in embarrassment. “That book has a mind of its own.”

“You’re fine,” Eddie laughs. “Can’t defy the laws of gravity. Sometimes it betrays us.”

You feel yourself burning up a fever. Excusing yourself from the room, you leave Dad’s library and make your way over to the kitchen for a glass of water.

But you’re nearly taken aback when you feel tight, calloused hands wrap around your hips, and like a feather it’s like you’re whisked away into the air, and soon your body is pressed up against the wall.

Slam!

Breathing heavily against each other now — chest to chest, lips so unbearably close you can smell the whiskey — Eddie draws you even closer to him. You both study each other intently. It’s like you’re waiting for the other to say something. Eddie does the honors and speaks first.

“I wasn’t born last night, doll. I was also your age at one point.”

———

To his own despair, Eddie touches himself later that night. Facing your room, he strokes his rock hard cock with his lotioned-up hand, running his thumb across the slit of his head, pretending it’s your tongue giving him a little tease like you did the popsicle.

“Fuuuck,” he grunts quietly. “You like when I fuck your throat, baby? Gonna suck me dry with that pretty little mouth of yours?”

You’re playing make-believe just as much. Because at the same time, in your room, you’re a drooling, pathetic mess, riding your wall-mounted toy to oblivion in your bathroom, legs trembling when the thick, veiny piece of silicone slams into the spongy part of your heat, initiating shock-waves all across your body.

“Eddie,” you find yourself blubbering. “EddieEddieEddieEddie…”

You both know it can’t be like this, but that was the mere thrill of it all. And when you both have overcome your peak, just one mere wall apart, the floodgates of guilt outweighs both your arousals the way it comes pouring in.

So, so wrong. But oh, so right.

You’re anticipating…waiting…aching for Eddie to make the next move.

He doesn’t.

“Going to the store again,” Eddie announces. “Hopefully this time they’ll have beef sausage. Need anything?”

Need you, is what you think. But you end up shaking your head, a part of you disappointed that you and Eddie won’t be able to spend some time alone together.

“No,” there’s defeat in your voice.

“Are you sure?” Eddie questions softly.

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Okay,” he gives you a grin, one in the form of a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll be right back. You be good.”

“Ha-ha,” you roll your eyes.

——

Eddie leaves the door of his room open that night. Just a smidge. You end up following the sound of his TV that he’s placed at a low volume, making out that it’s Seinfeld just by Jerry’s voice and the laugh track.

Your heart skips a beat as Eddie laughs along with the show, shaking his head at a stupid joke. But he shifts his focus immediately onto you when he sees you at the doorway.

“Having some alone time tonight?” you ask him.

“Mmm…not by choice,” he responds. “Tuckered your dad out after dinner doing P90X.”

Eddie follows a crazy workout routine. He says that it helps with his stamina, especially when he does crowd work during his stage performances. Your mind can’t help but wonder what else he may be using it for.

You snort. “Yeah. Dad wasn’t what you’d call an athlete in high school.”

Eddie laughs at that too. Both you and him know that.

He then pats the space on his bed beside him. “Wanna come watch with me?”

Your stomach does a series of cartwheels when you process Eddie’s question. You know what’s bound to happen if you follow through. And it seems Eddie knows it too. Even if there wasn’t any sexual tension between you both already, the concept of it all would rub anyone that way.

But you still follow through with it. Just like Eddie knew you would.

“You comfortable?” Eddie asks you, eyeing you endearingly as you squirm around on the bed.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Good…” he replies, voice nearly at a strained whisper now.

You two watch the show in silence for a few minutes, exchanging commentary and pleasantries regarding the show every so often. It’s not too long after Eddie pulls a laugh from you that he starts closing up the space between you both, scooting himself closer…and resting his gruff palm over the base of your knee.

You inhale sharply as he does so. And evident by your refusal to pull away, it’s enough of a green light for Eddie to hike up further.

A soft moan escapes your mouth from the back of your flustered throat, but you bite your lip in restraint.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"For what?”

You shrug sheepishly as Eddie continues to graze your thigh. Your breathing falters even more.

“Don’t be scared,” Eddie coos.

“I’m not,” you insist.

“Then what’s stopping you from getting on top of me? Hm?”

He’s in between your legs now, the rough material of his denim jeans riding up your sex, teasing your clit with every calculated rub against it.

“And riding my rock hard cock til those pretty legs give out?” Eddie continues. “I see how you’ve been looking at me, doll. It's all over your face how bad you want it.”

“The bed is squeaky,” you answer honestly. “And that headboard is a lost cause.”

Eddie puts the dirty talk on pause, squirming around to assess the guest bed’s squeak factor. When it checks out, he gives you an understanding nod. You giggle.

Eddie wastes no more time. You watch as he grabs one of the pillows on the bed and wedges it between the wall and headboard. He issues you a sly smile.

“Oldest trick in the book.”

You're back to fooling around shortly after, your aching core burning with lust as you pine for him.

“The boys at school ever touch you this good?” Eddie quips rubbing circles around your puffy, needy folds as you hopelessly cling to him out of pleasure.

“No, Eddie.”

“Didn’t think so.”

He continues to tease, gliding his fingers along your slit before slowly inserting two large digits inside of you.

His calculated pumps into your needy pussy are steady, a pace so agonizingly beautiful that it makes you squeal sweet nothings into the crook of his neck.

"Shh, baby," Eddie hushes you. "Your dad's gonna hear us. Gotta be quiet for me, mkay?"

Your hot, messy, and muffled sounds cease as Eddie soothes your quivering lips with his tender ones.

The wet sounds that ricochet and fill the room in tandem is almost enough to send him over. And Eddie is sure to communicate that… with an abrupt curving of his three thick fingers.

Fuck.

Needing him direly now, you tug helplessly at his pants.

“God, Eddie,” you whimper. “Just fuck me already. Please.”

Eddie laughs at the desperation. He hasn’t ravaged you to his fullest extent yet, and you’re already a pooling mess beside him.

“Well since you said please, sweet girl,” Eddie obliges as he starts to undress himself. “Your wish is my command."

You watch Eddie as reaches over into the bedside drawer for a fresh box of condoms. Looks like the sausage links weren't the only things he went to the store for.

“Oh.”

Eddie chuckles at your observation before shrugging. Can you really blame him? You both knew what was coming.

You watch with absolute lust as Eddie slides the piece of rubber over his long, girthy, throbbing cock. He’s bigger than anyone you’ve ever had before, and the snarky, hooded-eye smile as he watches you fawn reveals to you that he knows exactly how to use it.

"On your stomach, babygirl. Will have you all nice and pounded out just like you wanted.”

You situate yourself in prone and spread your legs for Eddie to line himself up against them. He teases his wrapped cock against the entrance of your pussy, and when his soothing countdown is over, your lips part in disposition as you accommodate his ruinous stretch.

A throaty moan spills out of the both of you the moment Eddie snaps his hips in and out of you. Meanwhile, one of his hands lays tauntingly at your stomach, so the prideful man can feel himself wriggling inside you, glazing his shaft with your slick more and more with every pump into your weak cunt.

"Fuck, Eddie... yes..." you mewl. "R-right there, Eddie, please..."

And then it picks up. You can feel Eddie’s hips practically collapse right onto you, his balls slapping against you as he digs further into your body.

"God damn..." the man sighs in disbelief.

He can only beam down at you in awe. You were taking him so good, pussy swallowing him so nice and tight. And when you nestle your ankles between each other to keep him there in prone, the nearly cries out in pleasure, but refrains because he knows your dad is resting — just a thin wall over.

That still doesn’t stop him from going to town though. Practically seeing stars, the broken record of a mouth that belongs to you chants Eddie’s name like it’s all you know. Eddie attempts to keep you contained, offering you his fingers to suck on as he’s railing you dumb.

And when he fucks you through your climax, Eddie continues with his string of lust-filled praises, satisfied at himself that he was able to make you wet enough to soak the mattress.

“Did so good for me, angel,” he praises you as he sucks at your temple. “Always knew you weren’t all that innocent.”

The griddle comes out again on Eddie’s last day. But this time, for a homestyle southern dinner.

You and Eddie were on mashed potatoes and gravy duty at the stove, an ordeal that only opened doors for lots of innuendos on Eddie’s part. Meanwhile, Dad insisted on making the rest, having taken pride in continuing his Mama’s legacy.

“This is amazing, Daddy,” you rave. “I really missed this. Do you mind passing the salt, please?”

And to your horror, you watch as your father and Eddie automatically extend their arms, bumping into one another in the process en route to getting you the salt.

The gentlemen meet each other’s eyes.

“Ohp!” Eddie exclaims, letting out a slight chuckle. “Sorry.”

You try your hardest not to blush. Eddie kicks you from under the table, and softly he oh-so-seductively he mutters,

“I was just tryna help her out.”

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the butchery of the beloved, the boulder, the bimbo and the brilliant

kinktober, day twenty-five

a/n: ahhh, it's finally time to share the kinktober fic you all helped shape!! it turned out so fucking unhinged and i love it. happy halloween, folks!

polls for this fic: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

summary: “they–… they were right…” the warnings your now deceased friends had given you since the moment you got involved with the frat boy buzzed in your mind, though when they’d light-heartedly called him a psycho, you never in your wildest dreams thought that they would have been correct in their choice of words, “I can’t believe they were right…”

warnings: dark!rafe cameron x innocent!reader, smut, dark content, noncon/dubcon, slasher au, final girl!reader, 00’s slutty horror movie vibes, found family, nonverbal, murder, violence, blood, gore, crying, alcohol consumption, smoking, possessiveness, jealousy, mask kink, kissing, size kink, belly bulge, manhandling, dirty talk, just the tip, pussyjob, oral, spit kink, impact play, pain kink, choking, bondage, dacryphilia, orgasm denial, overstimulation, squirting, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, references to anal/painal

word count: 7400

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2024

It all started at a lunch table, as so many friendships do. 

The first one to sit was Hana, the nurturing soul of the group who had been a genius even back then. The next to join was Brian, the blonde bombshell whose smile brightened any room he entered. Then came Oliver, the guy who at twelve years old had stood up to the bully you couldn’t face yourself and swore from that day on he’d do so for each and every one of you till the end of your days. And lastly, there was you, in many ways the glue of the little pack. 

To say that the four of you were thick as thieves didn’t even begin to cover it, as you’d been there for each other in every up and down in each of your lives since adolescence. Even when your mother passed, especially when your mom passed, that’s when you truly knew that they weren’t just your pals, but your family. 

“Oh wow,” you breathed as you gazed out the window to the destination you’d finally reached, “is this really your dad’s cabin?” you glanced over your shoulder at the man behind the wheel, a proud smirk ever on his lips.

“Yep,” Rafe nodded and reached down to put the car in park. 

You’d met him at the beginning of this semester and it hadn’t taken you very long at all to fall embarrassingly and completely head over heels for the guy. 

Though he wasn’t the first boyfriend to grow to be a part of the tight-knit clique, he hadn’t been welcomed with open arms as you remembered Jerome, Brian’s partner, had two years ago. The gentle giant of few words had melted into your dynamic so naturally that none of you remembered any longer a time before him. But it wasn’t like that this time, not with Rafe. For some reason, your friends just couldn’t warm up to the frat guy you loved so dearly. 

As you heard the other car roll to a stop behind you, the vehicle where the four remaining resisted, your fingers dipped down into your pocket and fished out your phone to snap a photo of the luxurious lake house and its breathtaking views, though that’s when you noticed the lack of bars up in the upper corner of the screen.

“Oh, damn it…” you squinted down at your phone, “is there seriously no service out here?” 

“Yeah, sorry I forgot to tell you,” Rafe snatched out the keys, “this place is pretty off-grid, you have to probably walk half an hour or something to get any signal.”

The dry leaves on the forest floor crunched beneath your shoes as you stepped out of the car and tipped your head back to glance up at how high the surrounding pine trees stretched up towards the cloudy sky. 

As Rafe hopped up onto the wide porch and fiddled with a bundle of keys to unlock the place, your gaze kept finding him as you hung back a while and helped your friends unload their car.

“Can you all please promise to play nice this weekend?” you quietly asked them. 

“Yeah,” Oliver huffed, yanking out a heavy duffle bag, “I’ll play nice if he does, which I sincerely doubt since I haven’t yet discovered one kind bone in his body.” 

“Oh, come on,” you defended your beau, “he’s the one who suggested this trip so that you could all finally discover what a sweet guy he actually is,” before you all ascended the short steps and filtered into the abode. 

Not soon after you all crossed the threshold, Rafe’s arms seized your waist and drew you back against him, whispering in your ear that he wanted to give you the grand tour of the house. 

However, when you reached the room that was to belong to the two of you for the rest of the weekend, his ulterior motives for the journey around the cabin became crystal clear. 

At first, when he wrapped his arms around you from behind as you gazed out the tall windows at the foot of the bed, a giggle bubbled in your belly as you felt his desire poke the small of your back. Though it was already during his palm’s swift voyage under the hem of your shirt and up towards your boobs that he let slip what crucial item he’d neglected to pack. 

“You didn’t bring any condoms?” you twisted around to glare at the persistence that still sparkled in his eyes.

“Oh, come on, don’t let that fact spoil our fun,” he pulled you back into his arms, “don’t you want me to dick you down this weekend, huh?” he murmured in your ear.

“Well, I don’t wanna get pregnant,” you slowly pushed him back, “so it’ll just have to be another weekend.”  

But then he seized your hand and brought it down to the palpable tent in his jeans, “babe, come on. Just feel how hard I am. You can’t just leave me like this, not when it’s your fault to begin with.”

Your mouth then fell open as a shy scoff rolled off your tongue, “I literally haven’t done a thing, how is it my fault?”

“Come on, don’t act like a prude,” his grip around your wrist shifted and it slid down to rub your palm against his hardness, “be a good girl and at the very least get down on your knees.”

“No,” you chuckled lightly and pushed yourself off of him enough to stumble closer towards the bedroom’s exit, “if you’re so desperate, then take care of it yourself.” 

Even though winter was creeping ever nearer, each one of you still dared to go down to the lake’s small pier and soak up the mild rays of autumn sun that peeked out behind the clouds. Both Hana and Oliver even gathered enough courage to take a dip in the cool water, though weren’t successful in any of their attempts at talking the rest of you into the same. 

Though when your friends in the water began to splash at one another, Oliver teasingly let some splatter upon Brian as he sat on the edge, eyes closed and face turned up towards the sky as he relaxed back against his boyfriend. 

“Oh my god! Don’t!” he tensely straightened up, his tone startling Jerome enough that his palm that rested on Brian’s waist tightened, “stop! You’re giving me flashbacks to summer camp!” 

As you heard your grinning friend in the lake apologise, you opened your mouth to note, “that’s right, I forgot you went to camp when we were kids.”

“Yeah, it was honestly revolting,” Brian recoiled slightly at the recollection, “mosquitoes, terrible food, even worse people. Had a big old lake just like this one,” he gestured to the surrounding landscape. 

“Actually,” Rafe then spoke up, his voice booming to your ears as he sat directly behind you, his legs slotted on either side of your frame as his chin rested atop your shoulder, “this place used to be a summer camp too back when my dad bought it.”

“Really?” Hana glanced up from the water, their childish game now halted. 

“Yeah, I mean,” Rafe cast a glance over his shoulder at the structures on the bank just behind him, “it had been abandoned and completely deserted for a long time, but a lot of the buildings, the main house and the shed and stuff, they’re the original cabins just renovated.”

“Your dad bought an abandoned camp?” Oliver scrunched up his face, “okay, creepy…”

“Oh, hell no, I’m out,” Brain began to unravel, “babe, if we wake up in the middle of the night to a ghost child standing at the foot of our bed, it’s your job to take care of it,” he glanced over his shoulder at Jerome, “I’m too delicate and pretty to deal with the paranormal, especially if it’s kids,” to which his boyfriend simply hummed in agreement and soothingly let his palm run down his partner’s arm.

“Oh, this place isn’t haunted,” Hana said after she’d swam up to clutch against the side of the pier, “calm down.”

“Well, you don’t know that, it might be,” the blonde man behind you shrugged, “especially with what apparently happened here back in the day…”

“What are you talking about?” you looked back at him. 

“Well, back like forty years ago or something, when this was still a camp, there was this one counsellor who one day just went nuts, like snapped and murdered every single person there,” Rafe told, purposely making his tone more ominous the further into the story he got, “that’s why the place was shut down and abandoned, why no one ever wanted to return it to its former glory. It’s one of the most gruesome unsolved cases in this entire corner of the country.”

“Wait, unsolved?” Brian clutched his imaginary pearls. 

“Yeah, the guy was never caught, supposably never even left these woods…” he then leaned in and attempted to truly spook you all, “at night if you listen closely, you can still hear him sharpening his blade, getting ready to hunt his next prey…”

Hana, assuming that he was only joking, let out a dry laugh to cut the tense silence that had fallen over you all, “okay, very funny, ha-ha.” 

“Yeah,” you gently rubbed your boyfriend’s arm as you tried to shake the tale off of you, “let’s maybe not joke about psychopaths running around a rural area when we actually are in a rural area,” though goosebumps still pricked and tingled every inch of your skin. 

“Wait, how did it go?” your giggle mingled with Oliver’s as you both leaned against the kitchen counter, nearly bumping your foreheads together from how hard you were laughing, “was it…” and you began to hum a faint melody. 

“No because, remember, at the end it went,” your friend cut you off and then made his own attempt, though much more accurate than your own, causing your eyes to promptly light up with recognition before they crinkled together in laughter as he tried to hit the high note at the end. 

Once the woods surrounding the cabin had succumbed to darkness, the group of you all decided to wrap the day up in a bit of merriment, going through Rafe’s father’s liquor stash and turning up the music. 

During your and Oliver’s secluded moment in the kitchen away from the rest, your laughter caused you to sway even closer to one another, your palm naturally planting itself on his chest as your faces nearly touched. 

Though just as the pair of you were doubled over, a figure appeared in the doorway.

“Oh,” your grin continued as you spotted your boyfriend, “hey baby,” though your laughter finally began to fade. 

Staring daggers at the man beside you, Rafe then uttered coldly, “hey,” before his feet carried him straight towards you, seized your waist and twisted you away from your friend and towards himself to capture your lips. 

