#and and and when he frowns (x2)

[darabeatha]

important thing;;;

[artdcnaldson]

changeover || art donaldson x reader ; patrick zweig x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex x2, fingering, f!recieving oral), drinking, pining after people you can’t have, a dash of reader x tashi, sprinkles of patrick x art, porn WITH plot

Summary: your ‘casual’ fling with art isn’t working for you anymore, which sucks because you probably love the guy. enter a freshly heartbroken patrick to take your mind off of things.

FALL 2006

You knew exactly why Art Donaldson refused to acknowledge that you were an item. You could see it clearly across the room— the way you were cast to the shadows while he followed Tashi around like a lost puppy.  

It made sense, even if it made your chest ache. Tashi was gorgeous, and was acing her classes, and was going to go pro soon and become a beautiful, all-American sports icon. And you were just some girl he’d met because he needed help understanding the reading for class. 

You’d known each other for months by then— hooking up, going on dates that ‘weren’t dates,’ spending most of your time together. And you stayed firmly in the no-labels zone. But you weren’t bitter. It was totally fine, being treated like a girlfriend in all but name. 

Art laughed and leaned into Tashi. It was totally fine.

You were nursing a beer in a red solo cup and trying your best to look friendly and approachable. The only reason you were even at the party was because Art had brought you, so you should’ve felt grateful. You should’ve been having fun.

But just as soon as you’d arrived, he’d slipped away with a promise to be right back. It had been over an hour, so it seemed like you had very different definitions of right back.

“Looks like your boyfriend stole my girlfriend.” You turned to see Patrick, tanned from his time on tour. He was only going to be at Stanford for the weekend before taking off for a challenger a state over, which meant he needed to capitalize on any chance to spend time with Art and Tashi. 

Unfortunately, you’d both been ditched.

“Art isn’t my boyfriend,” you said pointedly, maybe a little too quickly. 

Patrick knew better. The last time he came to visit, he’d interrupted a pseudo date night between the two of you (which was a nice way of saying he walked in on the two of you in Art’s dorm while his best friend was was knuckles deep in you). The rest of that night wound up being spent passing around mixed drinks made with cheap vodka and whatever you could get from the nearest vending machine. You overheard the it’s casual, nothing serious conversation they’d had through the ajar door while you bought more Powerade and Red Bull in the hall. 

But you were being so understanding and cool about that. 

Patrick narrowed his eyes slightly. “Really?” The corner of his mouth tugged upwards for a moment before he wrapped his lips around a beer can. He tried to hide it, but you saw. 

You chewed on your lip, stomach twisting with nerves and curiosity. He was probably just messing with you, trying to get your thoughts all muddled up about Art because it was fun. Still, you couldn’t help but ask the burning question echoing through your mind. “Did Art say something to you? About us, I mean.”

The question felt pathetic. A stupid, desperate girl begging to know if the guy she liked felt the same way. 

Patrick shrugged, leaning against the wall bearing the portraits of the ghosts of frat brothers’ past. “Not directly. But you’re here together, right? And he’s still seeing you.”

“I guess,” you replied with a huff, embarrassment burning hot in your chest. 

“If you’re worried about Tashi, don’t be,” Patrick said, sparing a glance in her direction. When you looked towards Art, and the way he was smiling and laughing and looked so natural beside her, a frown turned your lips. Patrick nudged your arm and offered a smile. “Hey, I’m serious. Nothing’s gonna happen there. Trust me.”

It should’ve felt nice. A total reassurance from the person who knew Art best. But it did nothing to quell the turmoil twisting in the pit of your stomach. Because if he really did feel that way, why was he over there with her?

Tashi Duncan. So beautiful, radiant, and perfect that she had total control over two men. Your paths didn’t cross much, outside of Art, and that was rare since he liked to keep you two apart. 

But there was a part of you that knew that Tashi would’ve been able to make you melt with one look, one smile, one word. You wanted to experience what Art did. You wanted to know what Patrick knew, and what Art was jealous of. Or maybe you wanted something of your own too, something to keep Art out of. 

“I need another drink,” you said suddenly, meeting Patrick’s gaze. “Do you wanna come with me?” Patrick’s eyes flitted quickly towards Tashi, where she bantered with Art and the rest of the tennis team. 

There was something in his expression you found incredibly familiar. That pang of jealousy. The ache of not belonging just right. The look was gone quickly, replaced by a toothy smile. “Sure. I could use something stronger.”

——

An hour later, Tashi left with Patrick, and Art quickly decided to take you back to his own dorm. 

His lips were insistent against yours, kissing you hungrily, completely dissonant to the delicate way he tugged down the zipper of your dress. His fingers were warm where they brushed along the line of your spine. His tongue brushed against yours, tasting of beer and mint gum.

“What were you doing with him?” He murmured against your lips just as he peeled off the cheap, bodycon dress you’d gotten from Forever 21. It was tossed across the room, to be lost in the mess of practice duffles and empty water bottles and dirty laundry. The only time he parted his lips from you was to lift you onto his bed and slot himself between your thighs. 

His tongue licked into your mouth possessively, claiming you as his from the inside out. You gasped as one of his hands kneaded your breast, panting open-mouthed against his lips. “Who?” You managed weakly, your mind completely blank except for Art, Art, Art. And maybe a tiny voice in the back of your head that was still thinking about the Tashi of it all.

“Patrick.” His voice was soft against the tender skin of your jaw. “I saw you two talk, then you disappeared for, like, an hour.” His teeth nipped gently at your pulse point as he nuzzled against your throat, awaiting your answer. 

So he had been watching? He was with her, but he was still thinking about you. It made your heart flutter. You moaned softly as his hand slid between your thighs, teasing you through your panties. “Getting drinks,” you managed feebly. “Fuck, Art, I can’t concentrate while y—“

You gasped at the feeling of his fingers slipping beneath the band of your panties, teasing you with delicate touches. “Just drinks? For an hour?”

A strangled gasp escaped you as fingers slick with your arousal met your clit. When your eyes opened in surprise, you found Art staring right back. His touch was relentless, flooding your senses with pleasure as he demanded an answer. “We were in the living room,” you managed between soft pants and moans. “He was telling me about the— god— about the tour.”

Art’s expression flickered slightly— a tiny furrow forming between his brows. Was it doubt, or possessiveness, or anger? Before you could figure it out, his lips were against your throat, your panties were pushed to the side, and he was easing two fingers inside of your cunt.

“Fuck,” you cried out, grasping onto his shoulders. French manicured nails scratched at the pastel-colored polo he wore— why was he still wearing his clothes? Soft, keening moans slipped past your lips as he fucked you with his fingers. Every thought of him preferring Tashi or him leading you on slipped from the front of your mind as his thumb rubbed at your clit.

With a free hand, you palmed him over his pants, relishing in the way he panted against your warm skin. You made quick work of the button of his jeans— you knew your way around him like the back of your hand. He was warm, pulsing in your delicate grip when your hand slipped beneath the band of his briefs. Slick at his tip with need. 

He moaned against your pulse point, nuzzling against you as you began to jerk him off in time with each pump of his fingers. 

“You smell like him,” he groaned, nose pressed to the spot just beneath your ear as his hips bucked into your fist with a new sort of desperation. You didn’t have to ask who he meant. His tongue slipped out, lapping at you briefly before sucking a bruise into the delicate skin there. 

His fingers flexed so they brushed against the sweet spot within you. Your eyes rolled back and a sob of pleasure clawed its way from your throat. “Need you,” you pleaded, equal parts a thoughtless cry and a demand.

And who was he to deny either of you that? A pitiful whine escaped your lips when he slipped his fingers from within you and moved your hand from him. He stood to clumsily pull off the rest of his clothes at the same time that you quickly shimmied off your panties and tossed them to the side.

”You’re so fucking sexy,” he groaned as he joined you back on the bed, slotting himself between your legs. You were so pliant and sweet beneath him, looking up at him with adoring doe-eyes and a pretty smile on your spit-slick lips. He should’ve been perfectly content.

As he parted your thighs, stroking his dick as he lined himself up with your entrance, he wondered if Tashi and Patrick were doing the same exact thing at that same exact moment. He could imagine it clearly— Tashi, splayed out on her bed, and Patrick right at home between her thighs; sinking in, faces contorting with pleasure. Before he could stop himself, a soft moan slipped past his lips at the mental image. 

Your nails dug into his shoulder blades as he sheathed himself within you, and he buried his face into your neck. Fuck. You really did smell like Patrick. The shitty Axe body spray that was supposed to smell like chocolate, and the lingering scent of cigarettes. 

You moaned prettily, pussy squeezing him like a vise. Manicured nails scratched against his back, delicate enough that the marks would probably disappear by that time the next day. He was so used to Patrick lounging shirtless around their hotel rooms after tournaments— severe-looking scratch marks looking like angel wings against his pale skin. He always wore them like a badge of honor the night after he snuck off with some pretty girl he’d set his sights on. That’s how you know you’re doing it right. 

Why was he thinking about Patrick?

He tried to lose himself in you— in how pretty you were beneath him, the sweet words falling from your lips with each thrust. Feels so good, Art. ‘M so close already. Gonna make me cum. 

When he looked down at you, your mouth hung open, lips shiny with spit, begging to be kissed. His mouth met yours messily and you both moaned into the kiss. He moved a hand between your thighs, rubbing at your clit as he bullied his cock into your inviting cunt. 

You came with a string of moans and expletives that made the person next door bang on the wall out of annoyance. Art had to pull out as soon as he felt you start to squeeze around him. All it took was a few clumsy strokes and he was spilling onto your stomach with an almost embarrassing whine. 

You both lay there catching your breath and cursing the shitty air conditioning in the dorm. He wiped the mess of cum off of your stomach with an old tee shirt that was hanging off the side of his desk and tossed it to the side to be dealt with later.

“You’re so gross,” you mumbled with a tiny laugh, reaching down to grab your underwear from your floor. After you pulled them back on, you watched him dig through a pile of clothes in a papasan chair for a passable pair of pajama pants. An amused smile played on your lips at the sight. “Do I need to buy you a hamper?”

He held up a pair of pajama pants to examine them, shrugged, and pulled them on. “I have one, it’s just full.” A boyish grin spread across his lips as he crossed the room towards his dresser. He tossed a random tee shirt from the drawer in your direction and climbed on the bed, grinning down at you. “See? I have clean clothes.”

You laughed as you pulled the shirt over your head, then turned on your side to face him. His eyes flickered from your face, down to the shirt, then back. You wrinkled your face in confusion and peered down at the shirt. 

“What? What does it say?” You asked with a laugh.  You held it out, squinting to make sense of the graphic— faded and upside down. Finally, your eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh! I thought you were more of a Maroon 5 and Justin Timberlake guy. I’ve never even seen a Blink-182 CD in your stuff before.”

Art cleared his throat and shrugged, thumbing the bottom of the tee shirt absentmindedly. “I went with Patrick a few years back.”

A smile turned your lips. “It’s sweet that you two are such good friends.” You reached over, brushing his curls from his forehead. He turned, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin of your wrist. “Did you and Tashi have fun tonight?” The insecurity in your words was palpable.

Art shrugged. “A party’s a party, y’know?” He leaned into your touch, letting you play with his hair. “Just lost track of time. I won’t run off on you next time.”

You chewed your lip shyly. “I think it’d be nice for the three of us to hang out sometime,” you said, watching his expression to gauge his reaction. 

“C’mere,” he said with a tired smile, effectively avoiding your suggestion. When he pulled you against his side, he nuzzled his face into the junction of your neck and shoulder. His breath tickled with each exhale, which made you squirm, but every so often he’d place a chaste kiss on the skin there and you’d forget why you wanted to ask him to move.

In the morning, when you woke up to his alarm clock blaring a local radio station, you realized it was the first time he’d let you stay the night. 

SPRING 2007

After your second drink, you decided that Art Donaldson had hung you out to dry for the last time. Well, probably the last time. 

Most likely not the last time. 

Knowing yourself, you’d be clinging to his side like a lost puppy in a few weeks’ time, if you even had the dignity to give it that long. The second his attention turned to you again, you knew you’d be absolutely relishing in the special affection he always gave you when he was experiencing Tashi-related withdrawal.

You were so stupidly in love (or in lust, or in whatever) with him that you’d accept just about anything he could throw at you. 

No labels, just casual? Fine. Ignoring you all night then conveniently remembering you exist when he’s horny and ready to go back to his dorm? Whatever. You’re game. 

You’d gone to every match, watched a few practices. Helped him study for exams, let him borrow the notecards you’d painstakingly written over the course of the semester. Jesus, you even wrote a few essays for him when his schedule got crowded and he just couldn’t manage.

All you asked in return was a date to a stupid formal, and he ditched you last minute for Tashi. Again. And you couldn’t even get pissed about it without feeling guilty, because she’d fucking gotten injured and it wasn’t her fault that the guy you were into was carrying a torch for her instead.

“You’ve been staring down the Reese’s Pieces for the last five minutes.” The familiar voice startled you from your sulking. The world filtered back in suddenly— the blaring music, the smell of cigarettes and pot, the chatter of people wandering in and out of neighboring dorms. When you turned, Patrick Zweig was leaning against the vending machine beside you, carrying a large Tennis bag and backpack on both of his shoulders. “Do you need five bucks?”

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” You asked, brows furrowed with confusion. “I heard about her match. I just figured that you’d…“ You trailed off as you noticed the thinly veiled kicked-puppy expression he wore. “Oh.”

He swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, that’s… it’s over. Did you want the Reese’s, or not?” 

“No,” you shook your head and laughed. “I just needed…” you trailed off. What was it you needed, again?

You needed Art. A date to the formal. You needed to feel desirable and cared for. You needed him to get his head out of his ass and just fucking commit. You needed to tell Art to fuck off and find another groupie. You needed…

“Another drink?” Patrick suggested.

You nodded eagerly like that’s what you’d been thinking all along. “Yes. Another drink.” You paused, glancing at his bags. “Do you want to drop your things in my room first? My roommate is in Iowa, or something. She won’t mind.”

Your dorm was decorated in shades of pink and green, with a ruffled bedspread and faux fur pillows and blankets. You bent down to retrieve two bottles of Smirnoff Ice from a mini fridge. Patrick did his best to look away like a gentleman would. 

Well, he did his best. It wasn’t exactly his fault that his options were to look at your tight jeans or the bulletin board above your desk that was essentially an Art Donaldson shrine. 

Pretty pink push pins held up a photo of the two of you after one of his matches, both beaming at the camera. Then there were little notes he’d written you in his boyish scrawl. Tickets to movies you’d gone to see and tickets to his matches. 

“Here,” you said, drawing his attention back to you, thankfully in an upright position. You’d already popped the bottle caps off the radioactive blue drink you handed him. You were chewing your lip shyly, sweetly. “It’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it?”

“What?” He took a drink and nearly grimaced at the sweetness. After he finished it, he’d need to go find something stronger.

You sighed and took a long drink yourself. “I dunno, the whole… thing. Art.” You absentmindedly toyed with the hem of your shirt. “I mean, what girl with any self-respect lets a guy just screw her for months with no commitment?”

“Maybe self-respect is overrated.” He laughed and stepped closer. “Full disclosure? I only came here hoping that I could fuck someone and spend the night in their dorm. Free booze was a plus.”

“We’re in the same boat then,” You said, gazing up at him through your lashes. “We’re both jilted lovers who need a distraction.”

You tilted the bottom of the bottle up, chugging down the contents. When you were done, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and rolled your neck out. “Bottoms up,” you said with a coy smile. “Let’s find something stronger.”

——

An hour later, something by the Pussycat Dolls was blaring through a set of speakers in a darkened common area. You were the fun kind of tipsy, where you started to care less about everyone else and just found yourself buzzed in that light, easy kind of way. You danced to the beat without a care in the world while Patrick sat on the arm of a couch and nursed his beer. 

His eyes were glued to your body as you moved, almost hypnotic beneath the red Christmas lights that had been stapled around the ceiling. Your shirt had ridden up, revealing a sliver of stomach that you either didn’t notice or didn’t care to cover up. 

The only thought running through his head? Art was a fucking idiot. 

You glanced over at him and nodded for him to join you. He didn’t move, so, not one to give up, you joined him over on the couch. When he went for a drink, you tipped up the bottom of the beer can and forced him to finish it, even as it spilled past his lips and down his chin. 

“Thanks,” he deadpanned, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. 

With a pleased smile, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the middle of the room to dance.

He shook his head as you tried to make him dance— your hands on his hips, pushing and pulling and trying and failing to make him move. “No, no. I don’t dance,” he explained, as firmly as he could stand to be.

“Because you can’t? Or because you think you’re too cool?” You asked, raising a brow. He rolled his eyes, a smile playing at his lips. “C’mon, if you dance, I’ll tell you a secret.”

That did make him laugh. “What are you, five?”

With a shrug, you took his hands into yours and moved them to your hips. There was a hesitance in his touch, at first. But then his fingers splayed against exposed skin, and you were so warm. Your hips began moving to the beat beneath his hands. “See? We’re dancing,” you said, peering up at him through long lashes.

You looked genuinely victorious when he finally started dancing… kind of. It was less of an action and more of an acceptance. It had been abundantly obvious since the moment he walked into your dorm room that you wanted to end the night with him. Maybe it was because you thought it would hurt Art, or maybe it was because he was there and he was feeling the exact same things you were.

He’d done his best to resist out of some lingering sense that he could repair things with Tashi, and the hope that maybe Art’s spite would fade and they’d be friends again.

Despite skipping the whole college thing, Patrick wasn’t an idiot. He knew better. The second Tashi fell on that court, both of those doors slammed in his face.

And you were so close to him that he could smell the liquor on your breath. And Victoria’s Secret body spray. Mostly the liquor, though. He was barely moving, but you— you were something else. Hips moving against the thigh he’d slotted between your legs, arms trailing up his chest so you could sling them around his neck, pulling yourself impossibly closer. Even though you were grinding against each other like two horny middle-schoolers at their first dance, he’d had enough to drink that he didn’t really give a fuck. When he moved his hands from your hips to grab your ass, you gasped and laughed like it was the best thing in the world.

Your body moved so effortlessly that anything he could have possibly done would’ve looked clunky and clumsy. He groaned when you brushed against him just right, and he could tell by your smug expression that you knew exactly how you were affecting him. 

You leaned in, chest to chest. “Can I tell you the secret now?” You whispered, lips brushing against the line of his jaw. He swallowed hard and nodded. “I think it’d be a bad idea for us to fuck. We’re both in a bad place.”

“Mhmm. Bad idea,” he echoed. He wanted to reach out and grab your jaw, to tilt your face up and kiss you. One of your hands had slipped beneath the hem of his (Tashi’s) shirt, just barely teasing the skin there. It made him shiver and lean into the heat of your touch.

“But I still want to.” You sounded so earnest, so needy. Like you’d take anything he’d give you and thank him for it. “We can use each other to feel better, right? Just a nice, warm body and a rush of dopamine.”

It was exactly what Patrick had come to the fucking dorm rager for. To feel wanted and desired. For someone to look at him like he wasn’t actively failing at the one thing he was supposed to be the best at. 

But he was good at other things.

You guided him through the crowded hallway, way more packed than they had been before you’d started dancing. It was getting later, more people were falling for the siren song of R&B and beer. You were a siren of a different making— with much more dangerous consequences than a hangover.

It almost felt wrong to be back in your innocent, frilly little dorm with the intention of fucking your brains out. But the looks you were giving him were enough proof that he wasn’t the only pervert. Before you could get too far, he pinned you up against the door, displacing a dry-erase calendar in the process. 

You glanced down, eyes flitting towards the hearts around tomorrow’s date, anticipating the formal that Art had flaked on. Without looking back, you kicked the dry-erase board out of the way, a problem for later. 

His lips met yours in a messy clash— teeth knocking slightly until you found a rhythm with each other. Patrick Zweig kissed like he’d been at war for fucking years and had just returned home. He kissed like he had crawled out of the desert and the only promise of water could be found on your tongue. 

You’d never been kissed with that level of need and desperation— that desire— and you fucking loved it. The taste of his tongue licking into your mouth, the rumble of a moan against your own lips.

His hands were moving beneath your shirt, pushing it up as he went. A pretty whine slipped past your spit-slick lips as he squeezed your tits over your bra. Your hands stayed busy undoing his jeans. He moaned into your mouth when your fingers barely brushed against the bulge through the denim. 

“That feel good?” You teased, practically breathing the words into his lungs as you slipped your hand into his boxers. He groaned in response as your hand wrapped around him and pumped slowly.  There was something addicting about his need— you relished in the pulse of him, warm and bucking into your grip. And you wanted more. You wanted to be the one to make him come undone. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

His head fell back slightly as you brushed your thumb along his tip, the movement accompanied by another soft groan. The way you peered up at him with an earnest need to please made hot desire thrum within him.

“You could start by taking these clothes off,” he said, fingers roaming to tug at the strap of your bra. You started to move, slipping your hand from his boxers. Then you stopped.

“You’re not gonna help?” You asked coyly, goosebumps forming where his fingers trailed along your side, teasing at the band of the bra. 

That made a tiny smirk turn at his lips. “Does Art help?” It shouldn’t have turned him on— that little flash of longing for Art in your eyes. But it did. You nodded, shifting slightly to encourage more of Patrick’s touch. “Lift your arms.”

As easy as anything, you obeyed. No banter, no push and pull for control. It was so different than what he had with Tashi (who he shouldn’t have been thinking about), and he couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how it always was for you and Art (who he shouldn’t have been thinking about either). 

He tossed your shirt to the side and moved a single hand to the clasp of your bra, undoing it with a quick movement that he’d perfected at sixteen. Painstakingly slow, he pushed each strap down your arms, until it fell at your feet and exposed your tits to the overzealous AC of the Stanford dorms. 

Your nipples pebbled in the cool air, and his mouth watered in a near-Pavlovian response to the sight. His hands moved back to your chest, so he could thumb over the sensitive buds and relish in the way you shivered.

The wood of the door was cold against your shoulders as you arched into his touch. Manicured nails fumbled with the button to your jeans— you twisted and shimmied them off before kicking them to the side.

Before you could react, he picked you up and carried you over to the bed. A grin played at your lips as he practically dropped you onto it, making a decorative pillow fall to the floor. 

“It was only, like, five steps,” you said with a laugh. Patrick shrugged and made quick work of his clothes. You sat up on your elbows to watch him shuck off his pants, then awkwardly hop on one foot at a time to remove his shoes and socks.

When he finally joined you on the bed, he was clad only in his boxers, which were sporting an almost comically large tent. He positioned himself over you, that shit-eating grin ever present on his face. “Can I go down on you?”

You laughed lightly in disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

He nodded. “As a heart attack.” He nuzzled against your jaw teasingly. “C’mon, lemme make you feel good, okay? I live for this shit.”

You giggled, pushing his face away. “Yeah. Fuck. You can.”

He trailed his lips down your jaw, then your sternum. He stopped only briefly to suck each nipple into his mouth, making you squirm and arch into him. Your hand moved into his hair, and he moaned against your tit as you tugged slightly. 

You watched him kiss down your stomach and peel your panties down your legs with his teeth through half-lidded eyes. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he slowly kissed up one leg.

The sight made your stomach flip— the sheer desire of it all. Your mind flickered to Tashi, as it seemed to do more and more. Tashi got this same sight, felt the same lips on her skin, and heard the same groans and pants. You could’ve laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all. At that moment, with Patrick on top of you, you were closer to Tashi than Art could even dream of.

A tap on the inside of your thigh was his wordless way of telling you to open up for him, to get out of your head and come back to earth. Your tummy fluttered as you spread your legs more and he slotted himself there with an arm slung across your stomach. 

“Fuck,” he said lowly, peering up at you. “You get this wet from just kissing?”

Heat burned in your cheeks at his obvious amusement, but you could tell he loved how responsive you were. His tongue traced you from your hole to your clit, making you cry out and twist your fingers into his curls. Quick, teasing flicks against your clit made your thighs tremble and squeeze around his shoulders. You were so fucking sensitive that it made him want to tear you apart.

It was messy— a sloppy mix of his spit and your arousal as he made out with your pussy. His nose brushed against your clit as he nuzzled deeper into you, moaning as his fervor was rewarded with more of your juices spilling onto his tongue. 

There was no method or precision to it, even though you were quite sure he could’ve had you coming undone beneath his fingers in no time at all. Patrick relished in every tiny reaction— in feeling your thighs around his head and your fingers in his hair. Relished in the taste of you on his tongue and the feeling of your slick smeared across his face. 

Your back was arching off the bed, nails digging just shy of painfully into his scalp. 

He opened you up with one finger, then a second. Your cunt accepted the intrusion with ease, like you were made for it. For him. He crooked his fingers just so and you cried out pathetically. He pressed there, constant and firmly and your fingers tugged harder on his hair, moans increasing in pitch as your breaths came in pants. 

“I’m— I— fuck—“ words failed you as his lips formed a seal around your clit and he sucked, making spots dance across your vision. In the absence of words, all you could manage were fucked out sobs and pitiful little whines.

Slick walls fluttered around his fingers, and your clit pulsed against his tongue. You were so easy to get worked up— a toy for him to wind up and set into motion. You came with a moan that would’ve made a weaker man cum inside of his boxers, your cunt spasming around the intrusion of his fingers. 

When he sat back and cleaned his fingers in his mouth, you were watching through half-lidded, hazy eyes. Tiny pieces of hair were plastered to your face and forehead, and you gave a breathless giggle as you looked up at him. 

“Holy shit,” you said with a grin as he shucked off his boxers and kicked them off somewhere across the room. 

“Feel good?” He asked, and pressed a kiss to your hip bone. You nodded wordlessly, feeling dizzy with need. “Gonna give me another one?”

“Yeah,” you said breathlessly, peering up at him with wide eyes. The tip of his nose was shiny with your arousal, which made warmth spread across your cheeks. With a sheepish laugh, you reached up and wiped it away with your thumb. There wasn’t much you could do about the mess on his mouth and chin. “You’re all messy.”

He kissed you slow— leaving his tongue against yours, making you taste yourself mixed with his spit. It was less of a kiss than a series of slow laves of his tongue against yours. It felt dirty, and a little gross, but you couldn’t help but relish in it. You’d never kissed Art like that, would’ve never even dreamed of it. Patrick was an entirely different animal. 

You stayed like that for a while— just completely lost in the feel of him warm on top of you, grinding his cock against your cunt as he planted messy kisses to your lips. 

“Condom?” He mumbled the words against your lips when he finally grew impatient.

“Mhmm. Bedside table.”

He fumbled inside the drawer, grabbing glasses cleaning wipes two seperate times before he finally found a foil packet in the bottom of the drawer.  

He held it between two fingers, an amused smile playing on his lips. “You sure this’ll fit me? I’m bigger than Art.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not by that much.”

“Where it counts, though.” His smirk was smarmy as he tore open the foil with his teeth and rolled the condom down his length. He spat in his hand and stroked himself as he peered down at you, like he hadn’t quite decided how he wanted you yet. 

“Turn over,” he finally said with a pat to the meat of your thigh. You did as he said, almost hesitant as you turned over and settled onto your forearms, arching your back slightly. “Does Art ever fuck you like this?”

He held the head of his cock at your entrance, teasing you with the tiniest amount of pressure. You took in a shaky breath and shifted, eager for more that he wasn’t going to give you yet. “Do you have to bring him up right now?”