“Okay, right,” Oliver exhaled as Rafe kept marking his territory, kissing you way more passionately than he needed to, “I’ll just see you guys back in the living room then…”

You tried to tilt away enough to utter your friend a reply, though your boyfriend didn’t allow you, only let you go once Oliver was long gone and Rafe returned to his original plan of cracking open the fridge to get a cold beer for himself. 

Walking back out into the living room while your boyfriend scavenged for a bottle opener, you plopped yourself back down on the couch, on the opposite side to where Brian and Jerome were snuggled up. Next to where the lit fireplace crackled sat Oliver in a chair and not far from his feet on the fuzzy carpet rested Hana, legs crisscrossed as she held up her wine glass to stare through it. 

When Rafe rejoined you all, a freshly glowing cigarette trapped between his lips as he sauntered out of the kitchen, he situated himself right beside you, making space for himself where there hadn’t really been previously. In his hand, he didn’t just balance his own drink, but also a stout glass filled with an amber liquid, one he swiftly handed off to you even though you hadn’t asked for it, yet that had still been the routine of the evening, and after the first one was sloshing on your belly, the others became harder to deny and not accidentally sip absentmindedly, especially when he’d playfully help you along by tilting the glass the remaining distance up towards your lips. 

“Sweetie,” Hana soon leaned closer to utter for your ears only, “don’t you want a glass of water instead?” 

Though your boyfriend beside you unfortunately overheard and grasped his cigarette between two of his longer fingers, a puff of smoke accompanying his words as he answered before you got the chance to, “she’s fine.”

From across the couch, as Hana scooted back to her spot on the carpet, having not caught the quiet interaction, Brian then suggested, “why don’t we play a game or something?” 

“What, like truth or dare?” Hana leaned back against an unoccupied armchair. 

“No, this isn’t a slumber party. Isn’t there like board games here?”

Brian’s glance then drifted to Rafe as he smothered his cigarette in the nearby ashtray and, without warning, pulled you into his lap and caught Oliver’s eye from across the room as he shamelessly let his hands wander across your frame.  

“Uh, yeah. There should be some in the cabinet over there,” Rafe vaguely gestured before his lips began to nip at the side of your neck, making your eyes flutter and only half watched along as Brian then got up to skim through the aforementioned cupboard. 

“Okay,” he glanced through the options, “there are cards, so we could play poker or something,”

“No way,” Oliver swiftly shook his head and shot a glance at Jerome’s bulky form, comfortably slumped on the couch, “I’m not repeating that fiasco again.” 

“Aw,” Brian glanced back at his friend, “but it was so cute seeing my boyfriend fucking demolish you,” and Jerome, the quiet man he was, just let out a grunt in agreement.

“No, pick something else,” Oliver waved a hand. 

“Well, we’ve got monopoly, scrabble, cards against humanity–, uh! There’s clue!” he excitedly picked up the box and spun around, “oh, work! Let’s play that!” 

With his kisses still dancing along your skin, they then suddenly ceased as Rafe announced, “you guys go ahead, I think Y/n is ready for bed.” 

Shooting a concerned glance at how your intoxicated form wobbled slightly as your boyfriend helped you up on your feet, Hana uttered, “oh, are you sure?” 

“She is,” Rafe’s touch clung to you, “aren’t you babe?” 

“Oh, uhm…” you hadn’t really noticed it before, but now that he mentioned it, as if he himself planted the thought in your hazy mind, all of the alcohol had in fact made you pretty sleepy, “yeah, I guess so.” 

“Alright, well then,” Hana’s voice stayed slightly hesitant, “sleep tight.”

“I love you guys,” you blew the group kisses as Rafe helped you over towards the stairs. 

His kisses made you even more dizzy than you already were, so when you stumbled over the threshold into your shared room, you flopped down onto the mattress, though you weren’t quite sure if you’d just fallen or if Rafe had manhandled your intoxicated and pliant frame, giving you a push before his form was atop of yours. 

Though now that you were horizontal and with the weight of a frat boy squishing you further down into the bed, that was when you truly noticed just how much you’d had to drink that evening. 

The room was spinning as Rafe made out with you, his palms raking across your body like a wild storm, squeezing every soft curve he could get his hands on. As one hand disappeared up your skirt, his kisses wandered down and over your throat to the bit of your chest that was exposed in the neckline of your top. Wasting no time at all, he then yanked down the hem, catching one of the cups of your bra as well as he unwrapped your tit like a present. 

As his face was buried in your boobs, surely giving you hickeys from the way that he sucked at your pebbly nipple and the surrounding sensitive skin, a breathless attempt at halting his affections left your lungs, “baby–” 

Though he didn’t take the whimper as you’d intended it and simply continued, “shit, you’re so fucking hot,” he yanked down the other sliver of mesh fabric covering your other boob, “god, these tits are just insane.” 

Weakly, you ran your fingers through his buzzed hair and gasped as you felt his hardness grind into your covered core, “Rafe, I–” 

“Yeah?” his lips began to flutter back up to your own as he let himself rock against you with more intent, “you want this big dick, huh?” 

“No, we can’t, we don’t have a–”

“Oh come on, baby,” he shifted, slipping a hand down under the waistband of your skirt and into your underwear, not hesitating to sweep his fingers through your wetness and bully your little button, “I know you want to…” 

“Stop, that feels too good,” you tried, but couldn’t yank his strong hand away, “you can’t–, I have to get up and brush my teeth.” 

“You know, all my exes let me tap it raw,” he purred in your ear and attempted to guilt you, “why won’t you? Don’t you trust me?” his touch then suddenly disappeared, but only to tug down the zipper on the side of your short skirt.

“Of course I do, I just–”

“Then why won’t you let me make you feel good, huh?” he yanked both your skirt and panties down your legs, so fast it nearly gave you whiplash. Crawling off of your jelly-like form, he stood tall and loomed at the foot of the bed. Wasting no time, he yanked your core closer to the edge before he desperately freed his fat cock. The taps he then offered your glistening cunt, letting you reel in the weight of his length, “doesn’t that feel nice, baby?” he smirked at the way your mouth fell open, “because it sure seems like your little pussy thinks so, just look,” you followed his command and glanced down to spot how his intimidating girth nudged at your weepy petals. 

Even after months of dating, you still hadn’t gotten used to the daunting size of him. 

“Oh, fuck…” your brows knitted together. 

“Just listen to that,” he flicked the bulbous tip through your slick folds with more vigour, causing the melody of your want to echo even louder throughout the bedroom, “you’re so fucking wet. You want it so bad…”

You then felt yourself fade away into the intoxicating sensation, letting him continue to fuck your fold and make your pussy drool even further till your eyes fluttered shut. 

However, it didn’t take very long at all, through all of the hazy motions, before the very tip of him caught your entrance and slipped inside. 

“Rafe!” you gasped, eyes snapping back open as your spine lurched off the mattress just an inch. 

“Fuck,” he let out a loud groan, “sorry, babe. You’re just too soaked, it slipped in,” though didn’t move at all to pull it back out, since it had secretly been completely on purpose, “christ, you’re so tight…”

As he slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side, you pleaded once more, “Rafe…” quietly begging for him to take it out through the conflicting haze as the familiar sensation of him stuffing you full always shut your brain completely off.

“This doesn’t count,” he claimed as he began to move, pumping just the bulbous head of himself in and out of your little hole, “not really. I can fuck you with just the tip, right?” a few of his fingers then lowered to strum your clit and summon a loud moan from deep within your soul, “yeah, that’s what I thought…”

As he removed his fingers from your clit, he then stuffed them in your mouth, muffling your soft whimpers and letting you suck them clean of your juices. As the taste of yourself coated your tongue, your own hands came up to clutch his, holding it near as you soon let your pecks wander across his palm and even down to plant a soft kiss to the gold ring that never left his finger.

“Oh–,” a gasp then left your lungs as he suddenly pushed in a bit more of his length, “Rafe, that’s too deep,” selfishly letting himself feel more of your warmth. 

“No, that’s not too deep,” he began to fuck you properly, making you lose your breath, “you wanna know what is too deep?” a purposefully harsh thrust then buried itself so far inside of you that a tingle of pain joined the pleasure, “that’s too deep,” he then retracted just a tad, though still filled you up completely with each long stroke, “this is just right.” 

“We can’t–,” you foggily tried to shake your head. 

“Yes, we can. Just look how good you’re taking me, baby,” the palm you’d been clutching then escaped your grasp and scooped behind your head to tilt your neck and lock it there, directing your glance down between your bodies and forcing you to spot the faint bulge that appeared at each one of his mind-melting thrusts, “you don’t wanna stop…”

Feeling that all too familiar high begin to fuzz up your periphery, you trembled, “o-oh, fuck…” 

“You feel so fucking good…” he grunted as your pussy began to clench around his fat girth, “just let me use you for a bit, yeah?” 

“I–, I–,” gasps of air expanded your lungs as his pace then thrust you over the edge, “holy shit…” and your cunt helplessly clambered around him. 

In your orgasmic haze, Rafe then abruptly flipped you around for you to lay on your stomach, and you barely managed to process it before you felt the weight of him settle atop of you, smooshing you down into the mattress as he slid back in. 

“Ah!” you yelped at the way he didn’t hold back, “Rafe, it’s too much,” not even bothering to grant you a chance to recover, but simply fucked through your soreness, “I can’t–”

“Oh, shut up, you can take it,” he growled in your ear, his feet hooking your ankles and spreading your shaky legs further for him, “take it like the good little slut you are.”

It was strange how he’d taught your body to love the pain he inflicted. Even if the source was just his god-given gift of a girth, or curse, all depending on your point of view, and not the roughness he occasionally let slip out of the dark depths he tried to hide his jagged sides in for you and you alone.  

“Fuck,” you soon heard him groan as his heavy sack slapped against your cunt at each one of his furious rocks, “I’m gonna cum!” 

“Pull out–,” you managed to mumble into the sheets.

“What?” he kept on pounding your poor pussy. 

“Not inside,” you tilted your head a bit to beg, “please!”

“Oh my god, fine,” he then begrudgingly pulled out and with one hand flipped you back onto your stomach as the other wrapped around his cock and he began to fuck his fist. Pushing himself up onto his knees, he crawled further up your body till his thighs caged you in, denting the mattress on either side of your face. He didn’t even wait for your lips to part before he shoved his dick down your throat, making you gag as he groaned loudly above you, “fuck…” and fed you his load.  

When he soon flopped down on the bed beside you, the both of you catching your breaths, you instinctively gulped down what he’d given you before you curled your frame into his side. 

As he wrapped an arm beneath your head, his glance then flickered down to you as he caught your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting you up to him before he asked, “did you swallow it?” digging his digit slightly into your skin and making you open your mouth for him, letting him discover the answer him himself, “fuck… that’s my girl…” he groaned before dipping down to kiss you. 

The peck however didn’t carry on for long as his warmth then suddenly disappeared. 

“Where are you going?” you watched as he got up, reaching out your arms to him in a silent plea for cuddles. 

“I’m thirsty,” he zipped his pants back up, though didn’t bother with his shirt, “you just try and fall asleep, I’ll be right back.” 

Flashing him a drowsy smile, “okay,” you then tug the duvet over your form and let your gaze shadow him as he made his way out of the room. 

You thought you hadn’t managed to fall asleep, but evidently, you had as when the door to the room suddenly burst open, you were jolted awake, Rafe as well stirring as he was now settled behind you with an arm draped over your frame. 

As three of your friends rushed to slam the door behind them, Rafe propped himself up and mumbled, “hey, what the fuck–”

But Hana then cut him off, a downright terrified look plastered not only all over her own face, but the rest as well.

“Oliver’s dead,” she uttered through the tears that thickened up her voice. 

Still groggy, you slowly sat up and murmured, “what?”

Snapping her bloodshot eyes to lock with yours, she bellowed, “Oliver is fucking dead!” 

As your gaze flickered over the group in search of any sign that what she claimed wasn’t true, you heard Rafe behind you exhale, “okay, this isn’t funny.”

“Oh shut up, you dick!” Brian shot back, doubled over in the corner, hyperventilating as Jerome kneeled before him, trying to calm him down. 

“Hey, hey,” you gently raised up a hand, “don’t talk to him like that. What the hell do you mean Oliver is dead?”

“I mean that he’s dead as in dead, dead,” Hana explained, her words causing the world to suddenly crumble all around you, “Jerome went outside to get something from the car and found him on the porch, not moving and with his head stuck under the water in the hot tub.” 

With tears now stinging the corners of your eyes, you struggled to suck in a breath of air, “what?”

“It’s that fucking ghost story you told us,” Brian panicked in the corner, “it’s real, isn’t it?” 

“Okay,” Rafe uttered as the both of you leapt out of bed and scrambled to get some clothes on, “let’s all just calm down.”

“We gotta call the police,” Hana said, to which Jerome swiftly pulled out his phone, only to then curse quietly as he discovered what Brian too noticed when he glanced over his shoulder. 

“Fuck, we can’t, there’s no signal!”

Hana then glanced around at everyone, “well then one of us has gotta drive and find some, right?” 

“Hell no,” Brian shuttered, “if there’s some psycho out in these woods, then I’m not staying behind to get murdered. We’re all going.”

So that’s how, after you’d all scurried downstairs and filtered out through the sliding door to the porch, that you saw the truth with your own eyes. 

Even though his head was obscured beneath water, the unmoving corpse of your dear friend still caught your eyes and stopped you in your tracks.

“Oh my god…” you sobbed, your blood running cold. 

But before you could let your feet carry you closer to the scene of the crime, Rafe seized your arm and uttered, “baby, come on,” before pulling you along the last short distance towards the cars, “I’m sorry, but we gotta go.”

Though when you did reach the vehicles and attempted to start them, neither one of them would as they’d seemingly been tampered with, forcing the panicked lot of you all to run back inside. 

“Shit…” Brian clutched onto the back of the couch in the living room for support, “what do we do now?”

“We can’t go on foot, not in the dark through this forest,” Rafe spoke, “so we gotta stay here till morning.”

Glancing around the space, Hana uttered, “then we gotta make this place safe. Lock all the doors and windows, find somewhere to hide.” 

“Yeah, good idea,” your boyfriend nodded before suggesting, “let’s split up, it’ll be faster that way. Y/n with me, we’ll take that side of the house, and the rest of you stay over here.” 

And before anyone could protest, he’d yanked you down a dark hallway.

You nearly stumbled twice as Rafe dragged your shaking visage through the lake house, only stopping once you’d reached a large closet. 

“In here, baby,” he shoved you inside, though began to shut the door before he nuzzled himself in as well. 

“No, what are you doing?” tears streaming down your face, you attempted to stop him. 

Though he only halted his efforts a second, grasping your face as he uttered, “please, just stay here.”

“No, it’s too dangerous,” you clutched onto his dark t-shirt, “you can’t–”

“Babe, I can’t let anything happen to you. I can’t lose you,” he then collided his lips with your own, a sob escaping your lungs as he briefly kissed you, “please, just stay right here, hide, for me.” 

Slowly, you loosened your trembling grip on his shirt and cried, “I love you.” 

“I’ll be right back!” he promised before shutting the closet door and bathing you in darkness. 

You had no idea how much time passed, if it was only a few seconds or hours that you stayed in the dusty and dim abyss of that closet, but then when a loud crash and a shrill scream suddenly found your ears, your shaky hand pushed the door back open.

You’d never in your life been as terrified as you were when you found yourself tip-toeing down that long, dark hallway. Though, as you sneaked past the ajar door to the study, your entire body suddenly froze up at the massacre that met you within. 

Unmoving and slumped over the threshold, there lied Jerome, his face beaten to a pulp, rendering it nearly unrecognisable as blood slowly trickled into the tight curls on the top of his head. 

Past where Hana was lying in the middle of the room, battered and coughing, in the corner you saw as a tall figure, masked by a dark motorcycle helmet, crouched over the still form of Brian and landed the last few blows to claim his life. 

“Please,” Hana’s words were gurgled by blood as the killer slowly straightened back up. Twisting ever so slightly, the assailant plucked out one of the clubs from the gold bag that leaned against one of the tall bookcases, “just let me go,” your last living friend begged as you watched the murderer wrap his long fingers around the handle and take the few steps to where Hana lied, “just let me–” 

As he took a wide swing and hit your friend right in her temple, the loud crack that echoed throughout the cabin made you shutter in terror and let out an uncontrollable scream, causing the killer’s head to snap up to spot you in the dark hallway. 

For a second you both just stood there, frozen and staring at one another, like two deer in headlights. But then, as he began to move, taking his time as he stepped over the bodies littering his path, you stumbled back and collided with the wall directly behind you. 

You tried to run, but even though you managed to slip out the wide glass doors and escape a good distance into the dark forest surrounding the house, the masked man still caught up to you and flung you against a tree. As he had you cornered, you felt him drag the cold tip of the golf club up your right leg and over your shuttering skin, drawing a crimson line of your beloved’s blood across your goosebump-ridden flesh. 

“P-please don’t kill me, please–,” you cried, but just then, the moonlight that streamed through the dense treetops caught in a glint of gold that adorned the hand that clutched the club, a recognizable ring that caused your heart to drop. 

As your eyes then flickered up to the dark helmet, that too seemed oddly familiar now that you truly looked at it. 

In some sick and twisted way, you hoped that the killer had just stolen the jewellery from your boyfriend as a trophy of the night’s conquest and not the horrifying alternative. 

But when you then tried to slip away and the man pushed you back, your hands defensively shot up, though only managed to knock the helmet off his head and let it tumble to the dark forest floor below, unveiling the earth-shattering truth. 

“Oh my god…” you gasped, eyes wide as you now stood face to face with your boyfriend. 

“Shh,” he took a step closer to you, caging you in even further, “calm down, baby. Don’t do anything stupid now.” 

“They–… they were right…” the warnings your now deceased friends had given you since the moment you got involved with the frat boy buzzed in your mind, though when they’d light-heartedly called him a psycho, you never in your wildest dreams thought that they would have been correct in their choice of words, “I can’t believe they were right…”

A low sigh then escaped Rafe’s lungs. 

“You really should have just stayed hidden like I told you to… I didn’t want you to find out this way… it would have been so much simpler if you’d just bought into the story I made up…” 

“You killed my friends…” your chest ached with every painful gasp of air, “how–… how could you?” 

“Oh, honey…” his head tilted slightly as the corners of his lips twitched, “do you really think this is my first time?” 

Staring back at him in horror, you sputtered, “w-why?”

“Because of you,” he uttered as if it was obvious, “it was all for you,” his feet shifted him even closer to you, “they were a bad influence, so this was the only way.”

“They were my family!” 

“They were like a poison, all of them, trying to control you, trying to take you away from me,” he inched in even closer, making you wish the harsh bark that scratched up your spine would simply open up like a portal and let you escape, “I know Hana was trying to get you to break up with me… Oliver always followed you around like a lost puppy, just hoping you’d one day spread your legs for him… and Jerome and Brian? They were just plain annoying,” his hot breath fanned across your skin as he petted the edges of your features with a knuckle of the hand clutching the golf club, “I did it all for you, for us, because I love you… fuck, you have no idea how much I fucking love you, baby…” he uttered before bringing the bud of the improvised weapon down upon the side of your head and knocking you clean out. 

When you came to, the flicking light from a lit fireplace was the only source of light in the dim room you found yourself in. Arms folded up behind your head, a long rope was tangled around them and stretched up to a beam in the ceiling above. Your legs too were tied, keeping your naked frame upright and locked in place in the middle of the room. 

“Fucking finally,” a low voice echoed from the chair across the chamber, causing you to wince as the tone pierced your soul and worsened your splitting headache, “you really took your sweet time waking up.” 

Blinking back at your boyfriend as he leaned back in the seat, pants undone and his hard length tight in his fist, a murmur escaped your lips, “…you knocked me out…”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” he got up and walked towards your suspended form, “but you didn’t give me any other choice.” 

As he slowly neared you, your glossy eyes flickered up to meet his.

“Rafe, please,” you heard your voice break as you tried to keep your tone soft, “you don’t have to do this. Just untie me, I promise I won’t be mad at you.”

“Oh yeah?” a small scoff slipped through his smirk. 

“Yes. I’ll do whatever you want, just please let me go,” you begged, “please don’t hurt me.” 

“Shh, shh,” his palm rose up to stroke your hair before letting it rush down and over the curves of your exposed body, “but you’ve been such a bad girl. I think you deserve a lesson that hurts a little bit,” his palm then slapped your pussy, still soaked and sore from earlier, rendering you to let out a shrill yelp, “it’s okay, you can cry…” he briefly leaned in to kiss your cheek before he shifted, though still staying so close that his nose ghosted along your skin as he made his way around to stand directly behind you, “you look so pretty when you do…”

You then squirmed as he reached down to grasp his cock and nudge at your sensitive entrance, “Rafe, please–, ah!” a cry then left your form as he ruthlessly rammed his way inside, plugging you up so completely that his balls nuzzled against your slick skin. 

“Fuck!” his moan tickled the shell of your ear as he tangled his arms around your torso, “you’re so perfect…” he began to move, finding a selfish pace to wreck you with, “so perfect and all mine…” 

As his thrusts caused your tits to jiggle, one of his wide hands soared up to grasp one while the other one snaked up to wrap around your throat. He then squeezed it fiercely enough that all your noises eventually faded away and he kept you completely quiet for a good moment before his hold slackened and he once again granted you the privilege of gasping for air. 

“This is all you need, just me, only me,” he grunted, “just like this, using your pretty little hole for exactly what it was made for… you were made for me and nobody else… no one…”

His grip then drifted down to dent your hips before he lifted them, raising your bound frame till your tip toes were barely grazing the cold floor. Your back arched slightly as he repeatedly brought your hips back to him, his balls sloppily slapping against your swollen clit each time he manoeuvred your body and treated you like a toy. 

When he then hooked an arm around your front to keep moving your body greedily against him, it granted the other one the grace to roam your frame freely. 

As his fingers found one of your nipples in a harsh pinch, he let out a groan at the way you began to clamper down around his fat girth, “are you gonna cum, baby? Huh?” his palm then slapped your tit, “because it sure fucking feels like you’re close,” before he suddenly retracted completely, slipping out of your drooling cunt and causing a shy whimper to slip from your lips, one he swiftly cut off when he smacked your cheek, “too bad. You’re not allowed to.” 

As you shakily struggled to stay on your unsteady feet, you panted, “Rafe, my legs, I can’t–”

“Oh yeah?” he mockingly pouted at you as he sauntered around to your front, “do they hurt? Are you tired?” and as you offered him a nod, his fingers grasped your chin, “well,” his thumb slowly stretched up to trace your bottom lip, “if you promise that you’ll be a good girl for me, then I’ll give you a little break.”

“Yes, I will,” a tear rolled down your still stinging cheek. 

“You will what?” his palm briefly slapped the side of your face once again before returning to the same hold. 

“I’ll be your good girl, I’ll do whatever you want,” you begged and as he then sank down to his knees, grabbed a pocketknife resting on a nearby table and held up his end of the bargain, slicing through the ropes at your legs and cutting them loose. A new wave of sobs tumbled out of your form, “thank you! Oh, thank you so much!”

Tossing the blade far away before he rose back up, “you’re fucking welcome, baby,” he then caught you off guard as he suddenly plucked your lower half up into his arms. 

“W-wait, I thought you’d give me a break!” your legs trembled in his grasp as he slide you back onto his fat cock. 

“Yeah, your legs were tired, so I’m being nice and giving them a break,” the wet claps of your skin roughly colliding once again filled the dark room, “your pussy doesn’t deserve one yet… unless of course, this is you begging me to fuck your ass…” a wicked wish that he’d been begging you for ever since the very first time he banged you. 

“No! No, not there, please, I’ve never–”

“Oh, I know you haven’t,” he smirked, “that’s what makes it so much more fun…”

“Please, Rafe,” you blinked back at him, “don’t.”

“You told me I could do whatever I want…” he angled his bucks right against that spot that caused your teeth to dig into your lower lip, “you promised to be a good girl for me and just take whatever I give you…” 

“I will,” your eyes couldn’t help but flutter, “just please not that.”

He then let a dollop of his spit splatter directly against your face, “alright, but only because I love you,” before he dipped down to plant a feverish kiss against your lips, “tell me that you love me too.”

“I love you,” you murmured against his mouth. 

“Huh?” one of his hands let go of you and he shifted to balance you with only one, letting the other instead drift down between your forms to bully your puffy pearl, “what was that?”

“I lo–, a-ah!” you suddenly whined as he pressed one of his fingers inside your pussy, not caring in the slightest that you were already completely filled up as he forced his digit in alongside his fat cock. 

“Come on, baby,” he stared down at you, “tell me you love me,” and kept up his ruthless pace as he hooked the finger inside of you, “tell your soulmate just how much you love and adore him, how you want nothing more than to worship him at his feet.” 

“I–, I–, Rafe,” you gasped, feeling as if he was splitting you in half, “it’s too much–”

“No, it’s not too much, it’s exactly right, you can take it, baby.” 

“I can’t–”

“I don’t fucking care,” he continued to fuck you without remorse, slamming his intimidating length so deep inside of you that you nearly couldn’t breathe, “I wanna feel you cum, just like this.”

“Rafe–”

“Do it or I’ll get a lot meaner,” he warned you before he finally got what he wanted. Your squirt drizzled down on the floor as the intensity caused a scream to erupt from your form, “there you go, fuck,” he groaned as he watched your pussy gush around his girth, “that’s it,” before the way your cunt clambered down around him caused him to let go as well, “shit,” and pump you full of his cum. 

Rafe pressed a peck to your forehead before he pulled out of your warmth and you breathlessly glanced down to watch as his hot load began to leak out of your quivering hole. 

“Alright, baby,” he exhaled and then uttered words that caused a shiver to trickle down your spine, “foreplay’s over. I think you’re ready for your punishment now.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[wonderjanga]

Marvel Being Destructive

Marvel’s destructive. It’s not even on purpose too. It just happens. He can’t control it. For the most part, that is. Like, he’ll get startled and pull a Castiel from that one episode of Supernatural.

Marvel: *trying to steal some food for Billy*

Flash: “Cap, buddy!”

Marvel: *startles and the lightbulb above them just bursts*

*loud silence*

Flash: “Cap, whose leftovers are those?”

Marvel: *slowly turns around to look at Flash, sure enough, Marvel’s holding a container or Tupperware, with a sticky note that said GL* “Uh… mine?”

Flash: “I can see that they’re Hal’s.”

Marvel: *takes off the sticky note and crumples it in his hand. Then proceeds to fry it with lightning* “What’re you talking about?”

Flash: *a little speechless*

Marvel: “Right… So I’m gonna go. See you, Flash.” *little wave as he walks off*

Billy felt really bad about it, but the kid needed it more than Hal at the moment. Probably. Look, he was running low on money at the moment and hadn’t eaten in a couple days. The hunger pangs were getting to him. He did end up making a bunch of food for Hal in an attempt to apologize.

GL: “Woah, what’s all this?”

Marvel: *in full lightning bolt apron* “Uh… Remember how you were complaining last week about how someone stole your food?”

GL: “Yeah?”

Marvel: “Right, well that was me.”

GL: *dramatic gasp* “I vented to you about that! And you just took it like you were innocent?!”

Marvel: “I know, I know, and I’m sorry. Just eat all the food I made for you. Please?”

GL: *looks to the freaking feast Marvel made for him* “Yeah, okay. I forgive you.” *starts chowing down* “By the way, why’d you steal my foot anyways? I thought you didn’t need to eat.”

Marvel: “I just really needed it at the time.”

GL: “Why?”

Marvel: “Just eat the food, Hal.”

Then, there’s the fact that Billy sometimes forgets he isn’t as small as he usually is. Like, he’s gotten used to it. After all, he’s been Cap for almost four years now. He now unconsciously bends down when entering and exiting through doors due to the fact he’s cracked his head on more doorframes than he can count. This even bled over to Billy who’s only about 5’4 and definitely doesn’t need to do it. But, every now and then as Cap, he’ll slip up and forget he isn’t that little scrawny short kiddo.

JL: *all having a meeting* Marvel: *drops something under the table and leans down the pick it it up*

GA: *immediately grabs his mug of coffee and scoots back from the table*

Other JL members: *watch in confusion as GA scoots back but then watch in slow motion at Marvel tries to get back to his chair and stands up to early. The table slowly starts tilting up and all of their stuff slides to the floor. Marvel then gets out from under the table and the table falls back to the floor with a loud bang*

Marvel: *confused by the loud bang and looks back* “Where’d all your guys’ stuff go?”

GA: *scoots back to table and puts his mug back down* “No idea, bud.”

The reason Green Arrow knew to take his stuff and scoot back is that one time when he got lunch with Cap, he watched in real time as his burger and soda slid off the table when the big man went down to grab a fork he dropped.

Then, there’s the super duper ultra rare times he forgets his own strength. Like, once a year, he’ll break something or someone and then end up having to apologize a lot.

Batman: *shows Marvel an explosive batarang* “These are extremely delicate. If they’re chipped or thrown at someone, they’ll explo-”

Marvel: *reaches over to touch it and accidentally snaps a piece of it off*

*silence*

*beeping noise starts*

Marvel: *panics and breaks the rest of it and shoves it in his mouth, basically eating the explosion, Superman style*

Batman: *stares for a solid minute* “I could’ve turned it off, Captain.”

Marvel: *coughs up smoke looking embarrassed* “Sorry, Mister Batman Sir.”

Batman: *stares for another solid minute* “Can we talk about how your first instinct was to eat it?”

Marvel: “I’d rather not.”

Batman: “I really think we should.”

[yawnderu]

ANGEL — John Price x Reader x Simon Riley

WC: 6,048 | Part I

Deep down, you knew Simon's way of telling you it's over between you was the moment he gave you his captain's number. Every single message you left Simon was left unanswered, not even opened most of the time, leaving you hoping that perhaps he was simply busy with his missions.

His deployments are oftentimes stressful from what you saw every time he came back home to you, yet you stopped convincing yourself everything was alright after 7 weeks of no contact. Simon Riley is not a coward— not unless it comes to feelings. You're too good for someone like him, someone who could drop dead at any moment, whose only achievements come from killing, forever tainting his hands with blood he can't seem to wash off no matter how many long showers he takes.

He rationalized for months, thought about it— thought about leaving you, too. Yet that lost puppy look of pure trust you gave him every single time he fucked into you, pretty moans leaving your parted lips and soft hands exploring his clothed body, desperately wanting to feel his bare skin against yours, something he never had the heart to give you. Too tainted, too scarred, too ugly. So like a broken man wanting to keep you safe, he did the best with what he had, leaving his captain's number on your night table the moment he was done cumming.

Over 2 months later, Simon still remembers the feeling of your warm skin beneath his lips, the look of pure vulnerability and love plastered on your face, so angelic and pretty, a sheer contrast to the nervousness on his, despite how natural it was to treat you with a tenderness he's never had with anyone in his entire life.

“He fell from a helicopter?” Crinkled eyes meet yours from across the table, taking a sip of his drink before letting out a dry chuckle, nodding his head.

“Aye, hangin' from a bloody rope. Had me scared, thinkin' I lost my Sergeant.” John said with a grin, his gaze softening at the way you were listening so intently, your full attention on him no matter how boring he thought his stories were.

“Is he scared of getting into helicopters again?” You lean a bit closer to him, your chin resting on your hand as you look up at him. From this angle, you're able to admire John's features from up-close. Every single grey hair adorning his beard, his crow's feet, the tiny beauty mark on his nose, the tiny spots on his face, likely gotten from spending a long time under the sun as a soldier from a young age.

“Of course. Took him a while to trust our pilots again, now he always double checks his gear's on right.” Price always pays attention to detail, the way your pupils dilate the longer you stare at him don't go unnoticed in the slightest. He asks a passing waitress for a check, not even giving you a second to offer to pay for your half before his card is already in her hands, going away to charge him for the dinner and drinks.

“And how's… what was his name again? Soap?” He smirks at the mild confusion when using Johnny's callsign, likely assuming it's simply a sex innuendo.

“Soap, yeah. He's a good kid, kind o' like the son I never had.” That gets your attention, looking away for a second to hold back a small smirk before looking back up at him, eyebrows raised.

“You don't have children?” That earns a small chuckle out of him, shaking his head at the question. He gave the waitress a small smile as she came back with his card, pocketing it and getting up from his chair, offering his arm up to you. There's no hesitation as you hook your arm with his, walking to his car.

“Never had girlfriends after joining the SAS. Became a captain at a young age, too.” He looks down at you as you walk, admiring your pretty features, secretly wondering how Simon could have fucked up that badly— how he let such a lovely and sweet girl go. He opens the car door for you, even going as far as to help you put on your seatbelt, letting you have a whiff at his woody cologne, the smell of smoke from cigars mixing in.

“What about you? Any children?” He asks teasingly, shooting you a playful grin before starting the car, blue eyes fully focused on the road. Unlike Simon, Price knows how to drive well, making you feel safe while on the road.

“Hell no. I've been… thinking about it, but men my age were never interested in that.” Even if he was much older, Simon was never even an option. Too emotionally unavailable, too fucked up to even consider having children.

“Part of the reason I like older men.” Your voice is smooth and even, a sheer contrast to the slight knot of nervousness tightening in your stomach, only coming undone when you hear his amused laugh.

Price's calloused palm rests on the gear shift before daring to move it over to your thigh, running up and done slowly, trying to heat up your cold skin rather than doing it to be a pervert, yet your body still reacts to his touch, warmth pooling on your lower stomach.

“Really, sweetheart?” Price isn't stupid in the slightest, yet unlike Simon, his actions aren't malicious. He simply wants to see you squirm, finding pure amusement in the laugh you both share and the playful slap you give to his arm.

“Stop using your charm on me.” You scold jokingly, unable to hide the big grin taking over your pretty face.

“I'm charming now, eh?” His grip tightens on your inner thigh, applying just enough pressure to tease you.

“According to Simon, you always have.” That makes one of his thick eyebrows raise questioningly, his lips pulling into an amused smile.

“I've known him for a long time, y'know? Back when we I was an LT.” He can't help but allow his mind to go back into the past as he drives, images of the eager Simon Riley, a broken man who simply wanted to change the world, who always helped without even asking for much in return.

“Has be always been… like that?” You ask after a few seconds of silence, allowing yourself to be the cat curiosity killed.

“No.” The Simon Riley he met was not similar to Ghost in the slightest.

“He was 'round 19 when I met him. Better than any recruits I've seen.” Yet still teased by his mates for being an apprentice butcher in the past, for being so rigid and basing his entire life on discipline, unlike the many other young soldiers who have since passed.

“I bet. He has that certain look on him, you know? The eyes. I wouldn't want to mess with him.” Price lets out a dry chuckle, nodding his head in agreement. Part of him is glad that he's been working with Simon because it seems that to know more about you, he needs to know about Simon as well.

“We're here, doll.” He parks the car, getting out of his seat and opening the door for you, his calloused hand resting on your lower back, guiding you to your house. You can feel the warmth from his hand spreading all over your body, soothing rubs up and down your back as you walk.

“Would you like a cuppa?” Mirth dances in his eyes at the audacity, already knowing your intentions, and yet.

“Of course.” Price follows after you, part of him growing excited by whatever you have in mind. Your slightly shaky hands fiddle with the keys before you're able to open the door, secretly thankful that you cleaned up your mess earlier in the day.

“What tea would you like?” You ask, turning around just in time to see Price finishing the once-over he was giving you.

“This isn't about tea, is it, darlin'?” He asks with a knowing smile, his jacket slipping out of his shoulders now that you're both inside the house. Blown pupils stare back at him, taking your time to admire the strong body hugged by his tight black shirt. You can see his bulging muscles, broad shoulders fully relaxed as he steps forward, towering over you. A monument of sorts when you're small.

“If I'm lucky, I hope not.” Your breathy voice was all Price needed as reassurance. His lips crash against yours, warm hands gripping your waist tight enough for you to feel the warmth spreading all over your lower body. The smell and taste of cigar smoke overwhelms your senses, too enthralled by the feeling of his tongue wrapping around yours, a small moan leaving your lips the moment his hand trails down to your ass, groping you with care, as if you're made of glass.

“How far do you wanna go?” His forehead leans against yours as his blown pupils stare back at you, his chest rising up and down with each breath.