No. He knew he really didn’t, but he couldn’t help himself at the same time. The thought of his Art in this same bed with you made it all so much hotter for him. He wanted to know how Art had fucked you, he wanted every detail burned in his brain. He wanted to be better, or maybe just be there with the two of you. 

It had gotten close. Once. Art was definitely fingering you under a blanket while the three of you watched a movie on his laptop across the room. Patrick’s thigh was touching yours— he could feel the way your muscles tensed and shook as Art played with you. He was close enough to hear the hitch of your breath. 

And if that hadn’t been enough to give it away, Art’s stupid fucking smirk and the obvious way his arm was moving would have.

He didn’t do anything then, but maybe he should’ve. 

“I’ll take that as a no.” He was slow as he sank into you, inch by inch. It could’ve been the position, or maybe his cocky bravado was completely founded, but he did feel bigger than you were used to. A soft moan was punched from your lips when he was finally buried to the hilt— your breath came in soft pants as you adjusted to the feeling of him. 

With your face pressed into your pillows, each breath you took flooded your senses with the smell of Art’s cologne. You moaned softly, eyes fluttering shut as your thoughts were overwhelmed with him.

“Shit, you’re fuckin’ tight,” he groaned. His fingers dimpled your skin where he held onto you. He moved one hand to rub the base of your spine in a way that could probably have been tender, on another day. You moaned pathetically into the pillows. “What? You need something?” 

One shallow, teasing thrust made your toes curl. “More,” was all you could manage.

“Can you take it?” Patrick cooed, smugness was practically dripping from his tongue. “Because I can go slow if you need—“

“You’re such an asshole. Just fuck m—”

A rough snap of Patrick’s hips cut you off suddenly. You cried out, grasping onto the bedspread feebly as he began to fuck you in earnest. 

Each thrust made the cheap, university-provided bed frame slam against the wall. The decorations you had hung up rattled, threatening to tumble right onto the floor and shatter, but neither of you even noticed. The moans slipping past your lips were pornographic.

But the sounds escaping you were nothing compared to the noises Patrick was making. Art had made an off-handed comment, once, about how much of a slut Patrick could be. You hadn’t really seen why until you got to hear the desperate, debauched noises he could make.

You slipped a hand between your thighs to rub at your clit and the feeling stole the air from your lungs. Your eyes rolled back, ass jiggling in time with each thrust.

Through it all, the memory of Art in this bed clung to you. Art, burying himself in the soft, wet heat between your thighs, flushed down to his chest and panting softly. His hungry kisses, melting sweet on your tongue like cotton candy. The whines that slipped past his lips, better than the prettiest music you could imagine. 

With each brutal thrust of Patrick’s cock into you, he punched out soft ah, ah, ahs from your lips. In your head, you just heard Art, Art, Art. Maybe that’s what you meant to say. 

You were probably in love with him. You were fucking his best friend. And it wasn’t even that simple. Patrick and Art and Tashi and somewhere between it all, you lingered. It was a giant clusterfuck of feelings and lust that you’d somehow tangled yourself inside of. Wanting someone so much, you want whoever has them just as badly. 

Maybe everything would’ve been a lot cleaner if you’d just locked the four of you into a room and stayed until every bit of tension had been fucked out. The idea of it all made you moan softly into the pillows. 

Patrick pulled you up suddenly, back flush against his chest as he continued to fuck into you. One hand grabbed at your jaw, turning you so he could press his lips to yours again, and the other squeezed at your tits. His mouth did a perfect job of muffling your moans— Patrick relished in feeling your pretty whines vibrate against his lips. 

“You feel so fucking perfect.” His words made heat flutter through you. “Need t’ feel you cum again. You have it in you, yeah? I can feel it.”

You nodded, eager to please. Pleasure was lapping at every nerve, lightning-hot. Your fingers rubbed faster at your clit as he pounded up into you. The whines escaping you were pathetic as your body crawled closer and closer to the edge. 

“Close,” you gasped out. Patrick licked into your open mouth, kissing you sloppily as you set a punishing pace on your poor, oversensitive clit. “So close— f-fuck—“

Your orgasm hit you suddenly. You clawed at his arm with your free hand, desperately seeking purchase as euphoria pulsed through your veins. 

“That’s it,” he groaned, his breath hot against your jaw. “Fuck— squeezin’ me so tight I can barely move— god—“

Your eyes were half-lidded as he worked you through it, rhythm only just beginning to falter as his finish approached. He pushed you back onto your stomach, manhandling your hips so your back was arched just like he wanted. 

You were reduced to whimpers and whines by the time he finally came— buried as deep as he could get, grip bruising on your hips. A few shallow thrusts were all he could manage before he pulled out, collapsing on beside you. 

You were catching your breath while he disposed of the condom in the cute trash can beside your bed, filled with gummy snack wrappers and broken pencils and old class notes. It felt like sacrilege. He laid back down, and you pulled a throw blanket over the two of you. 

With his head against the pillows, you wondered if he could also sense the phantom of Art’s presence there in the bed. Somewhere between you, forcing distance.

“So, when do you leave for your next tournament?” You asked. Unconsciously, you reached out to play with his hair, the same way you did to Art in times like these. “Soon, I bet. You usually don’t stay long.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” He asked, a tiny smile playing at his lips. His chest was still heaving with exertion. 

You shook your head. “I don’t want to get rid of you, Patrick.” He melted into your touch, eyes fluttering shut. 

In the morning, you’d wake up squished against Patrick’s side with the taste of sugary alcohol on your tongue. When you picked up your phone to see three missed calls from Art, it was easier to pretend that you hadn’t seen them at all.

thanks for reading :) if you enjoyed, please lmk by sending an ask, or whatever you wanna do <3

[dabisbratz]

been fantasizin! — izuku midoriya x male reader

w.c: 2.1k

WARNING: heat cycles, bunny quirk, ear-pulling, creampie (x2), toy use, overstimulation, manhandling, dacryphilia, soft dom!izuku, praise, kissing, drool/spit, body worship, dirty talk, breeding mention, use of the word “pussy” as a synonym for (ass)hole, amab reader

“Honey?” There’s a soft click of the front door as it unlocks, a tall pro-hero setting foot inside with a few grocery bags in hand. The penthouse is homely, not at all too large for it’s two inhabitants, with a nicely decorated living room and fully applianced kitchen. The kitchen island outlooks the living-room, and the living-room outlooks the balcony, with a pretty, twinkling view of Musutafu’s bustling city. Izuku couldn’t have asked for a better home, a better boyfriend, a better life. He fought hard for it, anyway. “I’m back!”

The home is draped in domesticity, well lived in with a few misplaced remotes and a blanket scattered across the pleather couch.

He can’t find you anywhere, not in the kitchen making a snack, not hiding behind the couch, with floppy ears that match your hair and give you away. Not on the balcony, where you like to lean too far out for your viewing pleasure and his dismay. He frowns, freckled cheeks puffed out in a pout and eyes dimly lit. It’s unusual for his bunny to stay where he is, typically he waits by the door for his boyfriend's return, ears bouncing excitedly the second the door is unlocked. There’s only really one place you could be, but he has a few things to put away first.

The groceries end up where they shouldn’t be, apples in the freezer and thinly cut beef stacked inside the fridge, but Midoriya just can’t focus when his day has been knocked off its path like this. He slams the fridge door much harder than intended, the stainless steel shaking in his grasp and nearly threatening to fall. It doesn’t, but the display almost has Izuku panicking again, sights set on two things at one.

So he makes his way to the bedroom.

It’s shared between the two of you, a large, soft, and warm mattress with even softer blankets (you picked them out), and some nice blackout curtains when city lights ended up too overwhelming. The door creaks quietly, nothing compared to the sound that doesn’t seem to be quieting down any time soon.

You’re grinding your cock down against the midsized plushie Izuku had won you on one of your first dates back in highschool, ruining the soft fur with your precum. It must be because it smells just like him, having previously been wearing one of his hoodies, and you’d referred to the bear as Izuku Jr. It’s wet and sticky, almost like the air in the room, which fills with desperate moans as your hips rock back and forth against the plush. Izuku can see the bounce of your ass as you rock it back against a silicone toy, slippery with lube and dribbling onto the bed. He frowns.

Your heat cycle must have started while he was away. His poor boy, his poor baby, was left alone to fend for himself, fucking himself against nothing but a fake for the last few hours. Your pretty thighs must be aching and tired by now, on fire and sore, wrapped around a teddy bear when it could’ve been him. Izuku sighs, shedding himself of his jacket before rolling up his sleeves, and slowly padding over to the bed.

He’s careful not to tear you away, you get very territorial of your ‘nest’, instead tracing his fingertips up your calves, the back of your thighs, the swell of your ass. It’s only when he gives a sharp squeeze to your backside do you notice his presence. Your big ears twitch, swaying along as your head whips back to finally register the man beside you. You can’t say much, throat hoarse and tired from cries that fell on deaf ears, but the look on your face is enough for Izuku to scoop you up and cup your face.

“Don’t stop ‘cause of me,” He whispers against your lips, gently scraping his nails behind your ears. You keen against his touch, chasing his palm until his freckled thumb is slipped into your mouth. You can feel a scar that runs across his thumb, similar to the veins in his dick. “Cockdumb bunny, you’re so pretty like this. How’d this happen, sweetpea?”

You moan around his thumb, suckling and rutting your hips against his clothed thigh, which is already starting to collect sticky stains of pre. There’s a small tug on your ear, hard enough to get your lips to pop off his finger until you’re looking up at him, eyes sparkly and wet. Izuku wipes your drying tears with his big hands, then tugs harder. “I know, too much thinking gets you riled up. Just need an answer, honey, then we can take care of your needy hole.”

‘Zuku’s hands are always better. When your brain isn’t fully online he’s there, all smiles and big hands to touch you just right. He slides his hands up your torso, actively avoiding your cock as he smears the cum on your bellybutton up to your chest, massages it into your hard nipples while you tremble in his hands. You fist the sleeves of his shirt, right where the neckline meets shoulder, pulling him in closer until his breath ghosts i’ve your nipples. You can’t take the lingering touches, you need something constant. Something intense.

But instead you whine, too needy to form any actual complete sentences or thoughts.

“Thought of— wanna be good. Need— M’a good boy. ‘Zuku. Need you.” It’s more jumbled than anything, a pathetic noise leaving your body as he pushes you back down against your plush, dildo discarded somewhere by the headboard. Such a silly thing, you got too far in your head and really thought some silicone was good enough to satiate your needs.

“Just stayed sweet for me? Thought about the stretch of my cock inside you— your mouth, your ass?” Midoriya responds absentmindedly, strong jaw clenched as he lifts you up by the hips, keeping you bent over until your face is smashed into the sheets, bunny ears alert and twitching as he rubs them soothingly. He tuts, sliding his hands down to your ass and spreading the thick cheeks apart wide. He’s met with your overstimulated hole, sloppy and needy as it winks up at him. “Or is this a cunt, honey? Made for breeding? It already looks like you’re gushing.”

He’s partly grateful you’re not positioned to face him, a sharp shade of red dusting his matured cheeks as you nod and press your ass down into his palms. Your thighs are sticky and soaked with lube, must’ve been leaking out of you since you’d gotten up to greet him. Your voice sounds whiny and high, ears bouncing with each downward thrust you make, bouncing against his hands like you’re trying to fuck yourself on his cock, despite it not being out yet.

“ ‘Zuku, ‘Zuku, ‘Zuku,” It’s a mantra of sorts, loud and rushing blood straight down south to Izuku’s stiff cock. You can’t think of anything but him, the stretch of your entrance as he pushes himself impossibly deep into your guts, the feeling of his hand supporting your tummy so he can feel himself sliding in and out of you, the praise that leaves his lips when he’s shooting a load into you, keeping you still on his dick until it finally stops spurting. “Ohh.”

“I think it is, baby,” Izuku purrs, letting you grind against his cock for contact when he removes the warmth of his hands, undoing his fly to free himself from his boxers. He’ll start off quick for now, just to get you coherent again, then fuck you nice and slow, how you deserve it, once you’ve had a load to nurse. He lines himself up quickly, tracing your entrance with the fat head of his dick. “All mine, right? Barely fits, even after all that training you’ve been doing. C’mere, honey. Feel.”

His other hand takes yours to trail it down your hips and past your ass, dipping into the crevice of your ass until your fingertips are pressed against your hole, dipping into the entrance as his cock is slapped against it. He’s right, it barely fits, fat and curved perfectly, you shed a few tears when he slips inside, your hole stretching around his length and swallowing him up despite the intrusion.

“Just gotta fuck it right, don’t I, pretty? Gotta use it nice and sweet, get you all pliant and dizzy just how you like it,” You’re nodding, lips parted and panting loudly against the sheets, drooling onto them and ultimately getting it all over your cheek, but you don’t care. Izuku’s cock is right there, inches away from being inside you, from breeding you and using you like you deserve.

“Did you know you have a really pretty hole, baby? Just as cute as your face!”

He sounds lewd, but it’s genuine. His dimpled smile is enough to tell you that, you can hear it in his voice, even if it’s a little ragged and breathless. He’s rambling again, something about pumping you full until you can’t do anything but twitch against the mattress, but it doesn’t matter. Not when his cock is pushing inside you, not when your own is starting to spurt out rope after rope of cum once he’s inside.

Your hole convulses around him, sucking him in deeper and deeper until it’s clenching around the base of his cock, his curly, dark pubes peeking out from his pants and resting against your ass. He uses you like a toy, rocks you up and down while you ride the wave of your millionth orgasm tonight, tongue rolled out of your mouth and ears droopy against your cheeks. Your pants rival the sound of his balls against your ass, a harsh smacking sound as he increases the speed of his strokes, groaning when you claw at the sheets for support.

“Fuck, you’ll take all my cum, won't you? Yeah, think it'll catch? All this hot, sticky cum inside you?”

Your ass crashes against him, shining under the dimly lit bedside lamp. Bunnies do what they do best, bouncing on and off his cock until you’re delirious, tears streaming down your handsome face. Izuku barely needs to touch your cock, instead meeting your bounces half way while he grabs your wrists, bending them behind your back for leverage. You sob, a pathetic, loud noise that has Izuku groaning soon after, and he knows you’re crying now.

Midoriya shoots deep inside you, thick, creamy ropes of cum pooling inside you just to seep out your puffy, abused hole. It spills over the sides of his cock, dropping down your thighs and your toes curl, a happy sound leaving your throat since you’re finally full.

But Izuku wants one more, just for safekeeping.

He spoons up the cum with his fingers, pushing it back into your hole alongside his sensitive cock, his head falling forward as he melts into you. He gets it now, the neediness, he wants to fuck you full, feel you tighten and squeeze down on his cock because you can’t take it, praise you for being such a good, warm hole for him and his big dick. He’s just as desperate as you, fucking the cum deeper against that sensitive bundle of nerves that makes you lose your voice.

“Say thank you, bunny. Aren’t you grateful for my cock? My cum inside you like you’ve always wanted? Fuck, I love this hole. Don’t forget your manners, baby.”

You’re responding before you can process the question, letting him manhandle you up and down on his cock, your overstimulated hole struggling to keep up with his pace. You'd fall flat on your face if it weren’t for his supportive hand, spread on your tummy and pressing into that delicious bump of his cock every time it fucks up into you.

“Th—ank you, thank you, ‘Zuku, love your cum n’my bunnyboy pussy.” And— oh, he never gets used to it, your sweet voice repeating his words with the promise of a few pats to the head, a scratch behind the ear, a kiss to the forehead. Izuku’s emerald eyes roll back in his head, his thrusts sloppy and unsteady as his balls tighten.

He’s cumming again before he knows it, the familiar clamp of your hole making his hips stutter as you cum too, collecting glob after glob of his cum inside you, feeling it stick to your gooey walls.

“Stay— stay ‘nside.” Your words are slurred, alert bunny ears now limp and tired as you lick your lips, shimmying down on Izuku’s spent cock. There’s a slight bias behind you, but the man doesn’t protest, instead grabbing you by the hips to resettle into a comfortable, spooning position, his hot skin already cooling by the second.

He’ll change later, maybe fuck you against the shower door if you can get up, but for now he’s content with holding you, even if his clothes are sticky and damp. His arm is behind your head, earning a small nuzzle as you sigh into his forearm.

If there’s one thing he’s sure of, it’s his love for you.

[myfictionaldreams]

Steddie x reader where reader is like leader of cheer squad (so ages match up) they love her in her outfit and definitely use it against her during sex. “Come on baby yell for us.” “Give us a D give us a A ….. DADDY.” “We won’t be able to hear you with a shout like that.”

Totally keeps the cheer outfit on too. Sorry just a quick thought.

Give me a D! // Steddie x Fem!Reader

A/N: thank you so so much for requesting this!!! I've changed it up a little bit to go with my Steddie series but I hope you enjoy it! sorry it's a little filthy

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, fluff, threesome, dom/sub, pet names, restraints, teasing, fingering, degradation, spit kink, praise kink, namecalling, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, hand job, deepthroating, hair pulling, overstimulation, creampie (x2), flexibility, safe word use (yellow), choking, daddy/sir kink, subspace, rough sex, aftercare!!

Words: 7.5k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

“Are you actually organising your stuff or are you just reading that old porn magazine again?” you yelled over your shoulder, not even needing to look at Steve to know what he was doing, he had been too quiet for too long. Your boyfriend confirmed your suspicions by slamming the magazine shut and dropping it into a cardboard box that had his name written on the side.

Despite the chaos in the living area caused by the numerous cardboard boxes, not much work had been achieved. Rolling your shoulders to ease the ache that had settled in the muscles from sitting in the same position for so long, you riffled through your belongings, sitting crossed-legged and hunched over. Even with this, you couldn't help but smile when Steve began to crawl over to you, shuffling closer. The affection grew to a toothy grin as Steve knelt tall behind your body, his face nuzzling into the side of your neck as his arms wrapped around your body.

“I still don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking for”, he grumbled, already bored even though all he’d been able to accomplish so far was opening up one box, finding the porn magazine and flicking through idly until he was semi-hard in his jeans.

You tried not to roll your eyes and sigh as you explained to him, “Pick out anything that you don’t want anymore, I’ve told you this a hundred times now, Steve”.

As you continued to explore through your stuff, you were momentarily stopped as a warm hand cupped under your chin, tilting your face back until you were looking up at an upside-down Steve. “So sassy today”, he commented under his breath, closing the gap slowly to kiss your lips as his fingers stroked down your neck in lazy circles. Just as you were beginning to relax fully into the touch, leaning your weight further back into his firm body, did Steve pull away from the kiss, “So what am I looking for? And If you could explain without the sass that would be great”.

You had a coy smile as you explained as calmly as possible, “I want us to donate to the charity event this weekend that's helping to support the Hawkins attack a year and a half ago”. 

Steve’s hair shadowed his face as he seemed to think about everything he owned before deciding, “But I don’t have anything I want to donate”.

“Steve, you have more stuff than Eddie and me combined. I’m sure there’s something you can get rid of now please, move away and stop distracting me. This is why I’ve asked you to help me and not Eddie because you know that boy can not do one task without being distracted by something else”.

Thankfully for once, he did as you asked with a last lingering kiss to your chin before crawling over to another box, opening the lid and pausing at what he saw. Fabric in the colours green, white and yellow were folded nicely into a pile at the top of the box. He frowned before glancing at the side of the box, not realising he’d opened one of yours and low and behold, the words scribbled on the side were your name and hobbies. It was now Steve’s turn to bite his bottom lip to hold back the gleeful laugh he wanted to burst out with as he gently pinched the thin material of the shirt, lifting it to fully inspect the treasure he’d found.

Turning his body towards yours, he coughed to gain your attention, “I can’t believe you’ve still got this”.

“Hmm? What’s that?”, you only briefly glanced over your shoulder, not thinking anything much of what he could have found, you didn’t have anything exciting hidden away. Or so you thought as your eyes widen and your body instinctively turned towards him. “Where did you find that?” Reaching over, you tried to snatch it off of him but Steve held it back and out of your reach.

“Hey! Finders keepers and all that”, he paused, looking at the material with a questioning, thoughtful gaze before a shit-eating grin bloomed across his handsome face. “So, you kept it.”

The apples of your cheeks warmed as you contemplated what to say to stop Steve from looking at you like he’d just won the jackpot. Your mind, however, was blank of any thought so eventually you gave up and released a deep sigh, shoulders dropping as you explained, “Yes I kept my cheerleading uniform, my life revolved around it for years and I wanted to keep it as a for the memories”.

Steve glanced down at the top he held in his hands and then into the box where your skirt was still neatly folded, “Ah, the matching skirt”, he teased. 

“Shut up”, you mumbled, embarrassed and tried to snatch the shirt out of his hands but he swiftly stood and held it above his head, knowing you wouldn’t be able to reach it. You still tried though as you stood up on your tip toes to get back your uniform. Steve smirked at your pathetic attempts to reach for the top. “Please could you stop looking at me like that please, I’m embarrassed enough as it is”.

“Why would you be embarrassed? You were great at cheerleading from what I remember, weren’t you the head cheerleader for a while as well?”

Now not only were your cheeks warm but your entire body as he revealed that he remembered you from high school. “Yes I was until I was dropped and hit my head, why do you think I hate heights so much?”

Thankfully Steve didn’t tease you on this and even offered you a sad smile but as he inspected the uniform again, the taunting smile returned as one of his sleek eyebrows raised, “I’ll only give you this back if you go and try it on for me”.

You hoped your expression showed how much his idea was absolutely not happening. “Steve, I’m not putting that on”.

Steve took a step forward, hope twinkling in his warm-honey eyes as he pleaded, “Please, just once”.

With one last trick up his sleeve, he smiled down at you, giving you the look that always has your heartbeat quickening and butterflies tumbling in your stomach. You gave a reluctant sigh and he knew you had finally given in to his request. As you looked at the skirt in the box, you doubted, “I don’t think it’ll even fit anymore”.

Steve holds the top but the shoulders and presses it against your front, “Looks like it’ll fit just fine to me but even if it’s not for me, please just try it on for Eddie, and if they don’t fit into them then we’ll put them away and never mention anything about it again.”

“I don’t think Eddie would enjoy me wearing this”, you mused, picking up the uniform and taking the top off of Steve.

Your boyfriend frowned at your statement, “Why not? I think he’d love it”.

“Because it’s a reminder of all the assholes who used to bully him at school”.

Steve leans close to you, his breath fanning across your lips, “Please Baby, we’ll both love it, I promise”.

“If I have to wear it, does that mean you’ll get to wear whatever I’d like to wear another time?”

Steve didn’t even need a second to contemplate before agreeing to your terms, “Deal”.

Deciding it was easier to get changed out of Steve’s grabby hands, you raced to the bathroom and began to try on your old uniform. Even though you were able to get the top and skirt on, it was still tighter than it used to be due to not having to be exercising as rigorously as you used to and the tightness meant that it was a little bit shorter. Revealing the bare skin of your waist and nearly all of your thighs. As well s this, because you didn't have the special undergarments like you used to that matched the same shade of green as the uniform, if you so much as bent over the slightest bit, your lacy blue underwear would be revealed.

You looked more like you’d bought a cheerleading outfit from a cheap dress-up store than this being the official high-school uniform you used to cherish on a daily basis. Sighing for what felt like the hundredth time, you looked yourself over one more time in the bathroom mirror and stepped out of the bathroom.

“Here she is, head cheerleader for Hawkins High School, ready to woo the boys”, Steve hollers at you before his voice trailed off as he fully took in your appearance from where he sat on the couch. One word to describe how he was exploring your body with his eyes was: hungry. It even made you a little self-conscious as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other and awkwardly crossed your arms to cover your chest. “The socks makes the outfit even more special Babe”.

Looking down at your body, you shuffled your feet that still had the pink fluffy socks that you’d had on all day. The tension eased slightly from your shoulders just as Steve begins to stand.

“Eddie’s going to lose his fucking mind when he sees you”, Steve mutters to himself, moving ever so slowly closer and then around you, taking in every inch of the outfit until he stops in front of you again.

Looking up at him through your lashes, you ask, “Happy now?”

Steve’s full lips part like he was going to answer but he snaps them shut and slowly smirks instead, lifting his hands to stroke his fingers across your exposed midriff, his eyes never left yours though. “I’m very happy right now, Princess”. The low, husky tone he speaks in as your thighs clench together as arousal pools in your core. Steve noticed the movement of your legs, his eyes darkening beneath the strand of hair that had fallen across his forehead.

Neither of you say anything, not when his fingers seemed to be doing all of the talking as he inched them over your top until resting against your nipple that was physically peaked beneath the thin material. You’d not bothered to put on a bra today seeing as you weren’t planning on leaving the trailer today and with the uniform being tight, it only accentuated the outline of your breasts and most importantly your hard nipples.

Steve looked like he was a second away from snapping and you wanted nothing more than for him to do such a thing, especially as he presses his thumb down on the peak, causing you to release the breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding.

The heavy screech of Eddie’s van tyres snapped you both away from the heated moment. You quickly turned on the spot, stepping back towards the bathroom with the intent of changing back into the clothes you were just wearing. Steve on the other hand had other ideas as he caught your wrist and tugged you back to his chest, your other wrist was then easily manouvered to join the other so now both of your wrists were pinned behind your back as you faced the front door to the trailer.

“Steve, please I need to go and get changed”, you chastised over your shoulder as you heard Eddie’s happy whistling as he clambered out of his van.

“Why? I told you he’s going to love it”.

“He won’t, I know he won’t, you don’t understand how badly they all treated him”.

“You’re being dramatic Babe, just wait and see”, he continues to be at ease over the situation and his eyes were almost gleaming when Eddie finally stepped through the door, the whistle tune stopping as he stared at you and Steve.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his eyes exploring your outfit just as hungrily as Steve's.

Before Steve could answer, you quickly blurted out, “Steve found my old uniform and made me try it on and I was trying to go and change it but he wouldn’t let me”.

Eddie steps closer, only stopping when he was close enough that you could smell the recent cigarette on his work clothes and breath, something you used to detest but now reminded you so much of him. His chocolate brown eyes devoured your body, moving slowly and not revealing whether he was happy or pissed off.

Gently, he pressed two of his fingers against the tip of your chin, tilting it up so that you were both face to face. “Why would you think I wouldn’t want to see you wearing this?” he asked with an eerie calm that had your nerves still on edge.

“I... I didn’t think you’d want to be reminded of high school or the people I used to cheer with”, you explained in a soft voice, trying to sound sympathetic.

Eddie’s eyes widen for a split second and then his gaze hardened, his fingers remaining against your chin to keep your face in place, “I don’t care about them, I only care about you. Even if you were playing basketball with that prick Jason, I’d still want to know everything about it, Angel”.

This right here was one of the reasons you had fallen so quickly in love with Eddie Munson. He was so selfless and caring with also the edge of being dominant and demanding with his stance, it always made you feel like you wanted to melt into the floor with how gooey your insides felt.

“Eddie”, you whispered lovingly, about to tell him just how much you cared for him but he cut off any words as he continued to talk, his voice low and rugged.

“I always watched you during practice, you know, from a distance”. This admission had you slightly taken aback, you knew of Steve and Eddie, everyone knew of them at school. Steve Harrington the heartthrob and Eddie the freak Munson, but you never dared to speak to either, just admiring from the back of classrooms or lingering glances at the end of the corridors for two opposing men you thought didn’t even know your name until you’d met them at work. Eddie noticed your shocked expression as he continued to explain, “Just because we didn’t talk at school, doesn’t mean I didn’t notice you, Sweetheart, always up in the air with this little skirt, but of course, I’d never look”, he teased, pulling a smile from the corner of your lips.