“As far as you want to.” A small yelp leaves your lips when he lifts you in his arms, your legs instantly wrapping around his strong, muscular waist.

“Bedroom's there.” You don't even need to point— Price can see the open door, so enticing and tempting, allowing your small giggle to consume his whole soul like a siren's song. With carefulness that contrasts the brutality he uses as a soldier, Price sets you down in bed, strong arms on each side of your head, caging you in.

Your breaths mingle together as he leans down to kiss you again, warm tongues wrapping around the other, using his knee to spread your legs enough for his burly body to fit, subtly grinding against your clothed cunt.

“Been wantin' to do this for a long while.” Ever since Simon showed him your profile picture on WhatsApp, introducing you as a friend in need. He wouldn't dare confess it to anyone, not with the way his calloused hand rubbed his cock until it almost hurt, using your pretty face as a relief from the stress of war.

“Pretty fuckin' girl.” He praised, dragging a giggle out of you the moment his beard started tickling your neck, gentle kisses planted all over your warm, sensitive skin, his tongue darting past his lips to give your neck a tantalizing lick.

He can feel your hands exploring his strong body, his muscles bulging and tensing up beneath your soft palms. He only breaks apart the moment your hands go to the hem of his shirt, helping you pull it off of his body, the piece of clothing discarded on the floor.

“God…” Your whisper holds nothing but pure admiration, catching hints of his strong, muscular body, dark hair covering most of it. Your hand drifts up to his torso, caressing his surprisingly soft skin, not minding the scars you can feel beneath your hand. Price has been shot, stabbed, tortured, left for dead— his body acting as a keepsake of every mission gone wrong.

His gaze is soft as he stares down at you, holding a tenderness unlike a man like him, so naturally gentle and willing to show it without the walls guarding his heart— unlike Simon. His calloused hand rubs your thigh before drifting up to the hem of your blouse, carefully pushing it up and removing it with your help.

“Pretty girl.” His back bends slightly as his gentle lips now go to your bare stomach, planting a rapid-fire of kisses all over the soft skin, descending with each passing second, lifting your skin up to reveal your clothed cunt.

“I'll take care of you.” And he means every single word. Captain Price is a bad man, a bad man with a high kill-count and multiple war crimes to his name, yet John Price is a different story— caring and loving, so willing to fix something he didn't even break.

His eyes close the moment his lips connect to your mound, tongue darting out to get a taste at all he's been craving the moment he saw you. He lets out a small groan as the taste of your slickness overwhelms his senses, his hands roaming up and down your waist, daring to sneak past your bra, finally getting a good feel at your tits.

John is a starved man. A starved man whose only salvation is you, looking so pretty and sweet, panties wet with a mix of his saliva and your own slick. He's careful and gentle, pulling down your panties with both hands and dropping them on the floor, his breath catching in his throat when his gaze drifts down to your pussy, glistening under the light of your bedroom.

He doesn't waste any time, lowering himself again between your legs, licking a trail from your tight hole, to your swollen clit. Your legs try to close out of instinct, a whiny moan making its way out of your lips at the sensation of his beard against your cunt.

“Open your legs, love.” He whispered, running his thumb over your hard bud.

“Let daddy taste you.” He kisses your inner thigh before diving back in, licking and sucking on your clit, trying his best to make you feel good. Your moans are too pretty, your cunt too sweet, and Price can feel himself starting to lose control. His cock throbbed, his own desire growing stronger by the second, focusing solely on your pleasure.

“That's my good girl.” He whispered against your skin, sliding two thick fingers inside you. You're soaking wet yet still so tight, only making his desire grow, desperately needing to be inside you. Your whiny moans fuel him, his warm tongue flickering against your hardened clit faster and faster, mixing in with his sucking, his thick fingers curling inside your needy cunt.

Your hands run through his short hair, pulling at it softly to release some of the pleasure building in, the familiar knot in your stomach tightening up with each lick. Your chest rises up and down with each long, labored breath, muscles tensing up as the knot in your stomach finally comes undone, pushing his face closer to your cunt as his fingers move in and out, dragging out your orgasm.

He pulls his fingers out of you slowly, his blue eyes connecting with yours as he licks his fingers clean from your cum, your heart thudding loudly inside your chest.

“Fuck me.” That breathy whisper was all he needed, getting up only to slip out of his pants and boxers, his dick standing proudly. Despite being uncircumcised, you can see his dark pink tip, leaking precum like a broken faucet. Now that he's standing, he takes his time to admire your bare body, his blue eyes going to your tits when you take off your bra.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, yeah?” The option is always there, and he wants you to know. His knees sink into the mattress as he supports his body on top of yours with one hand, lining his hard cock with your entrance, pausing for a moment.

“Let me love you.” He whispered hoarsely, slipping into you gently despite his primal instincts telling him otherwise. He lets out a loud groan the moment your tight walls grip his throbbing cock, his face finding shelter on the crook of your neck. A small hiss makes its way out of your lips as your legs wrap on his hips, pushing him closer and deeper, allowing him to finally bottom out.

“Bloody hell— you're so tight.” He moans out, his thrusts growing faster as you get used to his thickness. He looks down at you, his eyes filled with desire and adoration, longing dancing within. John's lips part as he feels your long nails dragging down his back, driving him crazy with pure need.

“I'm close.” He whispers out, his hips ramming against you with increasing urgency, reaching out to caress one of your soft tits. He plants open-mouthed kisses all over your neck and chest, his breath warm against your sweaty skin.

“Cum inside.” John's eyes widen at your words, his dominant nature taking over as his hands go down to grip your hips firmly in place, the overwhelming desire and pleasure clouding his judgement, drowning out any concerns. His thrusts are deep and powerful, making you his with an unyielding force.

As he loses himself in the heat of the moment, John's muscles tense up, the familiar feeling of pure heat pooling up within him, slamming himself as deep inside you as he can before his cock starts throbbing, shooting ropes of cum with each pulse. His breath is heavy as he slowly pulls out of you, his gaze fixated on the mess of mixed fluids that coats your pretty cunt.

“My pretty girl.” He whispers out, burly arms wrapping around your body, pulling you closer to his hairy chest, allowing you to hear his fast-beating heart. His lips are gentle against your forehead, wanting nothing more than to relax with you after the intense love-making. His actions are nothing short of genuinely caring and loving, wanting to give you good aftercare, all thoughts of Simon finally out of your head.

“Want me to run you a bath?” Price asks in a whisper, planting one last kiss on your forehead before looking down, just to see your chest moving up and down slowly, eyes closed and lips slightly parted, pulling you closer to his warm, naked body so you can sleep better, deciding to get some well-deserved rest as well.

The smell of eggs and tea is what you woke up to in the morning, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. The feeling of large fabric keeping your body warm makes you look down, just realizing that John put his large shirt on your body when you were sleeping, a small smile pulling at the corners of your lips as you get up from bed, making your way to the kitchen.

“Good mornin'.” John turns around for a second, blue eyes lighting up when he's greeted by a big smile and his shirt dwarfing your body, giving you a small wink before he's back to finishing your breakfast. You take your time to admire him, so naturally handsome and masculine, his hairy, strong body only having his boxers on.

“Thanks, daddy.” You quip teasingly as he hands you the plate, a small squeal leaving your lips when he starts to chase you around the house, shared laughs ringing around.

Dating John is a sheer contrast to any expectations you had when you first got into the relationship. Despite the fact that he's often away during missions, he has scheduled delivers for flowers and your favorite foods, calling with you the moment he's available.

“What are you doin'?” Price asks with a small smirk, his gaze softening the moment his eyes meet yours, your cheek resting on his strong thigh while he was trying to complete a report. His hand goes to your head out of pure muscle memory, giving your scalp a soft massage.

“I like you from this angle.” He lets out a small chuckle, moving his leg to make your position more comfortable as you nuzzle his leg, your chin now resting on it as you adjust your knees on the floor.

“You like me in every angle.” A grin spreads on his face, his calloused hand running down the length of your hair before resting on your back, massaging the muscles tenderly.

“True, but specially from this one.” The cheeky smile you throw his way does nothing other than to distract him further from his report of the latest mission, cupping your cheek to examine your pretty features better under the light of the room, mirth dancing in his blue eyes.

“You're clingier than my shadow.” He teases, leaning forward until his lips meet yours in an affectionate kiss, not bothered by your clinginess in the slightest. He breaks away just to give your forehead a tender kiss, staring down at you lovingly. The look of pure trust and love your eyes hold drags him back to one of the many late night conversations with Simon back at base.

“Y'like her?” Simon finally dares to ask, ignoring the growing pain on his lower stomach at the idea of you dating John, even if it was Simon's idea.

“Do you?” Price quips, already knowing the reply. There's been more than one occasion where he saw Simon stare at your WhatsApp profile picture, even if your number was deleted— he still keeps your messages, using it as an odd way of finding comfort despite the growing self-loathing from hurting you.

“You know I don't do that.” There's hints of regret spilling along Simon's deep voice, his bare fingers drumming on the cup of tea on his hand.

“Do what?” He already knows the answer, and yet.

“Love. 'M gonna get the poor girl killed.” Memories of Christmas haunt him even years later, his mind momentarily taken back to coming home just to find his entire family dead. All that blood, yet all his shattered mind was able to do was laugh even as he held a gun to his mouth.

“She'll be fine, Simon. The girl knows how to handle herself. Hell, I'm getting her a better security system soon, too.” Despite being in a committed relationship with you, John knows Simon well enough to know he still likes you, in his own way. He's seen Simon break down, seen the worst and the best of him, and eventually got to see the way he built himself back up, coming back to the SAS as Ghost.

“Wha'? You want me to date her, too?” Even if he asked it as a joke, Price's silence and the subtle shrug of his shoulders speaks louder than words.

“I know what you've been through, son. Think about it, you mean a lot to the bird.” John empties the rest of his tea down the sink, giving Simon one last pat on the shoulder before walking out of the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

“I'll go get it.” John is brought back to reality with the soft knocks on the entrance door, tilting his head up as you plant a kiss on his cheek. You make your way up to the door, your heart beating inside your chest when you look through the peephole, a familiar pair of dead brown eyes staring back. There's slight hesitation as your hand goes to the doorknob, resting there for a few seconds before you decide to open the door.

“Simon?” Despite the dark hoodie over his head, you can tell he hasn't been doing well, his skin looking more pale than usual, dark eyebags making him resemble more a raccoon than a man.

“'M sorry.” He mutters, hands deep inside the pockets of his jacket, lowering his gaze with nothing but pure shame.

“That's it?” Your guarded tone makes a part of him feel proud that you're not a doormat anymore.

“No. I'm sorry for… ignoring you, and for being a cunt.” His gaze finally meets yours. You can see the shame, the regret, and the pain.

“I was scared.” I wish I could tell you I survive out there because I don't want to leave you yet. Your lips part, though you decide to be quiet for now.

“I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell you why this shite happened.” Despite the way his hands are fidgeting inside his pockets, he's trying his best to be as honest as possible while avoiding dumping his trauma on you.

“That's bollocks, mate.” Price's voice almost scares the soul out of you, turning around to shoot him an exasperated look. For a man his size, he moves with surprising quietness. You can feel his burly arms wrap around your lower body, bringing you closer to him.

“Give 'er a proper apology.” Despite the hesitation Simon feels, the space Price left open for him is all he needs. You can feel another pair of arms wrapping around your body, the familiar scent of cheap fags and gun powder hitting your nose, bringing you back to all those nights you shared.

It's an awkward hug, a mess of limbs and warmth that you finally decide to take in, your arms wrapping around Simon's narrow waist, bringing his body closer to you despite the way his muscles tense up at the sudden contact. You can feel him relax with your touch, his cheek resting against the top of your head.

“'M sorry.” He repeats in a whisper, his cold face finding shelter on the warm crook of your neck, the urge to kiss you again growing stronger by the second, though he remains respectful. You can feel John's cock starting to harden against your ass, making you look up and give him a confused look. His hand goes up to grip your jaw softly, his lips crashing against yours as he starts to subtly grind against you, only making the confusion grow.

Simon's hold on your body tightens, the familiar sensation of his lips against your neck drags a small moan out of you, muffled in John's mouth. His tongue wraps around yours, your breathing growing more labored by the second, soft hands curling on Simon's muscular back, barely able to hear the door closing until you decide to break away from the kisses.

“What's going on?” The nervous laugh that leaves your lips is only met by a reassuring look coming from Price, his calloused hand running up and down your side.

“Part o' the apology you deserve, love.” You don't even have time to answer— not when Simon's rough lips meet yours, the kiss nothing but a pure display of love and affection. Even a ghost can be a lovely thing when you want it to be.

You can feel John's calloused hands drift down to the pajama shorts you're wearing, sneaking a few squeezes on your ass before his hand sneaks past your panties, using two of his fingers to feel your wet cunt, spreading your slick all over. His lips are now busy on your pretty neck, licking and sucking freely, not caring about any love bites he leaves— he knows you don't mind either.

You can hear his hard breathing against your tender skin, your tongue dancing with Simon's, hands desperately sneaking under his shirt, groping his hard, defined muscles. You can feel the bulging scar on his ribs, caressing it with extra care just to show him every single part of his heavily scarred body is loved.

“I missed you.” Simon breaks away from the kiss only to whisper that in your ear, his rough hand already going up to your tit, squeezing the soft fat while all you can do is moan, the combined sensations of the strong men touching you does nothing but drive you closer to the edge, your wet walls tightening around John's fingers, forcing you to squeeze Simon's bicep to release some of the tension.

“Fuck, daddy—” Simon's breath hitches at your words despite knowing you're talking to John, his own cock throbbing at the slight whine in your tone. His hands go to your waist, holding you up as your eyes finally shut, your forehead resting on Simon's chest as John's fingers move faster and deeper inside you, lazily rubbing your clit with his thumb. Your knees start to buck, more whiny and louder moans leaving your lips as you cum all over his fingers, nails digging into Simon's arm.

“That's a good girl.” Price praises in a breathy whisper, delicately pulling his fingers out of your pulsating cunt, taking a second to admire the way his fingers glisten with your slick.

“Taste her.” Simon is a man with no shame. No shame at all, making eye contact with you as he starts to suck his captain's fingers, putting them in his mouth just to taste more of your sweet slick. The hungry wolf is reduced to a starving dog, a small groan leaving his lips the moment your taste is all over his tongue.

He pulls John's fingers out of his mouth once he finishes licking them clean, your mouth opening ajar when Simon's lips crash against his, your heart beating loudly inside your chest as you watch them kiss. You can see their tongues dancing together, sharing your sweet taste in a passionate kiss, Simon's grip tightening around your waist.

They break away after a few seconds, looking up just to be met by Simon's cheeky smirk. He pushes you further into the house, fingers intertwining with yours as he walks into the bedroom like he owns the place, yet in reality, it's simply something he's done way more times than he can count.

“Pretty fuckin' girl.” His hold is all but gentle as he lays down in bed, pulling you on his lap, allowing you to feel the way his hard cock bulges on his jeans, calloused hands going to your ass to make you grind against him, whiny moans leaving your lips at the friction against your sensitive cunt.

You can hear a zipper going down behind you, only making the excitement grow at the idea of seeing your boyfriend's bare body again— no matter how many times you've seen it already. Price's knees sink on the mattress, burly arms wrapping around your waist, grabbing one of your hands just to guide it to his hard cock. Your hands wrap around it, starting to rub him up and down slowly until his fingers join yours, speeding up the movement.

“Tell me you wanna fuck him.” His voice is a whispered command, a dominance you've never heard before— and one Simon has heard too many times during missions.

“I wanna fuck Simon.” You confess, your back pressing against John's strong, hairy chest as you jack him off, your soft palm rubbing against his sensitive tip, dragging a small grunt out of him as you smear his precum all over his throbbing cock. His free hand goes to your back, pushing you down against Simon as you let go of his cock with a small whine of protest.

Simon is desperate and needy— that much you can tell by the way he removes his clothes with an eagerness you've never seen before. You take your time to admire his strong body, pale skin tattered by scars, yet looking so alluring. You adjust your position as he tries to remove his pants, exchanging a small laugh at the awkward position you're in.

He looks more relaxed and honest than you've ever seen, his eyes crinkling as you're getting your shorts and panties pulled down by Price, finally resting your naked body on top of his. It's a new change of pace for both of you— Simon doesn't like to give up control, doesn't enjoy being dominated, it's too personal and vulnerable, yet for you? He's willing to try anything.

“Show him how you much you missed him.” John's soft command makes you nod your head, looking over your shoulder just to feel his lips against your back, his hand coming up to your jaw to turn your face back to Simon. Simon's calloused hand goes down to his throbbing, veiny cock, waiting until you lift your hips up to line himself up to your cunt, a low groan leaving his lips as your tight walls wrap around him, your back arching once he bottoms out.

“Fuck, Simon…” Your face rests against the crook of his neck, planting kisses all over his warm skin as he starts to fuck into you, the wet sounds of your sopping cunt and needy moans filling the room.

Simon's eyes are closed, fully taking in the sensation of finally having your naked body on his after so many months apart. His hands explore your body with familiarity, bringing one of your hands up to his face to make you cup his cheek, gentle kisses planted over and over on your thumb.

You're too far gone to notice John coming up from behind you, keeping you against Simon's body while his free hand rubs the lube all over his veiny cock, a small smirk pulling on the corners of his lips at how much you're both enjoying each other. You're dragged back to reality when you feel his tip pressing against your tight cunt, already full with Simon's cock.

“It's not going to—” Price pacifies you with another kiss on your bare, sweaty back, slowly pushing in.

“I'll make it fit.” He reassures, a deep moan leaving his lips once he manages to slip his thick tip inside you, giving you time to adjust to the sensation before slowly pushing the rest of his cock inside you, pausing once he bottoms out to give you a well-deserved break.

“Fuckin' hell.” Simon groans out, his face scrunching up at how much tighter your cunt feels now that you have two cocks inside you. His short nails lightly dig into your skin, already feeling so close to the edge despite the fact you're just getting started.

You let out a short exhale once they both start moving, cocks rubbing together inside your tight walls, the sensation of being stretched this much starting to feel better by the second, every single nerve inside your cunt being stimulated. You pull Simon for another kiss, feeling his hand coming up to the back of your head just to pull you closer, wanting to feel more of your tiny tongue licking his.

You're a mess of limbs— sweaty bodies colliding, feeling their muscles tightening up around your soft, smaller body. Simon's moans are muffled by your lips, not letting you pull away from the kiss in slight embarrassment at letting you hear the neediness seeping out of his tone.

Their hips move in a relentless rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins, forcing your back to arch, only giving them a better angle to fuck into you. Price's hands go up to your soft tits, squeezing and groping as he moves faster and deeper inside you, his breath hot against your ear.

“I'm… I'm gonna cum.” You manage to whisper between moans, muffled once again by Simon's rough lips. The overwhelming sensations build within you, the familiar sensation of your muscles tensing up and fingers tingling starts to grow stronger by the second, the intensity of your connection with both men driving you over the edge.

The sensation of one of their cocks hitting your cervix over and over makes you whine softly, muscles tensing up as they sandwich your bodies between them, finally letting go, your orgasm washing over you as your walls wrap tighter around their cocks, your fingers digging into Simon's skin. It doesn't take long for them to follow after you, fucking into you as deep as they can as they release a thick load into you, cocks pulsating with each rope they shoot.

They remain buried inside you for a moment, chests heaving as they try to catch their breaths. Price is the first one to pull out, watching as their combined cum seeps out of your spent pussy before he lays down next to Simon, your warm body being pulled to the side as Simon lays on his side, his cock still buried inside you even while he's softening.

“I love you.” He finally confesses, tired eyes meeting yours for a second before shutting again as Price embraces you from behind. Your leg is resting over Simon's body, making the position a lot more comfortable as you bring his face closer to your chest.

“I love you too. Both of you.” You whisper, tiredness slowly taking over your body, not even realizing that Simon is already asleep, his face buried on your soft tits. Price lets out a small chuckle, planting gentle kisses all over your warm back, his hands lightly gripping your stomach as a way to let you know he loves you, too.

[peachpitfics]

Wildest Dreams

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Your Father has betrothed you to his eldest, most despicable friend. You confide in your closest friend, Benedict Bridgerton, that you wish your first time could be with somebody else, somebody you liked.

Length: 3.5k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Propositioning a friend, first time, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, orgasm.

a/n: Wildest Dreams is part i of iii ~ requested by anon here.

Bridgerton master list (tag list)

The blood drained from your face, your hands clasped together in clammy nervousness – your father had just told you that since you have failed to successfully find a husband within the first year on the marriage mart, he will be arranging a betrothal between yourself and Lord Roger Howard. Lord Howard was six and sixty, he was your father’s eldest friend. Every interaction you ever witnessed was filled with contempt and disrespect, especially with service staff. His words were often filled with bigotry and unfairness. You found him repulsive, his yellowing chipped teeth in his villainous smile. The way his poorly maintained fingernails curled at the ends. His white moustache stained into unsightly colours from cigar smoke. The thought of having to be near this man, be intimate with this man, nearly drove you toward deaths door.

Your knees shook, standing from your armchair in the sitting room, not speaking a word to your father as you exited. Scurrying up the stairs, throwing yourself onto your bed, you felt your heart was about to burst out of your chest. Tears streamed down your face, you did your best to suck in deep breaths, but panic continued to wash over you. There was nothing you could do to save yourself from this fate. There had been some suitors interested in you, but you had chosen to wait, to see if the one person you had wanted would make himself available to you. Now it was too late, those suitors had moved on with other young ladies, and the man you wanted was nowhere to be seen.

Your lady’s maid knocked meekly on the door, having come to prepare you for this evening’s ball. The Queen would be there, and you knew she would be disappointed in this match your father had forced upon you, not that that would help you.

“Shall we get the family jewels out miss? I hear it is to be quite an exciting night” You could tell she was putting it on, trying to sound excited. It seemed to come off as patronizing instead.

“Whatever you should think is appropriate” You tried to keep your feelings to yourself, but the streaks through your makeup sold you out at first glance. You spent the rest of your preparation in silence, usually the two of you indulged in a little gossip, it was supposed to be fun.

All evening you hid behind larger groups, behind servers carrying trays of champagne, doing your best to ensure the inevitable could not happen. Finally, considerably late in the evening, your closest friend deigned to arrive. Almost surging across the dance floor and into Benedict’s side, you linked arms and impishly whisked him out through the conservatory doors.

“Miss Y/n” Benedict exclaimed, “What is the meaning of this?”.

You breathed heavily, ducking, and weaving through overgrown plants and florals. You scouted each entrance, paranoia clinging to your side like a child in a sack race.

“My father has committed a most heinous act” You spill to Benedict, there is only concern etched on his face, “I am to be married to Lord Howard”. Your breath never steadied, sweat beaded where your forehead met your hair line. There was that panic you remembered so fondly, only hypervigilance had eliminated that feeling from the centre of your chest.

“Oh lord,” Benedict’s mouth hung open, utterly flabbergasted, “I cannot believe he would do that to you” Both of his hands found their way to your shoulders in compassion.

“And yet he has. My own father has bargained me away to some elder beast! There is nothing I can do to stop it” Your hands ran through your hair, untangling one of the twists.

Benedict did not know what to say, all he could do was lurch forward and take you into his arms. His strong arms reached around you, pulling you tight. The sound of his steady breath and rhythmic heartbeat calmed you quickly.

“When I was a little girl, I wished on a falling star I would find someone who loved me as their equal. I now wish for that same thing on this very night. To think that I have wasted my life dreaming about love, finding someone like me, with the same interests, the same age as me even!” You thought aloud. Benedict was always someone you could tell your innermost thoughts to, he never judged you once, and he was the kindest of listeners.

Benedict Bridgerton also knew exactly who you were dreaming about – it was him. You had been friends for several years, and it had always been obvious to anyone with sight, that you and Ben were infatuated with each other. But Benedict was young, and impulsive, unlikely to marry at this time.

“I do not want to spend my life with that old simpleton! I want to experience life and love!” You cried out, “My elder sister divulged what it is married couples do on their wedding night – I do not want that with him! I cannot live my life without having ever experienced the touch of a man who cares for me!” Your cries turned into whispers; whimpers scattered throughout.

He held you close to him, making a caring swishing sound, it kind of sounded like the ocean. Benedict sure knew how to comfort you when you were in need.

“Y/N! Where are you?!” Your father’s voice echoed off the glass walls, sending you into a frenzy, quickly separating from Benedict, dabbing your cheeks with a handkerchief.

“Yes father?” You responded.

“Lord Howard is here with me. There is something he would like to say to you” Your father called. Benedict hid low amongst the broad-leafed plants, the darkness of the conservatory shading him. You appeared from the shadows without explanation, not that your father was seeking one. Lord Howard stood hunched next to your father, who was 20 years his junior. It appeared as though he bowed, but it was hard for you to discern.

“M…m…miss Y/n?” He stuttered, struggling to see through the spectacles at the end of his nose, “There is a question I must ask you. With the permission of your father, I am here to ask for your hand in marriage” Spittle flew from his mouth in between sharp consonants. Dread flooded your body, you felt like you were being submerged in a pool of water, the tears in your eyes, simply the only way for the water to escape.

There was animosity in your father’s gaze, warning you there was simply one answer to the question asked. Taking in a deep breath, “Yes, Lord Howard, I will accept” You murmured. Lord Howard did not look pleased, he did not appear bothered either, he simply nodded once and turned about, marching back to the main ballroom. You wondered if this was what your marriage was going to be like? Would he ignore your existence and leave you to your own life if you produced an heir? You could not ascertain whether this was a good thing or not.

Benedict hung his head, having watched this entire exchange from the shadows. There was an element of guilt on his part, he blamed himself, unable to give you what you wanted in time to save you. When your father had left you standing still, tears staining your dress, Benedict slid out from the darkness.

“I think I am going to ask the footman to take me home… I only have so much time before my time is not mine any longer” You lower lip trembled; the peaceful silence of the conservatory disturbed by the soft sounds of sobs.

“Y/n,” Benedict muttered, his hand running down your upper arm. Electricity connected your flesh in a zap, your breath caught in your chest as his skin joined with yours. His tender hands grazed yours, tickling the palm of your hand.

“Benedict” You shook your head, moving to take your hand away before he closed his around it. His tongue flicked over his lips several times as he contemplated what he had to say. Sometimes you heard the other young ladies tell stories about Benedict, you never knew if they were true. They spoke of how he was finest of the Bridgerton brothers, they also spoke of his rakish tendencies, however mostly in a jealous fashion.

The forecast in Benedict’s eyes swiftly shifted from clear blue to a stormy grey. You had not noticed how tall he was before, looming over you like a dark cloud. His face illustrated apathetic gloom, his hand boring you into him, like he was the eye of the storm.

“There is something I must speak with you about, in private” Benedict rolled his tongue aggressively on his teeth as he spoke. Everything about his demeanor was confusing, you felt strangely like prey, wondering why it felt good. Benedict snuck out the conservatory door, your hands clutched together while he led you to his carriage, asking his footmen to make way for the Bridgerton house.

“What is this about Benedict?” You asked as soon as the door was secure and the carriage moving.

“Y/n, please give me a moment and I will explain everything. I do not know if I have a solution to your problem, but I may be able to offer a compromise. Something I would only do for you, if you asked, because I care about you so deeply” Benedict paused, this intense look of thoughtful worry about him, “If you would be agreeable, I would like to suggest that I… bed you for the first time” Benedicts voice was low and resounding.

Your lips parted abashedly, your cheeks flushed pink, blinking became uncontrollable. All you could do was sit completely still, astronomically stunned by what Benedict had proposed. You understood that for whatever reason, Benedict could not give you everything you wanted, but he was offering you something. He was offering you an experience you may never have gotten to have otherwise, a chance to feel loved and wanted in intimate affection with another person.

“Say something, anything, please. I cannot stand this silence” Benedict rubbed his temples after a few minutes. His eyes were still dark with longing, he looked over with you a deviating sense of ownership.

“You would do that for me?” You entreated, hands shaking so hard you nearly sat on them to make it stop.

Benedict nodded surely across from you, the carriage pulling up at the Bridgerton house. Your eyes locked, the carriage completely still and silent, you took a moment to consider the ramifications of your choice. Ben’s posture was resolute, his gaze expansive, eagerly waiting for your reply.

“Yes” You swallowed hard, Benedict snatching your hand from your lap and dragging you from the carriage, running up the walk and into the house. You made short work of the very many stairs on the way up to his bedroom, sure that nobody could have seen you, as you ran that fast.

Blood rushing around your body, you stood just inside Benedict’s door, trying desperately to catch your breath. Benedict shuffled about the room, lighting a few candles, closing the windows for the evening. He looked back at you, having already stripped into your underclothes while his back was turned. A most shameful lust driven smile sketched lightly onto his face, he made the long voyage acrost the bedroom to stand a foot or two in front of you.

“Thank you for doing me this favor. I will owe you always” You remarked, your eyes dancing figure eights on the lush carpet squishing under your wiggling toes.

Benedict’s shoulders were more relaxed than you had ever seen them, his posture always just so. Strands of hair bled onto his sticky forehead, dark eyebrows brewing overhead transfixed eyes. That charming smile, filled with foolishness, had not been seen since leaving the ball – this was something so chronically serious to him. He effortlessly tugged at his maroon cravat, casting it to the floor, his proud neck craning to get another glimpse of you from another angle. His throat bobbed when he stepped closer again, just one more step. Fiddling with his waistcoat buttons ardently, watching the frustration set into your eyes, Benedict finally shed his coat and pitched it across the room, knocking over something unbreakable in the corner. It did not steal his gaze; his eyes were set on you. Benedict lifted his suspenders off his shoulders, allowing them to dangle by his hips, the chest of his white, silk undershirt gaping open. Your teeth instinctually bit into your lower lip at the slightest sight of skin you had not ever seen before. The corner of Benedicts mouth upturned smugly, his lips rolling together as his breath became audible. Standing just one foot apart, the tension between you was palpable. You wondered if someone had struck a match, might the room simply explode, there seemed to be so much chemistry between the two of you.

“Please, continue” Your hands pressed to your stomach, you watched as Benedict unlaced his boots, one foot at a time on the stool at the end of his bed. His blistering eye bore into you even still. Making his way back to you, still at hardly an arm’s length, his brawny arms crossed his body to pull his undershirt off over his head.

You swooned audibly, almost gasping seeing the entirety of his torso bare for the first time. Your lips wet, your eyes unblinking, Benedict smiled cheekily, knowing the effect he had on you. His hands moved past his navel, your eyes following, to the button atop his breeches. Benedict made quick work of his trousers, having teased you plenty. Your back straightened, your gob smacked jaw snapped shut at the sight of his naked body.

Benedicts tongue flicked over his teeth, “Would you like me to redress, y/n?” He badgered, pretending to reach for his shirt on the floor. You careened forward, lessening the space between you to essentially nothing.

“I do not know what to do, not truly” You admitted, feeling yourself choking on nothing. Benedict reached out to your hands, taking them in his, placing them on his chest. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head at the feeling of his light chest hair beneath your fingers. His sculpted pectoral muscles and taut stomach, a trail of dark hair leading you downwards made you feel ravenous for him. He looked at you as you looked at him, eyes filled with desire, faces pink in the candlelight. Benedict leaned in to kiss you, pulling away left at the last second to place a single kiss on your neck.

“You. Are. Wicked” Your face flitted over his, grazing your noses and lips together in potential kisses. Benedict leaned into you, his kiss soft, warm, and breathless. You gasped at the first separation, taking in hasty breaths before crashing back into each other. Everything you were doing felt completely wrong, reprehensible – but with a kiss as intoxicating as Benedict Bridgerton’s, you were afraid not even heaven could help you.

Your hands slipped into his thick, dark hair, pulling him down and into you, wrapping your arms around his neck and climbing up onto him. His hands rested under your thighs, carrying you toward his bed, you could feel his hardness pressing against you. 

This was not what you had been expecting, this was no impish boy. Everything about his movements was intentional, well-practiced. His hot, amorous kiss; the way his tongue slipped thankfully over yours, how his teeth greedily nipped at your auspicious bottom lip. His hands moved passionately across your back, his long kisses surprisingly hard on your neck, laying you down on the pile of bedding. He frantically shoved it off the bed, throwing pillows, knocking himself in the face once or twice. You laughed together, slow sizzling tongues dancing as one as Benedict removed your floor length under gown.

Benedict knelt above you on the bed, gently stroking himself, looking down on you. There was that dark cloud you had noticed earlier.

“I want you to enjoy me” Benedict rumbled, making you a promise. You did not yet understand, but you would. Taking his finger, Benedict dipped it into your mouth, bringing it to your nipple, rolling it between his finger and thumb at a glacial pace. His touch was peculiarly possessive, his lips rested around your other nipple now, sloppily dragging his tongue around in spontaneous circles. Big open-mouthed kisses surrounded your breasts, your shock and surprise manifesting in noiseless writhing.

Benedict positioned himself between your legs, lying down forcing your legs apart. Wanting to snap your legs shut, you refrained, trusting Benedict with your life. His breath was agonizingly warm on your inner thigh, his lips parted and gliding up from your knee. Benedict dotted small, chaste kisses along your hips – you deduced he was headed for the pinnacle of your thighs, a place you had never felt burn and ache quite like this.

His tongue slid gently up the slit of your pussy, you breath shuddered, his harmless laps amazed you with every movement. Eye lids fluttering, breathy moans filling the room, Benedict’s graceful tongue swirling your clitoris in curious patterns, drinking in your wetness as though you were a drug to him. Your fingers crawled down into his hair, your hips bucking toward his retreating tongue, you squealed lowly for more.

“Are you quite alright?” Benedict groaned into you, the vibrations of his voice set you on edge, your toes clenching in different ways.

“I do not know what you are doing, but I would like for you to keep doing it” You moaned intermittently, between gasps as his tongue flicked roguishly at your clitoris.

Benedict spread your legs wide and high, taking his finger and resting it at your entrance. He tediously sunk his finger inside you, curling up, making you yelp out in astonishment. Finding a steady pace, his finger already snug inside you, Benedict began at you again, never failing to find exactly the spot he was looking for. His alteration of speed and pressure backed you onto a cliff face, body incandescent and damned to revelry. Pressing his fingers into you rhythmically, Benedict pushed you over the edge, the sensation of falling and flying all erupting at once as you moaned and yelped uncontrollably. In the aftermath of your pleasure, you watched Benedicts eyes, his head still clutched between your legs gently sliding his tongue over you, his charming, sexy smile reflected in his eyes.

Slowing rising to his knees, Ben positioned your legs higher, resting your calves on his shoulders. Taking his cock in his hand, his pressed his tip against your wet skin. Your skin erupted in a tingling sensation, unbridled attraction and hunger liquefying your brain.

You looked up at Benedict in clear understanding, nodding gently, your eyes focusing on the powerful look of restrained urgency on Benedict’s face. He pushed forward smoothly, eliciting a groan from each of you, not even pressed to the hilt yet.

When Benedict filled your pussy fully, it felt like being winded. Panting like a dog under him, Benedict stilled himself, noticing how full and tight you felt, his cock twitching with pleasure. Benedict moved slowly at first, long unbroken strides forward, thrusting into you. Every drive forward, simultaneously blissful, and hot, curving to pound into that sensitive spot just inside you. While every drawback, was likened to slow-motion, devastating deprivation. Ceaseless, savage moans made Benedict grin above you, thrusting harder, wholly triumphant in setting you alight. You knew you would burn for him for the rest of your life.

“Make that sound for me again” Benedict grunted sinisterly, thrusting back into you brutally, forcing that loud intonation from you again.

Your fingers clawed at his back, your hips moving with his in most divine unison. Benedicts teeth grazed your ear, your breathing syncing in ceremonious adoration; his momentum increased, driving into you with new eagerness. Your nails buried in his plump behind, pulling Benedict tighter into you. With propulsive sureness Benedict plunged into you one last time, his cock twitching inside you to his irrevocable release. Never had you felt so full before, his face exquisite above you, leaning down to a soulful kiss.

“I’m proud of you, taking me like that” Benedict panted, taking a second before withdrawing and rolling next to you. He lay on the flat of his back, chasing his breath, his heart thumping through his chest, beating so hard you could almost hear it. His words made you blush, hiding your face in your hands, his seed leaking out of you onto the linen.