“You might not have, but I certainly did”, Steve whispered into your ear from behind you, where he was still holding your arms behind your back. You tried to turn and look at him, also shocked that he had been watching you whilst at school as well but Eddie firmly held your jaw so you were forced to continue to look into his pretty eyes.

“Such a perv”, Eddie taunts as he flicked his gaze towards Steve and finally releases your face so that he could reach for his boyfriend, hand cupping the back of his head and pulling him forward for a searing kiss. Steve groaned deep in his chest which vibrated against your back as he tried to also move closer to Eddie which forced your front against the other man's chest.

A high-pitched noise bubbled from the back of your throat as you were thoroughly squished between the two of them. Eddie pulled back first, releasing his grip on Steve to rest it against your hip as he took a tiny step back to look down at you once more, his lower lip sticking out condescendingly. “Aw, is our sweet little cheerleader feeling lonely?”

Shivering under his intense gaze, you tried to pull your arms out of Steve’s hold but to no avail as he continued to hold tightly, his thumb occasionally stroking against the soft skin of your inner wrist, giving you some comfort.

Eddie’s eyes roamed over your outfit, his fingers beginning to explore your body just as Steve’s had, His fingertips were rough and hard as he began at your hairline, stroking back a strand of hair that had blurred your vision. Slowly and with intent, he moved over your cheekbone, down your jaw and throat, caressing your collarbones as he finally grazed the tops of your breast, pressing down firmly over your still-perked nipples, causing more noises to come from you. The colours of his eyes seemed to darken further at your noise but he continued on his journey, teasing over the exposed skin at your waistline, down your hip and only pausing when he reached the bottom of your shortened skirt.

You were breathing hot, heavy breaths with the anticipation of his fingers delving beneath your skirt and against your ticklish inner thighs, reaching the edge of your panties, pushing them aside so that he could stroke a single finger between your folds.

“So wet for us already, our horny little cheerleader, aren’t you?” he mused, spreading your juices up to your clit. Your hips bucked against his movements, wanting to feel more of him, mewling pathetically as you raised onto your tip toes with the hope that he would see how much you wanted him.

Thankfully he was happy to oblige to your whimpers as he circled your clit, not applying much pressure but just feeling the roughness of his guitar-playing fingers was enough to satisfy. Your head lulls back against Steve’s chest, eyes closed as you allowed Eddie to play between your legs.

Eddie watched you intensely, his cock almost painful inside of his black jeans at watching how hot you looked succumbing to his touches. “Always wanted to do this”, he mused, “How scandalous would it be, the head cheerleader with the school freak”.

That word split through your pleasured bubble as your eyebrows furrowed, looking up at Eddie as you remarked, “Not a freak, Eddie”.

“Ah, but I am a freak when it comes to you”, his eyes twinkled in the late afternoon light, a smile forming on his face and deepening his dimples as he raised his other hand to grip your cheeks, squishing your lips together and forcing them to open. “Wider”, he demanded with a tilt of his head. You opened your mouth wide, sticking your tongue out, knowing exactly what he was going to do, it was degrading and dirty but when Eddie started to tip into this dominant head space, there was nothing you wouldn’t do for him.

Eddie spat into your mouth, the saliva landing on your tongue where you immediately swallowed it, tasting him and cigarettes. You never used to like doing this but seeing the look on Eddie’s face, the blush that crawled up his neck as his arousal peaked and the praises you knew were sure to come, it only turned you on more to have such a degrading act done.

“So fucking good to me, aren’t you? Swallowing my spit like a pretty angel, such a good girl, our good girl”, every word went straight to your core, causing your pussy to throb and clench and hips to move faster, wanting him, needing him. Eddie observes you for a second, looking as if he was going to combust right then and there before he retracted his fingers from your clit and down to your hole and brought his attention to Steve. “Want to feel how wet she is?”

Steve didn’t say a single word as he continued to hold your wrists behind your back with one hand and whilst looking down your shoulder, he slipped his other hand under your skirt and down the front of your panties. The two of them moved at the same time, Steve circling your clit and Eddie pushing a single digit into your pussy, moving in and out in time with Steve’s circles.

“You are soaked Princess, is that just for us?” Steve asked in a low tone whilst rutting his hips into your palms so you could feel his erection in his jeans.

“Always for you two ”, you sound breathless as you continue to look up at Eddie and lean your upper body against Steve for support as your thighs were shaking with all the stimulation between your legs.

Steve chuckles in your ear, biting the lobe for a second before mocking, “Our slutty little cheerleader”. You mewl at the name, usually, your praise kink needed to be stroked just as much as your pussy but today, standing between them, the spitting and the names were welcomed to create a scenario of breaking the rules with the outfit you were wearing. 

Eddie noticed just how much you enjoyed this as well as your hole clenched around his middle finger. The curly-haired man chuckled down at you whilst licking his bottom lip, “Oh, you like it when he calls you that? What are you thinking about right now, Sweetheart?”

Your mind is buzzing, skin prickling with heat as the boxes and plan to organise had been long forgotten about. “I’m imagining us, in the janitor's store room, we’re hiding from everyone but, I could see you both as I’m performing and I’m so desperate for you both, so wet, so needy, I want you to touch me - ah, right there! Please don’t stop-”.

Your rambling becomes incoherent as Eddie added a second finger, curling them against your pleasurable nerves inside your pussy as Steve pressed harder against your clit, increasing in speed. Everything felt so good, you wish you could tell them how good your body felt, how much you needed them, wanted them but your tongue felt too heavy.

“So naughty”, Steve mumbled into the shell of your ear. You can smell his hair as it stroked your cheek, the lemon shampoo and the copious amounts of the hairspray that he’d used.

Eddie’s masterful fingers curled and pumped inside of you, the hand on your face squeezing once more forcing your mouth to open again so that your moans split out without any restraint as you felt the beautiful spark between your legs. “You gonna cum for us, pretty slut? I can feel you tightening around my fingers”.

“Ye-Yes, please can I cum? I can’t- I can’t hold it, I need…”, your words were blurring together and Eddie chuckled at how desperate you looked. However, his condescending laugh was the complete opposite of his sweet touch as he kissed your temple once, “You can cum for us, been so good for us so far, haven’t you, that’s it, around my fingers, cum for us”.

The two of them encouraged you through your orgasm, your insides burning with pleasure, knees trembling and struggling to keep you upright as your boyfriends coaxed your orgasm as far as it could go before you slumped fully against Steve.

Your eyes had clenched close in the process so you didn’t see Eddie sucking on his soaked fingers but you certainly heard his dirty moans before he again tilted your face so that he could kiss the tip of your nose in a second of comfort before his hard exterior returned.

“Do you wanna show me how much you missed me today?” Eddie asked whilst releasing your face.

Opening your eyes, you knew you probably looked a mess, eyes glazed, unsteady on your feet but his words were like more praises as your mouth began to water of its own accord as you moaned, “Yes, please”.

Eddie’s eyes latch onto Steve as the man behind you released his hold on your wrists and immediately you were dropping to your knees, the carpet comforting against your skin. Eddie stepped closer, his crotch now at eye level as your fingers fumbled to undo his chained belt, the metal clanging as you raced to try and get to the area you wanted most. You could feel his cock, throbbing in the confines of his jeans and boxers as his belt opened, the button was undone and the zipper was down. You push his clothes down over his hips until his cock was bobbing in front of you.

He was rock hard, the tip a darker shade of pink compared to the shaft and already leaking beads of precum. Without wasting a second to tease him like you usually did, your lips wrapped around his cock, tasting the salty goodness and lapping it up with a few licks before taking more of his length to the back of your throat and sucking. Eddie sucked in a quick breath, his thighs clenching under where your hands rested against them as he quickly grabbed the back of your head.

You’re still crowded around them both, kneeling between them and shaking slightly from your orgasm but the adrenaline of it all had your throat relaxing, desperate to please him just as much as he’d pleased you, taking more and more of his length until his curly hair at the base of his cock was nearly brushing against your nose.

Eddie was cursing and shaking nearly as much as you as his hands disappear from the back of your head. Glancing back up at him as you bob your head up and down on his cock, you could see Steve and Eddie making out.

Their lips and tongues clashed together, both their hands trying to undress one another, needing to feel each other’s naked bodies. Eddie was swifter and more skilled with removing clothes as he had Steve’s jeans pushed down his hips and his hand wrapped around his cock and pumping with long strokes. Steve gasps, his eyes closed as he leaned his forehead against Eddie’s mouth hanging open as he thrust into Eddie’s palm before his fingers delved into the soft curls and pulled him into another burning kiss.

The position you were in was hot, sweat dripping down your temple and spine beneath your uniform, especially as the two men removed the remaining of their clothes from above you continued to become more heated with their kisses and touches. Neither deem to dominate the other which always seemed to be the case when the three of you were intimate, they were both in charge but had different ways in which they displayed this.

Eddie’s fist increased his speed as he pulled back and looked down at you on your knees still. “You look so pretty on your knees for me”, you smiled around his cock and sucked him harder, causing his hips to jut forward. “Shit! Do that again, you can take more of me I know you can”.

You loved seeing the competition in his eyes as you raised slightly up, taking a deep breath through your nose and sucked him harder and tried to swallow his entire length, gagging but keeping him there wanting to pleasure him, even as your eyes filled with tears. Eddie always liked to push your limits but you try and relax to not overwhelm yourself as his bush again tickled your nose.

“Angel, I’m going to cum already if you do that again”, Eddie admits as he watches Steve hold back your hair that was damp with sweat. Hearing those words from Eddie, only drove you to make him cum, wanting to taste his seed so you moved faster, sucking his heavy cock with more power and need.

Eddie on the other hand did not appreciate this as he released Steve’s cock to grab his hand instead, pulling your hair back harshly so that you were moved off of his cock and you couldn’t help but grin up at him, a string of salviia conneting your lips and his cock. Eddie was flushed and breathing heavily as he stared down at you. “Didn’t say I wanted to cum did I?”, he retorted at you.

However, it was Steve who spoke next, breathing just as heavily as Eddie. “You know, I used to remember her being one of the loudest during cheer, why don’t we try it out?”

Frowning at his idea, embarrassed by the thought of having to shout whatever it is that they had in mind, you tried and pull against their hold on their head to return sucking of Eddie but they held onto you firmly. “I guess you’re right, can’t cheer with my cock in your mouth. Why don’t we try something else, stand up for us, Sweetheart”.

Eddie and Steve release your hair and firmly grip under your arms, helping you to stand and steady yourself with how wobbly your legs now felt after being on your knees for so long. “Come here, Honey”, Steve instructs, his strong hands still supporting you as he now smiled down at you. 

Then you’re completely hypnotised by Steve as he presses his lips to yours, slowly and deeply kissing and tasting you, moaning as hints of Eddie coated Steve’s tongue as he pushes it into your mouth. With his distraction, you were hardly aware of his wandering hands as they reached under your skirt and pushed the flimsy material of your panties down until they rested at your thighs.

It was only when his hand spanked your arse did you pull away from his mouth to gasp loudly at the sting that settled across the soft skin of your cheek. Steve spanked again, the noise sharp in your ears as he then massaged the area before turning you around so that you were facing Eddie, “I need to feel you, Princess”.

Steve rested a heavy hand against your shoulder, pushing your upper body against Eddi’es so your face rested against his warm chest and your skirt was lifted to expose your ass to him.  Steve curses taking in the sight of you slightly bent over, all pretty and cock drunk and waiting for him to fuck you. With his cock still wet from your lips, he reached down, sliding his hips closer to yours and slowly eased his cock into your soaked pussy.

“Ah- Steve!”, your moans were like sweet music to his ear as he slowly begins to rock his hips, his hands massaging your hips before one clenched into your hair, yanking your head back so pain flashes through your scalp. You love it however as you clench tighter around him, even at the odd angle that your neck is not bent, exposing the front of it to Eddie as you held on tightly to his shoulders so that you didn’t topple over.

“That’s better!”, Eddie encourages as he strokes the back of his finger against your cheek, wiping some salvia that had dribbled there. “Now, where were we? Oh yes! Come on Angel, yell for us”.

Your silence was enough that Steve stopped fucking you, his lips hovering over your ear as you whimpered at him to keep going. “You want me to carry on, then you’re going to listen to Eddie, understood?”

“Yes, I understand”, you whined whilst trying to rock yourself back on Steve’s cock.

“Good”, Steve began moving in and out of you once more, his hips snapping against yours as he spoke. “Give me a D, give me an A, give me a D D Y!”

Your body trembled with embarrassment but you did just as instructed, “D A D D Y”, you mumbled in a half-assed volume.

Eddie shook his head, “We won’t be able to hear you with a shout like that”, he chastised. “Again! And louder this time so that everyone in the trailer park can hear”.

With each snap of Steve’s hips, you shouted a letter until you were hollering the word DADDY loud enough that the neighbours were sure to hear. Eddie was loving it with how hard his cock was throbbing in front of you, especially looking over your shoulder and seeing how flushed Steve was as he continued to fuck you as you shouted the nickname that you liked to call him during intimate moments like this.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Now what about me?” Eddie mocked before he lifted your cheerleading top, exposing your breasts of which he promptly dropped his height to suck on each of your nipples in turn. Your nails dug into his shoulders as his teeth nipped harshly on the peak, then licked the pain away. 

You let out a quivering moan as you work up the courage to shout, S I R, with Steve’s thrusts. Eddie laughs around your breast at your pathetic attempts but knew you were teetering on the edge of going too far with his degradation so he sweetly kissed the side of your stomach. “Doing so well for us Angel, taking Steve’s cock like that, doing everything we tell you to. Jesus H. Christ, how did we get so lucky?”

You mewl at the praises, starting to feel overwhelmed at the harsh touches of your hair still being pulled on, your breasts being groped and played with by Eddie and the cock that was desperately fucking your cunt, causing loud squelches from how wet you were. But then there were his words, the little kisses from both of your boyfriends and despite all of the degrading and teasing, you still held so much affection and love for them both. You wanted to tell them just how much you adored them however the words that tumbled from your lips were an incoherent mess.

“I…I - Lov- Want you- Need you-”, there were almost tears forming in your eyes with how frustrated you were getting with yourself for not being able to tell them how much you loved them. Steve and Eddie didn’t need to hear though as they simultaneously kisses the closest body part, Steve your shoulder and Eddie your sternum.

“I know Honey, it’s a lot, isn’t it? You’re doing amazing Baby, wanna cum on my cock?”

“Yes…please”, you sob, clinging to Eddie as he began to move lower, your hands now holding onto his hair.

“Always so polite”, Eddie chuckles as he watches Steve slow his thrusts but only so he could fuck you deeply and each stroke caressed every single nerve in your pussy. This was then when the long-haired man spread your legs further apart which was limited by the panties still around your thighs but it gave him just enough room to dip his head down and lick your clit.

You weren’t able to ask for permission to cum as you saw stars, breath catching in your throat as your whole body shivered and throbbed with your orgasm. Once again they both had to hold you up as your cunt spasmed around Steve’s cock and he tipped his head back trying not to cum but it was no use. “Shit, sh-it, you’re so tight Baby, I’m cumming, that’s it, take it all!”. You could feel his cum spurting into your cunt, coating your walls and dripping out of the edge and down your thighs.

You all but slumped forward completely onto Eddie as he finally stood back up. Steve on the other hand had pulled out of you and was removing your panties completely from your body, using two fingers to push his cum back into your still fluttering hole. Eddie admired your dazed face for a second before stroking your hair away from your ear, “Shall we show Steve just how flexible you are?”

Giving him a simple nod, Eddie walks you over to the couch, lying you down on your back, your breasts still exposed and your skirt now bunched around your waist. Eddie gives you a proud smile, leaning down to kiss you softly and sweetly, a touch that had you craving more and groaning as he moved away. His rings were cool against your thighs as he began to push your legs back until your knees were by your shoulders.

In this position and basically being folded in half, you could see how soaked your pussy and the tops of your thighs were with your juices and feel Steve’s cum oozing out and down over your asshole. “Can’t let that go to waste now can we?” Eddie mumbles, dipping down and licking up the cum and swallowing it all. You and Steve groaned desperately at the sight before you’re being distracted as Eddie knelt properly over you and began to slide his cock into your cunt.

Eddie holds you down and fucks you fast and hard, the cushions of the couch springing your body up and down which only helped with his momentum. At one point Steve stood behind you and began to hold down your legs so that Eddie could stroke your clit in rough swipes.

Your orgasm hit you like a train, and as you were being held down, you couldn't wither and move to release the tension that was pulsing through you. It was so thoroughly intense that you couldn’t even form words anymore but Eddie kept going, fucking you through your orgasm that it formed into another. However, this time, as he fucked you hard and deep, his tip brushing against your cervix and g-spot with each thrust, it was too overwhelming for you and everywhere between your legs felt too sensitive.

As the next orgasm clenches through you, your moans stutter as you struggle to catch your breath and when your face clenches tightly and the noises coming from your mouth change, was when Eddie notice that you might have been too overwhelmed.

Eddie grabs your chin, forcing you to look towards him but your eyes are closed so he leans down to kiss your nose. “What’s your colour, Sweetheart?”

“Ye-yel-yello-”, you can’t even form the word properly but he understands enough. Steve releases your legs, easing them on either side of Eddi’es body as he crowds down around you, like an overheated cocoon, the small space helping to ground you. The two of you catch your breaths as Steve strokes your hair away from your face where it nuzzled into Eddie’s neck.

“Want me to pull out?” Eddie asks, kissing your cheek gently and pushing up on his hands so that he could look at your face again where it's a lot more relaxed than it had been.

“No, No I just need a second”, you explained, feeling too sensitive that you didn’t want him to move anything down there, knowing the sensation would pass in a moment, just needed to calm down enough that you wanted to continue. If you’d shouted red, he knew to pull out and find out what was hurting or scaring you but when you said yellow, it was mostly because you just needed a moment before it became too overwhelming.

Eddie and Steve continue to hold you for a couple of minutes and after taking a deep breath, you dared to open flutter open your eyes and look at both men. “I’m ok, it just felt like a lot but I’m green, I promise”.

Steve gives you an upside down kiss from where he stood over you both and then Eddie drops down kisses down your neck, moving his hips slowly, being careful like you were fragile and close to breaking but you appreciated the careful movements. However as your arousal quickly builds again, you’re wanting it harder and faster.

Reaching behind you for Steve’s hand, you placed it around your neck, wanting him to choke you which he did with a deep chuckle as your legs wrapped tightly around Eddie’s hips, encouraging him as well. Eddie didn’t need to be told twice and he was soon fucking you vigorously as Steve applied the slightest bit of pressure, not enough that you were struggling to breathe but enough to have you feeling light and dizzy.

“Look so pretty like this beneath me, taking my cock so well, I’m gonna cum now Angel, you gonna take it all like a good girl?”

“Yes Sir”, you gasp as he shifted his hips and began to fuck directly into your g-spot. Instantly your legs dropped open as you were once more overwhelmed with pleasure and cumming with Eddie who grunted just as loudly as you moaned through each of your orgasms.

As soon as he stopped spilling his seed, he pulled out and moved away but was swiftly replaced by Steve who sat back on the couch and pulled your trembling body into his arms. You’re still moaning, clenching and shivering as he holds you close, lips against your temple as he whispered sweet praises to you, “Did so well for both of us, so proud of you babe, we’re gonna look after you ok? Just take a few deep breaths for me, I need you to slow you breathing down, that’s it, well done”. 

You hadn’t even realised just how panicked your body was reacting to being overstimulated and thoroughly fucked, drifting into a submissive space of needing the comfort of their warm bodies. Each word that Steve spoke, you mentally clung onto, slowing your breathing down which in turn settled your disorientated mind.

You were still shaking as if you were cold, even though you were still half-dressed in the cheerleader uniform as you nuzzled into his neck, breathing in his smell. This was when another pair of hands rested against your thighs, easing them open slightly. “Careful Sweetheart, just going to clean you”. Even though Eddie was soft and tender with his touches, you still couldn’t help from flinching at the contact of the warm cloth stroking over your puffy, used pussy. “All done, now I need you to drink this for us”.

You turn your head towards the voice and then a glass is pressed against your lips, opening your mouth, Eddie helps you to drink the glass of water before you once more nuzzle into Steve. “Are you in pain?” the man holding you asks. You’re still feeling floaty so you try and shake your head, not wanting them to worry, only wanting to make them happy.

“I need to hear your words, Baby, you know that”, Steve continues, sitting up slightly so that you're forced to move away from his neck.

“N-No”, you whisper, giving the automatic answer but then you really thought about it, especially as the adrenaline began to wear off.

Eddie and Steve noted the stutter and shared a worried look. “You sure about that?” Eddie asked, his fingers interlocking with yours, another move to help ground you to the moment rather than getting lost between whether you were still in a dom/sub scene or the reality that it was over.

“N-no, I’m not sure”, you admit after a couple of minutes.

“Talk to us, what are you not sure about? Where does it hurt?” Steve encouraged.

“I have a tummy ache”, finally you admit, feeling a dull throb in your stomach, almost like a light period cramp.

“Sorry Sweetheart, did I go too hard?” Eddie asks guilty, his doe eyes wide with worry.

“No, you didn’t go too hard, I mean, I liked it”, you say, finally opening your eyes and smiling sweetly at him. Perking your lips Eddie got the hint and leaned forward for a gentle kiss before he stood and walked into the open kitchen area. A couple more minutes passed as the moisture that had formed on your skin began to cool, you shivered as a calm gust of air brushed over your body. Eddie returned then, with a hot water bottle which he pressed against your stomach, some pain relief that you took, a blanket and a bag of chips that Steve helped you to eat after taking a greedy handful for yourself.

“Was everything else ok?” Steve asked with a mouth full of snacks.

“Yeah, everything else was great”, you answer honestly and tiredly against his shoulder, still feeling limp in your body.

“What about needing a break? What happened there?” Eddie asked as he sat next to Steve, behind your back, crowding in close to you both once more.

“Just felt like a little too much, I knew I just needed a break, I wouldn’t have asked you to do anything differently”.

“What about you? Everything ok with you?” Steve asks Eddie as he feeds him a couple of chips.

“Yeah, everything was perfect with me, you?” Eddie asks, smiling genuinely at his boyfriend.

“Yeah, everything is perfect with me too”. The boys lean in and kiss each other slowly before Steve leans back with an idea, “Shall we go out for some food? I’ve heard there’s a new Italian a couple of blocks away from Nancy’s.”

You frown and open your eyes to look up to Steve who was now looking down at you with a shit-eating grin then you realise he was joking. “Funny Stevie, I don’t think I’m going to be on my feet any time soon but food does sound good and more than just chips”.

“How about I order in? Pretty sure I’ve got a couple of coupons in my car”, Steve manhandled and shuffled your body until you were in Eddie’s arms who was now dressed in so grey joggers and Steve rushed to the bedroom to find his own, then out of the front door to go to his car.

Snuggling in close to Eddie, feeling the heaviness of sleep starting to take over your body. That is until he whispers against your hair, “I bet you ten bucks you’re asleep before he comes back”.

Your eyes snap open as you look up at him, fighting sleep as you confidently responded, “You’re on Munson”.

[hwangyu]

airplane fun time!

you're feeling needy on the airplane

pairing; dom!beomgyu x afab reader

warnings; dom beom, kind of mean? sub reader, afab but no female pronouns (please lmk if i accidentally wrote any</3) reader likes the thought of others watching her and beom teases them about it, degradation, beom calls reader whore x2, semi public sex, the other boys are mentioned to be in the same space multiple times, …poorly written smut, perhaps a little bland? lmk if i forgot anything :( not proofread. 18+, minors and ageless/blank blogs, dni

wc; 1.3k

You figured the first class flight you were lucky enough to take with your boyfriend was going to be nice and relaxing. Which it was…sort of, you didn't entirely foresee being horny for the entire thing.

Okay, maybe not the entire thing, if that were the case, you may actually die. But it's only been three hours in a thirteen hour flight and all you've done is hide the way you're rubbing your knees together with a white, fluffy blanket whilst staring ahead of you and daydreaming about how you wish your boyfriend, who was sat right next to you, would touch you.

It wouldn't be so bad. If you were alone. You can't exactly start begging your boyfriend to fuck you while his friends are all in the same room, however. Regardless of if they're distracted by a movie or sleeping.

God, why did Beomgyu have to be a good, considerate boyfriend at this exact moment in time, is what you thought when you felt his hand on your blanket covered knee—snapping you out of your wet daydream to look at the man who was looking at you with slight worry in his precious eyes.

"Are you okay, baby?" Beomgyu asked you softly, "You can rest if you're tired." he added and the way he was looking at you almost had you feeling guilty about all of the things you were just thinking about him.

You swallowed, offering a small smile and placing your hand on top of his, running your thumb over his knuckles to reassure him because you were about to lie straight through your teeth. "N-No, I'm okay. Thank you, sweetheart."

Despite your 'almost guilty' feelings, your thoughts about Beomgyu pulling you into his lap and fucking you right there in the airplane seat snuck their way back to the front of your mind and looking at him seemed to be making it worse. Obviously.

He smiled back at you but he clearly wasn't convinced. You were stupid to think that of all people, your boyfriend wouldn't notice that you weren't entirely paying attention. It's embarrassing but Beomgyu always seems to have a hunch about how you're feeling from your body language or facial expressions. You were kind of giving him the win on this one, though, considering your half-lidded eyes.

His smile turned into a smirk and his grip on your knee tightened. "It's not nice to lie to your boyfriend."

Your mouth fell ajar and you blinked—for a second, you thought about insisting that you weren't, that you really were fine, but with a second of extra thought…you decided not to. You chose to be honest.

"It's— it's just…embarrassing."

"No need to be embarrassed, pretty." Beomgyu grinned. "You know I always love making you feel good." He tilted his head and whispered, "Tell me, baby, you want me to touch you?"

Your grip on his hand tightened before it loosened and you relaxed in the seat. "Y-Yes, but— what about, you know," You frowned, "The boys?"

He blinked, like he had forgotten himself that you two weren't alone. Either that or he didn't care and you were suspecting it was the later as he tore his eyes from you to check what the others were doing, and seeing they were still all distracted, he looked back to you.

"Guess you'll just have to be quiet then, huh?"

It wasn't a question, that much you knew. You licked your lips and nodded slowly, unsure how quiet you'll really be able to stay but you're far too worked up not to risk it right now. You squirm in your seat as Beomgyu shoves his hand underneath the white blanket that was covering your legs and into your pants.

Pressing his fingers against your panties, he chuckled feeling how wet you were. You huffed, embarrassed, and Beomgyu couldn't help but tease you further, you were just too cute.

"All this just from thinking about me, huh?" He kept his voice low. "I wonder what you were thinkin' about that got you like this…bet it was a lot of things, was it?"

His questions were rhetorically, thankfully, you knew because he didn't push you for an answer and he slid your panties to the side—running his middle finger up your slit, coating it in your juices before he pushed into your hole and watched you sigh in relief.

"That's right, baby, just relax." He whispered, pumping his finger in and out of your cunt slowly and seeing the way you were already trying to keep quiet had his ego soaring. "M-More, Gyu, please." You begged, voice shaky.

Beomgyu hummed, turning his head away from you and for a moment, you panicked, thinking that he wasn't going to give you what you want or worse, just stop touching you entirely.

Thankfully, this was proven wrong as you felt him push another finger inside of you. You bit hard at your lip to stifle the moan that had desperately wanted to escape from your throat, you grabbed the armrest of your seat to dig your nails into in hopes that it'd help you hold back your sounds.