“It is not always going to be the same, is it?” You pondered aloud, staring at the detailing on the ceiling above you.

“I will not lie, y/n darling, I do not think every single instance will be the same” Benedict reached over, gently slapping your thigh in solidarity.

“That is disappointing to hear” You sighed dramatically.

Benedict chuckled sweetly, “Perhaps at his age, he will not have the capacity to complete more than the marital act”. You knew he was joking, trying to lift your spirits, but you genuinely hoped that might be true. Other worries began to plague your mind, worries of potential children. What if you were unable to conceive his heir due to his age?

You rolled onto your side, looking into Benedict’s clear, sky-blue eyes, “There may be another favour I ask of you, dear friend”. Benedict's eyes widened curiously, prepared to do most anything for you.

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[gabgabwrites]

LOVE AND ACES | Art Donaldson

Summary ⇝ Art is mesmerised by your skill, and when you and Tashi agree to spend time with him and Patrick at their room, things get heated, to the point where he’s utterly infatuated by you.

Warnings ⇝ mentions of slight tashi x reader x patrick, swearing, drinking, smoking, kissing, smut! p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f), handjob, early orgasm, orgasm in clothing, cum eating, mentions of foursome, fingering, hair pulling, praise—ART IS A SCHLUT FOR PRAISES. mdni

read part 2 here

"No, don't even worry about it girl, you beat me fair and square," Tashi Duncan said to you, tight lipped smile. You had recently qualified for the finals of the your schools tennis tournament.  You remember how the ball managed to skim her racquet making you the winner. You knew she was happy for you but you also knew how important tennis is to her.

"I know how much this meant to you though," You sigh. The two of you were currently in her dorm room, sitting crossed legged and facing each other.

Tashi let out a soft exhale before meeting your gaze, the pain evident across her face. She pushed a smile onto her features, "Yeah... It did," she began, her words slow as if choosing each one with care. "But hey," Tashi reached out, gently grabbing your hand. "I'm happy you won," she said genuinely.

"Thank you, Tash," You grab her slender hand ad give it a gentle squeeze before letting it fall back to its place.

"I mean it," she said, her words soft as she gave your hand a gentle squeeze. The two of you had spent countless hours practicing together, supporting each other through both wins and losses.

"Yeah, welp I better go and get rest. Game is tomorrow," You pat your lap, swinging your legs to your side to stand up from her bed.

Tashi watched as you got up from the bed, her eyes studying you closely. There was a hint of disappointment in her expression, but it vanished quickly as she smiled. "Alright, sleep tight," she said, her voice neutral.

"You too, and also, you're coming to watch, right?"

Tashi chuckled, her expression lightening, "Of course I am, wouldn't miss it for the world," she assured you, a smile forming on her face. "You better bring your A game," she teased, a small smirk on her face. Her words were light, but you could tell there was still a hint of upset lingering in her eyes.

"You got it boss," You look at her once more before leaving her dorm. You gently shut the door behind you before walking down the passage to your room.

You opened the door, immediately going to your bed and flopping on it. You didn't bother changing from your hoodie and cotton shorts before drifting to sleep.

The sun intruded your curtains before anything else did. You stirred from your sleep before hazily getting up. You brushed your teeth and hair, got dressed in your tennis uniform, grabbed everything you needed before making your way down to the tennis court.

No matter how well you did, you always got nervous. Tashi made sure to tell you that every time you played a match. You loved the girl but sometimes all she did was point out flaws that perhaps were not of your interest.

The hairband in your hair suddenly felt too tight, and your shoelaces were tied too tightly, the racquet in its sling felt too heavy on your arm and your palms too sweaty.

It wasn't like this was your first time ever playing, yet it felt like it was. You didn't know what you were more scared of. Losing and not qualifying for the cup, or disappointing Tashi.

Tashi arrived early, of course she did, finding a good seat to watch the match from.

The grandstands filled with people, Tashi could feel her heart beating faster, her fingers tapping anxiously against her thigh. She had already gone over every possible outcome in her head; you break a bone or twist an ankle; you miss one too many balls; or worse.

"I cannot believe it, dude. I mean, I for sure thought it would be Tashi Duncan playing, but not her!" Tashi overhears some loud voice mention her and your names, she has the urge to turn to look but ignores it. "She's in another league, she's beautiful!"

"And now entering the court, the girls singles world number 1 and winner of the Junior French Open..." The commentator says your name and majority of the crowd blister in cheers.

Tashi sees the way you smile too big to hide your nerves as you step onto the court, waving at the crowd, eyes immediately looking for her. When you do make eye contact, she sees your shoulders relax a little.

Art has heard Patrick pine and want Tashi, but he's heard him rant and rave about you, last night he would not shut up about how you beat Tashi by the skin of your teeth.

You took a sip from your bottle as you set it down on the floor next to the chair, slinging your racquet off and unzipping it.

You stuck out a leg and did last minute stretching, allowing for your muscles to ease and thankfully, your nerves dissipating.

Then the match began and you were all over the court. Your shots were precise, your movement nimble, and your concentration unwavering. Your Russian opponent, Irina Petrovska , couldn't quite keep up, struggling to return each of your powerful serves and shots.

Shared grunts emitted from the both of you, your shoes squeezing against the tar. Sweat dribbling down your temples.

Art and Patrick sat watching, their jaws practically on the floor. The ease in which you were demolishing Petrovska was incredible. They tried to come up with words to describe your performance but found themselves at a loss.

One second you were in the farthest corner on the baseline and the next, soaring through the air as the ball slammed from your racquet, you positioned a meter above the service line.

Tashi sat there, watching every move you made on the court with a mixture of awe and apprehension. Your game was flawless and it was clear that you were dominating the match.

Minutes ticked by, a short interlude and then it continued. Everyone was on the edge of their seat. With one last toss up of the ball, you won an ace, and victory was yours.

Pride swelled in your chest as you were looking at Tashi who gave you a smile and clapped. You did it, securing another win in your name. Petrovska has an absolute meltdown, cursing at herself in Russian, smashing her racquet to the ground.

Tashi made sure you had a small party to celebrate your win. Your family was there, the people who watched the game, other friends and your fans. It was nighttime, supposed to be cold but the twinkling fairy lights managed to emit the tiniest bit of warmth, the alcohol in your system definitely helped as you and Tashi danced to Nelly.

You tap Tashi on the shoulder. "I'm thirsty, come with me?" You asked, she simply nodded as she followed you to the table, both of you grabbing your drinks.

"Come, let's sit down over there," She points to some loungers off by a wall where it's more quiet. "Just want to get away from all the busy."

You follow suit before plonking yourself on the one to the left. "Ugh, my feet hurt," You complain, Tashi nodding next to you. You let your eyes momentarily flutter closed before voices interrupt.

"I'm Patrick Zweig—."

"Art Donaldson."

You open your eyes to see two males dressed in jeans and pale coloured button ups. One has curly black hair and the other, slightly longer blonde hair. Both of their eyes flitting between you and Tashi.

Tashi is the first to speak. "I know who you are, you're fire and ice, right?"

You let out a giggle through your nose, drawing both their attentions. The blonde one flushed as pink as his shirt while the one with the black hair grinned. "Hm, so which ones which?"

"Isn't it obvious?" The darker haired one winked.

"You were fucking incredible today," The other male spoke, looking straight at you. "I mean, it wasn't even tennis, it was something entirely different."

"Thank you," You give him a smile which he mirrored.

"I felt bad for Ilina."

"Don't be, she's a sore loser," You scoffed, taking a sip from your drink.

"And a racist bitch, she's constantly say bad things under her breath in Russian at half time," Tashi said. "Hey, you're going to Stanford, right?" Tashi asked the blonde who looked slightly surprised at her question.

"Uh yeah, how'd you know that?" He questioned.

"I just accepted their offer and they mentioned you," Tashi replied.

"You're not going pro? You're going to a college?" The one with the dark hair asked.

"Yeah, we both are," Tashi jabbed a thumb in your direction and you nodded.

"Yup, I mean I still wanna keep up my education and not flunk only to be sleeping in my car after school," you chuckled.

"Girls! Come to the trophy stand, I want to take pics of the both of you!" Your mother ushered with a big smile, holding up her well expired phone. "And the photographers want some of my baby as well!"

"Right, coming mom!" You yell, "C'mon," you motion for Tashi to follow.

"Let's go," She turns to the two boys. "Gotta go..."

"Yeah, bye!" You wave one last time before disappearing into the crowd of people. The two boys watched as you and Tashi plastered on massive smiles in front of the pristine trophy you won as a photographer snapped photos.

During which, you had learnt that Patrick was the one with the black hair and Art was the one with the blonde hair when you asked Tashi who was who.

Your cheeks ached and your eyes burned when the camera was going off, a multitude of people standing next to you at different times. You even stood next to Tashi while either of your families stood around you two.

"You ready to leave?" Tashi asked, her thumb flicking off some dried mascara that had fallen from your lashes and onto your cheek while you thanked her.

"Absolutely," She tugged on your wrist towards the pathway between the bushes, having both to stop and say your last goodbyes to everyone.

It was quieter as the two of you walked before voices cut through the silence. "Hey!" You looked up to where the voice came from to see Art and Patrick, lounging by some benches in a tucked away corner.

"Guess we should see what they want," Tashi mumbled.

Getting closer, you noticed the two of them smoking cigarettes, both immediately standing up when you and Tashi approached. The smell of tobacco hung in the air, mingling with the cool evening breeze. "Hi," you greeted them, your voice breaking the silence. Patrick glanced at you, then quickly turned his gaze to Tashi, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "Don't you guys have a final tomorrow?" you asked, genuinely curious about their casual demeanor.

"It's just juniors, so nothing to worry about," Patrick confirmed, his tone dismissive. He looked bashful as he stared at your best friend, his cheeks reddening slightly under her gaze. It was clear he was more interested in her than in any exam.

You nodded, trying to keep the conversation light. "Okay, well um, it's cool how you two stayed," you said with a smile, feeling a bit awkward.

"Do you two smoke?" Patrick asked, his own cigarette bouncing against his bottom lip when he spoke, drawing your attention briefly there.

"No," Tashi replied faster than you did, shaking her head vehemently. Her long hair swayed gently as she did, catching the fading light of the day.

You nodded in agreement. "Yeah, no, we don't smoke," you said, watching as Patrick slipped the cigarettes back into his pocket.

Patrick nodded while Art sucked on his cigarette. "Do you guys wanna go to the beach?"

You agreed and Tashi did once you did, and so now the four of you were walking to the hill that was actually above the beach, you sat on a rock while Tashi sat on a discarded tree stump, the boys sitting on chairs.

Tashi spoke about tennis— she always spoke about tennis, you sat and listened to her getting appraisal, you got complimented on your game and your skills, but you just smiled in response where as Tashi would talk about how tennis was like a relationship.

You weren't really paying much attention, instead choosing to look over your shoulder at the glistening waves of the ocean, reflecting the moon's edge. The rhythmic sound of the waves was almost hypnotic, drawing you into a tranquil state.

"And you?" Your name was called, snapping your attention away from nature. You turned to find the blonde staring at you intently, a curious look in his eyes.

"Huh?" you responded, a bit startled and disoriented from being pulled out of your reverie. The question hung in the air, and you realized you had missed something important in the conversation.

"Tashi was explaining what tennis is to her, so I asked you what tennis is to you," He continued, finishing off his cigarette.

"Oh, uh, a sport I guess," You shrugged. "It's great and all but..." Tennis wasn't your first choice, nor your second, yet the weight of your future was not dependent on your hands. It was on your father's, and after he saw what Tashi could do and the success that lies in the sport, you were ripped away from your passion and plonked in the middle of the court. It wasn't that you didn't like tennis, you just didn't love it.

"What?!" Patrick's eyes bulged out his head as he sat up. "Just a sport?! Surely you're joking?"

You shook your head earning a scoff from him. Tashi went quiet, looking at her lap. A gentle smile on her face, somehow gif answer struck a little bit of shame in her.

"Hey, um, I think I should go. My dad's probably gonna come looking for me," Tashi spoke, standing up from her seat.

"Oh yeah, hold up. I'll walk you to yours," you said, also standing and dusting the back of your pants, trying to brush off any dirt that might have clung to you. You glanced back at the ocean one last time, the waves still shimmering under the moonlight.

"You have Facebook?"

"What?"

Art tilted his head towards Patrick. "He's asking for your numbers, and so am I."

"Not a home-wrecker," you muttered under your breath, your eyes darting between the two of them. Patrick shook his head at your response with a small smile.

"We don't live together, so it's barely a home," Art nodded at his words, agreeing.

"Yeah, and Patrick has a girlfriend," At this response your eyebrows raised, Patrick's expression fell.

"It's barely a relationship," He excused.

"Sure. They put you two in the hotel in Flushing, right?" Tashi asked them with her arms draped across her chest, shielding her from the chilly night air.

"Room 206."

You let out a short giggle through your nose, softly nudging Tashi with your elbow. "They want you to go tuck them in."

"Not just her, and no, we wanna keep talking..." Art cocked his head, blonde locks falling over his brown as he did as such. "...about tennis."

"Okay," you shook your head, urging Tashi to continue walking. She thankfully did.

"We have beer!" you heard one yell after the two of you, making you laugh. You glanced back over your shoulder with a playful smirk, catching a glimpse of their hopeful faces before they were both covered by the thick bushy arch-way.

You were always in Tashi's dorm, the two of you out of your dresses and into something more comfortable. You chose black cotton shorts and a white Nike hoodie. "I think it'll be fun, don't you?" She asked as she sprayed some deodorant over herself.

"Yeah,but they also seem like two die hard virgins," You snickered. "But shame, they were sweet," Your chin was nestled in the palm of your hand as you silently watched her.

"Or maybe they're secretly sex gods," Tashi shrieked when you threw a pillow in her direction, laughter bubbling from her lips. "What? I'm just saying! The blonde one was totally into you!"

"We had minimal conversation," you playfully rolled your eyes, getting up from the bed as Tashi made her way to the door.

"Yeah, but you didn't see the way he was looking at you when you weren’t looking," She said in a sing-song voice, opening the door and shutting it behind you, the two of you walking down the passage together.

"Okay, sure Tashi."

"Do you think they're actually coming?" Art, who was laying on his back on the bed, asked. Legs leaning against the wall as a cigarette dangled from his lips, tossing a ball up and down.

"They might," Patrick groaned when the AC didn't work, even after he had banged on it multiple times.

"Dude, you made it sound like we wanted to fuck them in here."

"...we do."

"And if they do, then what's your plan?"

"We each have one, or worse, they both have one, while the other sits in the bathroom."

"Just face it, they're not coming," and then, there was a knock on the door, both boys went stock still and rigid, a second knock brought them out of their shock before they were hurriedly stumping out their cigarettes and throwing on shirts.  The door before you ripped open, revealing the two who looked out of breath and flushed. "Hey."

"Hi."

So now the four of you ended up sitting on the floor, sporting one beer can between you all, and a deck of cards as you guys were in the middle of Go Fish. "You guys went to boarding school."

"Mhm, we've been bunk mates since we were twelve."

"That's cute," You said before taking a swig from the chilled can of beer, before placing it down in front of you.

The conversations switched between different topics. "So what about the two of you?" Tashi asked, gesturing between the two of them. It took a solid minute before they realised what she was insinuating.

"No."

"No."

"Well..."

"No, don't."

"What? It’s a sweet story," Patrick giggled as he recalled it, Art went a brilliant shade of red as he hid his face behind his shirt, hiding his embarrassment.

"Well go on, let's hear it," You leant backwards, leaning against your hands as you watched Art turn even more red before he threw his hands up in defeat. Patrick nodded.

"I taught Art how to jerk off," Patrick said, watching Art's head hang in embarrassment. You couldn't fight off the grin that made way on your face.

"Okay. Patrick was an early bloomer, and I think I was on time," Patrick said. "And one time, I thought he was asleep but he was, y'know... jerking off—."

"Jerking off. And, yeah..." Patrick butted in.

"And I asked him, "What are you doing?"And he told me; He's jerking off." Patrick again jabbed in with the 'jerking off' part. "He asked me if I've ever done it before and I said no, so he just...showed me."

"What do you mean he showed you how?" Tashi laughed, she had been sitting with her legs pressed against her chest, arms wrapped around her knees.

"No I mean...he did it on his bed and I did it on mine. We did it together but like, on opposite sides...in the room," Art looked like he wanted to die, to have the earth split open in two and swallow him.

"Silently?"

"Hmm? No, no. I was think of Kat Zimmerman and so..." Patrick explained.

"So I was thinking about her too."

"Because it's always better to have someone in mind, y'know?"

"So who finished first?" Tashi asked, you turned your head to look at her with a raised brow, wondering why she was asking all these questions.

"I don't remember..."

"I think it was him," Patrick pointed at Art. Art tried to deny but Patrick wasn't hearing it. "No... it definitely was. I remember," He began to chuckle. "I remember how he was just sitting there, like some kid who had spilt milk all over his lap. I knew enough to have a sock nearby. Forgot to tell Art so..."

"Oh Jesus, Patrick!" Art sighed, skin hot and pink from how much Patrick was letting on.

"No, I think it's a cute story," You giggled while Art looked at you distraught before running a hand over his face muttering things under his breath.

Tashi took a sip of beer before she shook the can. "We're out of beer.”

She said that before standing up, you watched as she looked around the room before deciding to sit on the edge of the bed, hands in her lap. Her eyes cast down on the three of you as you still sat on the floor.

With a jut of her head, she said; "Come here,"

"Which one—?" Patrick was already pushing off the floor and sitting down next to her, Art following suit, while you decided to stay seated on the floor, turning to look at them.

Tashi sat on the bed with Art and Patrick next to her while you sat on the floor, in the boy's shared room. It took you by surprise when she leant closer to Patrick, almost as if she was going to kiss him before tilting her chin away and pressing her lips against Art's. Patrick looked butt-hurt to say the least.

Her lips mingled against Arts in a steamy kiss, Patrick's shoulders sagged and you, all you could do was watch. She then broke the kiss and kissed Patrick, Art watching their lips move together, mesmerised.

What shocked you the most after she had finished kissing Patrick, was when she bent at the waist to look at you. "Come here," Tashi instructed.

You blinked up at her before standing up from the ground and walking towards her. She grabbed the front of your hoodie and pulled you onto Art, whose hands had to grip your waist to prevent you from falling, your hands on his shoulders.

"Go on..." She instructed, gesturing between you and Art. Your lips parted to say something but closed as you turned to look over at Art.

Slowly, you brought your face to kiss, lips brushing his, which had a thin layer of saliva on them, and pressed them together. Arts hands moved from your hips to your lower back, lips moving increasingly faster and harder against each other.

Tashi watched as you kissed the boy, Patrick watched her. Her brown eyes blown with lust as she slowly brought her lips to Patrick's, eyes prying off of you before fluttering shut.

You leant closer, lifting your legs up to straddle him, his hands immediately going to cup your ass, to hold you firm in place. Art would let out small whimpers and whines against your lips, turning into putty when your fingers thread through his locks, the boy almost came in his pants when you tugged in his air.

It really didn't help when he felt your hips dip, as you began to grind your hips against his lap, his pyjama shorts were so thin, and your cotton shorts were just as, he could feel the heat of you against his aching erection.

Art gave up and lay back, having you still cage him in, hips relentless. You could feel his cock, hard and throbbing against your clothed arousal, which was dripping into your panties.

Art's lips broke away from yours, allowing for your lips to kiss down his jaw and suck purple and red bruises on his neck. His mouth lax, letting out whimpers of your name. "Aw, fuck...shit..." He'd moan, his strong hands gripped at the flesh of your hips, his own hips kept rocking up against you.

You were well aware of the scene next to you, Tashi and Patrick who's lips were locked together, Patrick was more rough with Tashi than Art was with you, but he wasn't as talkative or loud than Art.

"Please?" Art didn't know what he was begging for, but he needed something. The small patch of wetness in his underwear from his pre-cum was seeping through to your own wet patch of arousal.

"You like this, Art?" You asked against his skin, Art nodded, his larger hand finding the ends of your hair and tugging at it, you could only let out a moan of your own. You moaned his name, and that was Art's end game as he spilled his hot cum in his shorts, moaning out your name.

You couldn't enjoy it any longer, the way you felt your own high near, the way you felt wet and sticky down there, desperate for release before you were yanked backwards by Tashi, who gripped your hoodie. "Come on, it's time to go."

"W-What?" You asked in disbelief, back on your feet. Art had sat up and grabbed a pillow, hiding the massive spill in his shorts with a face as red as a turnip. "But I was...we were just—."

"Ah, ah, ah, it's past one. Bed time, missy." Tashi let go of your hoodie and began to walk towards the door. You could tell she enjoyed her kiss, with her messy hair and the dark marks that began to darken against her skin, but clearly that's all it was for her and Patrick—a kiss.

You had no choice but to follow, turning to look over at Art who watched you, like a kicked puppy, leave. "I'm not done with you," you pointed to him before you were out of sight.

Patrick waited until you were guaranteed to be out of ear shot before turning and grabbing Art by the shoulders and ferociously shake him. "Dude! Look at you! Almost banged one of the hottest chick ever!" He exclaimed. "You should totally go for her, she was definitely into you."

"You think?" Art got a little too excited and stood up, pillow slipping from his lap, exposing his semi-boner he got from recalling the events.

"Yeah," Patrick slapped Art's boner, who doubled over in pain. "Go for it."

A week had passed, Tashi and Patrick were somewhat a thing, as for you and Art, well, he thought you were ignoring him. Anytime he saw Tashi, you weren't with, you were always with Tashi. The one time he asked her where you were and she said practicing on the courts, when he got there, there was no sign of you.

Art wondered if he did anything wrong, if you regretted the kiss. Since the kiss, Art hadn't been able to get you off his mind, he knew of you before and thought you were brilliant and was somewhat attracted, but now? He's utterly infatuated with you, and you... are no where to be seen.

You had been so caught up in your studies, you had one last final to write before you were done. You had spent most of your days harbouring knowledge in your room or practicing for shorter periods than what you perhaps should have, it was an ongoing cycle.

Thankfully all that stress was gone into this air when you walked out the exam venue, immediately going to the small vending machine. "God damn it," You sighed, your foot digging into the metal box when it swallowed up your five dollar bill and refused to give you your snack. "Why?"

Your name was called, you look at the directions to see Art jogging over to you. The closer he got, the more sheepish he became. "There you are, I haven't seen you all week."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I've just been studying for my final finals, between that and tennis I've just lost track of time," You told him honestly. You watched as his shoulders relaxed and he suddenly became embarrassed.

"Oh. I thought you were avoiding me," His hand rubbed the back of his neck, skin burning under his touch. "I'm sorry."

"Avoiding you?" You crossed your arms over your chest. "Why would I do that?"

"I...I don't know. I just thought that you didn't like the kiss we had, and got weirded out when I, y'know..." Art stared at his shoes, they were pearly white and brand new. "I didn't know, now I sound stupid."

"Pfft, no you don't," You let out a breath of a laugh. "And no, I did very much enjoy our kiss, and I kinda liked it when you came in your pants."

Art let out a groan of embarrassment, big smile stretching on his face as his head lifted up to look at the popcorn ceiling before looking at you. "Stop! Now you make me sound like a virgin," He laughed and shook his head.

"No, it was cute," You smiled up at him, leaning against the vending machine. It was silent as you two just smiled and stared at each other. His face inching to yours.

A beat passed. "I really wanna kiss you right now," He admitted, his voice was soft yet filled with desire. "Can I kiss you right now?"

"I'd be upset if you didn't," Arts lips were instantly on yours. Not caring if others could see. His one hand was on your jaw, fingers pushing between your hair, tongue licking at your bottom lip.

You didn't allow him into your mouth before you broke the kiss, finding it sweet how his lips chased yours before realising you weren't going to continue the kiss, opting to look at you with a small pout.

"Why'd you stop?"

"Can't give you everything you want," You smirked. "You'll have to find me later if you want more, and who knows? Maybe you'll cum in your pants again," Your smirk grows bigger when you finish your sentence before brushing past him and walking away, leaving a very flustered and shocked Art by the vending machine.

The irony of it all was your snack slipped from its holder, landing with a loud 'clang' at the bottom. Art replayed your words in his head, and now he couldn't wait for 'later'.

Except he didn't know when was 'later' and where it was. He doesn't know which hotel, you were in nor which room. He would only be able to catch you during school. He thankfully caught you in the schools canteen, where he was going to meet Patrick. You were busy ordering from the counter when he saw you, Patrick going to go sit down by the counter against the wall.

You had bought a chocolate croissant, spinning around only to almost bump into Art. "Oh, didn't see you there."

"Sorry," You could count how many times he'd apologised today on one hand. "Just, didn't know when to catch you, and I don't have your number so... uh," He licked his bottom lip as he chose how to ask you. "When is...later?"

"Ohh, later, as in round two, when we pick up where we left off later? M'kay, well that's whenever you want it to be," You gave him a smile after your words.

He tilted his chin down by a smidgen, his blonde locks barely moving as some were trapped under his red cap he wore backwards. "If I had my way, later would be now," He admitted, a flash of darkness surged though his eyes before it was gone as he stepped around you to order, leaving you just as shocked as you left him by the vending machine.

You let out a hum, turning around to face his back. "I'll come visit you tonight at eight, make sure your friend is gone before I arrive. See you," You chirped before spinning on your heel and walking out the canteen.

Art mulled on your words—yet again, and now he really, fucking couldn't wait until 'later'. He grabbed his two churros from the lady at the counter and made his way towards Patrick who was grinning from ear to ear. "So. What did she say?"

Art cleared his throat. "Hey, don't you wanna go spend the night with Tashi?" He asked, in hopes that Patrick would agree and not catch on to what he said, unfortunately for him, he did.

"Man, my man! You horn dog!" Patrick chuckled as he grabbed his churro and took a large chuck out of it, chewing on it mercilessly. "But yeah, I'll spend the night with Tashi."

And then, the 'later' came. Patrick had left and told Art he'd be back somewhere tomorrow, leaving Art all on his own. Art had only ever done casual, he'd gone on maybe two dates, which ultimately failed, and he's slept with maybe four other girls which would all leave by the morning, he told himself this was nothing new, yet found himself spraying on a little extra deodorant to smell good, for you.

His heart rate spiked when he heard you knock on the door, he rushed to rip it open revealing you in a pink sweater and denim shorts. He greeted you a little too quickly, he was nervous.

"Hi, Art," You stepped inside and wrapped your arms around him in a hug, he immediately melted into it as he shut the door with one hand.

"I have a movie and some snacks, if you wanna watch," His thumb jabbed towards the small TV in the hotel room that was positioned in the corner, facing the two double beds.

"Sure, Art. Lead the way," Art nodded and turned to go find a movie to watch, pondering over which was suited for the occasion before settling on some crappy romance flick. You sat at the edge of Arts bed, where you two had kissed. Art rushed to turn off the lights and grab a packet of chips, before plonking himself next to you.

You thought it was sweet how you two were supposed to fuck, yet here you were, watching some poorly executed film.

Twenty minutes had passed before you grew bored of the movie. You turned your head to watch Art instead.

You could see how tense he was, his adams apple bobbed when he swallowed a chip, his back plank straight instead of hunched in relaxation.

A soft gasp caught in his throat when he felt your hand land on his back and run up and down his spine. "You're so tense, Art," He looked over at you, while you watched your hands movements. His hands firm on his thighs.

His eyelids fluttered shut and his lashes kissed his cheeks when your hands went higher to massage his head. He dared not open is eyes when your warm breath fanned his face. You were close, so so close!

"Look at me," Like an obedient puppy, his eyes snapped open as he stared at you. "Why are you so nervous?”

Art swallowed. "You make me nervous," He said, before whispering; "because I like you."

You couldn't fight off the smile that graced your face. "It's okay Art, I like you too," your hand moved to his forehead where you pushed his curls back, Art enjoying your touch before a frown graced his features when it left. He then felt your weight on him as you climbed onto his lap, exactly like the time you shared your kiss. Arms looped around his neck and your chest against his.

His hands got a little more touchy as they slipped under your sweater and settled on the warm skin of your lower back, his fingertips tracing every groove and bump there. His sky blue eyes looking up at you through his light lashes in the dimly lit room. "You do?" He whispered softly.

"I do," Then, you pressed your lips to his. He sighed against you, allowing for the rest of his nerves to evaporate, his arms ringing you closer. You felt his lashes brush your skin, and his curls against your forehead. You licked at his bottom lip and he immediately allowed for your tongue to press against his.

Your nails scratched at the spot beneath his ear, sending a shiver down his spine and an involuntary whimper to escape his throat. It was so easy to get him worked up, his erection making his Nike shorts taut. His eyes rolled back in his head when your hips shifted against his, allowing for some release.

"Mmm, Art," You breathlessly mumbled, even though the denim shorts barely helped you, the feeling of his hands touching all over your back and rear was still pleasant.

Your hips became more vigour, and Art became louder. "No, no, no..." He seemed to catch on to what you were trying to do, his hands flew to your hips and ripped you off, making you hover. Arms strong from his years of tennis. "You're not gonna make me cum in my pants again."

You smirked at this. "You're no fun," You shook your head, Art rolled over, now having your back against the bed, and your legs dangle off the sides. You wasted no time, grabbing the front of his shirt and bringing him to you, reconnecting your lips together.

Art kissed you back passionately, his tongue entering your mouth as he took it all in. His hands traveled over your body, trying to memorize it as he felt your curves and your skin. He continued to kiss and nibble down your neck, leaving small hickeys in his path. His hands grabbed the hem of your shirt, slowly and carefully pulling it off of you to reveal your exposed breasts.

Art couldn't help but admire your body. He took a moment to drink in the view, his eyes traveling up and down your frame. He reached out and gently ran a hand over your skin, tracing your curves with his fingers. His calloused fingers went to your nipple, you shuddered when he gave it a gentle tug before letting it settle back into place.

He smiled, a hint of desire in his eyes. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice low and seductive. He leaned in to kiss you again, his lips loving down and finding your neck and nibbling gently.

"Art, take your clothes off," You whine, hand grasping the back of his shirt to pull at it. "It's unfair how I'm half naked while you're fully."

Art let out a bemused chuckle at your impatience, his smile widening. "Anything for you," he teased, his voice dripping with desire. He stood up straight, pulling his shirt off and discarding it on the floor before going for his pants, he then quickly bent at the waist and turned on the lamp, "Wanna see you."

You watched his expose his torso, now stripped down to his underwear before going back to you, his fingers moved forwards and dug into the waistband of your shorts before yanking them, you had already undone the button, with some not-so-fluid motion, they came off. His hands went to your hips but you were so eager to kiss him again, leaning forward and smashing your lips against his.

One of your hands went to steady yourself on his arm with the other was feeling the muscles and flesh of his torso, pinkie finger grazing over his black underpants until your whole hand was  grasping his hard cock, even through the material, you felt the ridges and veins, the small wet patch grew the longer you touched him.

"That feels good," Art admitted against your hips, his hips pressing further into your touch. "Really fucking good."

"I know, my baby," Your words sent a flutter through his chest. You moved your hand up before it slipped underneath his boxers, now nestled in your palm as you stroked him. You had to momentarily break the kiss, pushing his boxers down and spitting on the head of his cock, throbbing red, lubricating it as you jerked him off slowly.

"Mmf— fuck!" He hissed when your thumb brushed his leaky slit, hips bucking up into your hand.

You continued this motion, jerking your hand and rubbing his tip, moments before your name spilled from his lips like a mantra, white spurts of his thick cum spilling onto your hand. You continued until he rode out his high until bringing your hand to your lips and licking majority of his cum off with a satisfied hum.

Art grabbed your hand unexpectedly and moved it to his lips, his mouth opening, letting his tongue lap up the rest of his cum on your hand in languid strokes, eyes boring into yours. "You tasted so good," You told him, his eyelashes quivered and his cheeks flushed further at your praise.

He let your hand fall when he finished, you dug your hand into the bedding and shifted upwards until your back hit the bed frame. He crawled onto the bed until he was hovering over you, blonde locks sticking to his forehead with perspiration.

His head ducked forward to kiss your collar bone and up, trailing over your neck as he peppered it with kisses before his nose nudged your ear. "God, I need you so bad."

"You have me, Art," Your hands pressed against his shoulders, pushing him to the side and then onto his back, allowing for you to kick your leg over and straddle him, the only thing in your way was your own underwear. "All of me."

Art looked exactly that, like an art piece. His blue eyes contrast to his pink cheeks and pale hair, lips red and swollen from the numerous kisses, his chest heaving up and down and his heart thundering away, waiting for your next move. His hands went to your hips, thumb rubbing along any groove you had, his hands now warm. "All of you," He echoed.

You raised your lips, your fingers pushing your underwear to the side, not even off, your eyes flickered to his. He gulped when he saw how wet you were, arousal dripping down into him. He moved his hand to grab his cock, positioning it in a way that was easy for you to slip him inside.

First was the tip, it set you up for the anticipation of all of hi , the further you sunk down onto him, the more it hurt, but you weren't gonna complain, not after pining to Tashi about this boy. Art let out a whimper when he was fully sheathed, already tender from his previous orgasm.

You planted both hands on his chest before lifting your hips, and dropping them down. Arts hands tightened their hold as he assisted, having you lift them plummet onto his cock, his blonde eyebrows scrunching in pleasure. The movements got faster, and the euphoria expanded. "You're making me feel so good," You told him, hips doing a combination of grinding on and riding his cock

Arts eyes shone upon your words, pride sweeping in his chest and a warm feeling settling in his tummy. "Yeah?" He asked and you nodded, taking one hand of his and arranging g his fingers in a way that pressed against your throbbing clit, Art new immediately what you wanted and fervently rubbing circles on the aching nub, your pussy squeezing him at the added pleasure. "Ah fuck, feels so good, so so good."

Art didn't shut up as you rode him. He'd moan, groan and whimper your name. Telling you how good you felt around him. "Am I doing good?” His voice was soft and shaky.

"Yes Art, shit! You’re doing so good, baby. I'm so proud," and your words were even shakier. Arts fingers rubbed faster against your clit, he bent his knees which made you shift forward, his cock now repeatedly bumping against that one spot that had you seeing stars and galaxies beyond.

That sent Art toppling over the edge, his hands squeezed harder around your waist, head thrown back and his back arched as he came, buried deep in your pussy. You felt his warm load full you up, and his hips stop moving against yours, a loud moan of your name falling from his lips.

You couldn't beat the small ounce of disappointment you felt when he lifted you, soft cock slipping out, and your orgasm vaporise. "Did you enjoy?"

He nodded, eyes blinking up at the ceiling. His lips then parted before shutting, before ultimately opening again. "You didn't cum, did you?"

You sucked in a short breath. "No."

Arts eyes screwed shut like your words pained him. "I'm sorry," He mumbled.

You were going to say something but he beat you to it.

“Sit on my face."

"What?" You asked, astonished.

"You heard me, sit on my face."

You blinked once before swallowing, moving up now face to face with the wall as your pussy hovered over his face, slick with arousal and his own cum. He wasted no time, fingers pushing you firm against him, clit bumping his nose before his tongue dove into your pussy.

His own previous, salty release washed over his tongue, before it moved to your clit, where it began to flick at it. Your fingers sighting out his hair, pulling on it as you ground yourself further against his face. Even though your eyes were fighting to roll back into your skull and your tongue was threatening to fall out, you still made effort to look down at him.

His own eyes shut as he focused on his movements, you'd feel small vibrations against your clit, once he'd wrapped his lips around them, as he whimpered, savouring the way you tasted. Your body fell forward, head smushed against the wall at one particular flick on the tongue.

His long fingers sought out your puckering hole that clenched around nothing, until two fingers filled you up. You had to bite down on your forearm, when he split his fingers open, scissoring inside you. "I-I'm not gonna last any longer," You moaned.

Art mumbled something against you, his tongue lapping faster like a starved man, and that was it. You felt your release rip from you like a tidal wave, legs clamping around his head, drowning him in your fluids.