But that soon proved itself to be hard as Beomgyu curled his fingers inside of you. Fuck, did you love his hands—they felt perfect. They always did and it was starting to make you forget that you two weren't entirely alone.

He continued to fuck his fingers into you and you prayed that no one could hear the quiet squelching sound that was coming from underneath your blanket or maybe you didn't really care anymore, you weren't sure as a small moan made it past your lips which had Beomgyu looking back at you again.

"I told you to stay quiet, baby. Unless you want all of the boys thinking that you're slut? I have no problem fucking you out here, right in front of them." He teased and your cheeks burned red while you shook your head. "No, no! Please, s-sorry, 'm sorry." You quietly apologized but the way you began to clench around his fingers was giving away the fact that you weren't as against that idea as you were trying to make it seem.

"Are you sure you don't?" Beomgyu smirked, "I told you it's not nice to lie to your boyfriend. You really want me to bend you over, let all of them how much of a whore you are for me? Let them see how well I fuck your pretty cunt?"

You let out a small whine, sliding your hand underneath the white blanket to start circles around your clit. It was embarrassing that his words were pushing you over the edge, but you didn't have the time to let yourself think about it, too focused on the feeling of your high being so close.

"Gyu," You breathed out. "Please, please, fuck. 'M gonna cum." You squeaked, and he chuckled. "How cute, gonna cum at the thought of the others knowing how much of a whore you are. Just proves my point, don't you think?"

Squeezing your eyes shut, you brought your hand up to your mouth to bite at your thumb in an attempt to quiet yourself as you arched your back off the seat and came all over his fingers. "That's it, let it out." Beomgyu cooed, the pace of his fingers slowing down.

You took a deep breath and you opened your eyes again to look at him, feeling a little tired from your orgasm—letting your hand fall back down onto the armrest, Beomgyu smiled softly at you as he pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his mouth, licking his fingers clean.

The sight made you gulp and suddenly, you weren't tired anymore. You opened your mouth to speak, but Beomgyu had beat you to it, leaning in to whisper into your ear.

"Bathroom. Now."

a/n; ive never been on a plane before let alone mfkn first class so im sorry ...i started writing this like a week ago but didnt finish it until now so im also sorry if its super stinky 😭😭 those airport pics got me fucked up tho ... also if the formatting gets fucked up i will cry real tears. PART 2 IF IM FEELING SNAZZYY

[florihye]

୨୧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀MY STAR. ♡⠀⠀──⠀⠀in which you're his star during dull nights.

朴成勋 ⟢ ⠀ wc627 ❜ warnings?! skinship. kissing x2. lowk corny.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀g. fem reader. bsf2lovers. non idol au.⠀⠀⠀𝜗𝜚⠀⠀library.

via's note.⠀⠀im so active guys. anyways. enjoy!!! i researched stars for this

the pure ivory stars glimmered in all their sinew, being the first things to greet you as you tip-toed eagerly towards the top of the cliff. moths sprawled all around you, floating around your frowning figure while you attempted to swat them away.

“yn,” a frost-kissed voice tumbled out from the depths of the night. you turned your head, a smile staining your face at the sight of sunghoon, who was seated with his legs dangling off the cliff, only illuminated by the molten moonlight.

“you told me to be here by midnight?” your hair cataracts down your back as you tilted your head slightly.

the boy patted the ground right next to him, seemingly inviting you to spend the cosy 12AM with him, to which you complied.

“and you’re here.”

“i am.”

“i’m glad.”

“me too.”

another wave of silence passed by the two of you like tumbleweed. you stared at your palms, inspecting every little crease and bruise in flesh.

had you said something wrong? why did it go so awkward so abruptly? was it always like this when the two of you hung out? surely not.

you sucked in the winter air, fiddling with the ends of your soft cashmere sweater. just as your mouth fell open to speak, sunghoon cut you off.

“yn, i know that we have a good friendship right now, which i’m so, so grateful for, but ever since we met, you’ve made me really, really happy. i think of you all the time, more than friends do. so…” the usually confident sunghoon you once knew seemed to have hidden himself, being swallowed by a new breathless, quiet one. “i love you.”

“really?” you utter softly.

sunghoon laughed. “wow. i just poured my heart out to you and you’re still questioning me? you’re something else, yn.”

there it was, the solace that you always searched for throughout every interaction. the solace that you always managed to find in sunghoon.

“well, actions mean more than words, y’know.” you teased, feeling delighted as sunghoon inched himself closer to you.

“actions? i’m good at that.” he leaned into your darling touch, giving your doe eyes one more glance before his gaze flickered to your rosy lips; you couldn’t even process the next few moments in which he had kissed you. it was short and sweet and simple (very sweet, too short and simple) and everything you could’ve asked for, plus more.

speaking of more, as soon as sunghoon pulled away from you, you didn’t waste a second to reconnect your lips. this second kiss was undoubtedly longer and rather fervent compared to the first. you lingered in the moment for as long as you could before having to move away for air, to your and his obvious dismay.

you let your arms drop to his chest, giggling at the dazed face that had overtook the boy. it wasn’t long before he parroted you, the cerulean night soon filling up with the sounds of teenage laughter.

the two of you eventually managed to settle down, the giggles dimming into a rather warm silence, nothing like the awkward one before.

sunghoon took your smaller hand into his own and guided it up to the dark blue horizon, pointing at a small, blazing cluster of stars.

“those stars over there? they’re called the pleiades cluster.” he whispered to you; you nodded slowly, absorbed by the riveting beauty of the stars.

“they are pretty, hoon.” you words slightly slurred as you were too busy observing the stars to take in your surroundings.

“pretty, indeed.”

from your peripheral vision, you could tell that sunghoon was staring at you, rather than the stars.

“the stars are up there, silly.”

“well my star is down here, right next to me.”

taglist open.⠀⠀@sainns @en-gelic @thenastone @xiaoderrrr @belovedsthings @cupidhoons @antoncyng @reverieki @a-dream-bookmark

[yeoblurbs]

Weakness

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Fem!Reader

angst to fluff drabble-ish

WC: 1.5k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, reader cusses a lot, hint of a FWB relationship with Hongjoong, that’s all I think. sorry for any typos!

You tilt your head up as you take another shot of the alcohol in front of you. your eyes are bloodshot red and you frown when your tousled hair gets in your face, blowing it away with a pout.

your phone vibrates beside you but you can’t bring yourself to check, knowing who it is. well, it doesn’t truly matter if he’s calling anyway, you’ve heard enough.

the bartender, San, his name tag reads, looks at you with slight concern and perhaps if you weren’t so utterly in love with the hard-headed man blowing up your phone, you’d use Sans concern to distract you.

a push on your shoulder has you turning to the side, ready to tell them off, and fuck. it’s Hongjoong's one and only best friend, Park Seonghwa. if you ran out now then maybe he wouldn’t be able to catch you.

Seonghwa seems to read your mind as he gently grabs your wrist once you turn, “Can we talk, please?” and fuck x2 because Seonghwa didn’t deserve any animosity from you, even if he was best friends with the man you’re upset with.

you sigh in defeat, before giving him an awkward smile, “What did you want to talk about, Seonghwa?” you think you deserve an applaud for the steadiness of your voice.

he frowns as he analyzes your face, and you hate that you’ve brought one of the kindest people you’ve met to look so unhappy. he exhales quietly before taking a seat next to you.

“Please, just talk to him.” Seonghwas voice leaks desperation, but unfortunately for him, you’re too tired to care.

“I’ve spoken to him enough. Clearly, I’m nothing more to him than a distraction he needs when he’s stressed.” you turn to seonghwa with a bitter smile, “His words, not mine.”

Seonghwa’s brows furrow further, “I know, I know. I understand that you’re upset, and you have every right to be!” his face smooths out as he glances at you with tired eyes.

“But… He regrets it a lot, y’know?”

you deflate at his words, before downing another shot, loudly placing it on the table in front of you. “Well, that’s just too bad, Seonghwa. I can’t handle his mood swings forever.”

you rise from your seat, smoothing out your dress as you place your purse on your shoulder, “It was nice talking to you, but I’ll be taking my leave now. Please tell your friend to leave me alone.” Seonghwa nods with a defeated sigh, and with that, you turn, eyeing the exit that is ten feet away.

because this was the end of it. whether Hongjoong liked it or not, his words sparked something within you. you wanted love; pure, irrevocable love, and Hongjoong was never going to give you that. you commend Seonghwa for trying, but you’ve given up. fighting for love was exhausting, and you’ve been out of fuel for a while. the crash with your relationship with Hongjoong was inevitable, and as you walk towards the exit of the club, you feel the familiar ache that came with loving Kim Hongjoong.

but you want to heal, and healing means no more loving those who do not wish to be loved.

except the moment you reach for the door, a hand pulls your arm. you stumble at the abrupt stop, turning and falling into someone’s chest with an “Oof.”

you look up with a glare, ready to tell the person off for grabbing you, until you find dark eyes; familiar, dark eyes.

an unbelieving scoff bubbles out of your throat, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Hongjoong?”

you move to put distance between the two of you, but his arms move to wrap around your waist, holding you firm but gentle. the feeling makes your heart stutter, though the glare on your face does not give it away.

“Y/n… wait, okay?”

he looks absolutely ravishing. gelled back dark hair, narrowed eyes and silvery jewelry lined up his ears. he’s clad in a black button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbow with dark pants to match. you want to slap him for looking so attractive.

you squirm in his arms, though he does not let up, “Wait for what, you fucking asswipe. Let go of me.”

he frowns at you, face moving closer to yours as you lean back. “Please?” he says quietly, and you wouldn’t have caught it had he not been so close.

you hate the way your movements falter, body subconsciously relaxing in his embrace. you hate the way your heart picks up at the close proximity, never getting used to his presence even if you’ve seen him in more intimate settings. but most of all, you hate your lack of strength. because the truth was, you were weak when it came to Kim Hongjoong. and that was no less true now.

you huff, arms crossing, “Fine. But not here, let’s go outside and talk.”

he graces you with a smile, perfect teeth coming into view and the sight makes you want to melt into a puddle. fuck him and his simultaneously hot yet cute face.

Hongjoong’s arms unwrap themselves from you, and you find yourself missing the warmth. he grabs your hand next, swiftly intertwining his fingers with yours as he pulls you to the exit.

you find yourself in the alley next to the club, leaning on the brick wall as you cross your arms. “So, talk.”

Hongjoong stands before you, looking rather nervous as his hand rubs the back of his neck. “How have you been?” he asks hesitantly. you want to slap him for the nth time tonight.

“Fine, until I saw you. What do you want, Hongjoong, and don’t waste my time.” your brows furrow, eyes coated with fury as you watch him bite his lips as he thinks of what to say.

“I have feelings for you!”

your breath hitches, arms uncrossing, and falling to your sides in shock. of all things, you were not expecting him to say that.

you have been enamored with Hongjoong since the start, but he suggested a ‘no strings-attached’ relationship between the two of you causing you to believe he would never feel the same way. and after your fight two days ago, you had completely given up on him. you cannot fathom hearing him say this now.

he unbuttons the top of his shirt, tugging at the collar as his cheeks heat up. he looks to the side, “I realized after our last night together… and I completely freaked. I know that’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth.”

you watch him with parted lips, and your chest feels warm when you watch the tips of his ears turn red.

“I’m really fucking sorry for everything I said. I woke up with you in my bed, and I realized I wanted that forever and I just… got scared. I was wrong, you aren’t just a distraction; you’re so much more. You mean so much to me it’s terrifying.”

he walks closer to you, hands cradling yours as he brings them to his face, kissing the back of each one gently. “But I don’t care anymore. A life without you is more scary than anything else.”

he seems sheepish as he looks into your eyes, “And I understand if you’re angry, but I would really like it if you could give me another chance.”

you deadpan at him, “Are you done?”

his face drops, looking heartbroken as he nods, unsure.

“Good.” you murmur, letting go of his hands and watching the despair take over his face until you grab his cheeks, pressing your lips to his.

he lets out a surprised sound, hands grabbing onto your shoulders before he reciprocates, sliding his arms around your waist and tugging you closer. he walks forward, pushing you towards the wall as his head dips, deepening the kiss and squeezing your waist. your hands wrap around his neck, sliding into his hair and ruffling the previously slicked back strands.

he pulls away first, and you want to whine. you look up at him with an angry glare, though all he does is chuckle and lean down to peck you once more. your lips chase his, but he moves his face swiftly, head dipping towards your neck as he kisses the skin softly. “Let’s take it slow this time, okay? I want to care for you properly.”

you sigh, wincing slightly as he nibbles on your sensitive skin, soothing the sting with a small lick. “Okay, then why the fuck are you doing all that?”

he brings his head out of your neck, laughing. “Alright, alright, i’ll stop.”

you huff, “I never said to stop, but whatever, let’s go.” you move to turn around and walk away, but his arms immediately grab you and pull you into his chest. you sag into the warmth as you huff once more, “What is it now?”

he kisses your temple, and you feel his chest rumble with another laugh. you don’t see what’s so funny, but you smile at the sound of his joy regardless.

“Just wanted you to wait for me. Let’s go, I’ll take you home.”

Hongjoong drops you home, walking you to your door with a kiss on the lips, and a promise that he would make you happy. so perhaps in the end you did fight for love. you loved, you fought, and you hurt. but as you lay in bed and your eyes begin to close, you realize you don't mind the outcome of your fight.

after all, your weakness didn't have to be a weakness any longer; he would be your strength.

a/n: little drabble while i continue to write my soulmate AU hj fic:>

unofficial tags: @scuzmunkie :>

[atinylittlepain]

I got love in my tummy and a tiny little pain

Vampire Joel 🧛‍♂️🧛‍♂️🧛‍♂️

uh, hehe, well, this is 500 words... x2 :))))

got a little carried away, my love

Little Pinch

vamp!joel miller x f!reader

warnings | 18+ DUBCON/NONCON-ish, horror themes, smut-adjacent, dark!joel, if this ain't your thing keep it moving

...................................

“Thank you again for giving me a ride, really, I could’ve just called an Uber.”

“It’s no problem, honey. Sweet thing like you shouldn’t be running around on her own at this time of night anyways. Never know what kinda trouble might be out there.” The slow drawl of his words eases any tension she feels sitting in the complete stranger’s car. Well, not a complete stranger. She knows his name is Joel, and she knows that he saved her from a very insistent frat guy at the bar she was at, offering her a ride after her friends had ditched her. And she knows that he’s distractingly handsome, strong jaw under salt-and-pepper scruff, dark eyes and wavy hair, and a voice that runs straight down her spine, each word syrupy with his southern twang.

“How old are you?” The question leaves her lips before she can really think about it, immediately mortified that she did, though Joel just chuckles, glancing at her before focusing back on the road.

“Old enough to know how to treat a lady right. That boy didn’t hurt you, did he, honey?” A nervous laugh bubbles up from her throat at his words.

“Oh! N-no, he was just getting a little handsy, that’s all. I’m fine, really. Um, Joel? I don’t think we’re going the right way to my apartment.” If he heard what she said, he gives her no sign of it, keeping his eyes on the road, the glare of headlights casting shadows across his face. 

They drive in silence for a bit longer, nerves running cool skitters across her skin, both urging her to bolt and keeping her stuck still and mute in the passenger seat. But she nearly yelps when he suddenly swings a hard turn into what looks like an empty parking lot, what had been a roller rink sitting dark and crumbling in the distance. He puts the car into park with a sigh before resting both his hands back on the steering wheel, knuckles flexing and tensing, still not looking at her.

“J-Joel? Is something wrong?” When he does finally look at her, his head lolling over on his shoulder, something has changed in his face. Where his eyes had been crinkled with a smile, they’re now dark, almost vacant, his cheeks slack and his mouth in a slight frown, lips parted. And though he still doesn’t say anything, she’s seen enough true crime TV to know that she needs to get the hell out of here now. 

“Where you going, honey?” She claws at the lock on the passenger door, but it won’t budge, panic rising cold and clear in her throat.

“I– Joel, please open the door.” “Can’t do that, honey.”

“Please, I want to leave– I-I don’t want you to drive me anymore, please open the door.” She can feel tears starting to slip down her face and his emotionless stare only makes her cry harder, trying to get as far away from him as he leans over the console, crowding her against the door.

“Now why would you wanna do a thing like that? Don’t you know there’s dangerous people out there? So much safer in here with me, honey.” Yeah fucking right. She’s realizing that the worst thing she can do is piss him off, already noting the tick in his jaw and clench of his fist, and she thinks that maybe if she can keep him calm, get his guard down, she can find a moment to snatch his keys and escape. She takes a shuddering inhale, trying to stifle her tears, a thin, fake smile stretching across her lips.

“O-ok, you’re right. T-thank you for keeping me safe.” She can see the clench of his jaw ease slightly and much to her relief, he sits back in his own seat, keeping his eyes on her.

“Why don’t you come over here and thank me, honey?” Her stomach sinks at that, though she tries to tamp it down, knowing that this could be her opportunity to make a grab for the car keys. She nods, trembling fingers undoing her seatbelt. It feels like she’s watching herself from somewhere just over her shoulder as she crawls over the console, trying not to flinch when Joel’s hands wrap around her waist, guiding her to straddle his lap. 

She gasps when he presses her down over the crotch of his jeans, the obvious hardness there making her shudder as he chuckles at her reaction.

“How about a little kiss, honey?” She obliges him before she can think too hard about it, a quick peck before she pulls away. But judging by the laugh he lets out, it isn’t going to be enough for him.

“Oh, c’mon now. You can do better than that. That ain’t how you kiss them college boys, is it?” The idea is already forming in her head, and she tries for a shy giggle, though it comes out a bit breathless. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him in, licking into his mouth, kissing him for all he’s worth as she lets one arm pull away to reach behind them, fumbling blindly for his car keys. 

When she does grab them, she sighs, though Joel takes that as a good sign, only deepening the kiss more. She just needs to wait for a moment that he pulls away, and she knows she can make a run for it. But before that can happen, she feels something sharp slip across her lower lip, blood going metallic in her mouth as she pulls back from him and brings her other hand to her lips. Sure enough, red stains her fingertips.

“What– what was that?” Joel just grins, his other hand reaching around her back to wrench her wrist around, the harsh squeeze of his fingers making her drop the keys into his open palm.

“Sneaky little thing, ain’t ya? That’s alright, honey. I don’t mind a little sour with the sweet.” Her eyes must be playing tricks on her, because if she didn’t know any better she could swear that his pair of canines glint just a bit sharper in the dim light of the moon. She stills in his hold, unsure what to do now, her stomach twisting when he presses a surprisingly sweet kiss to her throat. But when he drags his teeth over the arc of her neck, she finally realizes that her eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on her.

“Hold still for me, honey. Just gonna feel a little pinch, but I think you’ll like it.”

[imagineseclipse]

A Pack Of Hearts- Stiles Stilinski x Reader PT1

part two

a/n-this is kind of a rewrite of something I have done before if you know then you know x

-warning this is the slowest of burns.

-also warning x2 strong language

You lay peacefully and undisturbed in your bed, your room was still and silent just how you preferred it. The silence was only broken by the occasional rustle of the curtains, gently swaying with the soft breeze that drifted in from the open window.

The moonlight streamed through the window, casting a soft silver glow across the room, creating a peaceful and soothing atmosphere.

You relaxed back on your bed, allowing the music to wash over you. You closed your eyes, letting the melodies and lyrics transport you to another place in your mind. You took a deep, steadying breath, letting the music completely surround you and quiet you inner thoughts, if only for a little while.

You were content with your solitary lifestyle. You didn’t mind not having many friends; you preferred it that way. You had learned to be self-sufficient and independent from a young age, and had developed a strong sense of self-reliance. You never felt the need to be constantly surrounded by people, and in fact, you found comfort in the solitude that your lack of social circle provided you.

Your peaceful evening was suddenly shattered by the sound of a sharp, persistent knocking at your front door. The unexpected sound caused you to sit up abruptly, breaking your focus on the music and bringing you back to reality. You frowned, annoyed by the interruption to your quiet night.

You tried to ignore the persistent knocking, hoping that whoever was at her door would eventually give up and go away. But as the knocking persisted, you realized that they weren’t going to stop anytime soon. With a frustrated huff, you swung your legs off the bed and stood up abruptly, irritation etched across your features.

“What the hell could you possibly want?”you almost yelled as you fiercely opened your door revealing one very awkward teenage boy. Immediately you recognised him.

Stiles Stilinski stood on your doorstep fumbling around with the zip on his jacket. His clumsy smile falling from his face when he saw how irritated you were. Before he could open his mouth to say anything you interrupted.

“Whatever it is, it’s a big fat no”you rolled your eyes as you began to shut the heavy door in his face.

“Y/n stop, you can’t ignore me forever I just wanted to see if you were busy”Stiles called out, placing his shoe in between the door and the door frame, whining quietly as it got stuck.

“Well I am busy, so go away”you hissed, attempting to shut the door again.

Stiles looked at you with a pleading expression, his foot trapped between the door and the doorframe. He winced as you attempted to slam the door shut, but he didn’t give up. He knew you well enough to know that your stubbornness was just one of the many things he found fascinating about you.

You would deny it but you and Stiles had known each other since you were both in the same class in nursery school. Even then, Stiles had been eager to be your friend, always bringing you his toys that you would throw on the floor in response. As you both grew up, he continued to try to be friends with you, but your aversion to social interaction always seemed to keep him at bay. Despite this, Stiles never gave up on you, always trying to find ways to break through your protective barrier, learning about you from afar.

“Really? You’re busy… I’ve heard one that before”Stiles raised his eyebrows as he folded his arms, daring to question you.

“No im not actually busy, I just want you to leave- maybe take the hint Stilinski”you finally told the truth, sending him a sarcastic smile.

Stiles stared at you for a moment, hesitating for a moment before responding, choosing his next words carefully.

“If you aren’t busy then come and hang out with us I will dri- Stiles ‘too stubborn for his own good’ Stilinski.

“Listen, just because I hung out with you idiots once doesn’t mean that we are friends, My mom met your dad at one parents evening and decided to be friends- it was completely against my will”you explained growing more frustrated.

“You really want to stay in and listen to your music all night?”Stilinski frowned, pointing up at your dimly lit bedroom window. First of all how did he know that. Second of all- Staying in and listening to music all night sounded like a brilliant idea.

“I bet it’s a thousand times better than what you are about to offer”you folded your arms as you leant on the door frame.

“There’s a dead body, in the woods”He breathed out, attempting to mirror your actions and lean on your wooden pole. Missing it entirely.

You rolled your eyes. Of course, he would try to entice you with something so morbid. He had always been into those kind of things, solving mysteries, crimes. He took after his father.

“Oh yeah, because finding a dead body is so at the top of my To-Do list tonight”you scoffed out sarcastically, giving him a pointed stare.

“Y/n, no one knows the woods like you do, I’ll be able to find it much quicker with your help and you know that”Stiles groaned, not yet admitting defeat.

Your lips were set in a firm line, of course you knew the woods like the back of your hand. Stiles was desperate to get you to help him search for the dead body, not only did he believe that you were the smartest person he knew, he genuinely wanted you to get out of the house.

Growing up you had spent countless hours alone, exploring the woods and memorizing every nook and cranny of the small town you lived in. You were the best person to help him navigate the vast expanse of woods.

“If I come for an hour at most, will you leave me alone?”you sighed, letting your tense shoulders fall at his words. Stiles nodded quickly, not wanting you to change your mind.

“Two hours?-

“Do not push your luck”you mumbled back before slamming the door in his face. Confused, Stiles lingered outside stepping from one foot to the other awkwardly wondering if he should knock again.

Minutes later and your front door swung open once more, this time your hair was tied up and you had slipped on your favourite sweatshirt.

Stiles's eyes widened as he watched you tie up your shoelaces. He was surprised by how fast you had changed, and a wave of relief washed over him as he realized that he had finally succeeded in his 13 year old plan to befriend you. Well, he had nearly succeeded.

His heart skipped a beat as he took you in, noticing how the familiar sweatshirt hugged your form and how your hair was tied up loosely. Your rogue hairs falling around your face , framing it perfectly. Seeing you prepared to go into the woods with him sent a thrill of excitement and energy up his spine, and he couldn't help but grin at you.

Your vision aligned with his and the feeling that had briefly flickered in your chest was something you weren't used to. It was a foreign sensation, like a small flutter of a bird's wings against your chest. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared, leaving you confused and slightly annoyed.

“What are you smiling at, you’re wasting time because your hour of Y/n time started as soon as I crossed the front door”you uttered out as you began to walk towards his jeep.

As soon as you both entered Stiles's jeep, an awkward silence filled the air. You could feel Stiles's excitement radiating off of him, but you did your best to keep your emotions in check. You could sense that Stiles wanted to say something, and you wished so deeply against it.

“We just have one more stop to make”Stiles hummed out, turning the key to start the engine that drowned out your groan.

The car ride was silent, every time Stiles would turn and try to speak to you, you would reach forwards to turn up the music. Trying to avoid painful conversation. Not long after the jeep came to a halt, Stiles couldn’t help but glance over at you.

He took in your focused expression as you nonchalantly scanned the area out of the window, he almost couldn’t believe it, Sitting in the same car as you. Despite the fact that he'd known you his entire life, being in close quarters with you like this was still new.

Stiles quickly glanced away from you, realizing he'd zoned out. His heart rate increased, as if he'd caught himself doing something he shouldn't. He had always known that he found you intriguing, like you were another mystery that needed to be solved but this was something different entirely. Something more profound.

“I-uh-I-sh-”Stiles tried to compose himself as he broke the silence.

“I’m waiting in the Jeep”you spoke out finally, reading his mind.

“I will be five minutes okay?”He leapt out of the car, stumbling and tripping his way around to your side of the vehicle whilst holding up five fingers. A lopsided smile plastered on his face.

He tapped your window, gaining your attention for the what felt like the hundredth time that night. You rolled your eyes, winding down the window.

“And uh- Y/n- don’t leave”his voice came out raspy, your glance flickering over his face.

“You’re my ride home”you deadpanned as you wound the window back up. Pulling out your phone so that you could mindlessly scroll through it whilst you waited.

Almost ten minutes passed before you realised that Stiles hadn’t returned. You glanced out of the window towards Scott's house, feeling a pang of confusion and annoyance when you didn’t see Stiles stood at the front door.

You couldn't wait any longer. The nagging feeling in your gut was growing too strong to ignore. You pushed open the passenger door of the Jeep mumbling profanities under your breath.

Your eyes darting around the dark neighborhood, searching for any signs of movement. Mentally cursing Stiles for his disappearing act.

As you reach Scott's front door, the silence of the night surrounding you was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the door abruptly swinging open. Scott stood in the doorway, gripping a bat tightly in his hands. A look of surprise and confusion crossed his face as he saw you standing there, clearly looking for someone. You exchange a glance with Scott, and for a moment, neither of you knew what to say.

Scott Mccall blinked twice, as if trying to clear his vision and make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. It wasn’t every day that you showed up unannounced at his doorstep, especially so late at night. Yet, there you were, standing before him, looking slightly out of breath and evidently pissed off.

“Were you the noise that I heard from inside?”Scott walked around you, neither of you asking the relevant questions as he inspected each section of his porch. Clutching the bat close to his chest. Did he even play baseball?

“Clearly”you sighed, wanting to know where Stiles had gotten to. Once Scott was certain that there was no one else nearby he finally turned to you, noticing the disapproving frown playing on your lips.