When you lifted your hips, you saw how the bottom half of his face was drenched in cum, his lips open and panting. You swung your leg around so you could lay next to him. You couldn't help your fingers that wiped away at his face, his pink tongue sticking out to lick your release from your fingers. "How was I? Truly?"

You let out a tired smile. "You were great, Art."

He nodded, tilting his head to look at you. "So were you."

You let out an exhausted chuckle before curling yourself into him, Art's hand went to stroke your hair, lips pressing a kiss against your hairline.

"Will I get to see you again? L-Like other than sex?" His words vibrated against your head.

"If this is a way of asking me on a date, then yes."

You felt him slowly nod. "Okay, yes. Good."

"Good."

"Good..."

[part 2]

[alchemistc]

Tommy has a bad date and goes to visit Abby at her loft, only shocker, Abby left months ago and The Himbo is staring at him from the other side of the door.

He tips his chin. Raises an eyebrow. Scans down, back up, just in time to meet the kids eyes.

"U - uh hi?"

He gets it immediately. What would have drawn Abby in despite the age difference, despite the knowledge that all her friends and family were gonna give her shit, despite -

Well. He's fucking adorable, for a start. Bright bright blues eyes that look like maybe they're always a little wet, the foundation for a really great muscle base, even though he clearly hasn't figured out how to balance cardio and weight lifting, pink full lips, an adorably puppy-dog slash to his face, legs for fucking days. God. Yeah okay. Tommy'd been younger than Abby too but not this young.

"Is Abby home?"

Something strange crosses his face. Confusion, upset, maybe some genuine pain. He shakes his head, opens his mouth. Snaps it shut. Tommy's had a shitty night and honestly for a second he thinks making the look on this kids face go away for a few minutes would fix him.

"Patricia?" Tommy asks, because maybe at least Pat will be lucid enough to sit and with him and mope to the tune of whatever's on Hallmark.

The kid swallows, brows knitting together. "She uh. She passed. A - a few months ago now."

Tommy has to dig his nails into his palms to keep himself from being rude as hell. Sure, things with Abby hadn't ended great but Christ he'd loved Patricia. She could have at least sent him a fucking pigeon. Smoke signals. Something. It's not this kids fault though.

"And Abby ...?"

This kid doesn't know him from Adam. He'd have every right to kick Tommy off the welcome mat and shut the door. Something sad and vulnerable crosses his face. "Are you Tommy?"

Tommy's brow jumps. His posture shifts. "Cross my heart I'm not here to steal her back from you." He doesn't know what Abby's told people. He'd promised he wouldn't do what he'd done to her to another person and left it at that. They'd been together for years and Tommy honestly doesn't know if she'd go the bitter route and tell everyone, or if she'd be ashamed and hide it.

The kid laughs, watches Tommy's fingers make an x over his left pec. The face falls after a moment. "I - uh - I actually don't think she's coming back," he says, choked up just a bit, rising inflection on the end of his sentence. The wet eyes look a little watery now. "S -she went to find herself after her mom died and I don't think - I don't think I'm gonna be a part of whatever she finds."

Yeah. Fixing him will definitely make Tommy forget how terrible his date with Frank had been.

"Can I buy you a drink, kid?"

He blinks. Swallows. Does a piss poor job of hiding the way he's feeling, and Tommy wishes he remembered how to be so open. "Evan. Buck. I - Evan Buckley."

Tommy nods. Grins. "Kind of a mouthful. You mind if I just call you Evan?"

Something passes across his face. He takes a step back. "Uh - if you're serious, I would - that'd be - I just have to grab my wallet?"

Tommy shrugs. He'd offered to pay, but it's entirely possible he still gets carded at bars. "I've got time."

Evan opens the door wider. Gestures him in. Tommy passes the threshold and takes in the space. It looks fucking exactly the same. Evan hasn't made a mark on this place at all.

Tommy's got no room to resent Abby, but if he did...

Evan reappears in record time. He's changed his shirt.

Tommy is absolutely not going to read into that.

"You like craft beer, Evan?"

Evan pulls a face, and Tommy laughs, letting himself be ushered right back out the door. His keyring, Tommy notices, only has a house key and a car key.

Tommy slaps him on the back. "Fine, I won't subject you to my refined palette. I know a place that has a PB&J special."

Evan's stride is fucking ridiculous, as he keeps an easy pace with Tommy down the hall. He turns his face, his body, fully into the space Tommy occupies. Tommy's just waiting for him to trip over his own goddamn legs. "W-what uh - what's a PB&J?"

He already looks brighter than he had five minutes ago.

If Tommy were a shittier person, he'd spend the night trying to to get straight into his pants.

"Pabst and a shot of Jameson?"

He blinks. "Oh. Hey, that's clever. Sorry, when I bartended all the drinks were either in Spanish or some hokey touristy lingo. I mean I memorized like a thousand drinks but no one ever ordered them."

He's honest to god pouting as he says it. Tommy wants to bite that bottom lip.

He babbles all the way down the elevator, across the parking garage to Tommy's truck. Doesn't even pretend to make a fuss about driving separately. Tommy's a virtual fucking stranger and Evan just hops right in the passenger side and asks him about his license plate.

"No shit? I'm at the 118!" Evan says, and Tommy forces himself not to make the joke about stranger danger he'd been planning. That's an awful coincidence, unless it's not. Maybe a few drinks in he'll feel a little less tight lipped about the Abby of it all. Maybe this kid will do just as good a job of patching Tommy's night as Tommy plans to patch his.

He barely stops to breathe the short drive to the bar, and Tommy can already tell he's in way over his fucking head.

After he drops him off, tucks him into bed if he needs it, he's pretty sure he's gonna have some choice words for Abby.

Until then, he's gonna spend the next few hours doing everything he possibly can to keep the sad look off his face.

[onmyyan]

Ain't no sunshine

A/N: neglected reader x yandere batfam part one if y'all like this I'll continue it feedback always welcome 🤗 part 2

Your mother always spoke so fondly of your father, this certain warmth fell over her whenever you asked about him, as if he was the great love of her life, but even at your young age, you could also sense the heavy air of sadness around her whenever you brought him up.

As a child, your curiosity about the man seemed to be never-ending, it didn't help that your mom talked about him, about how you'd meet him someday. She inadvertently set you up, instilling you with this unfortunate expectation of him being just as excited to meet you as you were him.

Having the city's most famous bachelor as a father felt like some weird dirty secret. Seeing him on TV with his adopted kids- how happy they looked filled you with such a profound sense of longing, a feeling you were far too young to understand. TV was the only reason you could even put a face to a name, he was constantly in the news. Your childlike curiosity and fondness for the man soured with each view of him wrapped around some model or cutting some stupid ribbon where the crowd around him applauds every time he so much as shifts.

Your mother never badmouthed him despite the way he so clearly abandoned her, she had this fantasy where he'd come walking in the door declaring his undying love, over the years you learned to simply smile and nod, you knew it was a delusion.

She never allowed herself to move on, it was something you'd forever hold against the man. He'd ruined your mom in a way she was incapable of recovering from and that alone had Bruce on your bad side long before the unfortunate day you were dropped in his life.

The woman loved and raised you as best she could but a single mother forced to support herself through her pregnancy, could only do so much. In truth, you'd been forced to grow up long before you were dumped at Wayne's doorstep. Your sweet mother had been caught in the criminal underbelly of Gotham, something that seemed to happen to many good people in this town, she turned to unsavory means to provide for you and it caught up with her quickly.

She worked double shifts so most days you had to walk home alone, thankfully the local scumbags of your neighborhood had a soft spot for the woman and in turn, you. Despite how dangerous and crime-riddled your neighborhood was, you never felt afraid walking home, not until the day the firetrucks went screaming past you, something about them had your stomach sinking, your little feet pumping faster towards your home, you smelled the smoke before you saw it, and you'll never forget the sight, how dark it made the already grey Gotham skies, how horribly loud the sirens were, the way your neighbor picked you up, shielding your eyes as he pushes you into his chest. You can still remember the heat from the flames as they consumed your small home. You stood unmoving, unblinking as the roaring fire destroyed everything you'd ever known.

To make matters worse, Jim Gordon, the chief of police happened to be the cop on call, and because of that he inevitably noticed something in your eyes, something in your face so strikingly familiar, that despite this being your first meeting, he could feel in his gut he knew you. It bothers him so much that he follows his hunch and does a blood test the second they get you to the station, his theory is confirmed when your DNA comes back matching the Playboy of Gotham City

Jim tries to comfort you but he knows you'll never be the same after losing your mother. He takes you straight to Bruce's door hoping your Father could help soothe the unimaginable hurt you were going through.

Bruce had no idea how to deal with you. In his defense, you happened to come into his life broken, needing guidance and parental love, at the worst possible time, the same day you're plopped at his feet is the same there's a massive breakout at Arkham, the casualties are already in the fifties, not to mention how high that number would jump the longer he left his more worrisome foes out.

In this mess of emotional turmoil, the last thing Bruce needed was a kid plopped in his lap, but it's what he gets. He was seconds from suiting up when Jim dropped you off.

With some half-assed excuse, you don't even really register, Bruce ushers you inside by the wrist only to drop you off with Alfred, he bolts to the batmobile in an effort to not waste any more of his time, knowing he could be saving lives.

He swore to himself once he fixed this problem, he'd give you his full attention, after all, he knew exactly what you were feeling right now, all the confusion and guilt, the anger and despair, he knew he was the one to comfort you, who'd be able to give you the support you needed.

The thing is, problems in Gotham are never truly quite fixed, are they?

Alfred doesn't know anything about your situation other than that you were Bruce's daughter, he can tell you're traumatized by the glossy look in your big eyes, how you limply held his hand as he showed you to the kitchen, he treats you kindly, speaking softly and getting you settled in your too big room in your too big bed, it felt so bare, so empty, it made that hollow feeling in your chest deeper.

This is the first of many nights you cry yourself to sleep.

The next day Bruce officially introduces himself, sitting across from you at a large table, the distance feeling three miles long. You numbly eat, taking small bites, not truly hungry, but you didn't want to hurt the nice Butler's feelings after hearing he made every elegant dish before you. You're still quiet and don't look happy to be here but you respond when Bruce asks you questions, wanting to be cooperative, because, despite the hellish situation, you need a parent right now.

He can only offer you this brief moment of connection before he's called away, Batman's job was never truly over after all. He gives you a stiff pat on your shoulder before leaving, it's the most he's touched you since you've come here.

At that moment, swallowing how uncomfortable you were in your new situation, you stop him with a gentle tug to his arm, eyes teary and wet, your young mind needed the comfort of a trusted adult, needed someone to look at you with a warm smile and tell you it was all going to be okay, but you can't ask for it... The words dry and shrivel on your tongue, so instead you simply stare at him, eyes full of a mix of emotions, silently pleading for him to stay, to hold you, anything, other than walk away.

But he doesn't, what he does is give you that perfect T.V. smile, the one you grew up seeing him give at charity galas and somehow it felt warmer through the screen, he removes your hand gently, "I'm sorry (Y/n), I really have to go, if you need anything at all Alfred can help you out okay? I'll be home soon." The smile he sends you doesn't reach his eyes as he rushes to exit, this is the first time your father breaks your heart.

The second time he breaks it is when he introduces you to some of the rest of his family. Dick Grayson needed no introduction as his adoption into the Wayne family had been heavily televised, his face was the one you were most familiar with, despite this, it was still odd to meet someone you'd grown up watching on your old little television with envy in your (e/c) eyes, the feeling of otherness was only amplified as you walked into the manor's dining room on what looked like a sweet familial lunch, the dark-haired man opens his mouth to greet you but is cut off by Bruce's stern voice, "(Y/n),

The third time Bruce breaks your heart is when Damian arrives, he shows up a good year after you, by now your were closest to Alfred, you'd made a habit of texting Dick and Barbara updates on Bruce and the homes state, considering they didn't live at the manner like Tim, and only ever rarely received texts back from Barbara.

The moment you meet your younger brother you can sense the difference between the two of you instantly. He looks like Bruce, standing tall despite being shorter than you, he turned his nose up at you as Bruce introduces him. Dick is there too, which makes things worse because of the visible effort he's putting into Damian.

You do your best to try to befriend him at first, offering to show him around the large manner to which he scoffs. Like you've offended him with your question.

"As if I need a nobody like you to show me around my home." He never hid his feelings of disdain, often and frequently letting you know just how inferior to him he thought you were, granted at this point Damian thinks this about most people, but it still felt like a knife twisted in your gut each time he ruthlessly rejects you.

It doesn't help that Bruce seems so eager to spend time with him, how they're always together when you had to fight him to spare you five minutes, they bonded so fast, it made your insecurities bubble over each time they scurry off together in a rush, you once grew brave enough to ask them if you can join but the second the request leaves your lips, Bruce is shutting it down.

"I'm sorry, I have business at the office I need Damian for, next time." Bruce says as they leave, his smile just as empty as his promise, the smug look Damian gives you feels like gravel and dirt being smeared into your carved open flesh.

You try to talk to Dick whenever he comes around, one afternoon, the rain is so heavy in Gotham you decide to stay home, a small voice inside you cruelly reminds you it was also a cheap ploy for some kind of attention from Bruce, by the afternoon you figure the school has alerted him of your absence, deciding to face whatever consequences awaited you, you go downstairs, subconsciously keeping your footfall light, a nervous habit you picked up after Damian said you shook the whole house when you walked.

You overhear him talking with Dick in the kitchen when you tiptoe down the stairs, you were quiet, so quiet they don't hear you, "How's the case going?" There was always this audible warmth in Bruce's tone whenever he spoke to Dick, "Fine, I got a lead I'm pretty confident with, gonna-" He stops talking as you step on a creaky floorboard. "My department is pretty confident that is." You round the steps with a small smile, but only Dick returns it.

"Hello, how've you been?" you'd ask earnestly, "Good thanks!" he'd say, but that would be it, the friendly man was never mean to you per se, he just had this terrible habit of forgetting you. You kept to yourself a lot, seeing you so rarely it felt hard not to forget when he had so much going on, not only in Bludhaven but Bruce had been calling him to Gotham more and more to help deal with Damian, he had his hands full, not to mention the sudden rise of crime in Gotham.

Barbara likes you, she really does, but being Oracle took up every moment of her free time, she was a focused woman and people in this town always needed her help. She had a room in the manner dedicated to her vigilante work, the villains were getting bolder and more frequent in their attacks and Bruce needed her help constantly. And it wasn't just him calling on her skills, everyone was constantly asking her for things because they knew she could get them, that's just how she was, everyone but you.

Whenever she was in the manner working, you were always the one to tell her dinner was done or remind her to drink water, and bring her coffee when she hadn't left her office all day, you were reaching out in a way that didn't overwhelm her, like you could see she was stressed, but she was like a horse with blinders on.

Tim meets you while he's still neck deep in his search for revenge against captain boomerang, which unfortunately means he's short-tempered and stuck in a permanent work mode, he's cross with his close family, so it's no surprise he's even quicker to anger with you, you're intentions are as pure as can be, you see him awake late into the night, his bedroom door open, and say genuinely, "It's so late Tim, maybe you should try to get some sleep-"

"Maybe you shouldn't stick your nose where it doesn't belong?" He snaps back without so much as looking away from his screen, he was already on edge, defensive as Bruce had been nagging him all day not to overwork himself, he says this with pure venom, so much irritation and malice it makes your bottom lip wobble, he doesn't see the way you flinch at his anger, the way you sink into yourself.

It seemed like each time you tried to reach out to them, to bridge the obvious gap between you, it just made things worse. His comment hit you like a bus, only furthering the nasty idea that had been gnawing at you since you'd arrived, you didn't belong here.

You didn't belong with them.

When you meet Jason, it's about a year and a half into your stay, you were in the same uncomfy position in terms of your closeness with the Family, or rather lack thereof, and the day you meet, things are bright for the first time since you've moved in. You're in the kitchen making yourself lunch when he stealthily climbs in through the window, this scares the shit out of you, having never met him before, you brandish your peanut butter-covered butter knife towards him, "Woah! Easy there, I used to live here I swear." Jason says clearly amused by your fierce stance, he smiles at you with a warmth you'd grown unfamiliar with, "Shit- sorry I thought you were a burglar or something." You say laughing off your nervousness, dropping the knife in the sink as he leans against the counter.

"And if I was..you planned on buttering me to death?" He teases, you feel yourself snort before you can stop it, "Maybe, consider yourself lucky we never have to find out." This makes Jason chuckle under his breath, it still felt extremely weird for him to be back here, just recently becoming cordial with Bruce, but he enjoyed your company. nonetheless.

"You're (Y/n) right? Bruce's newest kid?" He notices the way your smile falls, how you turn to finish making your lunch, the mere mention of his name seems to deflate your once bright aura. "That's me." You seem to say this with a heaviness that doesn't belong on someone so young, "Who are you?" He scoffs lightly at your question, before leaning over, swiping half of your sandwich with a playful grin, "Wow, they didn't tell you about me? Figures, whatever, I'm Jason." He shakes your hand, and for the first time in years you feel good like you weren't on the edge of fucking something up, but then Jason's watch beeps and he leaves. He gently ruffles your hair, "Good to meet you kid, see you around yeah?"

Jason was like the sunshine breaking through the clouds of your new life, but eventually, his own life gets busier and busier, his monthly visits turn into a short call every once, and not long after, even that stops, he's busy ripping Gotham criminals to pieces, consumed by his rage. He just assumes you're fine, that everything is okay, after all, you never complained about it.

You know something is going on with them, their hushed conversations and seemingly never-ending parade of bruises and mysterious cuts start to add up, the way they disappeared at night, but it's only on your fifteenth birthday that you finally figure out what they'd been hiding. Bruce and Damian suddenly rushed away from your birthday dinner, you turn on the news as Alfred boxes up the mostly untouched food, watching you blow out your candles with a sad smile., Bruce and Damian's portions go cold and untouched.

Batman and Robin arrive on the scene just a few minutes after your father and your younger brother dash away. it's only then do you really notice how similar the dynamic duo looks to your two family members.

This is the final straw, when you realize what they've been hiding under your nose this whole time is.. infuriating to say the least, all of a sudden the isolation and otherness makes sense, of course they excluded you, you weren't a member of their little club. This night is the last you spend yearning for them, the bitter, festering anger that had been building over the years only intensifies as you stew in your rage.