“How can I help- Scott turns to speak to you, but his words are cut off by a sudden noise that drew both of your attention. You both spun around, only to see Stiles suddenly falling from the roof and hanging upside down from the ceiling. In your synchronized shock, you both let out screams of terror. The teenager next to you clinging onto his weapon for dear life.

You huffed out in frustration as you adjusted your hoodie, Scott lowering his bat as you calmed down. Why and how was he up there?!

“Stiles what the hell are you doing?!” Scott exclaimed, his voice getting louder.

“You weren’t answering your phone, why do you have a bat?”Stiles choked out slightly exasperated.

“I thought you were a predator?!”Scott shot back protesting.

“A pre…What?”Stiles scoffed out, clearly appalled by the implication before turning to you.

“I thought you said you were going to wait in the jeep?”Stiles’ eyes softened whilst yours hardened immensely.

“I thought you said you were going to be five minutes?”you retorted back, folding your arms.

Scott’s eyes flickered back and forth between the two of you before settling on his best friend who was still very much hanging from the ceiling. Realisation dawning upon him.

“Wait, you two came together?”Scott asked aloud, sending Stiles a knowing look, luckily you didn’t see the small smirk dancing on his lips and Stiles nodding proudly to himself.

“I’m starting to wish I hadn’t”you grumbled out, shaking your head.

“Look, I know it’s late, but you gotta hear this. I saw my dad leave fourty-five minutes ago. Dispatch called- they’re bringing in every officer from the Beacon Department, and even state police”Stiles changed the subject quickly ignoring your comment.

“For what?”Scott frowned.

“Two joggers found a body in the woods, honestly I’m pretty disappointed in you y/n for not finding it first since you’re always out there doing- whatever it is you do, in the woods…alone”Stiles accused you without actually accusing you.

You responded by lifting your hand, your middle finger standing tall. You were running out of the will to live. Was Stiles Stilinski really going to Out-Sarcasm you?

Stiles reached up to pull himself free of the trellis, landing on his feet in front of you and Scott who still looked extremely confused.

“A dead body?”McCall repeated.

“No, a body of water…Yes dumbass, a dead body?!”Stilinski leant on the railings to look up at Scott with an expression that read ‘what do you think?!’.

You stood in between the two, your mouth falling open as you witnessed the stupidity in front of you, reminiscing about your warm bed that you left behind.

“You mean like murdered?”Scott questioned further, becoming unnerved.

“Nobody knows yet. Just that it was a girl, probably in her twenties”Stiles informed you both, climbing over the railings so that he was stood next to you.

“Hold on, If they found the body, then what are they looking for”Scott continued, asking all the right questions.

You watched as Stiles became overwhelmed with happiness as the plot thickened.

“That’s the best part-they only found half”his voice trailed away as he finished the story.

“That’s really quite gross”you grimaced.

“That’s really quite gross and we are really totally going”Stiles’ tone changed patting Scott’s shoulder as he glanced at you making it clear that neither of you had a say in what happens next.

You tried to brush off the sleep that was slowly consuming you as the three of you pulled into the Beacon Hills preserve. The illuminated warning sign in front almost blinding you.

Stiles peered back at you, dropping a flashlight into your lap, noticing your tired eyes and stifled yawns. The motion lit up your phone screen, the time staring you straight in the face.

“Well would you look at that, your hour is up Stilinski it’s home time for me”you perked up, a small smirk growing as you climbed out of the jeep. Stiles holding the door open for you.

“I’m your ride home”Stiles deadpanned mocking the words you had used earlier that evening. Oh, he had gotten you so good.

“We’re seriously doing this?”Scott interrupted the argument that was about to start between the two of you. Tapping his flashlight as it blinked on.

“You’re the one always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town”Stiles called back at him, his friend following close by trying to catch up with you.

“I was trying to get a good night’s sleep before practice tomorrow”you heard Scott answer as your thoughts drifted off, shining your light into the deepest, darkest corners of the woods.

The boys and their conversation drifted out of ear shot. Frozen in place as a sudden noise from the bushes nearby catches your attention. Your heart pounding in your chest, your body tensing as if preparing for something dangerous. Preparing for anything. The soft rustling of leaves and the snap of a twig send a chill down your spine. You scanned the darkness, trying to discern any shapes or movement, but the woods remain eerily still.

You snap out of your frozen state as Stiles's gentle voice breaks the silence. He lightly touches your shoulder, causing you to jump slightly in surprise. You turn to face him, your heart still beating furiously in your chest.

"Hey, it's okay just me”Stiles says, his voice soft and reassuring. "Don’t fall behind, gotta get you home in one piece” he mumbled out, receiving a silent nod in response.

“Stiles, speaking of pieces just out of curiosity-which half of the body are we looking for?”A third voice spoke up.

The walking buzz cut paused for a brief moment before scoffing quietly. “Huh! I didn’t even think about that”

“And uh…what if whoever killed the body is still out there?”Scott added.

“Also something I didn’t think about”Stiles raised his eyebrow, his flashlight flying around in the air erratically settling on you.

“Could you knock it off?!”you breathed out, bringing your hands up to shield your eyes from the overwhelming light.

“I-eugh, Sorry- just checking”his arms dropping to his sides. You had been very quiet.

The three of you begin to hike up a hill, the incline slowly steepening as you progress. The ground became more uneven, and you had to take care with each step to avoid slipping on the loose rocks and roots beneath your feet.

Stiles leading the way, his flashlight illuminating the trail ahead. Occasionally, the beam of light briefly passed over you and Scott, who climbed closely behind.

“It’s comforting to know you’ve planned this out with your usual attention to detail”The boy next to you rolled his eyes.

You began noticing Scott’s breathlessness as you listen to Stiles grumble out a “I know”. His breathing became wheezy and rapid, making you slow down slightly to let him catch up with you.

“Maybe the severe asthmatic should be holding the flashlight”Scott joked, leaning back against a tree as he pulled out his inhaler.

You silently waited a moment for Scott to compose himself your line of sight switching in between him and Stiles who was further in front.

As you continue hiking, you start to see the beams of flashlights through the trees ahead. A handful of police officers were conducting a search, their flashlights creating bobbing, dancing lights in the darkness.

Stiles whispers urgently to you and Scott, and before you know it you are being dragged to the ground with a surprised yelp, Stilinski sandwiching you in between the two of them.

You all switched off your flashlights in seconds, the three of you bickering in a quiet whisper as you tried to figure out what your next move would be.

Unfortunately for you and Scott, Stiles’ patience eventually wore down, muttering out a ‘fuck it’ before jumping up to his feet. Scott’s eyes widened and it all flashed before your eyes.

“Wait-

“Come on, both of you”Stiles chirped out, grabbing your hand tightly, his fingers wrapping around yours. The touch sends a jolt of surprise through you, he begins to run through the woods, pulling you along behind him.

“Stiles! Y/n! Wait up”you hear Scott cough out from behind you, Stiles more focused on getting as far away as possible.

Your head snapped back, seeing Scott’s shadow get further away. “Stiles maybe we should-“

“Guys!?”

Stiles finally stops running after hearing his best friends pleas. He failed to alert you, sending you crashing into his back with a thud, the split second of distraction caught the attention of a nearby K9 officer.

The loud and aggressive barks startled you, along with the flashlights shining over the two of you. You were in so much trouble.

“Hold it right there”a familiar voice boomed out through the trees. Stiles raised his hands into the air immediately earning himself a lengthy eye roll from yourself.

Sheriff Stilinski appeared close by, shaking his head as he caught sight of his son.

“Hang on, hang on…this little delinquent belongs to me”Noah pinched the bridge of his nose. Stiles sending you a nervous smile before greeting his father.

“Dad, how are you doing?”He offered, getting an answer filled with frustration and exhaustion, the sheriff’s flashlight panned over to you. Your cheeks growing red as you lifted your hand to say hello to your neighbour.

“And this little delinquent doesn’t belong to me, in fact…she isn’t a delinquent at all”Noah narrowed his eyes over at his son, knowing that you being there was Stiles’ doing.

“How are you Mr.Stilinski?”you asked sheepishly, feeling Stiles’ eyes burning into the side of your face.

“I’m doing just fine sweetie, how is your mom?”Noah’s anger faded away for a moment as you began to catch up like no time had passed. Stiles’ mouth falling open at the interaction.

“So, do you, uh, listen in to all of my phone calls?”The sheriff turned his attention back to Stiles who let out an uncertain laugh.

“Not the boring ones”He answered lightly attempting to lessen his father’s anger as you both watched Noah scan the area with his flashlight.

“Now, where’s your usual partner in crime?” Scott. He had been left behind.

“Who, Scott? Scott’s home. He said he wanted to get a good night’s sleep for first day back at school tomorrow”Stiles tried to play it dumb as you felt raindrops fall on your forehead.

The sheriff stared at you both in disbelief as Stiles continued to lie.

“It’s just us…in the woods…alone”He sighed out, both of you turning your heads to face one another, giving him a stern look that told him to dig you out of the hole he was currently digging very deep.

It was obvious that his dad didn’t believe him because he lifted his flashlight once more.

“Scott, you out there? Scott?!”His voice echoed around the trees. Stilinski reluctantly gives up on his search after Scott doesn’t appear in front of him. He then took a deep sigh- one that you completely understood.

“Well Stiles, I’m going to walk you back to your car…and then you and I are gonna have a conversation about something called ‘invasion of privacy’ right after you have taken this tired young lady home”He ordered, grabbing Stiles roughly by the back of the neck, his other hand gently settling on your shoulder as he guided you both back to the entrance.

You took one last deep glance into the woods, wondering if Scott managed to make it out.

The car ride back was unusually quiet. Stiles occasionally glances sideways at you, stealing nervous glances from the corner of his eye. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white with tension, his attention span wanting to reach out to you but choosing to tap against the wheel instead.

Stiles could sense that you were tired. Your eyes kept drooping, and you let out a few soft yawns as you tried to stay awake. You clearly just wanted to get home and rest after a long night.

He took another look at you, guilt gnawing at him as he saw how exhausted you looked. He felt somewhat terrible for dragging you into this, but a part of him wasn’t sorry at all.

As the silence in the car continued, Stiles became lost in his thoughts- causing him to blurt out the question that had been nagging at his mind.

“Are you mad at me?" he asks suddenly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. He glances over at you again, searching your weary face for any signs of anger or disappointment, the same signs that had been present all night.

“I wouldn’t say I’m mad, I would just say that I am severely annoyed”he could hear your muffled complaints followed by a yawn.

The vehicle finally pulls up outside your house, the headlights lighting up the familiar facade. Stiles let out a small sigh that he didn’t know he’d been holding in, relieved that you're finally home safely.

He turned off the engine peering over at you, noticing the evident exhaustion on your face. He wanted to say something, anything.

“Thanks for the ride Stilinski”you grumbled out, opening the door and slipping out from the passengers side.

As you shut the door, turning to make your way to your house Stiles began to fumble with his seatbelt. He struggled with the buckle, his fingers feeling clumsy and shaky. He could feel a sense of urgency to catch up to you, but his body just wasn’t cooperating.

Finally, the seatbelt comes loose, and Stiles practically leapt out of the car, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. He took a deep breath, mentally berating himself for his nervousness.

“Y/n”he called out confidently, making you stop in your tracks. You threw your head backwards, turning to face Stiles for the last time that night.

He observed you as you asked him a million questions with your eyes. Confused as to what he could possibly want now.

“Friends?”he asked, almost as if he were offering it to you. A small smile appeared on your face at his determination.

“Absolutely fucking not, I’m never doing dumb shit like that ever again”your lips formed a frown as you disappeared into your house leaving Stiles stood dumbfounded in your driveway.

Challenge Accepted.

[somethingclevermahogony]

Writing Share Tag and Last Line(s) Tag

Thank you for the tags @paeliae-occasionally (x2) and @the-golden-comet! That's three so the first two will be random chapter from the old manuscript and the third will be the latest line I've written from the rewrite.

Excerpt 1: Chapter 40

Context: Grown-Up Ninma and Old Dati chat while Narul sleeps.

Narul’s snores soon joined the chorus of birds flitting around the treetops, Dati and Ninma struck up a fire and sat on either side, watching the moths flock to its flickering light. “I know you don't want to hear this from me. But it could be much worse.” Dati sighed. “What do you mean?” “Narul. I know how you feel, trust me we all see how skittish he is. He can be an ass, but he is an ass who everyone can see cares very deeply for you.” Ninma looked into the coals and frowned. “ I know he does but sometimes I feel like it's just too much. It's as if he thinks I’m an idiot, or made of glass.” Dati snorted. “That’s because you used to be a little idiot.” Ninma frowned. “Hey! I was not.” “Oh yes you were, and its a very recent change. Stowing away on the ship, running around like a wild animal in a demon’s lair, not to mention how many broken toes and fingers from falling out of trees have we had to deal with? Hold up fingers, I want to see if they’re crooked.” Ninma rolled her eyes. “Oh please, those were all when I was a kid.” “Sneaking off in the middle of the night to see some pretty lights with your boyfriend while everyone else was drunk? All while you were the most wanted person in Kishetal? I can’t think of anything more idiotic than that.” Ninma laughed and watched an ember float off into the twilight sky. “Maybe you’re right. But I’m not that way anymore.” “I am.” Dati grunted, “Right, that is.” The old sailor had become gruffer and more irritable in his old age, his shoulders hunched, his body stiff, including his tail which no longer swished and flicked with its former fluidity. Ninma thought about Narul, Jani, and the future. “Why did you never have children, Dati? With Sihunu or someone?” Dati raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the sudden change in conversation. "I did. Lat may have come from Istek’s nethers but he was a son to both of us. Sihunu did most of the raising of course, us being at sea and all, but when we were on land we both cared for him. Istek and I share everything, a ship, a wife, and a bed, why not a son too?"

Excerpt 2: Chapter 13

Context: Narul and Ninma meet a strange spirit.

As they entered the clearing the two spirit children melted into the moss and vanished. As Narul crouched to inspect the patch of green into which they had disappeared, Ninma carefully climbed off of his back. The moss was soft and springy beneath her feet. Under the soft surface, she could feel roots and stone, and other things swallowed by the forest. “Where are we?” She said as she stumbled towards the magnificent tree.  “I don’t know, Ninma. Don’t wander off.” Narul muttered. He pulled a small sheet of metal from the moss, a plaque of some sort, cracked and rusted. The same mysterious language which graced the pillars was engraved there on the pitted surface. Narul thought of stories, of ancient kings and heroes, and of an age of metal and glass. “Welcome, it has been many years since I was blessed with a visitor.” Narul jumped and clenched his fist, crumbling the metal plaque into a ball of rusted scrap. Ninma ran back to him and clutched his leg, her eyes darted around the clearing. “Do not be afraid. I mean you no harm.”  The soft melodic voice seemed to emanate from the tree itself. As they turned to it, the knotted trunk undulated and quaked, and thus split open to reveal a hollow. Ninma watched as a column of golden pollen and leaves vaguely swirling in the form of a person, stepped from the tree. Narul could only stare at that strange being which emerged. They were tall and thin, with skin like the bark of the oak from which they had emerged. Its head was perfectly round, with no indication of a chin, nose, or brow. Their lipless mouth was flush with their wooden skin. Where one would expect to find hair, instead sprung long branch-like protuberances which twitched and curled, seemingly of their own accord. And the eyes. Seven of them arranged like a crown around the being’s head, each a different shade, they blinked and swiveled, Narul could hear them, like rolling marbles. “Please sit. I mean you no harm.” The being said softly, as it itself sat, long spindly legs crossed. “What are you?” Ninma said, her voice little more than a squeak. “I am a spirit, I have been called one of the Jalbaba, the great spirits. If you ask for my name, that which I was first given, I cannot remember it. But there are those who have known me as the One Who Watches or simply the Watcher. I was young when men and his kin rose from the common animals and the cycle of mortal souls began, and I was already ancient when the gods laid waste to the impious and made the world as it is. Who are you?” Ninma looked at Narul and then back at the spirit. She took a deep breath and puffed out her chest, and tried to rekindle that royal bravado. “ I am Ba Ninma Asherdul Ninjali, daughter of King Hutbari of Labisa” Ninma rarely gave her full noble name, it wasn’t of much use in non-noble circles. But she was hoping to impress the spirit with her royal pedigree. It meant Princess Ninma of the line of Asher, third of that name of the Eldest line.

Last Line

The princess slipped between the trunks of the olive trees of with the silence and grace of a cat. On bare feet she leapt over the wicker baskets and padded over the pit laden ground. Silvery leaves festooned her bushy hair and dirt blackened her fingers and toes, and yet her crimson tunic and mantle remained miraculously spotless. The slaves, busy at their task of harvesting, paid the young girl no mind, save to clear her way. Her eldest brother was deep in conversation with the Apunian stranger, or perhaps conversation was not the correct term. For while Bazus spoke enthusiastically, his hands a blur with wild gesticulations, the Apunian said nothing, merely nodding his head. Then his eyes met hers. Ninma froze, she was meant to be with her tutor, learning about some useless old king or poet. If she had to hear about Tudilya this or Hiru that again she was going to eat her wax writing board. The stranger had no reason to report her tardiness to either her brother or her father, but then again you could never quite tell with adults. Akarat’s brow raised over so slightly, but he did not question her following them, nor did he point out her presence to her elder brother. He turned his attention back to Bazus and the rapidly approaching gates. Taking his indifference as permission, Ninma followed as they passed beneath the stony gaze of the gate guardians.

Tagging @aalinaaaaaa, @illarian-rambling, @sabewebb, @winterandwords, @noveldivergence

[artdcnaldson]

Tie Break || Art Donaldson x Reader ; Patrick Zweig x Reader

this can be read as a sequel to changeover or as a standalone :) enjoy <3

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: SMUT (p in v smut x2, f!recieving oral, handjob, creampie, cum eating), angst with a happy ending, infidelity, toxic relationships, everyone in this is kind of a horrible person, language obviously

Summary: It’s summer in Atlanta, 2011. For the second time in your life, you’re the clear second choice. When the opportunity arises, you find a temporary distraction in Art Donaldson.

A/N: FINALLY here it is! The 2011 Atlanta fic. They’re back, they’re older, they’re even more toxic. Let me know if you’re interested in a part 3!

It was hot, even though the sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon. It was a cloying, oppressive heat that made the stupid, business-casual top you wore stick to your skin. 

The article you were working on was halfway written, something you could knock out in the next hour if you really tried. Your drink was watered down from the heat, weak when it hit your tongue. A frown turned your lips, but you really shouldn’t have been drinking anyway.

"Working late?”

The voice was so familiar that you could’ve recognized it anywhere, any time. Art Donaldson was one of the most recognizable men in the country, but to you, he seemed so different. The boyishness was still there, but it lay beneath a new level of confidence.

You took a sip of your drink, trying to appear nonchalant, like it hadn’t been four years since you last spoke. “I’m on deadline. I’m writing a feature on Anna Mueller heading into the US Open next month.”

Without asking, he sat down across from you at the small bistro table. He was so close you could smell the minty gum he had been chewing. It nearly made you smile. Old habits die hard.

“So you write about tennis?” He asked, meeting your gaze. 

“I write about athletes,” you corrected. “I was going to be here anyway, and since Anna is heading for a Grand Slam, I thought it would be easy enough. Grab a couple of interviews, watch a few matches.”

He nodded, leaning back in the chair, trying his best to be causal in a situation that definitely wasn’t. You sipped again at your drink, peering at him over the edge of the glass. 

“You have a match tomorrow,” you said, as though he needed reminding. “Shouldn’t you be listening to shitty pop punk to get yourself psyched right now?”

A smile spread across his lips, and he looked so much like the guy you knew from college that it made your chest tug uncomfortably. Same hair, the same smile, the same crinkle at the edges of his eyes when he was amused by something. You couldn’t help but smile along with him, like the past four years were nothing. “I don’t do that anymore,” he said with a laugh. “Do you want another drink?”

You looked down at your glass, mostly water and thin ice cubes. “Rum and coke?” You asked, giving him a tiny smile. He nodded and disappeared towards the bar.

It felt strange, sitting there in the quiet, your article the furthest thing from your mind. Four years. It felt like yesterday and an eternity ago that you’d last spoken with him. He was a familiar stranger, nearly unknowable. 

Your cursor blinked a few more times before you shut your laptop and slid it back inside your beat-up work bag. 

“Running off?” He asked, catching you in the act of packing your things. You shook your head and accepted the fresh drink with a smile. “You said you were going to be in Atlanta anyway,” he said as he sat, spreading out, making himself comfortable in the shitty bar seating. “When you were talking about writing about Anna.”

You nodded. “Mhmm, I did,” you replied, chewing the inside of your lip nervously. His gaze was intense, falling just on the other side of casual. You felt tiny under that gaze, like you were guilty of a crime you didn’t know you’d committed. 

“And you’re here for Patrick?” The words were nonchalant, but you could hear the accusation beneath them, the history of the two of them just in one sentence. It turned something in your stomach, the possessiveness in his voice. You could hear it, even four years out.

The new drink was strong, but it was the perfect way to hide the distaste in your expression. The burn of liquor into your chest grounded you back in reality instead of the easy allure of nostalgia. “Yeah,” you said after a beat. “I try my best to go to all of his matches.”

Art narrowed his eyes, just slightly. There was still an element of exaggerated friendliness, the casual smile on his lips, the open body language. All of it masking the lingering resentment and hurt that was buried beneath mountains of nostalgia. Deep enough that neither of you had realized it was still there until you found yourselves face to face. There was an unspoken question, one that he didn’t want to ask, one that you didn’t want to answer. 

How long?

You took another drink. 

“Where is Patrick?” He asked, glancing around like he might materialize out of thin air.

“He went out for a smoke, or to walk around and clear his head, or something,” you said with a shrug. “I’m not his keeper. Where’s Tashi?”

His jaw clenched and he looked away— a sore spot. A scab you wanted to pick at until it bled, dig your nails in. Maybe that was your eighteen-year-old self talking. 

“You never used to let her get too far away from you,” you noted, mirth dripping from each syllable. “Bet you came down here looking for her. Your leash must’ve been just a little too loose this time and she slipped it.”

You took a long drink, nails tapping against the glass as you considered your words. Tashi wasn’t the type of woman who let a man hold her back. If you were trying to be more accurate, rather than just piss him off, you might’ve fixed the analogy. Art was the sad little puppy following her around. She tied his leash to a lamp post for a fucking break.

“Do you remember the day Tashi got injured?” He asked, changing the subject suddenly. 

You blinked slowly, appraising him. But his expression gave nothing away. “I do.”

A wry smile spread across his lips, and he met your gaze with a coldness that you didn’t recognize. Mean in the way injured animals like to snap at the nearest hand. “It was Patrick in your room that night, wasn’t it?”

Your brows furrowed, face falling at his words. “What?”

He made a face, something akin to skepticism, but crueler. It made your stomach turn. 

“You were fucking someone in your room,” he said plainly. “And I’ve always had a suspicion that it was Patrick. Was it?”

That didn’t do much to clear up your confusion. “You were there?”

He laughed, mirthless, and nodded. “I was, uh, sitting by the door like an asshole. I came to apologize, to beg for you back, but instead, I spent the night listening to my girlfriend getting fucked on the other side of the door.”

Annoyance flickered in your gaze. He knew of a wound of your own, and he relished in picking at it the way you’d relished in digging your fingers into his. “I wasn’t your girlfriend, Art.”

“Right, you weren’t. But you’re Patrick’s girlfriend now, is that it?”

Heat burned in your cheeks. Your relationship with Patrick was… tempestuous to say the least. Most of the time he was your boyfriend, but others he was just a friend that you could count on for a good fuck, sometimes not even a friend. At the moment, he was the former, but that could always change.

It wasn’t easy, being with someone whose emotions ran on an equally short fuse. You’d sound too much like his parents, or he’d devalue your work, or Patrick would forget to take out the trash in your apartment and you’d snap, or you’d mispronounce a word one too many times and it would drive him crazy. Insignificant things could feel big with him, because of him. For better or worse. 

“At the moment, yes.”

“At the moment.” He echoed, laughing like he was in on some joke you were painfully unaware of.

”That’s amusing to you?” You asked, raising a brow. 

He shrugged, picking at his jeans. “Your choice of words is interesting.” He lets that hang in the air before he meets your gaze again. “Do you think Patrick would’ve even noticed you if it hadn’t been for me?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Does it matter?” You asked. “You realize that we’ve been together going on four years now, right? Broken up, dating, fucking, whatever. You realize that there may be more important things in our life than you?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. I think you know that whatever you have, it’s built on the fact that you were a warm body when he needed it. Just like you were for me.”

That arrogant expression, like he actually fucking knew anything about you anymore was the last straw. You stood suddenly, grabbing your bag. You weren’t Art Donaldson’s little lapdog anymore— you didn’t have to sit there and take all the shit he doled out. 

“Goodnight, Art. Thanks for the drink.”

It was funny, how your weaknesses were still so exposed. Art’s was Tashi, and it probably always would be. His desire to be seen, to impress, painted upon every lovely feature. And yours, raw and bleeding and obvious— the unbearable, visceral need to be wanted.

You made it to the elevator before you felt his presence behind you. Wordless, but so close it was suffocating. You jabbed the up button over and over in frustration, knowing it wouldn’t speed anything up. 

Art stepped into the elevator with you, so close you could feel the body heat radiating off of him. He always burned hot, like a human furnace. 

It was silent as the lift lurched upwards. You pressed against the back corner, watching the number of the floor increase one by one. 

“Patrick is with Tashi,” Art said without looking at you, just as the elevator opened on the floor of your room. You froze, swallowing hard. “I saw them in the hotel bar, then they left together. What do you think they’re doing right now?”

You shook your head dumbly, pulse thrumming in your throat. “Go fuck yourself, Art,” you said weakly, because what else was there to say? You stepped into the hallway— lit with dim yellow light so you couldn’t see where the wallpaper peeled and the carpet was stained.

“If you need somewhere to wait them out, and you will, I’m in room 13 on the seventh floor.” The elevator doors closed, and you were alone. 

The hallway was winding, and you felt a bad sort of anticipation of what you might find, like a sick feeling in your gut. You stood in front of the room, 306, and froze.

The door to your room was closed, no light shone from beneath the door, but you could hear them. Muffled, but clear enough. A pretty voice and breathy moans. Patrick’s laugh, the thud of something falling off the dresser.

Your room key was in your purse— you could’ve gotten it out and stopped it, but what good would that have done? You’d still spend the night humiliated, facing opposite walls as Patrick, lying in the same sheets he’d just fucked her in. 

You dropped the bag by the door and took a slow, shaky breath to calm yourself down. 

Tashi Duncan. She had lingered on the edges of your relationship with Patrick too. She was Patrick’s first choice, just as she’d been Art’s. You’d never blamed them for that, you knew where you stood, and you chose them anyway. 

It was easy to choose them when you thought that the threat was nonexistent— when distance made you feel safe. You could hear her and him, but it felt like mere static in your brain.

You knew how Art felt, back at Stanford. Sulking outside the door, unable and unwilling to stop what was happening on the other side. 

You were in the elevator before you realized you’d walked away. Shitty soft rock played over the speakers, and a poster on the wall advertised a continental breakfast. Your stomach turned uncomfortably. 

You knocked on the door— room thirteen, an unlucky number. Maybe it didn’t bode well. As you waited for the door to open, your nails tapped a staccato rhythm against your thigh.

Art opened the door like he’d been expecting someone else. Maybe he had half-expected you to interrupt and send Tashi back upstairs, but no. He got you standing at his door with fiery eyes and an expectant expression. 

Second choice, second choice, second choice.

Art kissed you for the first time in four years, and you let him. Not because you wanted to hurt Patrick or Tashi, but because you knew it would hurt you. His tongue pressed between the seam of your lips like he belonged there, licking into your mouth like he wanted to reclaim every part of you that Patrick had touched. You pushed him with a firm hand on his chest and he stumbled backward into the room. Despite everything, he smiled. 

His hotel room was nearly identical to yours and Patrick’s. But you didn’t have time to really take in the details when he had his tongue in your mouth, kissing you hungrily.

That afternoon, you kissed Patrick after he lost his match. You wondered if Art could still taste him on your tongue then, if he wanted to drown out the taste of him. 

It was different than you were used to. Four years with Patrick meant that you’d grown accustomed to certain ways that he did things— the intensity behind each kiss, each touch. His emotions— good, bad, in between— were never masked, never repressed. 

When Patrick kissed you, when he touched you, when he fucked you— both of you were laid completely bare. 

Art was different. When he kissed you it was through a certain level of performance, like he’d learned how from a searing romance film. In college, you’d believed that he kissed you like that because deep down, he did love you. Even at that moment, years out from your relationship with him, it muddled your brain.

Your sensible work heels had long since been kicked off by the door. Art’s fingers undid the button and zip of your jeans deftly, with a confidence that had only doubled since Freshman year. They wound up in a heap against the hotel dresser. 

In his haste to remove your (also sensible, and very business casual) button-down, he popped about half of the buttons off completely. 

“Sorry,” he said. The grin on his lips made you wonder if sorry was really how he felt. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Stop talking.” You pulled off your bra and lost it somewhere across the room in your haste. Art was pulling off his clothes— his hoodie and the shirt beneath. His jeans and shoes toed off and left to be dealt with later. 

He kissed you again, guiding you exactly where he needed. Your knees hit the back of the mattress and he eased you down without moving his lips from yours. When your head hit the sheets, you smelled perfume so sweet that it was nearly intoxicating. You turned your head, breathing deeply. Tashi. In this same bed, in this same spot. It made something stir inside you— right in your chest. A hint of wrongness, a hint of hurt. 

Art pulled back, moving his lips along your jaw, down to the junction of your throat. 

“Stop thinking,” he murmured against your skin, kissing down to your tits. “I don’t want you thinking about Patrick. Not when you’re with me.”

The words were mumbled against soft, supple skin. His eyes were intent as they looked up at you, the demand of momentary fidelity in his eyes. You wanted to slap that expression off of his face, or run your thumb along his cheek and hold his face in your hands. 

How was it fair that he asked you that when he’d lingered like a ghost on the edges of whatever it was that you and Patrick had? How was it fair for him to look at you like that?

He took a nipple into his mouth and you gasped as his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin. Soft kisses before he suckled softly. “Okay,” you gasped, lying through your teeth. “I’m only thinking of you.”

His hair was still long, kept the same way he wore it in school. Your fingers tangled in his hair like muscle memory, scratching against his scalp as he kissed along your skin with wet lips, treating your other breast with the same, hungry attention.

“Still so fucking hot,” he mumbled against your skin. “Should’ve— fuck— should’ve kept you. What do you want, huh? Tell me.”

Your mind swam with possibilities, but you didn’t even know where to begin. Your mind was stuck on his previous words. Should’ve kept you. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?  “I don’t know,” you replied, completely honest. “Whatever you want.”

He accepted that easily— it was so similar to how you’d been for him in college. You gasped as he kissed down your sternum, then your stomach. His lips found the waistband of your panties and he grinned, tugging at the lace with his teeth, letting it snap back against your hip. 

He peeled your panties down slowly, letting his hands trail down the expanse of your legs. The possessiveness of the touch sent a thrill up your spine. His lips grazed along your skin, from your ankle, up your calf, then your knee. Your legs spread instinctively, welcoming him right back where he knew he belonged. His pretty lips trailed wet kisses up your thighs, stopping just where you wanted him. 

You expected him to rush. He’d seen Patrick and Tashi leave, which meant they’d finish before you two, more likely than not. There was every reason in the world to make things quick— to fuck you and make you leave. 

Instead, he took his time with you. Soft, teasing kisses peppered on the supple skin of your thighs before he nuzzled into your cunt. The first delve of his tongue was slow and exploratory, tasting the arousal that had pooled at your core. 

”God, you still taste so fucking sweet.”

Another thing you’d nearly forgotten about Art— in all things, he was methodical.

He started with kitten licks at your clit— light brushes with his tongue that made you whimper needily for more. His tongue circled you there, and he relished in the way your fingers tugged on his hair at the sensation. 

Then he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud, sucking with more pressure until a strangled moan squeezed past your lips. Your thighs tensed on either side of his head, holding him there as he alternated between slow, soothing licks and firm suction.

It was frustrating, how wet you were. Art had brought out the worst in you, turned you into something that left you feeling genuinely embarrassed. And still, you were slick, dripping down to the sheets. A mess of arousal and Art’s spit. 

When he eased a finger into your cunt, it slid in like your body was made to fit whatever he could give you. At that point, you very well could have been. What were you, if not an object orbiting in the atmosphere of his life?

He looked up at you, seeming so fucking intent on making it feel good for you as he crooked his finger. It rubbed against the soft, spongy spot within you and you cried out, eyes rolling back. 

“That’s it, huh?” He cooed as he pressed a second finger inside of you. Your arm was slung over your face. You couldn’t let yourself keep looking at him when he was looking at you the same way he had in college. The same fucking expression that got your head all mixed up in the first place. 

He pressed a soft kiss to your clit and you whimpered. “I know it feels good, baby, just relax.”

His fingers thrust within you with a slow, deep pressure as he continued to make out with your clit. It was always so good with him— you’d nearly forgotten how easy it was for him to bring you to the edge. 

When you came, it wasn’t like what you had grown used to with Patrick— sudden and overwhelming, like it had been ripped from some secret place within you. It was intense, but slow to build, seeming to last forever as Art’s fingers and tongue worked you through it. Your breath was shaky as he pulled back, pretty mouth wet with your arousal.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked, looking up at you expectantly. 

You should’ve stopped— rationally, you knew that it was best to turn back and quit before you fucked up the situation beyond repair. 

But it was Art. He could’ve had anyone else, but he wanted you. Maybe not forever, or even longer than that night. But for then. 

You shook your head softly. “No. Do you think we should stop?”

His fingers moved between your thighs, circling your clit. “We definitely should. You’re with Patrick.”

You sighed, eyes fluttering as he caressed you with featherlight touches. “Don’t fucking talk about him,” you said, but your words came out with no bite. How could they, when he was playing with your body like a favorite toy?

“No?” He asked. He was wearing a smug sort of expression. “You don’t want me to talk about your boyfriend, huh? Too personal?”

You moaned as he applied more pressure at the apex of your thighs, making your cunt clench and ache to be filled. 

“Does Patrick know how much you’ve missed me?” He asked. Your breath caught in your throat, and he just smiled. “I bet he does. I think he knows that if he just drops my name in a conversation, your pussy gets wet.”

You moaned softly at his words, chest heaving with soft pants. You weren’t even sure if it was true, but it felt like it could’ve been then. He leaned down, his words spoken close to your ear.

“I can go slow. Make it last for you.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, making you shiver. 

You nodded eagerly, turning your head to capture his lips with yours. The kiss was slow, like you had all the time in the world. His tongue against yours, the weight of his body on top of you, the feel of him hard, pressing against your thigh. 

He sat back to strip off his boxers, and you relished in the sight of him laid bare before you. You’d nearly forgotten how pretty he was— big and flushed nearly red with need. It made your heart hammer with nerves; your excitement and shame and need rolled into one messy, electrifying tangle. 

His hair flopped into his eyes as he held himself over you, just like you remembered. You reached up, brushing it out of his eyes with a tender hand. His lips brushed against the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse thrummed in your veins. 

“Tell me you’ve missed me.”

Heat flooded your entire body, as you repeated the words. “I missed you, Art.” You reached between your bodies, wrapping your hand around his cock, and guiding it towards your entrance. He moaned and bucked instinctively into your hand.

”Tell me you want me to fuck you, no one else.” You could hear the implications in his words. Tell me you want me, not Patrick. 

“I want you to fuck me.”

Art pressed himself inside of you, sinking into the welcoming warmth of your cunt. You wrapped your legs around his waist, squeezing him closer, deeper, until his balls pressed firm against you and there was nothing else to give.

He thrust shallowly, rocking against a spot deep within you, one that made your eyes flutter with each brush against it.

“You’re so tight still,” he moaned, lips moving against your throat. “Pussy’s made just for me.”

He touched you like he hadn’t forgotten how you felt or what you needed. Spoke to you like you were one of his possessions.

You lost yourself in it— the sweet, filthy words spoken against your skin, and the rhythm of his body moving against yours. His lips captured yours with a hungry insistence, like he could convey four years' worth of unspoken words with a few brushes of his tongue against yours. 

When he pulled back, lips spit slick and looking so pretty, you thought maybe there was a sort of understanding between the two of you.

His head fell back as he sped up his thrusts, chasing his release. There wasn’t time to stretch it out, to spend as much time as you could with each other’s bodies. 

“Need you to cum,” he said, sliding a hand between your thighs to rub your still-sensitive clit. Your cunt was squeezing him tight, body aching for it, for him, brought to the edge simply because he’d asked for it. “C’mon— you get so tight when you cum, need to feel it again.”

It was like your body was hardwired to give him exactly what he wanted. You came with broken moans of his name and legs squeezing him closer, deeper. Your chest heaved with shaking breaths and punched out whimpers as he kept fucking into you.

He was practically crushing you with his weight, pinning you down, groaning into the junction of your shoulder. 

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” his words vibrated against skin tacky with a thin sheen of sweat.

”Want you to.” Your arms slung around his back, holding him close to you. “I’ve got an IUD, so you can— you can cum.”

His lips met yours as he came, with a pretty moan into your open mouth and slow, messy kisses that made you want to just melt into him and stay that way forever. 

Spent, he rolled over and turned on a lamp at the bedside. The alarm clock announced the time in a dim red glow— five past one.

You lay there, damp between your thighs from the mixture of your releases, unsure of what to do. It was cold beneath the hotel AC. He was peering over at you, wearing an expression you were scared to dissect.

When his hand touched your arm, you nearly flinched. Your breath caught in your throat as he ran his thumb along your skin, so sweetly that you felt that same discomfort tug at your chest. 

“C’mere,” he said, an offer. His arm was splayed over the pillows, giving you the perfect spot to lie down and press yourself against his side. To pretend like you belonged there.

But you didn’t belong there. You belonged four floors down with Patrick. That’s where you had belonged for four years. The reality of what you’d done had set in quickly, and you knew you needed to get out of Art’s room. 

”Art,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I have to go.”

He nodded and sat up against the headboard. You watched him grab his boxers and pull them back on, a strange smile on his face. He must’ve sensed your confusion, even without you saying. 

“It’s funny how things change,” he said. “Here I am, asking you to stay for once.”

You didn’t say anything as you picked up your clothes from around the room, redressing as you recovered each piece from its hiding spot around the room. Your shirt was unsalvageable, so you grabbed Art’s. He had plenty of brand sponsors that would jump to replace it, and Patrick wouldn’t recognize it.

“I loved you, I think,” he said suddenly. “Back in college.”

You froze, arms crossed over your chest as you looked at him. “Art—“

“No, I did. I loved you, I just did it all wrong.”

“Art, just stop,” you said firmly. Embarrassment hit you all at once— the guilt of what you’d done, and the shame over who you’d done it with. Your eyes stung as you looked at him. “Why the fuck would you say that?”

His lips twitched, dipping into a frown, then back into as close to a neutral expression as he could manage. “I just thought you should know. It’s only fair.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “Fair? Jesus Christ, you really haven’t changed, Art.” 

His expression fell completely. It looked like it had back in the hotel bar— icy. “I haven’t changed? What’s that supposed to mean?”

You sighed as you looked at him. “It means that if this were Stanford, that would’ve made me crawl right back into bed, lay by your side, and daydream about what it could mean for us. If one day I might be Mrs. Art Donaldson. It means that you say these sweet things to me every time you can feel me slipping away, but they mean absolutely nothing. We’re not nineteen anymore, Art. I’m not leaving Patrick to be your plaything again.”

His jaw tensed, and he looked down at the bed briefly while he picked at loose threads on the sheets. “You think that’s what I want?”

You frowned. “I think you want what Patrick has.”

He scoffed. “Patrick doesn’t even want what he has,” he said, relishing in the wounded look on your face. “If he did, he wouldn’t be fucking my fiancée right now.”

Fiancée. You felt stupid for not knowing it, but you swallowed down your hurt and met his gaze. “I guess we’re both going to have to be content with being the second choice.” You slipped on your shoes and went for the door. “Good luck with your match tomorrow, Art. I sincerely hope that I never have to see you again.”

The hallway felt colder when you stepped outside of the room and shut the door firmly behind you. A very big part of you wanted to go back, to knock and apologize and grovel like you might have when you were a freshman.

Maybe you hadn’t grown up that much after all. 

The elevator was playing Billy Joel. You leaned against the side of the elevator, relishing in the cold against your sticky skin. When the doors opened on your floor and you stepped out, you blinked in surprise. 

Tashi stood in front of you for the first time since college, looking just as stunning as you remembered, probably more so. Her hair was pulled up, slightly damp at the ends. Her eyes flicked down to your shirt, Art’s shirt, you swallowed as an understanding passed between the two of you— wordless, because what was there to say at that point?

”You left your laptop in the hallway,” she said, skipping formalities. “I took it inside so it wouldn’t get stolen.”

“Okay,” you said, chewing on your lip. She stood there like she expected something more. You felt her surveying you, and froze as she reached forward and rubbed at your bottom lip.

“He could’ve at least cleaned you up a bit,” she said. Her fingers delicately fixed your hair, tucking it back into place. She wiped a smudge of lipstick from the side of your mouth. Once there was nothing left to fix, she looked at you one last time and nodded. “You should be fine now.”

Before you could process that, she stepped into the elevator, and you were left alone in the hallway. When you made it to the room, the door was cracked open, so you let yourself in.

Patrick was on the balcony smoking a cigarette, a towel slung low around his waist. The bed was a fucking wreck, not that he seemed to mind. 

When the door clicked shut, he stubbed out the cigarette he was smoking and joined you back in the room. 

“Are we going to talk about it?” He asked. His jaw tensed as he looked at you, like he was ready if you were going to start a fight.

“I just want to go to bed, Patrick,” you said, annoyed by how wobbly and pathetic you sounded. 

He stepped forward and kissed your forehead. “Okay. We’ll go to bed.”

You kicked off your clothes, but left on Art’s hoodie. Patrick didn’t ask where it came from, or what happened to what you were wearing earlier. You knew he already knew, that he could tell the moment you walked in. He dropped the towel onto a heap on the floor, climbed into the bed, and held out his arms for you.

A stronger person would’ve told him to fuck off, but you weren’t a stronger person. You nestled into his side and felt the hot sting of tears in your eyes. 

He rubbed your back soothingly and kissed your forehead. The sheets smelled like Tashi, he smelled like hotel soap, and you smelled like Art’s cologne. 

“Do you want room service in the morning?” He asked softly.

“Patrick—“

“I’m serious. We can have breakfast in bed, do some tourist-y shit, maybe we’ll go watch a couple of matches, then come back and—“

“Are we supposed to just forget what happened?” You interrupted.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.” He kissed your forehead, tender, sweet. “I’ll tell you everything if that’s what you want.”

You met his gaze. “Do you… do you want to know? About Art?”

He went quiet as he played with the ends of your hair. “Did it make you feel any better?” He finally asked. 

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Then it didn’t.”

He kissed the crown of your head. “No?”

You shook your head, sighing softly as his kisses trailed down, over your nose, to the sides of your mouth. “No. It was a mistake.”

”Tell me about it,” he said, murmuring against your jaw. “Tell me how he touched you.”

You shivered, tilting your head to give him more access. Your nails scratched softly against his scalp as he sucked bruises onto your throat. 

“He was desperate,” you said, heart hammering as you began recounting it to Patrick— your boyfriend. There was no world in which he should’ve wanted to hear about it… and yet. He moaned against your throat, encouraging you, wanting to know more. “Kissed me like he wanted to taste you in my mouth, like he wanted to overpower you.”

Patrick moved his lips to yours, kissing you with a sloppy brush of his tongue against yours. “Like that?”

You shook your head and leaned in, deepening the kiss with slow laps of your tongue into his mouth. He moaned softly, matching your pace in a way that was rare, but made butterflies dance around in your stomach. He pulled you on top of him— hands roaming from the backs of your thighs to squeeze your ass as he deepened the kiss. It was just as slow and sweet as before, but you could sense the need and hunger behind it.

You pulled back, just enough to remove your lips from his. Both of your breaths came in needy pants. You weren’t sure why you were enjoying this, but you were, so you kept going. “He took off my clothes, and laid me down on the bed.”

Patrick moaned, chasing your lips. You sat back and just looked at him— lying there with still-damp curls, his pupils blown with lust. His cock was hard, resting against his stomach, precum beading at the tip.

You pulled off Art’s hoodie and tossed it across the room, relishing in the way Patrick’s eyes raked over every bit of exposed skin like it was the first time he’d seen it. “He ate me out, made me cum on his fingers first, then again while he was inside of me,” Patrick’s breath caught, just for a moment. Desire, or jealousy, or both flickered across his gaze. “He fucked me like he wanted me to fall in love with him again.”

Patrick’s chest was heaving as you moved a hand between your bodies, grasping his cock in your hand, stroking slowly. “Is that how you fucked Tashi? Like you wanted her to pick you instead of her fiancé?” He moaned as your thumb ran over his slit, smearing the precum that had begun to dribble out. 

“No,” He groaned. You nodded encouragingly, squeezing him tighter in your fist. “Fuck. I fucked her like I wanted her to know she made a mistake. Made her cum until she tapped out”

You ran a thumb over his bottom lip, tugging slightly. “With this pretty mouth, huh?” He nodded, wordlessly. “And with this?” You gave a slow stroke of his dick, making him buck up into your fist. Another nod. 

“Show me.”

Patrick’s brows furrowed in disbelief. “Show you?”

You nodded and continued stroking him. “I told you about Art, so I want you to show me how you fucked Tashi.”

You recognized the fucking insanity of what you were asking, but you didn’t care. It was a strange form of closure— closing the circle, or whatever. 

“Fuck, okay. Lay back,” he said, patting your thigh. You slid off his lap and settled atop the sheets, watching him expectantly. 

His fingers hooked in the waistband of your panties, and he slid them down slowly. “Fuck.” Your cheeks flooded with heat as he held the sodden fabric up, wet and sticky with Art’s cum. He groaned and hooked your thighs over his shoulders. “That’s… god, that’s really fucking hot, baby.”

Oh. The mix of embarrassment and desire was something new— burning hot in the pit of your stomach as Patrick licked at your pussy, tasting the evidence of your arousal mingling with Art’s release. He moaned against you, holding you so tightly that his fingers dimpled your thighs. 

His tongue lapped at your entrance, pushing into your cunt as deep as he could manage, then back to licking at your clit. It was messy— a combination of spit and cum and your juices.

“Fuck!” You cried out, tugging his hair as he sealed his lips around your clit. He moaned loudly against you, encouraging you to do it again, the fucking masochist. 

He redoubled his efforts, pulling you closer, moaning against your cunt. It was like he wanted to devour you, to lick up every bit of Art that was left inside of you. You wanted him to try— you wanted him to replace every part of Art that was left in your body and soul.

“Patrick,” you gasped. He murmured an mhmm against your pussy. Eyes closed, right at home between your thighs, lost in the taste of you. “Need you inside.”

He planted one, two sloppy kisses to your clit before he pulled back, his lips shiny with your arousal. He wiped the mess away with the back of his hand, smirking down at you. “You need me, huh?”

You nodded, chest heaving with each panting breath. Patrick sat down at the headboard and patted his thigh. “Prove it.”

You sat up, crawling up the bed until you were straddling his lap. “You made her do all the work?” 

He laughed, running his hands up your thighs to squeeze your ass, tug you closer. “I didn’t make her do anything.” Patrick had a hand wrapped around his cock, and you moaned softly as he guided it between your thighs to notch at your entrance. 

You sank down slowly, forehead pressed against his as you took inch after inch. “Fuck,” you breathed. You leaned forward, brushing your lips against his as you gave a slow roll of your hips. “Fuck. You’re so deep, Pat. Feels so good.”

His head fell back against the headboard as you began to ride him in earnest. “Fuck, just like that,” he groaned, still wearing that fucking smirk, even balls deep inside of you. “That’s it, baby, take what you need.”

And you did. The way he was looking at him was proof enough, he was eating up every fucking second of you fucking yourself on him, using him like a toy. 

Your noises were near-pornographic— Right there, fuck, you’re so big baby, so fucking deep.

The poor soul next door slammed on the wall, begging for you to just shut the fuck up. Patrick silenced you with a hungry kiss— a mess of tongues and spit. His fingers moved on your clit, pulling you towards the edge with desperate need. 

“Close,” you gasped. 

He nodded, moving his fingers faster. “I know you are. I’ve got you.” 

You collapsed on top of him as you came— hips canting weakly as he worked you through it. He thrust up into your tight walls, groaning at the feeling of your cunt spasming around his cock. 

“Fuck, you feel so perfect,” he groaned, burying his face into the junction of your throat. “Gonna cum— fuck—“

You moaned softly at the feeling of him spilling inside of you— the soft pulse of him, the warmth of his cum flooding your cunt. You stayed on his lap, kissing his freckled nose, his eyelids, his mouth. 

When you finally moved off of him, you whimpered at that loss of fullness, and of the slick mess seeping out between your thighs. If you were smart, you would’ve gone and cleaned up, but there was nothing more you wanted than to lay there in Patrick’s arms and fall asleep. 

Whatever. You’d leave housekeeping a very generous tip. He sighed contentedly as you lay there— like you were made to fit against him perfectly.  A warm hand rubbed comforting circles on your back, and you felt so at home, even in an Atlanta hotel. 

“I love you, you know that?” He asked.

You looked up and nodded. “I know. I love you too.”

You found yourself staring up over at Patrick with a stupid, persistent smile on your face. He turned to watch you watching him, wearing a matching grin on his face. It was hard to tell who started laughing first— you or Patrick. At the absurdity of it all, at yourselves. 

“God, we’re so messed up,” you said, with another laugh.

He nodded. “Really messed up, but whatever. Apparently your brain isn’t even fully developed until you’re 25.”

“Great, so we have one more year until we’re normal, rational adults.” He laughed, holding you against his chest. 

He reached over and kissed your forehead. You were so sticky and gross that you really needed a shower, but, again— it was a tomorrow problem.

It fell quiet, and you could feel yourself slipping into comfortable drowsiness when Patrick finally spoke up. “Are we going to be okay?”

You blinked slowly. With your hand resting on his chest, you could feel his heart thudding just beneath your palm.

When you were twenty, you met Patrick’s parents. Crowded into his childhood bed with your head resting against his chest, his heart pounded as he apologized for the intense grilling you’d received that night at dinner. It was the first time you ever felt like his bravado had been shaken, like you were seeing through to the core of him. 

You always knew you would be the one to say you loved him first— it was just the way things went. “I don’t care if they like me,” you had assured him. “I love you.” His heart beat harder, faster. He didn’t say it back until two days later, when he was fucking you in that very same bed— forehead to yours, skin sticky with sweat. “I love you,” breathed into your mouth like air. 

When you were twenty-two, you moved into an apartment in Manhattan and Patrick followed like a housecat— no rent, no job, just company and a mouth to feed. The tour wasn’t going well, and you were working for a shitty, clickbait news site that hardly covered the cost of your place. 

Things were good, mostly. Comfortable, domestic. Patrick tried to be a good boyfriend, you tried to be a good girlfriend. Both of you were trying to figure out what that meant for the other as best as you could. Patrick would bring you flowers from the corner store and take you out for drinks and dancing on weekends. You’d drive out on holidays to visit his family and wind up leaving early to go back to the comforts and peace of your apartment. 

When you could, you’d follow him out to tournaments. If he won, he’d take you out with the prize money. If he lost, you’d take him back to the hotel to cheer him up.

On rough days, one of you would come home to the apartment and pick a fight over laundry, or a dish left in the sink, or even what he’d left on TV, and the other would give it back tenfold. Your neighbors would beat on their walls in annoyance as you yelled at each other, until one of you slammed a door and sulked in another room for a few hours, or you had make-up sex that gave the neighbors another reason to bang on their walls. 

The breakups were infrequent but severe. You’d kick Patrick out, he’d live out of his car, or in a motel, or fuck off to some tennis tournament that you’d previously promised to go to. One of you always broke first, returning to the other with promises of love, and to do better.

You did love each other, really. And things usually got better. It was just easy to live with your feelings dialed up to a ten where Patrick was involved: bigger good moments, worse bad ones. 

Your career had vastly improved. Patrick had moved up in the rankings, only slightly, but it was something. You could afford a bigger apartment in a nicer area, maybe get a dog. And you didn’t just want those things alone, you wanted them with him. 

You pressed a kiss to the center of his chest and nodded. “We’ll be fine,” you assured. It felt like the truth.

He nodded, looking down at you. His freckles were so much more pronounced after tournament after tournament in the blazing sun. “Yeah, probably.”

The next morning, you both got the continental breakfast you’d seen in the elevator while housekeeping dealt with the aftermath of the previous night. You did tourist-y shit— went to a museum, found a nice spot for lunch.

At the end of the day, you sat in the oppressive Atlanta heat with Patrick and watched Art Donaldson win his tennis match. You and Patrick left early, fucked in the backseat of his car, and decided to head home early. 

As you started the drive back, you held his hand over the center console and listened to a shitty mix CD with songs he’d ripped off of LimeWire. You gave him shit when Kelly Clarkson followed Lil Wayne, but you both sang along to every fucking word. 

You were right. You and Patrick would probably be fine.

[aggressivelyclueless]

hey @ghosts-haunt this one’s for you! happy Truce!! :D

no-one-knows-au/sleepover-summons x2 combo!! also with a lil angst!! check it:

They didn't start the night off with plans to summon the Phantom of Amity Park.

It was a perfectly reasonable escalation of events, that was all.  Really.

There were five of them sprawled out in the basement that night: Sam, who was playing host for once and acted largely as the buffer between the rest of them and her parents (although Grandma, she assured her friends, was harmless); Malady Jones, armed with a flashdrive containing a dozen pirated horror flicks; Malady's boyfriend, Nathaniel, who scared very easily but had accepted the invitation nonetheless; Conrad Maynard Sterling, who was still trying desperately to get the name "Spike" to stick; and Felicity Warren, who Sam had met in third-hour and had brought her ouija board, just-in-case.

At sundown, when Malady and Nathaniel arrived, the plans were still loose; that said, they were still in "movies" territory, with "seance" being optional.

Now it was coming up on eleven.  Three pizza boxes lie, eviscerated and weeping grease, on the floor by the popcorn machine.  The projector was still dutifully rolling, but the screen held no one's attention: all eyes were on Conrad -- namely, on the dead-eyed vampire makeup he was doing for Malady.

"You're sure, no blood?" he asked her, for the twelfth time.  He kept a jar of it in his bag, alongside other staples of the genre: liquid latex, scar putty, scab gel, glistening spray, technicolor bruise palette.  Pale, undead faces were all well and good -- but the less savory it was to look at, the more horrible of an injury it was, the better Conrad got at mimicking it with a sponge or a brush.

"Yes, I'm sure," said Malady patiently, sliding a glance over to Nathaniel, who had sunk into a beanbag in the corner.  "We'll do blood next time, when he won't be around to faint."

"I won't faint!" came the rebuttal from the beanbag.  After some consideration: "I might puke a little, if it's gross.  But I won't faint."

Conrad relented, nodding.  "Close your eyes," he instructed to Malady, going in with the eyeliner next.

"Between the two, I'd say faint," said Sam, elbows propped on the back of the sofa, sock-feet kicking idly back and forth.  "One less thing to explain to the cleaning lady tomorrow, you know?"

Nathaniel scoffed, but took the jab with decent humor.  "Right, I'll pick that on purpose, then."

"Oh, hang on, credits are rolling," said Felicity, shuffling her way over to the laptop running the projector.  "Did we want to put on another one?"

"Nah," said Malady and Nethaniel at the same time, and a moment later they both cracked up.

"Well it's not even midnight, don't tell me you gus are tired yet," said Sam, her swinging feet going still as she frowned.  ". . . are you?"

"No," said Malady, "but I'm bored of Vincent Price now and if I eat any more popcorn I'm going to be the one puking."

Felicity slid around the side of the sofa, pointedly silent, but Sam watched her do it in amusement: she had a pretty good idea of what Felicity was about to suggest.

"You have an idea?" said Sam, offering the hook, and Felicity's smile turned smug.

"I have the board," she said, and now that it was out she may as well go on.  "My place is a bust half the time, and Mal's basement hasn't been the same since they put the new water heater in -- but we always have good luck here."

"Seance?  I'm game," said Conrad, and swore under his breath at the eyeliner.  Malady threw a thumbs-up over her head in agreement, not wanting to disturb him; along with Sam's approval, that seemed to decide it.

But then Felicity's smile widened from smug to clever.  "Seance, and," she said, and the four of them all turned her way in surprise.

"And?" Sam prompted, when no one else did.

"And. . . maybe a spell," said Felicity, "If you guys are down for it."

"Hang on a sec," Sam interceded, hearing the others making curious murmurs which would no doubt lead to the go-ahead if she said nothing.  "What kind of spell?  Where'd you find it?"

Felicity put a placating hand out.  "Don't worry about it, it's not anything crazy.  It's just a summoning spell.  You've done a few of Nightingale's, right?  The ones you said maybe had something to them?  This one's his too, and I figured we could give it a shot."

"And summon what?" said Nathaniel, not liking the sound of where this was going.

Felicity shrugged deliberately.  "Maybe nothing.  Maybe we get it wrong, or it doesn't work.  Or maybe. . . we summon a ghost."

"And if it goes wrong?  My parents will never let me hear the end of it," said Sam, "Why didn't you say anything about this last week when we were at yours -- ?"

"Because I didn't have it all worked out yet," said Felicity, "Besides, it's basically a seance anyways.  Every time we do those, it's all, inviting-the-dead-into-the-realm-of-the-living, right?  Same thing."

"It is so not the same thing," said Conrad, then added, "I'm still down, though."

"I'm also-still-down.  Unless you wanna wait until next week and we can make my house haunted instead.  My mom won't care, you know that."  Malady propped herself up as Conrad backed off her, swiping his setup back into the makeup bag.

Sam made a shrug of hesitation, but at that point it was an empty gesture.  Truth be told, she'd been looking for a summoning spell, on-and-off, for weeks.  She knew Nightingale's credibility, and even had a compilation of notes and surviving chapters of his books in her room; if there was a summoning ritual written down among his works, it would be authentic.

"Yeah, all right," she said at last, wondering what exactly would happen if they did manage to loose a ghost in the house.  At the very least, she could ask it nicely to terrorize her mother and not her; anything beyond that was conjecture.  "Sure.  We can do a summoning.  Who d'you have in mind?"

"A benign spirit," said Felicity, but Sam shook her head: there were no vagueries allowed now.  Still, Felicity insisted.  "One I’ve been kind of curious about, and one I don't think has ever actually hurt anyone."

"Like who?" Sam pressed, and finally Felicity relented with a long, overdramatic sigh.

"Fine.  It's the reason I went digging so hard to find this thing, anyways: I want to summon the Phantom of Amity Park."

- - - -

The ritual began, per tradition, at the stroke of midnight.  The rules -- at least, the version of them that had survived -- didn't mention said stroke being mandatory, but it was agreed that it coudn't hurt their chances, and the set-up left them only with a few minutes to spare, anyhow.  Considering the intricacy of some of Nightingale's other ghost rituals, this one seemed a cakewalk: a few candles, a few lines of chalk, maybe a bloodflower or two (they eschewed those, considering they were optional anyway and this ordeal was functionally spur-of-the-moment), a bit of Latin here and there.

And it was for the best that both of Sam's parents went to bed early.  Either one of them coming down to check on them now would have been a nightmare.

They each sat at the edge of the outermost circle drawn on the hardwood, palms down.  The projector had been shut down and the overhead lights killed; the only illumination now was the flickering of the candles on the floor.  The grandfather clock in the hall upstairs was keeping time for them, on the official side anyhow -- that was the kind of tolling you could hear from anywhere in the house, and seemed more definitive than the approximation of five phone clocks.

Any minute now, it would go off.

"Can I still chicken out?" said Nathaniel, although the others knew he wasn't going to.  He was allowed, of course, and had been the whole time -- but he said, usually after second-guessing himself, that he had to find out what happened, one way or the other, and he'd probably never live it down if he bailed now.

Felicity, by far the most patient, nodded slowly.  "Sure, you can.  If you really want to."

"But, should I?"

"Beats me," said Malady, "Bail or don't.  But make up your mind because once we get this thing going you won't have a choice anymore."

Nathaniel took his palms off the floor, almost made to swipe them clean on the side of his pants, reconsidered, put them back on the hardwood again.  The others had gotten serious all of a sudden -- did that mean things would get bad?  How bad, exactly?  Thinking too much about it was pointing his anxiety into a tailspin, but if he let it freefall he'd be a nervous wreck in no time.

Maybe he would end up fainting after all -- but at least that was something he could handle.

He was considering pulling his hands away yet again when the first chime of the clock upstairs echoed down to them, and just like that it was too late.  Whether he'd regret it or not -- he was really in it now.  He, along with the others, had been given the Latin; like Felicity had promised, it wasn't terribly difficult.

The chalk under their palms reacted with the first pass, as if volatile, erupting into spitting, hissing flames that raced around the periphery and enclosed the runes within.  Yellow faded to an ethereal, foggy white, emanating from five pairs of hands; with a second, third, fourth pass of the incantation they settled into a calmer ring on the hardwood floor.  Despite them, the room around them went cold as stone.

And by the fifth pass, the outline of the ghost was slowly becoming visible.  Wisps of white mist suggested hands, suggested feet, suggested hair, although the spirit's body was a black hole.  It hung, utterly motionless, in the air over the circle, and at last its eyes winked open one at a time.

"Holy shit," Felicity breathed, "This thing really works. . . "

The ghost wafted slightly lower, turning its gaze down and regarding the summoners in turn.  Aside from the eyes, which burned as two blindingly green circles, it did not appear to possess a face, or any other features at all.  Nonetheless, the impression it gave was, indisputably, that it was frowning.  When it spoke, its voice was a soundless echo.

(What do you want?)

"This was your idea," Malady whispered, nudging Felicity with the side of her foot, "You tell him."

Felicity refocused, still somewhat aghast that they had been successful at all.  "You're the Phantom of Amity Park," she said slowly, "You're. . . you're real, then."

(Yes) said the ghost, now swaying lightly back and forth within the confines of the circle, as if testing its limits.  Its unblinking eyes were locked on Felicity, betraying nothing.

"And you wander," said Malady, regretting it instantly as the ghost's eyes slid across its shadowed surface to face her.  She shied back slightly, but kept her hands planted on the circle before her.  "I mean, you get around. . . more than a lot of people. . . "

The mist that comprised the spirit's extremities seemed to draw slightly inward.  (Yes) it said again, and, sensing the immediate question: (No grave, I think)

"Then what are you looking for?" said Felicity, and Malady was thankful for it.  "You must be looking for something, if you get around so much, right?"

The ghost considered the question, but declined to give an answer.  Instead, it asked: (Why?  Are you going to find it for me?)

"Well -- " Felicity started, but Sam cut her off.

"Don't.  If you say yes he's going to hold you to it."

"I was going to say maybe," said Felicity, "I know how this works, I'm not dumb."

"You're not," said Conrad, and Felicity was about to thank him for it when she realized he was focusing on the ghost.  "You're not looking for anything, are you?  That's not why you linger."

The ghost said nothing.

Conrad didn't let it off the hook.  "Is it?"

(No.  It's not) said the ghost reluctantly, and shifted in place, drawing the vague shapes of its hands closer together.  The chill that had settled over the room deepened an extra degree.

"Then why do you linger?" said Malady carefully, and when the ghost rounded on her this time it was bristling.

(Do you care?  Do you have to?) said the ghost, and Sam shot Malady a warning look: it wasn't angry yet, at least not outwardly -- best not to upset it.

But, damn her, Malady pressed: "Well, they’ve only been sighting you for a couple of months, I think -- we were curious."

(Don't be) snapped the ghost, its eyes crackling momentarily as two circles of green-tinted static.  Its body seemed to radiate it as well, an almost-tangible feeling in the air like a static charge.

"Mal, quit it, don't piss him off," Sam hissed through her teeth, but found herself freezing up when the ghost turned its gaze on her.  For a long moment it said nothing, only stared, unblinking, and she swore she could hear the ceaseless, featherlight whispers rolling off it like mist.

Then it seemed to regard them as a collective again.  (What more do you want?)

"We want to know what you're after," said Malady, this time fully ignoring the daggers that Sam was glaring in her direction.  "Or how come you don't vanish when someone sees you, or. . . "

(Don't) said the ghost, and the static was back again in its eyes.  It wasn’t just a feeling this time -- the shape under its veil of fog was hissing now, soft but unmistakable, and the whiteflame chalk began to buzz under five sets of fingers, out-of-tune like a CRT monitor.  (Don't ask questions you don't want to find out the answers to)

"It's not just that," Conrad murmured, "There's a lot of stuff that doesn't add up.  You don't have a haunt, you're not trying to close any wounds, you won't -- "

The ghost growled, and along with it came the certainty that, somewhere under the veneer of shadows it wore, its teeth were baring in a snarl.  (Stop it) it demanded, but Conrad saw the desperation in it, which meant he was right.

"You don't have a story," he said, which was perhaps the most glaring flaw of all.  Every ghost had a widely-accepted story behind it -- although the accuracy of any given one was up for debate -- but the Phantom had none, at least none that had gotten around yet.  Aside from a scattering of sightings, the Phantom of Amity Park was little more than a rumor.

Or, rather, it had been until now.

"Phantom," said Sam, knowing it was going to be asked regardless, and deciding that she could at least apply some tact to the question, "You do have a story, don't you?  Or at least a name?"

(Yes) said the phantom, but it was through a strained hiss of static.  The stringing wisps of fog at its sides made its hands seem long and angular, almost too much so; the distortion would not leave its voice now, no matter the manner in which it spoke.  (I don't want to do this.  I don't want to be here.  If you won't let me go. . . )

"You won't hurt us," said Felicity, but the hesitation that followed was damning.  Still, she held her ground.  "You can't.  The summoning ritual's got a binding element woven in.  You can't harm us unless we tell you to."

(No?) said the ghost, its hands seeming sharper now, almost clawed.  It was bluffing -- surely, it was bluffing, it had to be.  But if not. . .   (You're sure?  Don't you remember how many other rules I've broken?)

"I'm sure," said Felicity, knowing that it was too late to back down.  "And until we release you, you can't disobey us."

"Don't test him like that," Nathaniel whispered, the first thing he'd said since the clock had struck twelve.  Felicity looked over at him: his face was pale and waxy-looking, his hands trembling in place although he refused to take them off the chalk circle.  He was taking deliberate deep breaths, trying to keep himself calm; it seemed to be only half working.  "Don't test him, don't piss him off, what if we did what he wants, what if we let him go?"

"What, and watch him bite our heads off?  If we release him now, he can do whatever the hell he wants, remember?  Shit."  Felicity frowned, eyes darting from one side of the room to the other thinking to piece together a solution.  If she'd have thought further ahead, this scenario might have seemed worth considering -- but she'd convinced herself, and subsequently the others, that the phantom was harmless, probably a lesser spirit.  An odd one, sure, but ultimately benign. . .

"Wait a sec, wait a sec," Sam shifted up a little, repositioning her knees under her.  The static at her fingertips was fading slowly to numbness; she wondered if the phantom could hear her heartbeat racing.  Probably.  Still, she forced herself to hold its irradiated gaze.  "Phantom: if we release you now, you won't hurt us.  Right?  Or do we have to command it?"

The phantom loomed over her, its head tilting back and forth, considering her.  It floated down, tucking up its feet to remain airborne, until they were almost level.  Behind the shadows, its arms were thin and gangling; the fingers it reached out were decorated with faint lichtenburg arcs yet made of nothing at all.  (I won't hurt you.  I promise) it whispered, and the hand closed, offering only the suggestion of its little finger.

It did not even cross Sam's mind that the move could be in deceit, tricking her into taking one hand off the chalk in order to give it her little finger in return.  The gesture was fully automatic: by the time she even realized that she'd done it, her hand was shrouded in the mist that fed the ghost's form and the only sensation she could process was a buzzing hum like a battery's charge.  There was no solid, tangible hand for her to touch -- but there was no question that the pinky swear had been completed.

And slowly, the distorted static hiss began to fade.  The ring of ghostfire went out in a choked puff! of grey smoke.  The ghost enveloped itself in shadow, dispelling a moment later like the twist of the tuner dispels the voice on the radio.  The flickering of the candles subsided, stilling the dancing shadows on the walls.

Just like that, the ghost was gone.

"Sam?" Felicity whispered, "What did it tell you?  Just now?"

Sam looked over, still buzzing.  "You didn't hear it?"  Felicity shook her head: Sam considered, but only briefly.  Then she sat back, making a decent effort at a casual shrug.

"He said to leave him alone, or else."

- - - -

It was almost twelve-thirty when Danny got home.  It wasn't far, and he sailed over late-night rooftops and lawns without even noticing the cold, drifting in through his bedroom window and landing in a pool of silvery moonlight splayed across his bed.  He floated there, comprised of invisible shadow, and tried to get the unease out of his mind.

He'd been summoned?

Since when could anybody do that?

He should have been more careful.  He knew by now that matters of death weren't terribly forgiving; the learning curve was steep and offered few second chances.  Every time he was beginning to think he'd gained decent control over his abilities, something like this would come up and smack him in the face.

Two months, he'd been dead -- when were things supposed to get easier?  They were, eventually, right?

Danny took a deep breath, hating how it felt, and hating that he hated it, and wrenched himself back to life.  The sudden, jarring kickstart of his heart, the spark of warmth that was so alien to his ghost form -- even the everpresent facts of life surprised him, after their absence.  That was the ghost's doing, too, no doubt.  He was sure that he'd never get used to that thing, not completely.

Or at least he'd never trust it.

But he had to find out everything about it in order to get better control.  And now, apparently, he was gaining a little more notice from the living in Amity Park, enough at least for Sam and her goth friends to (somehow? he wasn't sure on the how) conjure him point-blank in her house.  And if she could do it -- who else could?

He should count himself lucky that the crash-course came like this, he supposed.  In a familiar place, by his best friend (although accompanied by the once-removed crowd, names and drama which he generally only heard during lunch-hour gripes), with no solidly ill intent -- that was just about as easy as it got, wasn't it?

But that wasn't what sat ill with him.  One of Sam's friends -- the long-haired one -- had told him outright: the rules of the spell dictated that he couldn't hurt them.  He hadn't wanted to do that, only scare them a little if it made them leave him alone, but he didn't like that she was right.

He'd tried to defy them outright, finding that he just. . . couldn't.  Was that yet-another thing he had to learn how to do?  Worse: was that something he would be saddled with if someone ever did another one of those rituals?  Someone worse, someone who could order him to hurt somebody or. . .

Danny didn't want to think of it.

What if he asked Sam about it, then?  Over lunch or a movie or something, maybe, once he had a straightened-out line of questions to pursue, and so long as he could be sure that she couldn't guess it had to do with that Phantom business.  Now in his room, under less stress and thinking a little better, he supposed he should have handled the ordeal more gently.

But, jesus, being grilled about his own ghostly details was bad enough -- being constricted to the truth, on top of that?   He may as well tell the whole damn town about it.

What if he did tell Sam, though?  Just her -- well, her and Tuck.  If she knew a bonafide ghost summoning ritual, or had friends that did, then she must also know a decent amount that could help him, or at least give him a little bit of a break?

No, he'd decided weeks ago that he couldn't do that.  If he told her and Tuck, he'd have to tell Jazz, he'd have to tell his parents -- and that was where the real problems would crop up.  How was he supposed to explain being dead, but not really, only sometimes, usually when he wanted to but also still by accident, when he didn't even begin to understand it himself?

No, he couldn't tell them, or Jazz. . . or Sam and Tuck.

Even though he was having a hell of a time on his own.

He hadn't meant to slip up, really he hadn't.  Static distortion was, as far as he was concerned, an entirely involuntary function, alongside the chill that even followed him into human form if it decided he wasn't having a terrible enough day.  He was trying his damnedest. . .

. . . but he'd scared each and every one of them just by being there.  Even before any of them had begun to pry, they'd been afraid of him.  There was no hiding it in the way they looked at him (which went double for the rail-thin one, who looked like he'd been trying not to cry the entire time), no disguising the way they flinched just a little every time he spoke.

But, the ghost had delighted in it.  Scare them as much as you want, it whispered, it's good for 'em.

And Danny, scrambling to keep himself together, had let it.

He wanted to apologize to Sam.  He owed her one, even though she wouldn't have the faintest clue where it was coming from.  He thought, somewhat sardonically, that she wouldn't even bat an eye; she teased him sometimes that his knee-jerk reaction was sorry, so she wouldn't think twice about another one that came out of the blue.

But still.

He reached over, pulling open the drawer in his bedside table where he kept his phone.  By now, it was almost one in the morning.  Thank fuck for weekends, otherwise school would have been shaping up to be a proper pain in the ass.

There was a text waiting for him: from Sam, fifteen minutes ago.

He swiped it open: can we hit nb tomorrow ? no tuck. smth went down tonight

Danny stared down at it, in fierce conflict with himself.  He thought of the inevitable disbelief, of having to prove it to her in secret; he thought of having to tell Tuck, because it wouldn't be fair to him otherwise; he thought of the past two hellish months, and of every month after being just as hellish; he thought of what would happen if he solidly, irreversibly lost a fight; he thought of being dragged into another summoning circle, helmed by someone he'd never heard of but who had heard of him; he thought of what his mother would say when she found out her own son had died right under her nose.  He thought of what he'd have to say when Sam told him what had happened.  He thought of sitting there, pretending that he hadn't witnessed it firsthand, nodding along while she lied about how scared she'd been.

Was this really suppsed to be better?

But indecision would get him nowhere.  The longer he sat there, exuding a cold, hollow mist without even realizing it, the more his internal conflict receded.  The last of it swept out like the tide, leaving him not with certainty or sureness -- but at least leaving him with a course of action.

The phone in his hand had gone dark.  He swiped it open again, took a deep breath, knowing that, one way or another, this was going to turn everything on its head.  He texted Sam back, his thumb hesitating for a moment before finally hitting send:

i know. ill see u at nb 🤙

[shares-a-vest]

WIP Wednesday Weekend

Tagged by @farahsamboolents last week. Thanks Farah! I was saving this for a time my brain was on fire enough to work on multiple wips (which is right now 💖💖💖)

Rules:

In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request!

My WIPS:

Claudia Henderson to the Rescue

Steddie (Taylor's Version)

Summer Fic

The One Where Steve Rescues a Litter of Kittens

Coffee Shop AU x2

Snippet:

From 'Claudia Henderson to the Rescue', aka expanding out THIS ficlet.

I'm trying a new strategy of writing ficlets/short/microfics from different pov's and putting them together. This is the section from Claudia's perspective which is proving to be a tricky one imo.

“I know you have responsibilities at home,” she acknowledges, “I know your parents have you doing business when they need it. Paying bills and such too. Plus, there’s that pool…” She chuckles nervously as if her son hasn’t told her the ins and outs of poor Barbara Holland going missing. She looks down, frowning as she thinks over how long Steve has had the weight of the world on his shoulders without his parents around to check on him. Yes, of course, the boy wouldn’t be talking a mile a minute about all the monster things. But at least they’d be there. Claudia looks back up to find Steve nodding along with what she is saying – maybe he is mulling it over rather than thinking up reasons that would make the suggestion sound unreasonable. “Yeah,” is all he says after a moment. He raises a brow, still not looking at her as he continues, “I could just move in with some of my stuff. The things I need, I mean. It’s not like I’d have to clear out the house.” “Just your clothes and your music,” she smiles, “And your bike. Any of your sports things.” Steve chuckles as he echoes, “Sports things… That’s how I know Dustin doesn’t have a sporty bone in his body.”

No Pressure tags: @scoops-stevie @sidekick-hero @momotonescreaming @daysarestranger @henderdads

Plus anyone who feels like working on their wips this weekend and I'll send you an ask 😊

[piastrinorris]

okay i posted photos already but i wanna talk about the weekend so here is a summary: (this is a long post bc am on mobile i am so sorry)

1. FUCK showmasters. money-grabbing, delusional, godawful cunts. i'm glad he only had a 2-event contract with them, but i hope it doesn't put him off future UK cons

2. i got to tell him how much luke's character means to me, that he portrayed an autistic person very sensitively and properly which is tough to get right, that his range is phenomenal and i'm glad he's getting the love he deserves. i don't wanna be That Person and say he wanted to hug me but was ~forbidden~ to, but his arms definitely moved out before he looked at the staff member and then instead reached out to take my hand. he said "thank you, love, your words mean the world to me" and holy SHIT his hands are the SOFTEST THINGS IN THE WORLD!!!!!!! this was also day 1 so he was in the cardigan look and he looked So Ralph i couldn't keep it together lmao

3. when i tell you this man was a CONVEYOR BELT for photo ops. we all joked that you could have put a cardboard cutout in there and it would be exactly the same. same face in all of them and everything. he really seemed done with it all then

4. the panel was. well. about the same as any other. same questions as always were asked. same answers were given. i think bc music as a topic is so opinion based he's been actively deflecting questions about his personal music taste but my GOD did people push that anyway. poor man went into hysterics when someone said to say hi to wes, he was so done with the day. and oh my GOD he hates that panel host guy LMAO his face would be so sweet and gentle when he was talking to the fans and then that guy would open his mouth and jq's face would DROP it was so funny

5. i haven't even mentioned!!!! i made so many friends!!! mostly by wearing my djo hoodie everywhere lol. joe squared supremacy <3 but yeah. i've missed the con experience of just telling someone you like something about them and then spending an entire weekend attached to their hips lol

6. day 2 was SOOOO much calmer. i think bc it was announced super late and also he was only there for half a day. HE HAD A LIL SCRUFF OF BEARD 🥰🥰🥰 and he seemed so much happier. like actual "hello! so nice to see you! how have you been?!" like you see how he is at most cons. he wasn't like that yesterday lmao

7. going off that, when i said "oh you know, just pressing on" he frowned and said "well i hope it gets better!" i said "oh it's great! i've had a good weekend, i hope you have too!" and he went "its been... fucking... lovely!" but the "fucking" was said under his breath in a tone that's usually followed by "mental" or "a shitshow" but yeah. THEN HE WINKED AT ME!!!!!! and said "take care now, won't you?" that's the jq i'd been seeing in videos.

8. photos were much the same but i liked my second one better AND he rubbed my back, said "thank you so much for coming, get home safe!" AND HE WINKED AGAIN

9. day 2 panel was fuckin. EMPTY. i asked him a question about how he said in the wonderland interview that he'd love to pursue a music career, i was like "was that for real or were you just saying it to get to the next question" and he was like "i'm just so lazy, it takes a lot of work to be a musician and i'm not one now, but someday i might start a band" aw. also he is a VERY sarcastic man who i think people take way too seriously lol. also x2 his bitchface towards the host was even less subtle LMAO

10. we saw him leaving and the poor man had his cap on and his head down, he REALLY wanted to leave and i don't blame him in the slightest

11. FUCK. showmasters. they deliberately oversold jq and didn't honour refunds, autographs were either included in diamond passes or bought on the day for £75 IN CASH??? and one of my new friends was the only one left when they cut for time from photo ops, she asked if she could just get one, JOE SAID YES BUT THE STAFF SAID NO. we had one staff member talking to us DIRECTLY about what time jq was paid to stay until, said "but it would be nice if he chooses to stay longer" and then started talking about how last year's summer event was so unfairly criticised?? and was like "even joe said he wasn't stressed" ofc he isn't gonna talk shit about a company he was still legally under contract for??? and one tried to tell us not to sit on the floor, 30ft away from the first aid room door, bc there was NO OTHER SEATING, saying that it's our own fault if we got mauled by a stretcher in an emergency. there was no emergency.

12. i have practically bankrupt myself at artist booths and i'm tempted to do it all again in liverpool in a few weeks lmfao

[the-cranck-hobbit]

Baby On Board

Author's note : English is not my first langage. My first Top Gun OS ! Yay ! An it’s a Hannix ! Yay x2 !

Pairing : Hangman x Phoenix (Hannix)

Summary : Jake Hangman Seresin has begane to change, but he still has quite a way to go. However he’ll need to change his behavior faster than what he thought, all his life being upside down after a phone call. 

Warning : BAD WRITING (but i’m getting better), mention of drugs, overdose and child neglect. And FLUFF !! A LOT OF FLUFF (you’re welcome). Dad!Hangman (yes it’s a warning, we all know it’s a warning.)

10 month old

Jake Seresin went to the hospital. He still didn’t know what it was about or who it was about. When he gave his name at the reception desk, the nice nurse indicated the… pediatrics service. What the hell was going on ? Up there, he met a doctor that brought him to the “family room”. Jake followed her even if didn’t understand why she thought of him as a family. He didn’t know any kids. She made him sit and he couldn’t handle more. 

“Can you please explain to me what I am doing here? You called me and asked me to come here but no one told me why.” He did his best to stay calm. He can be an asshole sometimes. Well he can be an asshole most of the time but yelling at a doctor was not his type. 

“Mr Seresin, I ask you to come talk about Elena Warren. She is hospitalized here, in intensive care units, due to an overdose.” 

“An overdose ?” asked Jake, frowned. Elena and Jake met about one years and a half years ago. They met at the Hard Deck, she was absolutely gorgeous with this very tiny skirt. He pulled out his famous smirk, bought her some drinks. They finished the night in the Hard Deck bathroom, then in the backseat of his truck, then in her place. The following days, they met again in the Hard Deck, then the bathroom, then the truck, then her place. Always the same script.

It’s true that Elena was not against having fun, dancing, drinking, maybe he saw her smoke a joint once with her friend, but he never guessed that she could fall that bad in the drugs. One day, he flew away on a mission for some months and when he came back to San Diego, there were no more Elena. She was only a booty call, so he didn't really pay attention.

“Is she gonna be fine ?” He asked even if he still didn’t know his role in this story. 

“Yes, her days are not endangered anymore and she will be sent to rehab. But during the cure, her son can’t stay with her.” Jake nodded. “Yes, of course.” Then it hits him. “A son ? Sorry but when we met she didn’t have a child.” 

It was the turn of the nice doctor to frown. And then her eyes wide, as if she finally realized something. She moved on her seat and took a deep breath. 

“Mr. Seresin, I called you because it’s your name that appears in the boy’s file.” Jake still didn’t understand, or he didn’t want to understand so the doctor continued. “You are designated as Jake Junior’s father by Mrs Warren.” 

Jake Junior ? Father ? He ? There must be a mistake, of course there is a mistake. It can be, it could be. “It’s impossible, Elena and I knew each other just for a few days about one and half years ago.” The doctor stayed patient. “And you didn’t do anything that could lead to pregnancy ?”

Flashbacks of the time passing with Elena came back in Jake’s mind. Of course they got sex, a lot but they were carefull and she told him she took the pills. How the hell could this happen ? He's always careful. Even with the woman he knew more than one night. Even with the one he cares about, even with the dark-haired pilot that is haunting his dream. 

The last thing he needed was a kid in his legs. He was a fighter pilot, his job required him to travel a lot, take risks. Nothing good for a kid. And more than that, Jake didn’t want to be a father. He knew he couldn’t be a good father. Not his thing. And with the alcoolic bastard that he got as a father, he didn’t want to take the risk to make the same bullshit to a little human that didn’t ask anything. 

“There must be a mistake.” he mumbled. “Jake Junior…” said the doctor before being interrupted by Jake. “Stop calling him like that.” His tone was strict and his eyes were burning from a melt of anger and fear. 

The doctor continued. “The boy is ten months old. It matches the moment you knew Mrs Warren. I know that it can be very scary for you to learn that you’ve got a child. But we are running out of time. If you don’t bring the child with you until the end of the week, he will be placed in Child Services. Maybe if you see the boy you…” Jake interrupted her again. “I won’t meet this kid. I didn’t want him, I don’t want this kind of responsibility. I’m sorry for Elena, I’m sorry for her son. But you asked the wrong guy.”

Before the doctors could say anything more, Jake stood up and barely ran out of the hospital.

As he drove back home, he couldn’t help but think about Phoenix, hearing her calling him again “Bagman”. Yes, it’s true, he acted as Bagman. Maybe for the first time since the uranium mission. 

And maybe it was the idea of disappointing her that took him awake that night. Or the idea of this little ten-months-old boy that was waiting in a hospital crib. He didn’t ask to have a kid. But the boy didn’t ask to be born from a junkie mother and a dickhead father. 

The boy. The Kid. Jake Junior. Jake sighted and looked at his alarm-clock. 3 a.m. His eyes were full open and his brain was sending him pictures of a blond-haired toddler, in a chaotic foster home, lost and terrified. 

Even if he isn’t a model of generosity, Jake was a man. The kind of man that always takes responsibility for his act. So he needed another opinion on all this mess. The opinion of someone that was almost the opposite of him, but someone he can trust. 

That’s how he found himself calling his wingman in the middle of the night. A rough sleep voice answered him. “It better be a serious Hangman.” Jake sighted. “It’s very serious, Rooster. I need to talk to you.” 

On the other side of the line, Bradley Bradshaw sighted. Jake could hear the sound of a shift and Rooster walking in another room.”You’re not alone ?” Jake asked. “No, I’m not. What’s up, man ?” Good old Rooster. Never hang up on someone. Even if it’s 3 a.m. and he is sleeping in his bed with his new girl.   

Jake took a deep breath. “I’ve got a son.” It was the first time he said it. And it’s like it makes it real. He has a son, with his blood, with his name. “Wait, can you repeat ?” Bradley heard him but he needed Jake to repeat to process the information. And what information. “I’ve got a son, Rooster. A ten-month-old son.” He said it with more assurance and…more fear. It was real. Bradley was now totally awake. Hangman having a son ? Jake fucking Seresin being a father ? “How… Who… What’s happening ?” Too many questions for the early hour. “Do you remember about one and half years ago, before being deployed in Hawaii. This blond woman in the Hard Deck ?” Jake asked. Bradley did his best to remember this time. “The one you fucked in the bathroom of the Hard Deck ? Oh God…” 

Jake told him everything from the call he got in the afternoon to the way he left the Hospital without seeing the boy. He knew he could tell everything to Bradley, how much he had been a dickhead with the doctors. Because Rooster knew him when he was so much worse, because he did so much worse to Rooster. 

Bradley tries to stay calm. Jake was terrified, he could hear it in his voice even if the cocky pilot did his best to keep a cool head. “Ok. Right now, we can’t do anything. You need to process the information and so do I. So try to get some sleep, I’m coming to your place in the morning.” Jake nodded and did as Rooster said. But even if he tried to get some sleep, sleep didn’t want to get him. 

Because another thought came in his mind. Phoenix. Natasha. They have been turning around each other for years. But finally, just before her deployment they decided to stop playing. They finally decided to be honest with their feelings. And even if Jake was not usual with “regular relationship” he was ready to make an exception for her. 

They planned to do the things right when she’ll come back, like dates and everything. But a kid wasn’t part of the plan. How is Nat gonna react ? Will she be okay with starting something (no matter what they’ve got) with a man with a child ?

_________________________

There is no need to say that when the blue Bronco parked in the driveaway, Jake didn't sleep at all. When he opened the door, his Wingman saluted him fast and asked him to come. Jake was about to ask him where he wanted to bring him but Bradley interrupted him. “I want to help you, but you have to listen to me. So just do as I say. Don’t think, just do.” 

Rooster knew how much Hangman was lost by the way he just nodded and followed him. Bradley never saw him like that, the eyes lost in his thought, just following his order without any ego. Yeah, the hour was grave. 

Jake got out of his mind when they parked in front of the hospital. He widened and looked at his friend as if he just betrayed him. “Don’t ask me that, Rooster. I’m not ready. I just can’t.” Jake was totally panicked and Rooster replied with a calm but strict voice. “You have to. This kid needs you. You have to see him. You have to give him a chance.” 

They arrived at the pediatric service, a nurse showed them the room and when they came in, another nurse got the little blond-hair baby in her arm and tried to change the sheets of the crib with her only free hand. 

She looked at them and as soon as she saw Jake, she smiled. “You should be Jake’s daddy ! Perfect timing, can you hold him since I made the bed ?” And without letting him time to answer, she put the baby in the pilot’s arms. Firstly, Jake kept him at arm’s length, and looked at Bradley, terrified. Bradley cought to hide his laugh. It was a thing to see Lieutenant Jake Hangman Seresin being terrified by a baby. He composed himself and whispered “This kid is not radioactive, you can… you know.” By saying that, Bradley mimed him to hold the baby against him. 

Jake carefully took the baby closer and wrapped his arms around the little body. “He is so tiny.” He breathed more for himself than for the others. But the nurse answered. “He is a little underweight. But he is eating well, so we think he's gonna gain weight soon.” 

Jake takes the time to look at his son for the first time. He has the same blond hair as his. But he got the blue eyes of his mother. Even if he wasn’t used to kids, Jake could say that this one was beautiful. Maybe he was thinking that because he was his. 

The kid looked at him and put his tiny hand on Jake's cheek. And something happened. All this bullshit about the instinct of the parents wasn't bullshit after all. Because at this moment, Jake could swear that he wanted to do anything to protect this boy, his son. That the only thing he wanted was to give him a secured place, where he could grow up and be happy. 

Jake looked at Bradley and the older man knew that his idea to bring Jake here worked. He came closer slowly and lent a hand to the boy. When the boy took the man’s finger in his little hand,  Bradley leaned toward the baby and said with a sweet voice. “Hello little J. I’m Rooster. You’re daddy is a little lost for the moment, but don’t worry, he has a thing for being the best in everything.” 

Hangman and Rooster, even if their friendship grew up since the uranium mission, weren’t used to supportive talk and compliment. But this was Rooster’s way to tell Hangman that he can make it work, that he didn’t doubt this. 

Jake held his son against his chest and pecked a sweet kiss at the top of his head. Rooster was right. Hangman always did what it needed to be the best in everything. The best at school, the best in the bed, the best pilot. Now he is gonna be the best father. 

The next step was to… know how to take care of a ten-month-old child. In this area, both of the two pilots were totally unaware. Good for them, they knew someone who knew. 

That is how they find themself drinking at Maverick and Penny's house. The couple were already surprised to see the two younger men coming into their house, but they were absolutely shocked when Jake told them about his son. Penny quickly pulled herself together and offered to the pilot a gentle and reassuring glance. Maverick was still mouth open, Penny elbowed him and the older pilot whispered something that looked like “my worst nightmare”. 

“So the thing is that our dear Hangman here, wants to take his responsibility.” said Rooster, glanced at Jake when he said the pet name. But the cocky pilot was too lost in his thoughts to care about. Seeing that his wingman was not about to talk, Rooster went on. “But he absolutely doesn’t know what to do with a kid. I thought you could help us Penny, because… you know… you’re a mother.”

Penny tried to hide her laugh. "Tell me more. How is he ? What's his name ?" Jake firstly frowned, as if it was asking him to concentrate to remember the little boy. "He is… little… and tiny. But the nurse told us he was gaining some weight. He is blond and his eyes are blue and when he is looking at you it's like he understands everything." More he talked about him, the more his face became soft and light. 

Penny smiled. Ok, maybe Hangman isn’t a lost cause. She starts to tell Jake a list of stuff he will need. Crib, high chair, changing table, stroller (but beware it has to be age-appropriate), baby food jars (but if you can do homemade mashed legume it’s better), diaper (but without parfum or he may have an allergy)... 

Jake interrupted her, overwhelmed by the information. “Stop, stop, stop. Don’t you have a manual ?” Penny wided. “A manual ? Hangman ! He is a baby, not a F-18 ! You know what ? We're gonna buy all this together.” 

And that’s how Jake Hangman Seresin found himself in a baby shop, guided by Penny since Rooster and Maverick were walking somes steps behind, like fish out of the water. Jake has never been so focused since he finished the naval academy. He tried to memorise all the precious information the mother was giving to him. 

Jake was so concerned about welcoming his son in good conditions, that he didn’t take the time to ask himself what he did to deserve their help. Even if they couldn’t give advice to him, Mav and Rooster helped Jake to build the furniture. This building session usually finished with laughter and beer. 

Then it hit him. He just parked in the car park of the hospital. Today, he is going to bring his son back to his place. A baby seat was settled in the back of his truck and Penny was still sitting next to him, she offered to stay the first days at Jake’s place to let him make his mark in this new life. Jake was cocky but not at this point and it was too important to do the things right for JJ. This is the little nickname he found, because he was still not comfortable with the fact that the boy was named "Jake Junior". 

“Thank you.” Jake mumbled. Penny looked at him, she wasn’t sure to have heard right so Jake repeated. “Thank you for helping me with… all this.” Jake firstly hesitates to go on. But there was something in the woman's soft smile that made him feel secure, as if he could open to her his heart without being judged. “I don’t really have someone to turn to. My parents… it’s complicated.” 

Maybe Penny was kind and caring but it was too soon for Jake to talk about them, about the fucking nightmare that his childhood as been. It looked like Penny understood because she didn’t ask for more details. She just answered a soft “you’re welcome” and followed him when he got out of the truck and entered the hospital.

During the past week since the day Rooster dragged Jake to see his son, Jake came a few times, firstly to do all the paperwork necessary to get his son’s custody (and for Godsake there was a lot of paperwork), secondly to see the baby boy before the beginning of this new life together. 

Jake was honest about the fact that he didn’t really plan this kind of life. And it was the first time in his adult life that he put his pride aside and admitted he was a little lost. Once, it made the young nurse smile when she heard him whisper to the kid “don’t worry buddy. I don’t really know what to do but I’m a fast learner. And you and I, we are a team now, right buddy ? We're gonna make it together.” 

The social worker asked them to wait in the hospital cafeteria. He and Penny were drinking a coffee when the woman arrived with a bag on her shoulder and the little boy on her hip. Jake barely jumps from his chair as if it suddenly catches fire. He greeted the social worker then JJ and immediately took him in his arms. This act was weird for him the first time but after a week, it became as natural as breathing.

“Hey buddy, I want you to meet someone.” He turned to Penny, the older woman gently smiled at the boy. “This is Penny, you’ll see she is really cool. She helped me to buy everything you need and she will stay at home some days. You’re okay with that buddy ?” 

Penny came closer and gave him a hand. JJ lends his little hand and catches her finger. He looked in her eyes with this too serious gaze for a 10 month kid, and finally he smiled at her and laughed. It was the first time that Jake heard his son’s laugh and he decided that it’s gonna be his favorite sound ever. 

The social worker gave them a bag that contained a kind of “go back home kit” with diapers and other hygiene products. She said goodbye to JJ and wished him a happy new life.      

_________________________

The first day was easy with Penny at home. But the first night she left them alone Jake was so stressed that he barely slept. He checked every ten minute if JJ was still sleeping comfortably in his crib. 

When Rooster knocked at the door of Jake flat in the morning, he found a Hangman messy and looking drawn. He immediately proposed to his wingman to look after JJ so Jake could take a nap, which Hangman accepted immediately. Not without giving him an army of instructions finishing with a “if something happens to my son while I’m sleeping, I get in my F-18 and I shoot you down.”

When Jake awakened almost one hour later he could hear his son’s laugh in the living room. He found him sitting on the ground playing with a toy plane with Rooster immediating sound of a plane (or trying to). 

It’s been almost two weeks that JJ and Jake lived together. They were still finding their feet together but they became bound together. Jake was enjoying having a little one more than he expected. Everyday JJ was doing something new, that looked so amazing in his father’s eyes. It's almost as if everything goes right. Almost.

Today was the day Phoenix was going back from deployment. Before she left, the two pilots finally confessed their feelings and decided to give them a try when she came back. But before Phoenix left, there wasn’t a 10 month old boy in the equation. 

Hangman was waiting on the dock thinking about the way he could explain to her the situation. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t see all the khaki dress figures get down from the ship. He only saw Phoenix when she was in front of him. For a moment, his breath has been taken away. Even in the khaki of the Navy, Natasha Trace was gorgeous. She looked at him with a smirk. “Hi Bagman.” He smiled back at her. “Hi Nyx.” 

There was this weird moment of the new-maybe-couple where neither of them didn’t know how to greet each other. A hug ? A kiss ? Finally Jake takes Nat’s hand in his and her bag in the other hand and leads her to his car.  

During the drive, Nat talked to him about her mission, telling him what she could. But she could see that he barely listened to her, lost in his mind. But she needed to be sure that she didn’t over-interpret “... and at this moment Bob stripped in front of everybody and we could see his pink lace pants.” Hangman just nodded and Phoenix knew definitely that he didn’t listen to her. "Hey Bagman ! Are you with me ?” Jake shook his head, got out of his thoughts and looked at her. “Sorry Nyx, weeks have been long. What do you think if we stop to eat something ? You should be hungry.” 

Phoenix nodded and they parked in front of the first Dinner. Since they sat down and ordered their food, Natasha begane to be more and more anxious. She was sure that he changed his mind. That he think about it when she was away, perhaps he fucked other woman and realized that he didn’t want to settle down with just a girl and he want to keep his life of cocky and free pilot. 

She couldn’t handle more. “Okay Hangman, tell me the truth. You want to tell me if you changed your mind during my deployment. You can tell me that finally you think that it can’t work. I can hear that.” 

Jake raised his head from his food and widened. “What ? No ! What do you talk about Nyx ? Did you… Did you change your mind ?” Nat looked at him and frowned. “No, but you act weird. As if you’ve got something to tell me. So I thought that you didn’t want to…” Jake interrupted her. “No, absolutely not Natasha. I want to make it work, really but… maybe you will change your mind.” Nat raised an eyebrow and let him continue. Jake sighs and sits at the back of his seat. 

“Since you left, there has been… well there has been a new element that may want you to not be with me. And I’m good with it, I swear I’ll understand, I won’t blame you.” Phoenix rolled her eyes, she never has been a very patient person. “Hangman, please just drop the thing.” 

Jake looked at her and literally… drop the thing. “I’ve got a son.” He waited. Phoenix wided. She was expecting a lot of things. But not this. “A son ? Like a child ? What the..? How..? Who..?” She didn’t even know what information she wanted first. So Jake explained everything to her. The phone call, JJ’s mother overdose, how he called Rooster in the middle of the night, when he met the kid, Penny helping him… He told her everything, he didn’t even hide from her that his first reaction was to run away. “Now, you know everything.” 

Jake let her time to proceed with the information. He saw her, looked away and frowed, thinking about all this story, trying to put all the pieces together. His heart was beating hard in his chest. 

It looked like she was thinking for days when she finally sigh, pinched the bridge of her nose and mumbled “Jake, Jake, Jake… what a mess you got yourself into.” She looked back at him and almost gasped when she saw the smile he had on his face. It was not his famous smirk but a soft and gentle smile. She never saw this kind of look on his face. And it makes him look more handsome as if it was possible. 

“It’s true. It’s a big mess and a great responsibility. But this kid is just… He is just perfect, Nyx ! He is cute and he looks so smart for his age, and he is calm and always smiling. You should hear him laugh, it’s so contagious, you just want to laugh with him !” 

He finally stopped him, scared of Phoenix’ reaction. She couldn’t help but smile at him. His eyes were sparkling and his face lit up when he talked about his son. Before this day, no one could imagine Jake Hangman Seresin being a father. But in this very specific moment, Phoenix could see it. 

But Jake was right. Now it’s not anymore just about the two of them. Now there's a baby in this story. Being involved in a relationship with someone was a thing, being involved in a relationship with someone who got a kid was another thing. And to be honest, Natasha wasn’t sure she was ready for this. 

“I understand now. I’m happy for you, Jake. Really. And I would like to give you an answer now but I need to think about it. It’s a big thing that you just revealed and I want to be sure of me if we… you know… try something.” Jake nodded. It wasn't a ‘no’, but it wasn't a ‘yes’ either. He was willing to give her time to think. To give her this luxury that he didn’t have. 

“Do you mind if… I met him ? Your son, can I meet him ?” Jake looked up and nodded grinning. When Natash saw his eyes lit up she preferred to warn him. “I can promise you anything, ok ?” 

Jake took her in her place so she could get a shower and wear civil clothes. When she got out of the bathroom and entered her living room she found him paces around, whistling while he was texting. She smiled. It was the second time of the day that she discovered a new aspect of Jake. And she really came to like what she saw. 

He was far away from the unbearable, cocky man, always dressed to nines, with a smirk in his face. The Jake walking in her living room, was wearing a grey shirt with dark trousers and a leather jacket. His hair was messy and a shadow of a stubble colored his chin. His smile was genuine and his green eyes were soft.

He looked up at her and smiled at her. Natasha’s heart missed a beat.“Ready, Nyx ?”. She nodded and let him guide her out of her place to his car.  

They’ve been welcomed by Penny who greets Phoenix and hugs Hangman. Even if she knew how much Penny has been present for Jake since the arrival of his kid, Phoenix was surprised by this new warm-bound. “He is in the garden with Pete.” she said with a smile. Hangman guided Phoenix through the house by a light touch in her lower back. 

Just as Penny said, they found Maverick in the garden, a little blond-haired boy in his arms. He showed him a butterfly that immediately flew away. Mav cooed at the boy as he tried to watch the insect with his little hand. 

Phoenix looked at Jake as he came closer and took the boy in his arms. There was something natural in his behaviour that surprised her. “Hey buddy. I’ve got someone to meet you. It’s Natasha. I already talked to you about her. So be gentle, ok ?” The kid listened carefully and nodded seriously, as if it was a very serious affair. Then he smiled and laughed which made his father laugh too. “Of course you’re gonna be gentle, you’re always gentle.” 

Jake came closer to Natasha who stayed in the door, he was walking carefully as if he was afraid to make her run away. Natasha realised that maybe her attitude was showing that. Her body was tense, her arms crossed on her chest and she looked confused. 

It’s not that she wasn’t comfortable with kids, she’s got three older brothers, all of them having kids and she used to spend a lot of time with her nephews and nieces. But Hangman having a kid was always a mystery for her and she’s got this unpleasant feeling of being pushed out into uncharted territory. Not to mention all the maelstrom of feelings she felt grew up in her about this new Jake she discovered. 

She takes a deep breath, tries to relax and smile at the two Seresin. When she greets the boy, Jake comes closer and JJ lends his hand. Natasha gave him her hand but instead of taking the hand she was lending him, JJ leaned more towards her and took a lock of her dark hair in his hand. 

Phoenix tensed, ready to feel her hair being pulled but JJ’s gesture was very soft for a ten month old kid. He looked totally mesmerized by her hair and Phoenix couldn’t help but smile “I know, I know, your father loves them too.” Jake bkushed and Natasha laughed at this vision, then JJ laughed too and it was as if all the previous tension was gone.          

Jake (and JJ in the backseat) rided Natasha home. When they parked in front of her building, Natasha thanked Jake for coming to pick her in the dock, got out of the car, opened the back door of the car, and leaned towards JJ who smiled at her to tell him goodbye. Was there a moment where this kid wasn’t smiling or laughing ? 

She looked at Jake who had turned himself to watch her interact with his son. “Do you think you could find a babysitter for Friday evening ?” He wided, unable to speak before stuttering a “yeah, of course”. She smiled at him “good, come to take me at 9. Don’t hang me out to dry.” She winked at him, straightened up, closed the door and entered the building after waving to Jake from the door. 

Jake grinned. She was giving him a chance. She wanted him. Hangman came back home happier, singing all the way home, dancing in the kitchen while it was cooking under the gaze of his son who was clapping and laughing.        

It tastes like a new start, a new life and a new family. Which was a little miracle for the Seresin's boy  who both had a hard beginning in life. 

_________________________

_________________________

1 year old

All the Dagger squad was reunited in Penny and Maverick’s garden for JJ’s birthday. 

When they first learned about the boy's existence, everyone was surprised and even shocked. But as soon as they met him, they all fell for him. In fact, it wasn’t hard to fall for Jake Seresin Jr. He had a cute face, he was always happy and gentle. He was talking in his baby langage to everybody. 

They make him blow out the single candle in the cake (in fact, it was more Jake and Natasha that blew under the boy's applause) and some little group being formed waiting for the meal to be ready. 

Amelia was baby-sitting Payback’s little girls playing with them. Maverick and Rooster argued next to the barbecue about the right way to grill the meat, soon joined by Veronica, Rooster’s girlfriend. Fanboy, Payback and Harvard were talking about the new pilots they were training. Hondo, Yale and Halo were talking in the other side of the garden. Penny, Fanboy’s girlfriend and Payback’s wife were sitting under a tree, talking. Jake was with Coyote who was cooing to JJ who was still in his father’s arm. 

Bob was sitting separately, observing the crew, smiling. Phoenix joined his WSO. “What’s so funny ?” Bob took a sip of his beer, without releasing his gaze from Hangman, Coyote and JJ. 

“Do you remember when Hangman wanted to find a maining for my call-sign the first time we flew together ?” Phoenix puffed at the memories, Jake was such an asshole at this time. “Yeah, I remember. ‘baby on board’”. Bob looked at his friend and pilot. “Well, I was thinking about how he changed since our mission and more since he’s got JJ. So maybe the only thing that Hangman needed to become a Man was a Bob. A Baby On Board.” Phoenix burst into laughter at her wizzo’s joke.

It was true. Who could guess less than two years ago that Bagman could disappear so fast, giving up his seat to this trustfull and amazing father, friend and lover that was now Jake Seresin. If someone had told her that, she would laugh and say that it would need a miracle. And it has been a miracle. A ten-month-old-miracle. 

[cecilebutcher]

HIIIIII

Saw you moots w my moots and i was wondering if you would like to also be moots? Totally fine if not owo

Also i was looking at your ocs for the interaction and i thought it would be funny to see Pain and Panic x2 interaction (bc i also got ocs based on them lmao)

FEEL FREE TO DELETE THIS HAVE A GREAT DAY AND HAPPY BELATED BDAY <3

Hi! I would love to be moots with you!! Ngl I love the fact that you named them Castor and Pollux, mixing actual mythology into twst is one of my favorite things and I can appreciate it^^ anyways hope you like this

Word count:

Summary: Phobes and Aikat end up meeting two unfamiliar faces, that somehow seem familiar.

Warning: none

For: @the-v-lociraptor

“Did you hear that?” Asked Phobes, the younger of the two Spanos. his older brother, Aikat, Looked up from his gaming counsel at his brother worth a confused expression. “Heard what?” Phobes frowned and got up from his chair “I swear I heard something” He said with a pout, taking off his gloves “it was probably nothing” Aikat said with a shrug and went back to his game.

Phobes rolled his eyes and went to the door to investigate “I’ll be right back” he informed and left the room, hearing a small ‘kay’ coming from his brother. The teen started walking down the Ignihyde dorm halls looking around, sure he heard something unusual.

“I told you not to touch that!” Phobes jumped slightly at the sudden voice. Helpless around the corner to find two males with ignihyde uniforms on, one with blue hair one with pink hair. “Jeez calm down Pollux” said the pink haired male “We’re still in Ignihyde”

“Are you two lost?” The two turned their heads in surprise when Phobes spoke “I can help you out” he reassured with a small smile “I’m Phobes by the way. I’ve never seen you two around, did you just transfer to Ignihyde?” The two boys looked at each other then back at the shorter male “I’m Pollux, this is my brother Castor” said the blue haired male, Castor “and no, we’ve been part of Ignihyde since freshmen year”

Phobes tilted his head a bit, a confused expression on his face “I’ve never seen you around” “it’s a big dorm kid” said Castor with a shrug “you’re not going to meet everyone”. Phobes nodded in understanding “But yes, we do need some help” Phobes smiled and turned around “Follow me! My brother will be able to help!”

“So let me get this right” Aikat looked between the twins, confused by the whole thing “You were messing around with some technology you didn’t understand, and now you’re here?” Castor rolled his eyes in annoyance “Yeah, that’s just what I fucking said” Aikat frowned at the older teen “I was just making sure, jeez”

Pollux, for his own sanity, decided to ignore the two glaring daggers at each other and opted to go see what Phobes was doing. “Are those” he looked at the screen in front of his, a bit confused “School documents?” Phobes nodded before responding “I’m looking for any records of you or your brother, but there isn’t any” that managed to catch Castor’s attention and he quickly went over to the two “you can see school documents?!” He asked a bit shocked.

“Yeah it isn’t hard” the two 18 year olds turned around with a small jump as Aikat spoke a bit too close “The school isn’t very safe technology wise” the Oikonomos glanced at each other then back at the screen “we do this all the time to make sure our grades are Bs and As” “you hack into the system and change your grades?” Asked Pollux “no, we just check. That would be wrong” Responded Aikat “Yeah, Cause this is super ethical” Castor said sarcastically with and eye roll, warning him a small kick from his brother.

Phobes sighed and turned off his pc before spinning his chair to look at the three “so, we might be able to build whatever you touched that transported you here. But it’ll take a while” he said and leaned back into his seat “until then you two can stay here with us!” “Alright, thanks I guess” Phobes smiled at Pollux’s response, while Aikat and Castor continued to glare daggers at one another.

If you couldn’t tell. I had no idea how to finish this. But this was still pretty fun to write thank you for the request<3